#white collar abo

[sunwarmed-ash]

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥11/3 🔔new wip dropping 👀

Chapter 1: You're not the first or the last, but you're possibly the prettiest

Fandom: White Collar Ships: El/Peter/Neal, former Neal/Matt/Kate (with flashbacks) Rating/Trigger Warnings: Explicit; Self harm, Suicide attempt Tags: The Minor A/B/O rewrite, Alpha!Peter, Beta!El, Omega!Neal, pre-poly, angst, hurt/comfort, Heat/ABO cycles, Protective Peter, bi Neal Caffrey, eventual smut, more tags to be added Preview:

When Neal comes out the south gate, he’s got quite a bit more pep in his step. Peter supposes getting released from prison can do that to a person’s attitude. But he can’t let Neal get too excited. Because this isn’t summer camp, this is a federal punishment. One that would come down hard on Peter if it failed. It needs to be treated accordingly. 

“Let me see it,” he instructs when Neal is only a few steps away.

Neal stops walking to pull up his pant leg. 

“You like,” Neal smiles, showing off the ankle monitor. “I’m officially yours.”

The phrase catches Peter off guard, because Neal’s always been flirty, buts it's never felt this direct. And that's why his neck and cheeks are flushed. No other reason… And he will be sticking to that story in court. 

“You know what this means right,” Peter pivots. 

“Yeah,” Neal agrees, “I'm released into your custody as property of the FBI with this horrible eye sore on my ankle as a permanent fashion piece. Anything I'm missing?”

“Yeah. if you run, and I catch you, which I know I will because I’m 2-0, you're not just back here for four years you're here for good. Got it?”

“Yeah Peter," Neal sighs a little irritably, "I got it.”

“You're going to be tempted to look for Kate, don’t.”

Neal’s earlier smile fades.

“Trust me, she doesn't want to hear from me.” 

It's a very different dismissal than the way he reacted weeks ago. Harshly confident enough Peter almost buys it. Almost.

“Alright. Let's get going then.”

“Hey, uh, Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Why... you decide to do this? Let me go, I mean?”

Peter opened his mouth to answer but his tongue freezes in his mouth. 

"Because..."

Because, as soon as I set eyes on you today the bad feeling i've been feeling for weeks compounded tenfold. Almost like it was congratulating me for locating its source and scolding me for waiting so long. 

Because, you looked like you were on death's door less than an hour ago and if those bandages are what I think they are, my mistake was seconds away from causing me to lose you for good. 

Because, I can't have one more soul on my conscious. Especially not yours...  

“my wife thinks you’re a romantic.” 

kofi ao3

[pseudowho]

Deliverance

Hunting down a monster, you are led to an isolated little town...and into the arms of its enigmatic priest, who harbours a dark secret.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Vampire!Priest!Nanami, monsterfucking, winged vampire, soft!Dom/pleasure!Dom Nanami, loss of faith/disillusionment, enemies to lovers/forbidden lovers, haematophilia, corruption kink

Very much inspired by Mike Flanagan's exceptional "Midnight Mass" which I highly recommend.

Soundtrack: "Take Me To Church" by Hozier, and "All Around Me" by Flyleaf

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The bridge to the mainland lived most of its saltcured life underwater. It rose, skeletal against the fog, as if the wreck of a ship from some bygone era, only twice a day, at low tide.

You were, by now, well-established into this friendly little town; a much-needed teacher to its handful of muddy-toed children. They did now know of your armory, your deadly weaponry. They did not know of your vow to hunt down the monsters that stalked the night.

And, they did not know how you suspected that the beast responsible for the deaths of at least 20 men on the mainland, may be one of their very own. 20 murders all occurring at low-tide, and only low-tide, could not be a coincidence.

They were all scum, you mused to yourself, all rapists, paedophiles and murderers...so perhaps it does have some sort of moral code. It must be here, you reasoned, fingers tapping the woody shelves of your little school cupboard in thought.

Your hunt was hampered by the timekeeping of this sleepy fishing town; often up before sunrise to take to the sea, and back before the sun broke above the horizon, it was not unusual for its residents to sleep during the day, and rise in time for the sunset. Its little church even held an evening mass, attended by plentiful nocturnal residents, after dinner.

"Hello?" A rich baritone, which was beginning to feel so intimately familiar to you, stirred an illicit want in your belly. He called your name. You could not help but run to him.

"--sorry, I'm-- I'm here! In the cupboard!" You called out, breathless in...what? Your rush to get to him? Anticipation? Something...more?

You flurried round the corner, all eager smiles, flyaway hairs and dimples. Your eyes melted so softly upon each others' forms, both sighing with relief. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

"Ke--...Father Nanami. What a lovely surprise. You're not usually up so early."

Nanami Kento cut an imposing figure in his cassock and white collar. He was a big man, with mountainous shoulders, and long, broad hands. You remembered the heat that pooled in your belly, the first time he had rolled up his sleeves to help you to move supplies into the schoolhouse, his forearms so alluringly thick and corded. His size belied an easy grace, and the elegant quick-step of a busy, intelligent man.

"I found myself unable to sleep," Kento admitted, his head bowed and hands clasped as he stepped to you. He seemed paler than usual, as he continued, "I was thinking abo--...just, thinking." He finished weakly. His eyes drew so fleetingly to your fast little pulse, thrumming from your throat, down your cleavage. His mouth dried, a double-edged hunger climbing down his abdomen.

"...thinking?" You offered, slowly closing the distance between you. You ached to remove it completely, your respect for his holy vows the only thing that contained you. Kento cleared his throat, running one strong finger between his neck, and corseting black and white collar.

"...wondering. If you would be attending mass. Tonight. I have miss--...you have missed the past week, I believe."

Ah. Yes. There was rarely another time when the homes of the local residents were empty enough to allow for investigation. You had only a few more to ransack, to find your monster, and you could feel yourself closing in on it. You felt a heavy rock of regret in your belly, and you clasped one of Kento's cool, pale hands in your own. His cock twitched, to feel the burn of your flesh against his, in ways so much less intimate than what he had imagined, alone at night.

"I'm so sorry...not tonight," you frowned, and you hurried to reassure Kento as he visibly deflated, "But tomorrow, I promise you. I'll come. Truly." Kento's face, so angular and strong, softened down at you with the hint of a smile.

His hand raised up for a moment, hesitating, before cupping your cheek. You felt your heart skip a beat, the tips of his little and ring fingers ghosting over your pulse point, while his thumb swiped beneath your eye.

"...chalk," Kento whispered, seeing your pupils dilate under his inherent, dangerous magnetism. He wished nothing more than to lean down and taste you, clutched against him and whimpering in the schoolhouse. You heard thunder rumble in the distance, and smelled the petrichor of an oncoming storm.

"...I can't wait," Kento whispered, stepping back from you, with just one backwards glance before sweeping out under the wind and blotting clouds.

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Your hunt had amounted to nothing. Either, your monster was meticulously careful, or your suspicions were incorrect, and it did not reside on this island. There was just one more place you had not explored, and you resigned yourself that you may be heading home sooner than you thought.

And yet, you felt a rope behind your navel, a red string around your finger, holding you here. You decided to complete your final investigation at the home of the priest, who had become the lifeblood that ran inside you, at midnight. He generally stayed late at the church, completing administration. You would be undisturbed.

Armed, rogue-like, you blended with moonlit shadows until you reached the windows outside his bedroom. You peeked through the gaps in the wooden blinds, and were met with an image of Kento, erotic and resplendent, that seared itself into your brain for the rest of your days.

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Kento didn't need sleep, ever since his God had forsaken him. Yet still, he craved that sweet embrace, to take him away from the twisted torture of what he had become. His resolve to die this way, as some fallen angel, had been unexpectedly fractured by the will to live-- fractured by you.

Kento switched the shower off, the last droplets of water running down his back. His cassock and collar were discarded, all woven lies against the skin of a faithless hypocrite. Kento wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, stepped past the empty mirror, and out into his bedroom.

His gut churned to see his empty bed. It had been weeks since he had fed. Years since he had taken a woman for the last time, before taking his vows. Weeks, since you had begun to consume him, mind, body and soul.

Kento had been losing his faith before the change. He had grown further from God, as countless monsters died beneath his teeth. But it was thoughts of you, spread, penetrated and whimpering beneath him, that took Kento beyond redemption.

Kento shuddered at the aching greed within. He lay back on his bed, hair still damp and floppy, but desperate for sleep to grip him and pull him under. His cock, rapidly thickening and tenting beneath the towel, made him curse, one broad arm flung over his eyes, while the other tried to squeeze himself into submission.

Kento squirmed with guilt, his semi-erect cock gripped in his palm. He thought of you, your fingers dipping into your needy wet cunt, the vibrator on your clit doing nothing to relieve the ache in your soul. He thought of the way you had squirmed and begged, to your god, and to him, to be granted your release. He thought of the way you had sobbed as you came, curled round yourself, your fingers desperately trying to reach the sweet spot that would make your orgasm climb all the way into your belly.

He didn't need to imagine it, Kento thought blithely, his thumb now stroking slick pre-cum under his foreskin, and over the sweet swollen head of his cock. He didn't need to imagine it, because he had seen you, through the gap in your curtains in the dead of night. Watching you, a pale angel in the rain, hunting for the forgiveness of a body he couldn't allow himself to sully.

Kento's hand had begun to masturbate himself instinctually, to the thought of you crying out for him. For him, and he could do nothing but pretend he hadn't seen you fall apart, to the dream of him inside you.

Kento groaned, low and rumbling, his hand gripping tightly around his throbbing, heavy length, longer than his thick fist could cover. Dripping with pre-cum, Kento began to fuck into his own fist to lubricate himself. He moaned in time to the memory of you, writhing and mewling against your pillow.

Kento's other arm reached round above his head, and he sunk his sharp teeth into his pillow, licking at it, imitating how he would flick his tongue against your pert little clit with a ragged moan. He pictured you above him, riding his mouth and nose as the length of his cock fucked down your throat to the tune of sweet wet gags. Kento whispered filth into the dead of night, trying to rut himself to orgasm.

"--take it-- good girl...cum down your throat-- cum in my mouth...shit...fuck you through it soon, angel-- promise, I promise--...ahhhh, shit, SHIT--"

Kento cursed, spitting venom, his balls heavy and sore, his own hand so woefully inadequate. His canines had lengthened, his mouth twisted into a teeth-baring snarl, and he gripped his cock harder. Trailing his other fingers to his mouth, sucking on his fingertips with a shiver, Kento pierced them until he could taste the hot rush of blood, imagining it was you quenching his thirst--

At the window, completely unnoticed, you gripped the windowpane, weak-kneed. Your other hand clapped over your mouth. Kento lay naked on his bed, sprawled and ethereal under strips of moonlight, masturbating with gasps and groans that you only wished you could hear.

Those hands, that you had spent night after night, wishing were inside you. That cock, thicker and longer than you had pictured...and oh. The way he rutted into his fist with such devastating ferocity, left you jealous of his hand. Your mouth watered.

What would he do, if you knocked right now? If you offered yourself to him, spread bare and pleading? Would he forsake his vows for you? Would he turn his back to God, as he stroked his cockhead to orgasm between your wet folds, singing your praises, and spattering hot, thick cum over your clit--

You were drawn back out of your head as Kento convulsed, his anguished, sloppy moan breaking through the windows, shooting through you like a knife. You gasped, delighted by Kento's twitching pleasure.

Kento hit his orgasm with the turmoiled strength of a stormfront, breaking. His final image was of you, cradling his sore cock between your legs, humping him inside you while you whispered to him and he whined into your hair and got lost in the smell of you, god, the smell of you, he could smell you now--

Kento spasmed, crying out as cum spurted in heavy stripes up his abdomen, his orgasm threaded with a tinge of horror-- fuck, he could smell you, you were here nearby, he knew the smell of that skin and that blood and that cunt--

Kento sat up with a jolt and a snarl, still gasping, the power of the hunt crashing through him. His teeth bared, animalistic, he wrenched his window up, sticking his head out into the night.

The smell of you, quickly fading, was being carried away by the wind. And Nanami Kento was losing his mind.

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You could barely compose yourself, walking into Church the next evening. The night had crept in fast; another storm churning over the water, was pulling the moon in with it. You felt overburdened with...guilt? Desire? You could not hide it, you were sure.

You could not hide it, as Kento's rich voice embraced the pews. You could not hide it, as your voice trembled its way through hymns. Kento's stern, impassive face remained unreadable, as you took communion from him. You met each others' eyes, both thinking about the same thing; his finger grazed your tongue, and gazed upon your sweet face, open-mouthed and doe-eyed, kneeling before him.

And despite all this, it was each others' company you craved more than anything more carnal. You found excuses to stay, in the church, loitering as Kento bid the crowds a warm goodbye. As the last person left, finally alone, you turned to each other. You both held your breath.

After a few moments, yours released in a twinkling laugh, and a blush, that had Kento's chest clenching in possessive adoration.

"I...have neglected you, father," you offered, brushing your hair behind your ear. Kento huffed, at first, pinching the bridge of his nose, before laughing. A genuine laugh. Deep, velvety, and rich. You were putty in his hands, and he didn't even know.

"Alas...it is the life of the clergy. Our own needs, go...unmet." Kento grimaced, a forced half-smile. His hands clasped over his lap.

You felt the tinge of bitterness at the edge of his words. You swallowed, thickly. Your fate balanced on the edge of a knife.

"Not...not all of them, surely? You could...you could join me for dinner?" You couldn't miss how Kento's eyebrows raised fractionally, his pupils dilating. Kento felt a dangerous hunger.

"I...I'm not sure-- I shouldn't--"

"Of course, you're completely right--" you flapped, taking a step back, and Kento's hunger gripped you back with jealous need.

"...I shouldn't be long here. An hour, maybe? If...if you'll allow it." Kento could feel himself twist under the need to possess you, one way or another. Judging by the smell of you, you would be wet, supple under his lips.

"Perfect," you blurted, standing up on your tiptoes for one happy moment, "perfect. I'll cook. We can...we can talk. I can't wait."

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A brisk knock. You hurried to the door, biting your lip, briefly abandoning dinner on the stove.

"Father," you cried, damning yourself for sounding so excited, "you're here...I'm glad. I was afraid you wouldn't...anyway..."

You hurried back to the stove, leaving the door open. After a moment, you looked up, seeing Kento leaning against the doorframe, looking at with with something...unreadable, in his eyes. He simply stood, drinking you in as you cooked.

"...Father? What are you waiting out there for? Come in." Blinking, chuckling to himself, Kento stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him and gently placing a bottle of wine on the table.

"Please. Call me Kento. It seems...silly, if we're having dinner, and a night together." You felt heat blossom through you, at the accidental double-meaning behind Kento's words.

Dinner together was soft, intimate, the food and wine smoothing over an already glossy conversation. You were made malleable by the wine. You were intoxicated by him. Kento looked into you with such knowledge of you, that you were laid bare beneath his gaze.

Sat facing each other on the sofa, Kento had abandoned his white collar, the buttons of his cassock and white shirt undone to his chest. He rolled wine around his glass, his head leaning on one hand, smiling as you talked. The wine made you stupid, and you blurted out;

"Why? Why...did you join the church, Kento?" It was, in part, rhetorical. A cry of despair against the crime of Kento being made untouchable. His answer surprised you, and you found yourself shuffling closer as he talked.

"I ask myself that same question every day. Ever since..." Kento bit his tongue, thinking of the night he was turned, on a missionary trip abroad. Thinking about the day you walked into his parish, setting him aflame with unquenchable burning thirst. Kento cleared his throat, swirling his wine. He felt his primal magnetism drawing you to him like a moth to the flame, and he could not stop himself.

"...I have become...disillusioned, with the church. I am...torn," Kento admitted. Your knees were touching his now, and you leaned towards him with lovesick eyes. Kento felt the thrill of the hunt, feeling the sting of his teeth lengthening. His cock twitched as your breath passed over his cheek.

"...torn?" You felt a quiver of fear now, in the way Kento's eyes darkened, his hand slipping over to grip behind your knee, pulling you into his lap. He set aside his glass. It should have rung alarm bells. You were so drunk, but you had only had one glass of wine. Kento smelled so intoxicating. You were warm, floppy as he pulled you to straddle his lap, cupping your face with both hands.

"...torn," he whispered, his nose brushing yours. Kento's hunger overtook his panic for you, a victim to himself. Kento whispered against your lips, watching your eyes flutter closed, your head heavy and lilting to the side, exposing the pretty thrum of your throat to him.

"...torn," he continued, gliding his tongue up the pulse in your neck, feeling his cock jump against your clothed pussy, "...all because of you...if God has forsaken me, I hope he never wants me back. If only you would let me worship you, instead."

Kento's lips hovered over yours, barely quelling his urgent need to feed on you, until you whimpered his name. Kento snapped, and pulled you in by the back of the neck, crashing his lips to yours with the ragged groan of a starving man.

Your head swam with Kento, clutching his open collar and falling against him, allowing him to devour your mouth with bliss. You murmured against his lips, sloppy and licking, tasting the sweet allure of him, and his grip on the back of your neck grew crushing, his weight now bearing over you to press you back into the sofa, a sharp sting on your lip--

"Ow! I...ugh, sorry...I'm bleeding--"

As you moved to sit up, shocked back out of your reverie, Kento had pushed himself back to the other side of your sofa. One hand had clasped over his mouth. He trembled, and shook, white-knuckles clasping the sofa. You heard a sharp gasp, as if Kento was in pain.

With blood on your lip, you reached for him-- and stopped. Your eyes fixed on the switched-off television opposite you both. You stood, slowly, moving towards the hallway, and your bag, trying to control your terrified little heart.

"I'll just...get a cloth, for my li--"

As you pulled a blade from your bag, standing up to spin around, you were thrown back to the wall, your head cushioned by Kento's hand. You cried out, feeling him bracket you against the wall, his cassock now abandoned, his form seeming to grow and swell before you. Kento's face pressed to your neck, and you felt the hot throb of his growing cock against your belly.

You stood this way, both panting into each other, your knife pressed over Kento's heart, and his teeth pressed to your throat. Your heart broke, fragile beneath Kento's twisting form, and hungry mouth. You hiccuped, your hand and resolve faltering.

"...I never wanted...I wish it wasn't...why did it have to be you?" You sobbed, your arm starting to lower. Kento growled against you, already two feet taller, his enormous chest trapping you in against the wall. You felt the lights blotting out around you, as vast, black, velvety wings unfurled from Kento's back.

"...always...you always knew...just couldn't accept--" Kento gasped, his tongue darting out against your neck, ridged and trembling. His chest burst with pain to feel you sob beneath him.

"I can't do it," you cried, your knife hand lowering again, "just take what you want, because I can't-- I love you-- I'm not strong enough." Kento's teeth gritted, his face crumpling against the soft copper scent of your skin. His enormous hand gripped yours, raising the knife to press to his chest. You gasped and cried out, resisting his pull; a bead of blood sprung up around the tip, pressed to Kento's chest.

"From the moment you arrived," Kento growled, his teeth pressing gently over your pulse point, starving and needy, "...my life...everything I am, has been yours to take. I would know you, blind and deaf...and I would be honoured, for you to take my life as penance for my sins."

You gritted your teeth, completely releasing your grip on the blade. It clattered to the floor. You reached up to trail hands up Kento's enormous, powerful shoulders. Your fingertips grazed the soft base of his wings, and Kento shivered, shuddering into you. He felt a dribble of pre-cum soak his stretched, ripping boxers.

"Then I condemn you to live, Kento," you whispered, pulling his face up to yours. His pupils were dilated, bursting with lust, inky black in pools of crimson, "...and take me. However you want me."

Kento snarled at you again, pressing himself to you, pinning your arms above your head with one thick hand; "You have no idea what you're asking for," he hissed, "I will eat you alive." He felt you tremble, seeing the golden resolve in your eyes. You leaned forwards to his mouth, begging.

"Then eat me...or fuck me, like you fucked your hand to me."

Kento cursed, snapping, lifting you against him. You wrapped your legs around his hips, feeling Kento reach down to shred the clothes off himself, completely absorbed by the need to possess you, to love you.

Flung backwards onto the bed, you gasped at Kento's monstrous form. Eight feet tall, broad and exquisite, his great black wings folded and unfolded against his back. His aching cock dripped with pre-cum, so much bigger than when you had seen him cum into his own hand. His face, still undeniably Kento, stared into you, owning you. Heat pooled between your legs, as he grasped his cock in one great hand, groaning and shuddering.

You crept forwards, still drunk on him, and his nephilim glory. Kento's hand stuttered around his cock as you licked the tip.

"--fuck-- too big for you-- you can't--" Kento uttered a strangled moan, to feel your hot little mouth engulf his cockhead, your lips stretched wide, gulping him to the back of your throat, all hot little licks and sucks. Every fibre of his being needed to buck forwards into your mouth, and you felt two great hands tangle in your hair.

When your hands joined your mouth, stroking down his aching length, masturbating the parts of his cock your mouth could not reach, Kento rutted involuntarily. Moaning, begging and whining your name, his voice ran deep and ragged around his sharp canines.

"--darling, I-- shit I-- so good...so good for me...taking me s--so well, haaaaah...not-- can't last-- like this--"

You hummed around his cock, swallowing down a trickle of salty pre-cum, feeling the gentle pressure of his fingertips against your head. So aware of his size and strength, Kento handled you like a china doll, with the utmost love and affection. Kento moaned with abandon, his head thrown back, his great wings furling and unfurling with divine pleasure.

Swallowing around Kento's thick tip at the back of your throat, you felt his cock leaping in warning. Kento tried half-heartedly to pull you off him, whimpering and moaning with fractured cries of your name;

"--can't swallow-- s'too much-- ohhh fuck, my love-- c-cumming, I'm cumming-- fffuuuck yes, swallow-- all of it--"

You squeaked as his cock jolted and twitched in your mouth, Kento's balls clenched tight as he hunched around your mouth, pressing your head to him. Your mouth and throat flooded with Kento's bitter seed, cooler than that of a normal man, and you swallowed him down with pride. Kento's groans and breaths ran ragged, as you licked him clean.

Kento panted, glossy-eyed as he came down from his high, his cock still half-hard against his thigh. Crowding your body against the bed with his, his fingertips grazed the dress you wore, before ripping it from you with a bared-teeth growl. You felt your bra snapped in the middle, as if it were paper. Your breasts heaved, nipples peaked under Kento's ravenous attention.

Poking his tongue out to tease it over one hard nipple, you felt your clit throb to feel the otherworldly ridges and grooves running along his tongue's sides and tip. Whining as he sucked your pebbled nipple into his mouth, you shuddered to feel Kento's sharp teeth graze your sensitive peak. He savoured you, lathering your nipple against his tongue, until you felt you could cum from that alone.

His other hand rose to engulf your second breast, your nipple rolled so tenderly between two great fingers. You felt a trickle of arousal soak your underwear. Kento could smell it, and pressed his hand to your lower belly, feeling vaguely for the telltale swell of ovulation.

"...made a mistake, angel...letting me take you like this-- nothing of you left, by the time I'm done with you--mine-- all mine-- fuck--"

Trailing kisses down your belly, sniffing you and eager to fill you with his smell, his body thrummed for you. Kento threw your legs over his shoulders, ripping the sides of your underwear and tossing the scraps aside.

His eyes fixed on your pussy, slick and clenching. Kento shuddered, feeling his cock beginning to bound to life again. It flopped, heavy and twitching against his thigh, filling again in preparation to fill you. Kento felt a vague desire to ensnare you, trapping you inside his drunken intoxication, to fill you, and fill you, and fill you, until your belly swelled, oozing his thick, white seed.

"...Kento...please..." Your sweet begging pulled Kento out of himself. Despite his monstrous form, his face softened, his eyes fixed to yours as his tongue, long and ridged, stretched out of his mouth. You saw stars as it lathed insistently from side to side, spreading your folds, stroking back and forth over your aching, pearly clit.

Kento mumbled into your pussy, tasting you, his long tongue fucking into your cunt while his nose nuzzled your clit. Mewling, your hands flew down to sink into Kento's hair, and you felt your hands grasped and pinned against your belly. Kento knew, with a faint pang, that if your fingernails scratched against his sensitive scalp, he would surely spill his seed all over your floor.

Kento draped his other forearm over your belly and hips, pinning you down as you twisted beneath his attention. He lapped, sucked, and nipped at you with the softest bites to your clit, his tongue fucking in and out of you with inhuman dexterity.

You bucked your hips down the bed, eager to feel his tongue sink into your deepest parts, and Kento obliged with a wet moan. You felt his tongue lathe against your spongy spot, pinned down as he devoured you.

"--just there...harder please, please-- god I need your cock in me, please-- fuck me please-- please--"

You begged and pleaded your way to orgasm, your arousal seeping out around Kento's tongue as you came with a jolt and a cry, your thighs clamping around Kento's head, feet tickling against his sensitive wings. Kento continued to fuck his tongue in and out of you, lathering you with his spit, tasting your arousal, desperate to taste more of you.

You reached down, trying to pull Kento up your body. He almost laughed at your casual management of a true to life vampire, about to fuck you into the mattress. Kento allowed it, settling above you, his pupils narrowing at the insistent beat of your throat. Suddenly, and with a strangled growl, Kento knocked your head aside, his teeth grazing at your throat, and his monstrous cock throbbing at your entrance.

You trembled beneath him, heaving and gasping from your high. All of your resolve left you, beneath his tongue, and you uttered words you knew to be true;

"...I trust you, Kento."

Kento pressed into you, with teeth and cock and a husky moan. You felt a sharp pierce at your neck, his teeth just deep enough to feel the hot splash of your blood against his tongue. Kento almost finished then and there, his seed threatening to spatter into your folds and entrance, instead of in your belly, as he had promised himself. Kento drank you, his mouth clamped around your neck, one great hand cupping your head to the side while the other gripped your hip.

With a squeak and a protracted, broken moan of his name, you felt Kento's cock stretch through your wet velvety walls. You squirmed, trying to climb up the bed, feeling Kento growl around your throat and yank you back down.

Kento was enormous, by far the biggest cock you had ever taken, splitting you with a dull sting. Your fluttering hole soothed as Kento began to rut his length into you. His red, leaking tip bullied your cervix, bumping it up against your womb, with inches of him still outside of you.

You uttered strangled little moans, completely pinned beneath his hulking form, feeling him rut as much of his cock inside you as he could fit. With a shiver, Kento denied himself of any more blood at your throat. His tongue stroked your wounds, clotting the blood there, as he fucked gently into you.

Kento's wings caged you both in, and he stared down at where his cock tried to stretch your pussy out with dopey, lovesick eyes. A trickle of your blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, and he was struck with a sudden burst of pride for you. Kneeling back, Kento pushed your knees up to your chest, crushing over you in a mating press.

You writhed, as Kento managed to sink more of his cock into you, groaning which each stroke he watched enter and pull out of you. Your slick formed a translucent white ring most of the way down his cock length. Kento was eager to see it drip down his balls. He gasped down at your prone, fucked-out form, and gently began to press and roll the fatty flesh around your clit, making you buck up into him with pathetic little mewls.

"--fit it in--fit all of me in...if you cum again-- fuck you through it, baby...fuck you through it...fuck you through it..."

Kento repeated this like a mantra, every gradually strengthening thrust into you taking him deeper, your pussy stretched to its limits around his terrifying girth and length. Leaning over where you joined, Kento spat a smooth mouthful of spit, stroking it around his base, lubricating you both, before upping his pace and intensity again.

You cried out, head thrown back as you arched, feeling Kento so deeply that you clasped your belly. Kento planted one hand over yours, his fucks growing gradually more feral as he bared his teeth, determined to finally take what was his, after so many years of miserable self-denial.

"--mine make you mine make you mine--leave it behind...leave it all...for you...shit-- so tight, just--milk it out-- all my cum-- all yours, I swear..."

As you came, your pussy clenching and spasming, Kento finally bottomed out. His head flung back with a cry of success, slamming into you with abandon as he chased his high, desperate to see you filled with his cum. Cursing, and spitting, teeth bared and blacking out the room around you with his wings, Kento came with a roar, and you felt your pussy and belly flooded by him.

His cock jerked long, protracted twitches inside you, spurting thick bursts of cum, with nowhere to go but up, plugged by his enormous girth. You were pliable and dazed, taking it with the sweet relief of his love for you, his seed soothing your swollen inner walls like a balm.

Kento faltered above you, staggered and dazed. Keeping his cock stuffed inside you, manoeuvring himself onto his side, he swept one great wing beneath you, and one above you. You felt yourself cocooned, sleepy and full, reaching into hand up to tangle into Kento's hair. He pressed a lazy kiss to your palm.

"...you're a...terrible vampire hunter..." Kento slurred, fading out into soft snores, just seconds later.

He's not wrong, you reasoned to yourself, wondering and drifting to sleep in his arms and wings, maybe he'll help me.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Old Friend.

Yan Kenjaku x F Reader x Yan Geto.

Synopsis: The stranger looks all too familiar, aside from three peculiar mannerisms. How his fingers creep along the table’s edge. How his voice is too soft, too kind, and not at all cruel. How there are black stitches on his forehead.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, misogyny, use of the word monkey, and descriptions of past physical/mental abuse.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

Flattery comes out from Suguru’s mouth one sentence at a time, the words themselves soothing but the tone not so. After being dressed in clothes you picked out, after being presented with food you loved before captivity, you feel as though you were just revived… reborn. This feeling is foreign and isn’t let into your heart all at once, but little bit by little bit, because you know that Suguru’s gifts are often never superficial, but you also know how fast Suguru’s temper can spew once he has had enough of your antics.

On your knees, that demand is always accompanied by Suguru’s pointer finger facing down to the floor, monkey.

Somehow that collar consistently finds its way into Suguru’s right hand, even without one of his servants giving it to him.

But yet, here and now, you don’t feel the same ominous aura. It’s something darker. Something that for once isn’t directed at you, but the servants Suguru always treated well. So, would that make his aura lighter? You’re not sure. Similar to when it comes to Suguru’s moods and false smiles and truthful lies, you don’t know what to think.

“Master Geto?” You ask, looking past him to the balcony exit behind him. With all the candles put on the table, his face looks nearly fully illuminated, but the shadow covering his eyes is still there regardless. 

“Yes, pet?” Suguru responds, his hands cupping his face as he looks at you. 

“I…” You start, your thumbs caressing one another underneath the long white tablecloth. “Just wanted to thank you… that’s all.”

Suguru chuckles at that. No. Not a chuckle per se. Some sound unknown to you, or perhaps the identity of such was forgotten by you after so many years of being here kneeling at his feet on the floor like a trained mutt. 

Speak.

I’m sorry, Master Geto.

Make it more desperate so I know you won’t make false vows unbefitting of my precious varmint. I’ll even help you. What happens when a dog attempts to hurt its owner?

“Don’t worry about it, [First] dear. You deserve a dinner such as this, for you deserve to celebrate too.” He has never said your name other than when he is displeased with you, so him doing such makes you wince. Suguru takes another sip of his sake, not paying much mind to your innate actions.

They get hit back, Master Geto.

Then what will happen to them next time, if they do it again?

Something will break.

“You look quite divine tonight,” He says, using his knife to split his remaining steak into quarters. He stabs one of the pieces with his fork and chews on it without making much noise.

“Uh…”

“Everything about you is quite beautiful… I can see you becoming my wife one day after all of this is over. That is, if you continue to be so cute and defenseless, it’s your place after all.”

What kind of thing? Speak up.

Anything. A bone… Something they like… Their spirit…

Correct… and what is that thing covering your hand?

“You’re not really eating, dearest… Is something the matter?” He asks. You find yourself questioning if Suguru's concern is genuine. After all, he has faked empathy towards you before, so this wouldn't be the first time.

“No, no… It’s good.” In order to avoid his anger, you proceed to fill your mouth with sake and sesame rice. This amuses him. Does he find your desperation endearing? That would be in character for him, now that you think about it.

A cast, Master Geto.

And what did you do to earn such a thing?

You… broke my hand, after I tried to use the pieces of that broken bedroom window to stab you.

“I’m happy you’re enjoying it.” He grins, leaning in closer. “I have an offer for you. How about we go outside for a walk after this? It has been quite some time since you have seen the full moon, hasn’t it?”

Finally, you can envision a vast expanse of twinkling stars right before your eyes. In the realm of dreams, they reside so near, immune to fading or descending. But you ponder if reality holds the same allure. It has been an eternity since you were last allowed to venture outdoors. Oh, how you yearn for a glimpse of the sky once more.

Tell me, do you think you earned such a thing?

…Yes.

Good. It seems you’re learning.

But the temptation stopped as fast as it came. Dread replaces it in an instant. 

This man isn’t Suguru. You know that much for certain. With every hell he has put you through, you have come to know him and his mannerisms. Those mannerisms are nothing like this man. The thought scares you. Is this man a curse, the same kind Suguru uses against you after every escape attempt? Or is he just a normal man who is acting like him as a placeholder of some sort?

Where… is Suguru?

“...Why are there stitches on your forehead?”

[mtmpossession]

A New Perspective: Part I

The sun had just set over the horizon, casting a warm glow across the rolling hills of the family farm in Texas. Douglas, a sturdy man in his early fifties, stood outside the old barn, gazing out at the fields with a mixture of pride and weariness. He was a homespun man, with a short beard that highlighted the strength of his jawline. His broad shoulders were testament to a lifetime of hard work, both as a fire protection specialist and as a farmer.

Joseph, on the other hand, was a young man in his late twenties, with an athletic build and lean muscles that were honed from years of working out and modeling. He was dressed impeccably in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, his brown hair styled to perfection. His stubble, however, betrayed the fact that he hadn't shaved in a few days. Joseph was an adventurer, always eager to explore the world and experience new things. He was bisexual, something he had confessed to his father years ago, which had only served to further strain their already tenuous relationship.

As Joseph stepped out of the car and approached his father, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. They had barely spoken in over a year, and now they were meeting under such tense circumstances. Douglas's disapproval of Joseph's lifestyle choice, coupled with his father's insistence that he abandon his modeling career and join the family business, had only served to drive them further apart.

Douglas, on the other hand, was filled with a mixture of anger and disappointment. He loved his son dearly, but he couldn't help but feel that Joseph was wasting his life chasing after meaningless fame and fortune. He wanted Joseph to embrace their family's blue-collar roots and work alongside him at the fire protection business and on the farm.

"Hello, Joseph," Douglas said, his tone formal and distant. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise, Dad," Joseph replied, his voice equally guarded. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of hurt as he looked at his father. The last time they had seen each other, they had argued heatedly about Joseph's life choices. He wished things could be different, but it seemed like their relationship was beyond repair.

The two men stood in an awkward silence, neither knowing what to say. The tension was palpable. Douglas cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. "Well, I should get started on dinner," he said finally. "Why don't you come inside and help me?"

Joseph hesitated, uncertain whether his father meant it as an invitation to mend fences or just a request for assistance. After a moment's consideration, he decided to accept the offer. "Sure," he said, following his father into the house. The kitchen was warm and welcoming, with a large wooden table and cozy decorations that spoke of years of family gatherings.

As they worked side by side, chopping vegetables and seasoning meat, the silence between them seemed less oppressive. Douglas glanced at his son out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way he moved with confidence and ease. It was hard for Douglas to believe that this was the same boy who had once been so uncertain of himself. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride, despite the tension that still lingered between them.

Meanwhile, Joseph found himself thinking about the years they had spent apart. He remembered the days when they would work together on the farm, laughing and sharing stories. He wondered if they could ever find a way back to that place of mutual understanding and respect.

As they ate their dinner, they continued to engage in small talk, discussing the latest sports news and local politics. It was a far cry from their previous arguments about Joseph's career choices, and Douglas found himself enjoying the easy banter between them. He couldn't help but notice how well his son looked, dressed in his crisp white shirt and jeans. There was a confidence about him that hadn't been there before.

Joseph, too, was relieved to be able to talk about something other than the elephant in the room. He had missed his father's company and the sense of belonging that came with being part of this family. He knew that they had differences, but he hoped that they could find some common ground.

As the evening wore on, however, their conversation began to take a familiar turn. Douglas started to question Joseph's choices once again, and Joseph found himself growing defensive. Before they knew it, they were once again arguing heatedly. "You never understood me, Dad," Joseph exclaimed, his voice rising. "You just want me to be this version of yourself, but I'm not you!"

Douglas's face flushed with anger. "Of course I understand you, Joseph! I just want you to have a stable future, one that doesn't involve chasing after fleeting fame and fortune!" he retorted. "You could be doing so much more with your life than strutting around in front of cameras!"

Joseph felt a stab of pain as his father spoke. He knew that Douglas meant well, but he couldn't help feeling like he was being suffocated by his father's expectations. "You don't get it, Dad," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm not you. I don't want your life. I want my own."

Douglas looked away, unable to meet his son's eyes. He knew that he had been harsh, but he couldn't help feeling a desperate need to protect Joseph from what he saw as a reckless path. He wished he could understand why Joseph was so determined to pursue a career in modeling, when there were so many other options available to him.

Joseph retreated to his room, feeling a familiar mix of anger, frustration, and sadness. He knew that he and his father had always been different, but he had hoped that they could find some common ground. Instead, they seemed to be further apart than ever. He tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of his father and their strained relationship.

Douglas, too, lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't shake the image of Joseph's face as he had argued with him. He knew that he had been harsh, but he couldn't help feeling a desperate need to protect his son from what he saw as a reckless path. He wished he could understand why Joseph was so determined to pursue a career in modeling, when there were so many other options available to him.

As the hours ticked by, Douglas found himself growing more and more restless. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to step into Joseph's shoes, even for just a day. To experience the world through his son's eyes, to understand the motivations that drove him. Perhaps then, he thought, he could find a way to bridge the gap between them.

Joseph, on the other hand, spent the remainder of the night tossing and turning in bed. He couldn't shake the image of his father's disappointment and the weight of their strained relationship. He felt as though they were speaking two different languages. Perhaps if he could understand where his father was coming from, they could find a way to reach a common ground.

After they fall asleep, a sudden thunder storm arises. Lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the room in brief flashes of blue and white. The wind howls, battering the windows and causing the house to creak and groan. In the midst of the storm, there is a strange, inexplicable feeling in the air. As if the universe itself is conspiring to bring about a change.

The next morning, Joseph awakens with a start. He feels... different. His body is heavier, his movements slower. As he sits up in bed, he realizes with a jolt that he is no longer in his own body. He is in his father's body!

Douglas, too, wakes up with a start. He feels... light, almost ethereal. His movements are quick and graceful. As he swings his legs over the side of the bed, he realizes with a gasp that he is not in his own body. He is in Joseph's body!

He rushes over to the mirror, hardly able to believe what he sees. The face that stares back at him is not his own. It is young, vibrant, and unmistakably his son's. He touches his cheek, feeling the smoothness of his skin, and then runs his fingers through his silky hair. This is a dream, he tells himself, but it feels so real.

As he steps out of his room, he sees Joseph standing in the hallway, looking equally confused. His father's body feels strange, yet familiar. He tries to speak, but no words come out. He gestures for his father to follow him, and they proceed to the kitchen.

To be continued...

[rocketinthesky]

Bite Me

-A CarCar vague-high school/college au(?) one-shot, Rated Teen and Up, Enemies who Kiss? Inspired heavilyyy by Sumi’s lovely fanart so everyone please check it out!

-read on ao3

Oscar has had enough.

Now it’s fucking war, the only thing on his mind blood.

It’s the fourth time stupid-Spanish-meathead-Sainz has shoved him against his locker between class break in the day. Four fucking times! Oscar’s human, he’s made of flesh and bone, and said flesh and bone hurt very fucking much when constantly colliding with metal.

That stupid meathead in his stupid football (the European kind) jersey cackles loudly as he walks away, an exasperated Charles shaking his head beside him while he throws Oscar an apologetic frown.

Oscar seethes, balling his fists at his sides so hard he thinks the knuckles might pop out, jaw clenched as he fails to hide his reaction.

Carlos stops just a few meters ahead, doesn’t turn around but twists his head to the side and casts Oscar an ingratiating glance through his eyelashes.

“Baboso.”

Now, Oscar doesn’t know a word of Spanish outside of ‘hola’, but he can pick up on context clues and comprehend that he’s definitely just been insulted.

Normally, Oscar wouldn’t rise to the provocation. He would throw Sainz a nasty sneer, grab his backpack and stomp away to his next class at a very normal pace.

However—Oscar’s already been having a shit day. His English professor just handed them a ten page assignment, his Bio professor assigned a group work and paired him with possibly the last people on earth he’d want to work on anything with, and he accidentally spilled coffee on his white t-shirt during lunch break.

He’s already at his breaking point and four shoves against the locker by none other than the sadistic bastard Carlos Sainz who only wanted nothing more than to see Oscar suffer has tipped him off the proverbial edge.

At least that’s the only explanation Oscar has for why he stomps up to Carlos, teeth bared in anger as Carlos looks unfazed and simply turns around to fully face him—waiting.

It all happens a little too fast—Oscar fisting Carlos’s collars and shoving him back with enough force that it trips him up too, Sainz’s back hitting the nearest locker, eyes wide in shock. Oscar himself is a little shocked, mostly winded—a tad exhilarated—at having done this.

Carlos looks at him, eyes impossibly big from this close. Oscar’s never noticed how long his lashes are until there’s a few centimetres separating them.

Oscar’s breathing wildly now, and he’s not exactly sure if it’s all from the anger. Carlos’s breaths seem to come short, labored, surprise twisting into anger the longer Oscar holds him up against the lockers. Oscar relishes in dragging a reaction out of him—anything other than that infuriating smugness he always seems to carry.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, Piastri?” Carlos nearly growls, hands coming up to wrap around Oscar’s wrists still gripping Carlos’s collar.

The snarl on his face shouldn’t look like…that. It shouldn’t be sending a shiver down Oscar’s spine, the way they’re so close, the way Carlos’s big hands feel like brands where they circle around Oscar’s wrists in a crushing grip.

Oscar falters, tries not to show it, but he must give enough away because in the blink of an eye he’s spun around and shoved up against the locker, back colliding painfully with metal, their positions flipped.

“Carlos, just let him go.” Charles says tiredly from somewhere behind Carlos, but Oscar can’t see him, his field of vision just Carlos—all his senses overwhelmed with the scent of Carlos, the heat of his skin still wrapped around his wrists, the fire in his eyes burning through Oscar’s soul as his breath wafts against Oscar’s face.

“He started it.” Carlos bites back at Charles, still looking straight into Oscar’s eyes.

Oscar tries not to cave in on himself but it’s hard to stand tall with Carlos looming right over him. He’s never noticed how broad he is. They’re about the same height but Carlos manages to look much taller, thick neck curving into broad shoulders. Oscar has the rattling urge to touch them, feel the muscles strain against his grip.

“You shoved me first, Sainz. Four fucking times.” Oscar spits out instead, alarmed at the direction his own thoughts are veering.

They’re both breathing faster now, so close Oscar can almost feel the rise and fall of Carlos’s thick chest against his own.

Fuck him.

Carlos sneers, and Oscar’s hands flex where they’re still gripping Carlos’s collar, unwilling to let go unless Carlos does first.

The expression crawls under Oscar’s skin as if it’s a living thing, burrowing into his flesh and tightening his grip on Carlos’s jersey when Carlos says with levity, “Was just a friendly pat, cabron. It is not my fault you are so weak.”

Carlos’s eyes are glinting with challenge, with mockery, leaning even more into Oscar’s space, and Oscar can’t hold back anymore, can barely process his movements before he feels his lips sting with the force at which he clashes into Carlos.

Carlos makes a surprised sound in his throat, stilling under Oscar’s grip for a split second before his hold on Oscar’s wrists tighten impossibly, kissing Oscar back in earnest.

He distantly hears a squeak—probably Charles—but is too consumed by the plushness of Carlos’s lips, the way he kisses ravenously, all teeth and tongue and dominance.

Oscar can barely keep up, melts in his arms like putty when Carlos lets go of his wrists to instead grip his sides, fingers digging hard enough into his waist that Oscar thinks he might leave bruises.

The fact that they’re very much out in the open, hundreds of other students passing them by, watching the spectacle they’re putting on, is completely irrelevant to Oscar. He moans at a particular swipe of Carlos’s tongue over his palate, bites down on Carlos’s bottom lip and revels in the groan it pulls out.

One of his hands travel from Carlos’s jersey up his neck and into his hair, threading his fingers into the thick locks and pulling.

The kiss is as violent and all-consuming and as hot as Oscar would expect from Carlos.

“Oi, Osc, show me the assignment for Mr. Vettel’s cla—”

Lando stops dead in his approach when he looks up from his phone and finds Oscar and Carlos tangled up in each other. He balks, blinking a few times to check whether he’s seeing clearly or not. He turns his head slowly to Charles who is standing next to him, face twisted in disgust.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Charles shrugs. “Speaks for itself, I think.”

Lando barks out a laugh, a little hysterical. “I knew they’d get here eventually. Just didn’t think it’d be so…public.”

Charles bites back a laugh, patting Lando on the shoulder. “Let’s just leave them alone. I am about to puke if i watch them for long.”

Lando shrugs. “Coffee?”

Charles grins. “My treat.”

Neither Oscar nor Carlos hear any bit of the exchange as they keep kissing, only broken when a professor passing by interrupts them with a pointed cough.

“Gentlemen, I believe classes for the next period have begun?”

They jolt away from each other as if burnt. Oscar looks at Carlos, the way his pupils are blown wide, face a bright red, lips swollen and spit-slick.

He looks ruined—Oscar can’t imagine he looks much better himself.

Omggg i had so much fun writing this IM STILL GOING FERAL OVER @kolbalissh ‘s art guys SUMI UR SO TALENTED AND CRAZY FOR GIVING ME THESE BRAINWORMS AHHH ANYWAYS I HOPE THIS DRABBLE-TURNED-ONE SHOT DOESN’T DISAPPOINT 😭😭

[endwersed]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by the wonderful @patolemus & @dear-massacre ❤️

I'll be posting chapter 7 (the halfway point!) of my ABO AU the poets are right next weekend - so here's a little snippet as I work on editing that 🤗

-

As Stiles hazily adjusts to the low light, he takes Derek fully in. He looks more dishevelled than he typically does, a palpable distress etched into the dark aura that seems to hang too closely around his hunched form. Usually, when Stiles sees him standing outside this door, at this late hour of the night, his mouth wears a meaningful smile, his eyes shining softly, his clever fingers quick to dart out, to curve their way around Stiles’ waist and draw him closer as the door shuts quickly behind them.

None of that greets Stiles tonight, though.

Tonight, his dark hair is a mess. It sticks up in wild tufts, looking as though he has been running his fingers through it for a while, for hours even, maybe. The white shirt he wears has a stain on it, a splash of some kind of amber liquid spilled up near the collar, the blemish already dried right into the fabric. His face is pinched, his expression tight and thin, his dull, pale eyes locking onto Stiles’ the very instant there is enough space between the door and its frame for him to do so.

Stiles frowns, tilting his head to one side as he peers out into the darkness.

“Hey,” he says, careful to keep his voice a quiet whisper. “What are you doing here?”

A few beats pass as Derek just stares back at him. The hall is silent, nothing but the sound of their hushed, out of time breathing, and the air around them is tense, creeping down to Stiles’ bones, crawling underneath his skin. The immediate fear knocks through him that Derek knows, somehow, that Derek has found out, has discovered the pregnancy that Stiles has been spinelessly hiding from him, and he is here to scream, and shout, and demand that it is handled, demand that it is... ended.

Stiles is hyperaware of every shaking breath that he manages to drag in, and he can feel every muscle in his body drawing tight, stiff and poised and ready for – what, he does not know. All he can do is simply wait, quietly, anxiously, for the next words out of Derek’s mouth.

“Can I come in?” is Derek’s simple, eventual question.

Stiles blinks for a few seconds. He pulls himself out of it with a quick shake of his head.

“Oh. Sure, yeah, of course.” He takes a step backwards, tugging the door with him and letting Derek pass quickly through. The door snicks shut with them both in the room, all sound now safely locked away inside along with them. It feels like his heartbeat is up in his throat as he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyebrows knitting together as Derek twists to face him. “Is everything okay? I just – I thought we said we wouldn’t see each other tonight. You know, big day tomorrow, and all.”

The next breath that shudders out from Derek is choppy. He blinks his eyes closed, lifting a hand to scrub roughly over his face, and Stiles can only stand there, his own fingers threading together in front of his flat stomach, a defensive posture that he is barely even conscious to be falling into. He stares on as Derek runs those fingers up from his inscrutable face, pushing them through his already messy hair, winding into the crown as their eyes finally meet again.

“I know,” Derek says, a sharp exhale as he nods jerkily. “I know, I know we did, I just – I wanted to... to see you.”

Stiles bites at the inside of his cheek. That is a good sign, right? Derek seems upset, sure, that much is beyond obvious, but... if he wanted to see Stiles tonight, ostensibly just to see him... that could mean he isn’t angry at him, at least.

Maybe Derek doesn’t know about the baby. Maybe Stiles still has the chance to tell him himself. He can hope.

“Okay,” he says slowly, taking a small step closer to Derek. “I mean, obviously I want to see you, too. I always want to see you. That’s a no brainer, dude.”

To that, Derek has nothing to say, it would seem. His breathing gets a little harsher, a little shallower, and, for less than a full second, his mouth twitches up at one side, pulls into this tiny smile, barely there and gone already in the blink of an eye. But even while it is there, even the brief moment that Stiles does manage to latch onto it – it does not look happy. It does not look like the kind of fond, affectionate, borderline besotted smiles that Derek wears around him, most days now.

No, this smile does not seem happy. And Stiles has absolutely no idea why.

He lets his features pull into a wary frown as he keeps pressing forwards, as he keeps moving further and further into Derek’s space. He is careful to move with an unrushed, unhurried pace, careful to approach like he is moving in on an easily spooked animal – because that is exactly what Derek looks like right now; like an apex predatory ironically twisted into prey, seized in a trap and just waiting for its neck to be snapped between sharp, thick jaws.

This close up, even in the late night darkness of the room, even with the only light sourcing from the pale silver moonlight, the warm golden lamplight, he can see just how utterly wrecked Derek looks. His light eyes are flat, his mouth straight and thin, his typically tanned skin now almost pallid in colour, dark circles smudging purple exhaustion beneath his heavy gaze.

It is so unexpected that it almost takes Stiles’ breath away. He looks worlds away from the beaming alpha that Stiles saw earlier today, only just this morning.

Derek had found him in the library, snuck up behind him to corral him into a dusty, shadowy corner. He had pressed Stiles up against the bookshelves and snuck in minutes too many of smiling, happy, stolen kisses. The rest of his day was to be filled with Laura's wedding preparations, not even a minute to spare to see Stiles again, but he still used the only time he could carve out to slink away, to evade his family, his mother, just to take the limited time he could to find Stiles, to touch him, to kiss him.

That carefree person is nowhere to be seen on Derek’s face now, though.

Cautiously, Stiles lifts two hands, placing gentle palms on each of Derek’s cheeks, thumbs rubbing through the scratch of his stubble, fingers sliding into the hair at his temples. His eyebrows are pulled all the way together as Stiles sways into him, pressing their chests into one another, and Stiles lists forwards to kiss him softly, the lightest of touches before he pulls back, feeling Derek’s trembling exhale, warm against his mouth.

“Derek,” Stiles says quietly. “Is there something... wrong?”

Of course, there is. Unequivocally, inarguably, not a single doubt in Stiles’ mind, there is something wrong. He can tell this, can see it, can feel it, right deep down to his bones, sinking sluggishly into his marrow. And maybe it is that Derek knows about the baby, maybe it is that Derek has stumbled upon the secret that Stiles has been so desperately, so uselessly, trying to force himself tell him this entire passing week, but...

But, somehow, Stiles does not think so. This feels like something else.

He feels pinned by Derek’s hard, intense stare, his body pulling rigid with the prickling stab of fear spreading through him. He tries to play it off, to act it off, keeps smoothing his fingers into Derek’s hair, keeps breathing as steadily as he can manage, and he waits to understand, he wants to understand, so damn badly – if only Derek would tell him.

But he does not get this answer. Instead, Derek crashes forwards to kiss his breath away.

-

No pressure tags! @eevylynn @lucky-bishop @renmackree @seaweed-water @violetfairydust

[citadelofswords]

shoka and shadow meeting

riley sent me this prompt before the finale aired and now i have brainworms. forgive the formatting i'm posting from mobile but i can't stop thinking about this.

HEAVY EPISODE 20 SPOILERS UNDER CUT

it's two weeks later when the door opens in the engine again and shadow crashes back onto the train. “alphonse," he snarls, and trish jerks around to stare at him. “i saw everyone else. i did not see alphonse. where was he?"

“he stayed back on the caboose with shoka," trish says. “the previous conductor… she tried to separate it from the train. people were going to die."

“hmph," shadow says, and folds his arms. “magnanimous of him."

it is at that moment that the door to the engine— the actual door, not one of the doors off the train— slams open, bearing three people with them. jason todd enters first, holding a black haired girl in a cat hoodie by the scruff of her neck. roxas trails behind, face white. tear tracks are carved down the dirt on his face.

jason glances at shadow. “oh good, you're here," he says. “we're gonna need you in a second. shoka— you wanna tell trish what you just told me?"

shadow stares at shoka. there's something about her he can't put his finger on, something off and wrong about the way she's carrying herself. not quite like it's an act. but close to that.

there's blood under her fingernails.

“i," shoka says, and swallows, eyes darting to the side. “we were helping the kids. and i turned around and. he was." she looks down. “simon snuck up on us. he."

“where's al?" trish asks. her voice sounds so, so small.

“i turned around. and simon was there. he was standing over." shadow’s blood goes cold and for a moment, just for a moment, he wishes shigeo had been a little more ruthless.

and then his eyes narrow.

“bullshit," he says, and trish and jason both snap up to look at him. “bullshit. you're lying. alphonse is strong enough to have taken that child with only one hand. he wouldn't have been caught off guard by something as idiotic as that. tell us the truth."

“shadow?” trish asks, and he stalks forward to grab the cat-girl by the collar of her hoodie. she's not making eye contact with anyone in the car.

“where is alphonse,” he says. "do not think you can lie to me again.”

“i’m not lying,” shoka snaps back. "simon killed him. he's gone." trish chokes behind shadow, and roxas looks at her and then crosses the room. shadow cannot look at trish right now, because if he does he will make a mistake.

“then where the fuck were you?!" shadow snarls. “why weren't you there? why didn't you help him? why didn't you stop simon?"

he lets go of her with a shove, letting her sprawl to the floor. she winces as she hits the ground. “you need to learn how to lie better," he growls. "and now you need to run, and pray that i do not see you again.”

“yeah, shoka," jason says darkly. “that's probably for the best." he's not looking at shadow, but trish; shadow can hear hitched breathing behind him and does not turn around.

shoka slowly stands. she throws shadow a dark look, one with venom behind her mask of grief, and says, “fine. i’ll go. see you around, trish."

“don't talk to her right now." roxas says, vitriol in his voice, and shoka turns on her heel and leaves the car.

“she's lying," shadow says. “i could see it in her eyes. this is not wishful thinking." now that shoka is gone he can turn to trish, who's letting roxas hug her. shadow pushes him aside and grabs trish’s face in his hands. “look at me. hey. look at me, trish. she's lying.”

“she could be lying about simon being the one to kill him," jason points out. “and he could still be dead."

“not fucking helping," shadow says. "trish, you have to trust al. he's alright. he's stronger than that, and he's definitely stronger than her. he's fine.”

trish swallows, and nods, and swipes the tears away from her eyes with her hand. “good girl," shadow says approvingly. “i'm going back home again. but you're doing great. i’ll be thinking about you."

“thank you, shadow," trish says quietly.

[new-revenant]

DP/DC Week Day 3 - Eldritch Entities/The worst person to put in charge of teens is another teenager

Part 3 of my Danny gets mistaken as Jason’s clone AU! You can read the past two day’s entries for some more context, but it’ll probably be fine if you don’t. But you do need to know that Danny is going to be referred to as James, since he didn’t want to tell the world’s greatest detectives his real name.

Warning I guess? Brief mention of vivisection and starvation. Mention of throwing up at the very end.

Let’s hope that the YJ cartoon Conner and Bart’s personalities are similar enough to the comic version because that’s the best basis I have for their personalities ;-;

Tim may or may not have made a mistake when he decided to call Conner and Bart to tell them about Jason’s new clone. He definitely should’ve expected them to instantly come over to see said clone.

Bart was bouncing off the walls of the dinning room excitedly, “Jason got cloned-I can’t believe Jason of all people got cloned-do you?” 

“I can, even if he doesn’t have any powers he’d probably be good to clone for political reasons right?” Conner speculated, “Right Tim?”

“But then why is the clone a child?” Tim was hunched over his computer, biting his lip, trying to find out more about the GIW.

“James-the clone-said that the GIW had done experiments on ghosts, and that they could tell that Jason is undead. So they might’ve created James to do experiments on him that they couldn’t do on Jason themselves.”

“Or turn him into a weapon,” Conner said with a hint of sadness and anger in his voice.

“It’s probably both,” Bart added. The other two nodded in agreement.

Not even a second passed before Jason came in, holding James by his shirt collar. Jason clearly took Bruce’s advice to get him new clothes. He was wearing a white polo shirt and black bell bottoms. But he still had the same black gloves and boots on as before.

Tim still didn’t look at his face. He didn’t want to see…whatever it was that made him think that James’s was uncanny valley incarnate. That would be rude.

“Tim, I need you to-oh hey!” Jason stopped in his tracks and looked over to the group, “This is perfect, Tim, Conner, Bart too I guess, I need you guy to look after the kid while I’m gone.”

“Wait, where are you going that’s more important than, I dunno, keeping an eye on your own clone?” Tim questioned.

“It’s a long story. But, that’s why I’m leaving him here with you-“

“Hi,” James waved at the group.

“-The best person to put in charge of a teenager is another teenager.”

“I don’t think that’s right exactly,” Bart said, “Buuut, the best person to be in charge of a clone, is another clone right?” He looked over at Conner expectingly.

“That guy’s a clone?” James looked to Jason for an answer as he pointed at Conner.

“Yes I am. Although it already seems that you have a…much better relationship with the guy you’re cloned from than I do,” Conner sighed.

“Can we kick his teeth in then?”

“Jason, what are you teaching the child?” Tim groaned.

“Self care. Anyways-“ Jason let go of James, “-I’m off. See ya.” And then he left, leaving James in the trio’s care.

“So…can I kick the guy’s teeth in? Who was the uh, guy who you were cloned from anyways?”

“It was actually two guys-“ Bart started before Tim interrupted him.

“It doesn’t matter, you’re not kicking anyone’s teeth in before you tell us more about the GIW.”

“Tim, be easy on him,” Conner recommended, “You don’t want to scare him away now do you?”

“Oh it’s fine. I mean, the worst thing they did to me that I can remember is vivisect me, so it’s fine.”

“Is that like dissection-“ Bart started to ask before being interrupted yet again.

“Yeah it’s exactly like dissection but on a living thing. I didn’t get any of those things that make it do you didn’t feel pain either. That sucked almost as much as being starved for like, a week. That was not a good week.”

Silence filled the room as the three processed what James told them.

“Tell us everything single thing you know about the GIW,” Conner demanded.

“Sure!” James said. Then he smiled. Tim made the mistake of looking at him while he did and recoiled all the way off his chair. Luckily, Bart was able to catch him before he hit the ground.

“Why is looking at your face like looking at  a Lovecraftian god?!” Tim cried.

“I have that effect on people,” James explained, “But holy shit, no one’s actually recoiled!” He cackled, a deep, unnerving cackle. Well, it sounded like that to Tim at least.

“Well you don't have that effect on me,” Conner said.

“Or me!” Bart added, “Maybe something’s wrong with Tim-or us!”

“No it’s most likely just me since the others didn’t have a problem with James,” Tim stated, “Perhaps it’s because the others had more contact with the Lazarus Pits-as for the two of you, maybe it’s because of Bart’s connection to the speed force and Conner being half Kryptonian-“

“Way to doxx us my guy,” Bart interrupted, “First you interrupt me when I tried to explain more about Conner, and then you go out and spill our super hero identities.”

“Oh shit, you’re right, I forgot that he could possibly be a sleeper agent. Or spy.”

“I’m not one of those things but okay,” James said, before he got a starry look in his eyes, “Wait, does that mean you’re half alien?” He pointed to Conner, “I’ve never met an alien before! And your a speedster!” He pointed to Bart, “How fast can you go? Can you do anything else than run fast? Can you like, electrocute people by shuffling your feet real fast? Ooo, can you power a city with it?!”

Bart gasped, “He’s a fan of me! :D”

“And he’s asking quite a lot of questions,” Tim mumbled.

“Well, James, do you want anything to eat?” Conner asked.

“Can I have a cookie? Maybe two cookies?” Danny asked.

“Maybe something more nutritious-“

“Can I also have a cookie?” Bart asked.

“Uhh, okay, but James-“

“Since Bart here said he can also have a cookie, that means that someone would have to have a cookie first, which means…”

“…Tim?”

“The cookies are on top of the third cabinet to the right,” Tim said, “Bart knows where the rest of the desserts are.”

“Well isn’t that just sweet?” James smirked.

A few minutes later, when Alfred came to the kitchen, he was only the slightly surprised to see all the desserts gone. A bit more to see what he assumed was Jason’s clone throwing up into a trash can. Oh well, at least he wasn’t throwing up on the floor.

[lutawolf]

Hello, it's me again!

I've brought more danmei ramblings with me. You're right, many Asian works have d/s elements in it in some form or other, but there are also some themes that play into it more than the others. I've found God x devotee/angel pairings to lean into d/s more as it naturally follows a hierarchy pattern. I guess you've noticed this with TGCF. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on the dynamics at play here, and not just HuaLian.

That being said, it's still a bit hard to find healthy but explicit BDSM plays in danmeis. There are some, like MDZS extras, but not a lot imo. Yes, some do mention occasional BDSM here and there (CCP by Priest, Tianbao Fu Yao Lu extras by Feitian etc.). However I have found one novel that explicitly goes into BDSM and d/s lifestyle in canon. I thought it'd be a great loss if I don't talk to you about it.

It's called The Fallen Merman. It is a sci-fi omegaverse novel set in a dystopian beastman AU. The main characters are a White Lion and a Manta Ray merman. It has a pretty heavy plot and the d/s elements are extremely plot relevant. As for BDSM plays it delves into things like collaring (not because it's an ABO novel), bloodplay etc. even outside the bedroom activities.

I think you will find it very interesting.

Hey new bestie!!!

Sorry, I took so long to reply to this. My mom has been in the hospital, and I've been with her.

Bring it on!

Ohh, you had me at blood play! I'm so reading this. Thank you so much for the recommendation. 💜💜💜 @certifiedsidedish

[kyuohki]

Time for some WIP Wednesday! Reader beware, there's NSFW bits below!

Warped Fate (Part of Bloodlines series. Exploring who exactly Solen and Luana are in this verse, bc they're actual Gods so Zale and Valere can stay w/ their friends and family. Face headcanon for Solen is Aldis Hodge, btw.)

“You’ve done well.”

Zale jumped, whirling in the bright expanse, eyes wide and trying to find the source of the voice. It was deep-toned, resonating like it came from inside an enormous bell, and the vibrations of it surrounded him on all sides. At first, Zale couldn’t see anything, too blinded by the brilliant surroundings—then—

A man approached, stepping through the light. At least…Zale thought it was a man.

“You’ve fought hard, accomplished so much.”

For a wild moment, Zale almost thought Moraine stood before him, but—

The man radiated light, flaring off his body in whirling tongues of energy and flame, dark skin glowing in the golden power. He stood a full head and hand taller than B’st, and would have been intimidating if not for the wide smile on his face. His long, dark hair was intricately coiled and braided, then pulled back away from his face with a series of golden clips and combs. His beard and mustache were eerily similar in shape to Moraine’s, the color as dark as his hair.

The robes he wore were unlike anything Zale had seen before, a long, dark vest was overlaid on a bright red and yellow robe with a bright white, overlapping collar. A leather belt with golden inlay held up not only a heavy sword, but equally bright, silken scarves—scarves that held immense energy that made the woven cloth Zale bore feel weak in comparison. His boots were slightly curled up at the toe, the heavy material lined in white at the seams, and his light colored pants were tucked carefully into them.

“You’ve even managed to knock Aephorul down a peg!” the man laughed, head tipped back. “I don’t think any of our devotees ever managed to do that. Don’t believe any have managed to save not one, but two worlds, either.”

“Wh-what? Who are you—?”

*

Kintsugi (Chapter 2? This is NSFW. The extra whump my brain demanded is this. *headdesk*)

“M-mas—Mas’r! Ple-ple’se, i—i’ hur’s!”

“Is this what you wished to show me, Barma’thazël?”

—!!

Pet stiffened, a chill momentarily cutting through the heat as it shot down his spine. His head turned at the sound of hooves, eyes wide as a shadowy form strode through the arched door.

He knew—he knew that voice—that was—

(Her smile was kind as she smiled down at him, and she reached down and ruffled his newly sheared hair with a laugh—)

Pet whined, an odd double image where the newcomer stood; a smiling, slight woman with red hair faded into the creature standing beside the platform, red eyes narrowed and sneering down at him. The Toys shifted, and Pet’s back arched and his legs jerked as they began thrusting into him again.

“A-aah! Ple’se!”

“How disgusting.”

The shock at seeing that face filled with so much contempt—directed at him—Pet’s stomach twisted and he couldn’t help the sob that tore from his throat as he writhed. He didn’t—she wasn’t Master—so why did he feel like—like he’d disappointed her—like he’d done something Bad?

“Elysan'darëlle.”

Her head lazily tipped up, and Pet held his breath at the unimpressed look she leveled at Master. Her long, clawed fingers tapped against the stone surface as she circled the platform. Pet shivered as she picked at the chain, then trailed her claws against his face and neck. The touch was so soft, and almost gentle; that ticklish sensation, coupled with the continued harsh thrusts of his Toys, tipped him over the edge and Pet’s back arched off the stone as he came with a choked cry.

“Tell me this isn’t why you requested my presence.”

*

To Submit (My attempt at ABO fic. *sighs* This originally was just gonna be a long one-shot for an OT4, but noooo...worldbuilding had to happen.)

“Oh…this isn’t good…”

Teaks cradled Zale as he shivered, tucking the blanket about him tighter. Garl had said that his fever had gone down a bit, though he had been evasive on how exactly he’d managed it. Teaks frowned at how uncomfortable the Warrior Cook had looked, knowing that there were only a few ways for an omega to come down from a heat. She wondered at what the differences that Mooncradle must have regarding dealing with the secondary seasons, if Garl felt embarrassed to help a friend through his heat. Surely it wasn’t any different than other places…?

But then again, the three of them sometimes were so unaware of how the world seemed to work…maybe Mooncradle had some flaws in how they educated their people? They were quite isolated…

“H-h’rs—”

Teaks sighed. Zale’s fever was climbing again, and the sight of him being so pale and greyed out, blue eyes clouded and not really registering anything…Teaks shivered and hoped that whatever was causing this strange heat would pass soon. Garl had caught her as she entered the house they’d claimed for themselves, asking her to keep an eye on Zale. Then, he’d left to find Valere and go gather supplies, and she worried at how long it was taking him.

“Teaks? Keenathan said Zale’s here?”

The door rattled as if something rammed into it. Teaks jumped, eyes wide as Valere sheepishly opened the door. Her rueful, lopsided grin slid from her face at seeing Zale bundled in Teak’s arms.

“Zale?”

Teaks blinked and Valere was suddenly at their side, hand reaching and pressing gently at Zale’s forehead. He moaned, nuzzled up into her palm and writhed in the cocoon of blankets.

“S’hot—hur’s—”

“Teaks, what’s going on?”

[fruitdragon]

So I haven't slept properly in the past 3 days. Have had way too much coffee today and I'm currently eating a box of alcoholic chocolates.

I have many ideas for fanfiction right now.

Idea 1: White Collar x DC. Fucking A/B/O universe. Tim is Neal, he is an Omega. His scent blockers make it appear as if he is a Beta. One day Jason in full Red Hood gear, come storming into the building smelling like an Omega nesting mother. In this universe Jason basically adopted Tim the minute he saw him. Everyone is freaking out. "Neal" stands slowly and reaches for his neck to remove his scent patches. His scent calms Jay down and and while the office is still confused they slip away. Nesting heat I would like some ABO without it being sexual.

Idea 2: White Collar x Disney descendants. Yeah I know. So the core for managed to sort of universe hop/dimension travel, it was one of Carlos's inventions and they can go back and forth. And Carlos ends up becoming Neal. In this universe Mal and Evie are Hades kids, Maleficent and Cruella had Carlos together (expand how you wish) and Jay is desperately in love with Carlos. One day Mal visits the office, to check if Neal is ready for "family weekend" Peter Burke is an ass, and is very demanding of what family weekend is because "Neal doesn't have any family, I would know." Mal tears down a bunch of assumptions. Like "why don't you have any records of him before he's 18?" (Dimension hopping but they don't say that) "What's his actual eye color not just the contacts?" (Chocolate brown) "Do you know he has to dye his hair to keep it looking like that?" (In universe the black and white hair is natural) "What's the name of his first boyfriend?"(Harry Hook, but he's with Jay now) "Do you know how many siblings he technically has" (Mal is a half sibling and Evie is her half siblings, other family? Is Oscar his younger brother in this universe.) "At what age did he try chocolate for the first time? No at what age did any of us have actual food for the first time?" (14 for Carlos, 15 for Mal, Evie was 16- I HC Evie as the oldest) "what were his mother's charges in her first arrest her second arrest and her third arrest?" (First arrest animal abuse, kidnapping, property theft. Second arrest conspiracy to commit murder, attempted murder, arson, and animal cruelty. 3rd arrest child abuse, animal cruelty, assault, sexual abuse of a minor, and second degree attempted murder of said minor). Diana and Jones are actually great. "So you wear the hat too?" (If you make this world have at least minimal amounts of magic it becomes even more fun, when abilities could be revealed)

Alt: Jay comes in and most the same information gets out but in a wildly different way

Idea 3: alternate universe where all of Batman's kids turned into villains of some sort. Dick Grayson as Renegade, Jason Todd as Red X or Red Hood, Tim Drake as jester after being Joker Jr, Damian is still a prince of the League of Assassin's, Cassandra is still Orphan only she's a terrifyingly silent assassin, Stephanie as spoiler becomes a better version of The Riddler as Clue. There are still found family vibes maybe the rest of Young Justice is also villainous of some sort. That universe comes in contact with a semi-normal DC universe, it's very disconcerting. Everyone is confused Renegade almost stabs someone, Jester is giggling hysterically, and whenever anyone asks about Batman they all flinch. In their Universe, Batman is a terrible dad (F-), in the semi-normal one he gets a solid B+

Idea 4: Danny Phantom x DC Universe. Bruce Wayne is a clone of Danny Phantom and he knows it. Danny can't really properly raise him since he is not really got a human life anymore and Bruce is still half human, but he still sticks around like the weird uncle figure or whatnot until the Waynes are killed. After that he kind of becomes more of a father figure along with Alfred who is definitely Clockwork in this universe. Yes that means that Damian Wayne is technically an Eldritch abomination of some sort. The rest of the surviving clones kind of act like aunts and uncles to the rest of Bruce's kids and it's great. Yes this is a trans Danny and trans Bruce universe because I stan (also I'm Trans and really appreciate it). Yes that means that Damian technically does have to be cloned unless Talia has a dick or Ra's al Ghul is the father. Maybe that means that all of Bruce's kids gradually become more Eldritch due to Eco- contamination. Jason is one of the most outfits because he died and came back, Bruce is more supportive in this universe, Danny is crying hysterically like I'm a grandfather of many Eldritch children. In universe that means as soon as Kon-El is revealed and Superman reacts badly, Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne have a very public falling out. Also Conner is adopted into the family because why not.

"Hello Superboy, my code name is Batman. I am the clone of a hero known as Phantom. Would you like to come with me? I have several brothers and sisters you could meet." Robin pipes up in the Background

"Does this mean we're getting a cousin B? I'm totally feeling the Aster." All Robins are with Bruce at the same time

[sunwarmed-ash]

Wip Wednesday

tagging my babes @lizzy0305 @tentoriumcerebelli @sweeteatercat @treeffles @kissoflightning @parasitepaladin @destroya2005 @suzuki-notsonormal @blackroseraven2023 @harrgrove who helped pump the ol muse juices this week (wow that sounded equal parts gross and sexual)

As per fucking usual, I have the 1st, 4th and 9th chapter of this fic written 🙃 this is somewhere in chapter 4?

They ride most of the way to the Bureau in silence. Neal is the first to break it.  “I'd appreciate it if you kept the newest piece of information you've gained about me to yourself.” Peter nods.  “Those suppressants really are amazing. I would have never been able to tell otherwise.”  “Yeah,” Neal chuckles, “Kinda why they can charge Black Market price.” “Are they Black Market?”

“You're not going to tell anyone, right?” Peter’s mouth moves to say yes, of course not. But, he accidently already did… “Well…” “Fuck, Peter! Who did you tell?” “El, but it-” “Oh,” Neal interrupts, “That’s fine then.” “El’s okay to know?” “Peter, she's your wife. I already assume she knows everything about me.” “Yeah, well, just about,” Peter agrees. They were just one of those couples. And unfortunately/fortunately Neal has woven his way into their relationship whether he meant to or not over the last three years. Which reminds him of another conversation he’s had with Elizabeth... “So uh,” Peter clears his throat before continuing, “you said something, a couple weeks ago I wanted to ask you about.” Neal smirks and turns his attention toward Peter.  “Am I under oath?” “No, nothing like that,” Peter laughs, attempting to keep his heart rate under control. “Um, you said you preferred men, because of their um, intentions.” “I did,” Neal nods.  “Yeah…” Peter exhales.  “Is there a question in there somewhere Peter?” “So you're…” Peter starts.  “Not the biggest fan of labels,” Neal finishes. “Yeah. But I do think you and your wife are both incredibly sexy? Yes.” Peter flushes all the way up to his ears. “Alright,” Peter pivots, “that's enough.” Neal laughs.  “You asked!” “And I’m regretting it now...” “Sure you are Peter,” Neal chuckles, obviously riding the high of the ego boost. “Well, you know where to find me if you ever want to step outside of your comfort zone.”

Other snips from this fic 1, 2

Kofi ☕

[ddagent]

“Object of my Desire”

John/Delenn | PWP | FR18 | 865 words Upon her first visit to Earth, Satai Delenn takes the opportunity to indulge in a fantasy of Sheridan the Starkiller.

Blame @stardustinthesky​. She reblogged a picture of Bruce in a speedo; I reblogged with the tags #I am considering John doing some modelling after the EM war and Delenn finds and lusts after these pictures.

So. Here we go. Happy reading!

(A reminder: I am open for any and all John/Delenn prompts! Feel free to bombard my ask box with anything I have mentioned, pics of Bruce/Mira...anything inspiring, I welcome.)

Read below or Read at AO3

Satai Delenn of the Grey Council nodded at the guards standing sentry at the entrance of her quarters before quickly sweeping inside. The two acolytes assigned to her moved to attend but they, too, were dismissed. Delenn wanted to be alone. She stole to the window, her view overlooking Geneva. Several of her colleagues on the Council had commented on the state of Earth; their disparaging language and tone had pierced Delenn’s heart. They are us; can’t you see? Give them time. Let them come to the stars. They will find their way.

Drawing in a sigh, Delenn tried not to reflect on her first visit to Earth. It was a goodwill visit to sign onto the Babylon Project. Yet the Earth government could not resist placing John ‘Starkiller’ Sheridan front and centre. A show of strength. And what a show he was. Delenn could still recall the handsome Earther who had pushed against his bonds, speaking words he had no grasp of yet the rasp of his voice had left Delenn captivated. Sheridan was the first Earther she had ever encountered and he was, quite frankly, the most enthralling of them all.

Removing her outer robes, Delenn settled upon the chair nearest the window and ran her fingers along the edge of fabric. “Computer, search for John Sheridan, calendar.”

One of the Warrior Caste had mentioned it, spitting the words in disgust that such a man was revered, deified. Yet, as the images loomed large in her quarters, Delenn could not understand their confusion. Can’t you see this man is a god? The calendar – twelve months to the Minbari nine – featured a litany of images of Commander Sheridan in erotic poses. Several of his pleasure centres were open to the eye of many a potential mate. Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, Delenn slid a hand underneath the soft silk of her robe, brushing a breast. Her fingertips followed the familiar cerulean swirl before the heel of her hand caught an erect nipple. Delenn allowed her fingertips to tweak and pluck, her eyes briefly fluttering closed at the sensation.

In front of her, the images began to cycle through the calendar. John Sheridan on the deck of an Earth ship, neck bare and collar open. John Sheridan working on a Starfury, covered in grime and sweat; his white shirt stuck to the plains of his body. John Sheridan on his family farm, bronzed torso on display amongst the orange blossom and fruit trees. By a large body of water; material clinging to the taut, muscular flesh of his upper thigh. By a hideously horizontal bed; a hand placed tantalisingly on the strip of flesh leading to his cock. Delenn’s hand slid further still, stroking the aroused folds between her legs. Two fingers brushed against the slick before she entered herself, catching the gaze of the image of John Sheridan.

“You’re so wet for me.” Delenn began to fuck herself slowly. The phantom sound of Sheridan’s voice continued to whisper in her ear. “Can you imagine what the Warrior Caste would say if they could see you now? Dripping wet for Sheridan the Starkiller.” Delenn parted her robe, bearing her form to the cool air of her quarters. Her nipples pebbled in response, her hips bucking against her hand. Delenn could almost feel the ghost of Sheridan’s touch against her breasts, the cerulean swirls of skin leading to her cunt. “Are you imagining all the things that I could do to you? Fucking you with my hands, my mouth – my cock? What does it say about you, Satai, that the first words you learned in English are the words to get you off, imagining Minbari enemy number one fucking you to the edge and back.”

In front of her, Sheridan’s image transformed to one of a vibe shower: his skin and hair damp; his eyes betraying a lust Delenn had not encountered amongst her own people. Couplings were always undertaken with great reverence – self-pleasure included. Nothing about what Delenn did now was reverent. It was pure and utter decadence: the throb of her cunt; the slick coating her fingers; the thrust of her hips grasping for purchase around a touch she would never possess.

“Don’t be so sure, Satai. You caught me staring, earlier. Sure, it might be recognition. But I lingered, Satai.” The pads of her fingers picked up pace on her lowest fold, rubbing the nerve in tandem to the imagined hum of pleasure against her ear. “I may not want to – but I want you, too.”

Delenn gasped as her orgasm rolled through her; her teeth sunk into the flesh of her other hand lest she cry out John Sheridan’s name in completion. She continued to stroke herself through the aftershocks; her movements languid as the computer showed her image after image of John Sheridan. He was a beautiful thing to behold. All fire and steel. A perfect match for ice and crystal. Things that were not to be.

“Computer, off.”

Delenn gathered her robes closed and went to cleanse herself of the day’s impurities. Out of the corner of her eye, the image of John Sheridan faded. Maybe in another life.

[belit0]

I’m so nervous to ask but can I request A/B/O with MadaIzu? Something where they’re just not interested in anyone else and find it more “convenient” to help each other with their heats/ruts cause they trust and know each other the most

More ABO MadaIzu cause they're my safe space 💫🙌🏻

Madara suffers from his rutting season as a woman suffers from irregular menstruation? Yes, just like that, exactly the same.

Suffer like us, boy.

Madara knows his time has come, because he gets particularly annoyed by simple things.

He wanted to hold on as long as he could, trying to carry on with his day as normal, to ignore the pressing need he feels growing stronger in his chest. The first mistake he makes is wanting to control his inner Alpha, to set limits, and expect him to respect his schedule.

There is nothing he finds more inconvenient than the rutting season, losing consciousness for a week, and being possessed by the beast residing inside him. He fights with all his might every time it comes, but he can never defeat it. Now, it has been a few days since he began to notice the signs of his rut finally arriving, and he knows he doesn't have much time left until he is consumed by it.

Symptoms are clear, and they manifest themselves even in the simplest of moments. Normally, it wouldn't bother him to see Izuna interacting with others, talking, and smiling at people, but when his Alpha wants to break out, there is something about those actions that destroy him, filling him with anger. He can't stand it when his brother seeks in others what he can find in him, and considers he doesn't need anyone but Madara. Of course, he recognizes these toxic and possessive attitudes as part of the beast living rent-free in his body, trying to ignore them without success.

It is particularly terrible when the one Izuna speaks to is fucking Tobirama.

Sitting in the Hokage's office, the Uchiha leader scornfully stares as his younger brother fights with the albino, heatedly discussing and exchanging opinions. He hides in the high collar of his robe, chanting an internal prayer of insults.

"Madara...? What do you think of the document...?" Hashirama asks, bringing him back to earth and forcing him to pay attention. They work on a peace treaty with a nation who refuses to accept the new world order, the recently achieved period of ease, and are reluctant to accept the deal.

Izuna and Tobirama, in the background and looking out the window, debate where it would be appropriate to place a local market, a place where folks from their new village can congregate in general. The Uchiha is not stupid and can see how the Senju looks at his brother with desire, probably fantasizing about how to claim him as his. There is a particular moment where he can see Tobirama attentively observing Izuna’s neck, just when he points in a particular direction and does not pay direct attention.

Where normally he wouldn't mind being surrounded by Alphas, close to his rut, Madara can't cooperate with the idea of seeing his Omega exposing himself like this.

The Hokage continues to try to get his attention, waving his hand in front of his face and sending a wave of dominant fragrance at him. Still semi-conscious, he prefers to avoid being provoked by a harmless gesture, and before reacting wrongly, he understands he has to get out of there.

Rather, his beast roars for him to take his mate and get him to safety, away from the white-haired menace.

Without answering Hashirama and leaving his desk, he rises abruptly, earning all the stares in the room. He rushes over to where his younger brother stands and grabs him by the wrist, dragging him out of the place. Without a choice, Izuna follows, surprised and not understanding what suddenly happened. "Aniki what the fuck! What's wrong with you?!"

Cornering him against one of the walls of the Hokage's tower, Madara presses his brother against the concrete, trapping Izuna in between his arms and speaking huskily. "You are mine, mine to take as I please, mine to use, mine to love. My Omega. I don't wish to see you near any other Alpha, even less next to that bast-"

"Wooow wow, hold your horses, Madara. What the fuck are you talking abou- Oh..." Izuna takes a deep breath, catching the scent his older brother imbues in the air and reaches for his neck. The Uchiha leader smells much more peppery than usual, a heavy and intimidating scent, denser. It makes his mouth water just to feel it, and he can't understand how he didn't pick up on it before.

"Did you try hiding your scent? You sure can be dumb when you want to, Aniki, you know?" The younger Uchiha takes control of the situation, and now he is the one dragging his brother through the corridors of the tower. Madara lets himself go, still not having completely lost hold of his mind and struggling not to pounce on his Omega in front of everyone.

"I knew... your conversation with Tobirama... was important... I didn't want to interrupt..." The Alpha mumbles, clutching his head with his free hand and closing his eyes tightly, struggling to stay in control and wait until the privacy of their home to burst.

Rutting season, in a man of his size and with the level of inward restraint Madara has over his body, can be controlled to a certain extent, yet there isn't much longer before he becomes a ravenous beast for the whole week.

"Aniki... you are the priority; everything is deferrable if it comes to my Alpha." And with that sentence, Izuna ends up triggering him. It's the way he calls him "my Alpha" what makes his insides combust, igniting a fiery need that can't wait to eat him whole.

Madara loses himself at that precise moment, feeling his sanity fall to the back of his mind and his consciousness disappears, being possessed by that primal beast who abides within and appears once every so many months.

The younger Uchiha doesn't have time to react, being taken in his brother's arms and suddenly moving at a terrifying speed. The leader doesn't waste a second to run away from the place and take his omega to a secluded, private spot, where no other person's scent will be around. His primitive desperation does not allow him to complete the walk home, needing to fuck him at the very moment.

Izuna can see his older brother's eyes turn that terrible dark red, feels his claws dig in where his hands hold him, and assesses his fangs growing where once there was a perfect set of teeth. Madara lost control before that wonderful and terrible beast, the one who demands primal and animalistic behavior from him, and the younger Uchiha know he has a long week ahead of him.

[ao3feed-birdflash]

FBI Security Task Force: Investigate How Traffickers Got Into A Secure Building

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/uW3prRv

by DeathGoddess

It was an unprecedented attack. Afterwards, Peter would wonder just how the traffickers had managed to get as far as they did. The FBI high command was in a tizzy, with committees forming to investigate how everything happened and to upgrade security so it couldn't happen again. The only reason things weren't worse for the FBI was Neal.

Words: 2567, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: White Collar (TV 2009), Batman - All Media Types, The Flash - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Peter Burke, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Neal Caffrey, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Original Characters, Reese Hughes

Relationships: Dick Grayson/Wally West

Additional Tags: Dick Grayson is Neal Caffrey, Neal Caffrey and Dick Grayson are the Same Person, Wally West is The Flash, Canon What Canon, original characters are random agents, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, No Sex, packing some vague world ABO world building in, their society developed with heat and rut and stuff, they would have policies in place, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Unreliable Narrator, Beta Peter Burke, Alpha Clinton Jones, Omega Diana Berrigan, Omega Neal Caffrey, Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Wally West, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, in that White Collar doesn't know about an existing relationship, Established Relationship, BAMF Neal Caffrey

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/uW3prRv

[ace-angel-judas]

In the abo au, Is Karen around? Because we know Ayden was raising Arabella by himself when she presented.

(Mentions of SA against men.)

The hospital smelt like disinfectant, the strong odour was burning Ayden’s nose as he sat on the hospital bed. He was handcuffed to the bed, the padding on the walls muffling the outside noise.

He just stared at the floor, absentmindedly.

His body felt stiff, skin burning. There was some dried blood on his hands and neck still, the small bite mark on his shoulder patched up by a nurse.

All he wanted to do was scrub his body raw.

“Ayden?”

Turning his head, Ayden stared as his mother walked into the room. He’d long out grown his parents when he’d first presented as an alpha, his mother now barely came to his shoulders.

“My boy..,” She sobbed softly, hands reaching out.

He flinched, turning away and shaking his head, “Don’t touch me.., just.. don’t,”

“I know,” His mother frowned, “It’s.. going to be okay,”

“I didn’t want it,” Ayden whispered, “I.. didn’t..,”

“I know, son,” His mother whispered, “You were in a rut, she used that,”

Ayden clenched his fists, hands shaking as he looked at the floor. Despite that women being an alpha, she was still a woman and he was a man.

“I’m going to prison, aren’t I?” Ayden whispered.

“No, you are not,” His mother stated firmly, “The clinic has security footage of the event and she’s confessed to what she’s done, your father has the best lawyer in the country coming to you,”

Ayden just nodded.

“There arguing for you to have to wear a collar though,” His mother frowned, “It’s not because of what you did-“

“It’s exactly because of what I did,” Ayden whispered, “It’s because of what I am,”

“Ayden,” His mother spoke softly, “Don’t hate who you are, you have no control over what you present as,”

“I heard them, the doctors,” The seventeen year old stated, “They haven’t seen an alpha like me before,”

His mother just sighed, “Leave that for another day, son, get some rest,”

As his mother left the room, Ayden turned his eyes back to the floor. The white pattern was burned into his iris before his vision blurred and a sob escaped his throat.