#clever uses for normal things
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Fools, Fauna, and Music Appreciation
âI donât like this place,â Paint said over the wind. âI feel like the bushes are yelling at me.â
 âAre they?â I asked from my position at the other hoversled. The blueish shrubs on either side of the footpath were making a staticky kind of rustling, but Iâd assumed that was just the leaves brushing together.
 âItâs fauna,â said Blip, pushing my sled.
 âSmall fauna,â added Blop, pushing the other.
 âBugs in the bushes, then,â I said. âMakes sense. As long as theyâre not yelling because theyâre going to jump out at us.â
 Paint scrutinized the bushes as we passed, her lizardy face intent. âIâd like to think that there would be a warning at the spaceport about that.â
 âProbably,â Blip said.
 âProbably,â Blop agreed. âThough this site is pretty new.â
 âI saw at least two roving safety patrols,â I pointed out. âI think theyâd notice if there was that kind of hazard right outside.â
 âProbably.â
 âProbably.â
 Paint was still looking around. âI got the impression that they were searching for something.â
 âWell, it probably wasnât the yelling bushes,â I said. A corner was coming up, so I steered us a little closer to the center of the path. Bugs or no bugs, I didnât want to end up in the shrubbery. The sleds were full of expensive batteries (airbus size), and neither delays nor a coating of alien cicadas would have reflected well on us.
 âThe yelling just sounds so hostile,â Paint insisted.
 âI guess,â I said. âIt kind of reminds me of the crowd at a rock concert.â
 âA what concert?â asked Paint.
 At the same time, Blip asked, âYour rocks sing?â
 âNo, thatâs just the name for a kind of music,â I explained.
 Blip asked, âOne made with rocks for percussion?â
 âNo, itâs â I donât think that translates well,â I said. âI probably used the wrong word. In my original language, we use the same word for the hard things from the ground as for the side-to-side motion.â I tried to rock back and forth while I walked.
 Paint cocked her head. âSo, swaying music, not stone music?â
 âEh, kind of? Swaying sounds too calm. This is loud and fast.â
 Blip nodded. âLike beating rocks together.â
 âSure. Like that. Though nobody does that to my knowledge,â I said. âBut it could make for an interesting background rhythm if someone wanted to try.â
 It was at that point that we rounded the corner, and discovered what the safety patrols had been looking for.
 Two honest-to-goodness bandits on horseback.
 One pointed an energy sword at us, his blue frills flapping in the wind. âStep away from the goods, and weâll let you live.â
 The other one was silent, aiming a vibro-knife at Paint. It looked like the kind that could launch and regrow the blades a few times. Paint was already retreating, not wanting to find out how many blades were left.
 I stepped back too, but Blip and Blop werenât eager to admit defeat. They shoved the sleds aside and stomped forward, yelling and flaring both frills and muscles. Their outfits today were the tight-fitting kind, so those muscles were easy to see. The clothes offered zero protection from blades, though. That didnât stop them.
 âCowards, trying to be tall! Using little food-toasters instead of fists!â
 âWeaklings! Thatâs no way to fight!â
 It wasnât really working, since the bandits were simply holding their ground and shouting back. Nobody had launched any blades, though. Maybe the weapons were just for show. But that sword looked dangerous enough.
 I scrambled for ideas, moving out of stabbing range. There were no rocks on the ground for throwing, and no easily grabbed branches in the shrubs. A handful of whatever alien bugs were making the noise might have startled the bandits or their mounts, but I wasnât about to go digging for those.
 The mounts, though. They looked uneasy. They werenât Earth-style horses at a second glance, though the similarities were there. Brown, four legs (paws, not hooves), and long heads with eyes on the side in classic prey animal fashion. The way they were turning their heads to keep Blip and Blop in view, flinching at abrupt motions, told me that they might be the weak link in this hold-up.
 I crouched behind the hoversled, thinking furiously while Blip taunted the one with the sword. Paint was whispering urgently into her communicator. I didnât expect those safety patrols to get here quickly enough, but it was worth a shot. In the meantime, Iâd just had a brilliant idea.
 My hair had been getting pretty long, and I kept it tied back in my usual braid. I undid that now, finger-combing it loose and flowing, and tucking the hair ties into my pocket.
 Then I dashed forward to where the horses could see me, and headbanged for all I was worth.
 The alien horses reared and stumbled back, dumping their riders in what was probably a glorious sight to see. I was busy whipping my head back and forth, so I had to imagine it. When the horses thundered off down the path, I stopped.
 Yup, there were the two failed bandits, groaning in the dirt and getting their weapons kicked out of their hands none too gently. The sword guy had already dropped his, but Blip kicked him anyway. Then she picked up the hilt, made sure the energy blade was turned off, and kicked him again for good measure.
 Blop claimed the vibro-knife. âThis doesnât even launch. You absolute failfish.â
 Paint called over the sleds, âIs it safe?â
 âSure is!â Blip told her. âThese idiots are going to stay very still, right?âÂ
 Two pained groans were answer enough.
 âGreat; the safety crew are on their way.â
 I put a fist in the air, and my other hand on my neck, which was already sore. âWoo! Go team!â
 âNice work with the animals,â Blip told me. âI did not know your head fur could do that.â
 âRight??â Blop added. âThatâs a threat display Iâve never seen before.â
 âNot a threat,â I said, fishing out a hair tie. âMusic appreciation.â
 âWhat?â
 âFrom those rock concerts.â
 The Frillians exchanged looks. âOf course it is.â
 I made a ponytail, then began braiding it. âSome music is meant to be appreciated quietly, and some with vigor. See, even the bushes are cheering.â
~~~
These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.
Shared early on Patreon! Thereâs even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.
The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadnât thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but theyâre too much fun to leave out of the second).
#did the posting interface just change again?#it wouldn't let me paste this in from my writing document without erasing all the line breaks#but it did let me copy and paste from the Patreon post#so who knows#what an absurd song and dance this is#I swear every website out there does things differently#and changes on a regular basis#annnyways...#my writing#The Token Human#humans are weird#haso#hfy#eiad#humans are space orcs#clever uses for normal things#or normal in our neck of the woods anyway
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Can someone please take telepathy away from me
#kelperambles#pens with no pen pressure I love you actually#sorry I was ever mean to you I understand now#âwhyâd you draw Olimar as Telepathy mikuâ#felt like it#whereâs that one post that goes âsometimes character brainrot is so bad you draw them doing normal things like using a microwaveâ#because yeah why is my notes app full of stuff like#âolimar eating one of those almond cookiesâ real clever there buddy#getting real original here#whatâs next olimar using the public restroom? ok brother
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@lichrott I finally got around to making a side by side :3 at least of most moments i could find or remember
don't mind the music i didnt want it to be dead silent so i just grabbed the first thingi had. also one of the redtooth ones I wrote wrong i said season 3 ep 9 when i meant season 2 ep 9 we're not gonna talk about iitttt
This man really is only surviving through a fuck around and find out fight style huh. Also I think it's a bit telling most of the ones he DOES pick up from other people are almost always more offensive, aggressive fighting moves because Seven's naturally pretty defensive and doesn't have much issue dodging or avoiding things (or just fucking taking it like a champ) most often, but really often turns to others around him for how to attack people and that's how he's most often won fights or escaped the situation, and most of these aren't exact copies of them but he's able to adapt and adjust them for the situations he's in: holding down the Prince of Stan not to immobilize him but to stall him long enough for Thirteen to attack unlike Dachun trying to stop Seven entirely, using the drill move from Xiao Fei not entirely to attack Meowcai but also using it with his scissors to continue rushing forward and block his attacks, adapting Thirteen's fighting style to fight one on one with Meowcai when he had seen Thirteen defeat a solid majority of the other cats like this, etc etc
I think actually something that does interest me a little: different character's qi can have different colors and take a lot of different forms, but even though purple and red are more of Seven's signature colors (I'm being fairly generous with the red there given he's got a neutral color palette, but it compliments his purple well) the qi he uses with his scissors is the exact same color as Thirteen's and she's the person he tends to pick up certain moves or dual wielding in general from. I know it's pretty much always been that color but
especially here where he's physically holding them and that same color energy is still emitting from them. I might be reaching with the color thing a little but I think it is at least safe to say though Hua was the reason Seven was able to master his qi better he picked up quite a few things from Thirteen (and Green Phoenix in the past, I'd assume)
#he's a fuckin moron but he's clever#sorry if some of these are wrong or if i missed any#im ngl i rushed a little cause i wanted an excuse to talk to people abt s7 more it's been a bit since ive had like a full in depth convo#i might be floundering a little#also is it me or like#dual wielding melee seven goes fucking hard#i know it's not really his style but i do kinda wish we could see him pick up thirteen's fighting style like this#i mean melee isn't always his thing but i just think he looks really cool there and about as confident as he is with his scissors normally#or when using both his sword and scissors#anyway the point here is dual wield melee seven <3#scissor seven#killer seven#wu liuqi#seven#thirteen#scissor 7
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Donnie describing the destruction of his space as preventable because all of this was preventable had he just been more useful and less annoying and quieter and smarter and smaller and scarce until needed.
How the family meeting had settled in how much the issue wasnât what he did but more so what he was, and the only thing he needed to take from it was that he needed to hate himself as much as they hated him.
Or how three out of the eight messages he sent to Leo were apologies, but Leo doesnât want to hear it if he doesnât even know what heâs apologizing for, heâs only doing it so heâll keep stroking his ego, and god Donnie do you ever shut the fuck up? Leo says please donât apologize and Donnie says nothing in response. Because the only thing worse than them not accepting his sorryâs was tell me what youâre saying sorry for, and even when he said the right thing he was still wrong in the end.
!!!!! YOUUUU GET IT ESPECIALLY WITH THE LEO THING. that "please dont apologize" is LOADED in like four different ways, especially knowing the inner turmoil that it must have stemmed from; the thing leo and donnie have the MOST in common is that they have a tendency to run their mouth when theyre nervous, and even leo's "apology" (NOTE: this has always been intentional, but donnie calls it one, but leo never even said the words "im sorry" in those messages. donnie just grasped for straws because he was scared of their relationship falling apart) leo is kind of run-on and rambling and making excuses and being long-winded, but that curt three-word response after so much deliberation speaks of so, so much pain. and he doesn't even realize its one of the worst things he could have possibly said. he was probably laying in bed because splinter tried to get him to sleep, his heart falling more and more when donnie just left him on read, desperately trying to grasp for closure that he knew he was never going to get.
they used to be so talkative and now their voices have been taken from them because they both feel like there's nothing they can say to make it better. the coping mechanisms they used to fall back on in order to hide insecurity were ripped apart by the curse, leo because they were weaponized and twisted from something that he mostly used to show his family a good time to something vicious and cruel and manipulative and donnie because he was made to feel like a horrible person and a "liar" for them, so they're reacting in really similar ways in the end. literally despite the horrifying trauma they still find a way to twin LMFAO
#ask#canary continuity#leo is a lot of things and he can go too far but hes not a bully#at WORST he is annoying and that isnt an excuse for most of what happens to him#he gets nasty in the movie but he was put in an extremely stressful position he didnt want#he wanted raph to take it back from him so he was being extra obnoxious#and he does in the face of his mistakes make an effort to fix them#he jumps for the key instead of letting the escape pod take him for a reason. he wants to prove to himself hes capable#all of them can struggle with seeing past themselves but theyre kids its normal#but now leo has to think about the way some of the strongest parts of himself were USED#hes clever and he used it to tear someone he loved APART piece by piece#it genuinely feels shitty to joke. he doesnt think he can stomach it. especially not at someones expense#its really not too different from donnie thinking they dont want to hear him#to the point of even getting terrified when hes literally just infodumping to soothe himself#just because april's in proximity#TWINNING!!!!!!!!#ahahahaha fcuk
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VUXisms (Patreon)
#Doodles#SCII#Damned#ZEX#Or if you prefer my very Normal Collection of ZEX stimming lol#I'm not choosing to read alien behaviours through a neurodivergent lense you can't prove anything#Okay you got me yes I am lol - in conjunction with my ADHD Max HC (which I am only more convinced of lol) I went into this with#Really any kind of self-soothing behaviour fascinates me :D And ZEX definitely needs the soothing ;;#But it's not just the stimming! Though I did keep pretty diligent notes about that lol he's deeply interesting to me!#He's a texture person! Part of that is due to being VUX and having very processed food but if it fits it fits!#I'm also a texture person - again I have too many notes relating to ZEX lol#I also find it charming (or sad - whichever is applicable at the time!) when ZEX eats in ''odd'' ways haha âȘ#Eating without utensils - you can always just wash your hands you do you <3#The weighted blanket lol so - I had a very normal and measured reaction to ZEX enjoying full-body pressure lol#Solely and purely intellectual! Of course! VUX enjoy swimming! Full-body pressure makes complete sense!#And he's a tactile person on top of that - pressure good for multiple reasons! I really do think he'd sleep better with a weighted blanket âȘ#Back to stimming! I really loved the scene of him opening the water bottle and his therapist being So Impatient with him about it lol#Let him figure it out! He's very intelligent! Very skilled at finding weak points and exploiting them hehe <3#But then he runs his finger on the lip of the bottle! Wine-glassing it while he talks hehe <3 I love him#Humming!! Another stim I relate to! Not so much now since it was ''encouraged'' out of me so I may be doubly biased towards him using it hee#Too delighted to focus on utensil lessons and yet he's still clever enough to pay attention to multiple things at once hehehe â«#And then aside from his actual biggest stim he plays with his hair quite a lot - in various ways and to different ends :D#Running his hands through it to self-soothe or tugging on it to express - I kinda read it as him trying to move his head feelers around haha#Not quite the same but something!#Oh and then his biggest stim - just looking at humans lol it is very dopamine-delivering <3 And he has dopamine now! Very powerful :3c#Hhhhh human chemistry for VUX behaviours <3 It's so interesting to me hehe âȘ
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This morning I came downstairs to discover that the dogs have invented a New Crime.
My husband get up very early for his Real Adult Job, and feeds Charleston (Black-and-cream Sighthound mix, mostly leg) and Herschel (40lb cardigan welsh crime tube), then lets them out into the fenced yard before he leaves.
I get up at the same time but take longer to boot up, so the dogs frolick about and discourage the local tree rats from lingering about the property while I get dressed/brush my teeth/try to not be psychologically crushed by The Horrors (TM)
Now it's pretty normal for me to find Herschel doing a high-speed yet startlingly efficient MC Hammer Shuffle on his stubby little legs around the base of the large honey Locust tree we have in the middle of the yard so he could keep his face pointed directly up the trunk at something in the canopy, because this his how he tries to herd squirrels.
...but Charlie is usually nearby, cheerfully play-bowing and encouraging the squirrel to come down, nothing bad will happen-!
This time Charleston is nowhere in sight.
I go outside to investigate and Herschel pauses to tackle me about the kneecaps as a greeting before returning to the tree.
Charleston is not behind the garden bins, nor in the side yard.
I am growing concerned, when I hear a telltale guilty scrape of claws above me.
Charleston is on the roof.
I shuffle out to the middle of the yard, until I can make eye contact with him.
He looks down at me, cheerfully wagging his tail, clearly anticipating praise for being such a clever boy.
I at least know how he got up there.
My house has a deck built off the second floor with a set of stairs leading up to it, and a large honey locust tree grows next to it. Part of the roof is easily accessible with a small hop from the deck.
The deck has only a minimal amount of railing ad the roof has none, so I blocked off the stairs with a board that was too high for Herschel, an inveterate explorer and criminal, to jump, but not Charlie.
I didn't worry about this at the time because Charleston is, in fact, The Best Dog In The Universe, and understands that even though he *could* easily jump various barriers, it would be *impolite* of him to do so.
Charleston is Extremely Polite and thus almost never commits any crimes.
...Almost Never.
Charlie has exactly two vices, which aren't even vices because his ancestors were bred for millennia to do these two exact things.
The first is that he is HIGHLY leash aggressive when I'm present (We were both attacked by a St. Bernard the first day I had him and Charlie has decided Strange Dogs Are Not Allowed To Approach Me)
The Second is that he has the Prey Drive From Hell.
He has chased bears and bulls with full murderous intent.
He almost got me arrested because he cut his leash to chase a pronghorn antelope in front of a park ranger.
It is only for the sake of my saftey and pursuit of prey that he will break the rules.
Today, he has his nemesis cornered
Charleston isn't clever the way Herschel is. He's never really explored using his toys as tools, whereas Herschel speedran the early stages of hominid tool use as a puppy. Arwen was a logistical sort of genius who managed to terraform my parent's yard into Rabbit Thunderdome.
Charleston's genius is... psychological.
If the Squirrels see both dogs, they run for the fence, but if they only see Herschel, they run for the tree.
Charlie is much better at tracking and guessing the route his prey might go, so Charlie runs for their preferred escape route of the tree instead of chasing them.
The squirrels compensate by running for the fence, which is farther away in general, but they have a head start on the dogs.
At Some Point, charlie managed to work out that if he stays in the shadows under the deck, the squirrels won't see his mostly-black body, especially when Herschel charges into the sunlight and catches it on his white ruff.
Charleston realized, long before I did, that there is only the ONE branch that overhangs the roof, and therefore if a squirrel runs up the tree, it only has ONE way out of the yard.
The real genius was combining all of the above into the realization that he could let Herschel charge the squirrels, run through the under-deck shadows and up to the deck and roof while the squirrels are distracted, and plant himself on the roof where the squirrels HAVE to land without them seeing him until it was too late.
-And so we stand this morning.
Herschel at the foot of the tree, preventing the squirrel from running back down and heading for the fence
Charleston square in the landing zone on the roof, at the ready
The squirrel paralyzed on the branch between them
...and me, only sort of awake and realizing that I'm probably the dumbest mammal here.
I need to figure out how to disentangle these beasts without anyone getting maimed. Charleston has the blood of his ancestors baying for the flesh of his nemesis in his ears. Herschel is dangerously close to figuring out how to get on the roof himself. The squirrel is contemplating some truly dire Maneuvers, including dropping out of the tree and assaulting me to buy time.
I haven't even had my coffee yet.
"Charleston." I say with a very aggravated sigh. "That's not where dogs go."
Charleston whimpers.
He has Disappointed (TM) me.
A fate worse than death.
He starts to walk back to the deck, but as he takes a step to leave, so does the squirrel, and he is pulled back by millennia of instinct.
This will require. Delicacy.
or delicacies.
"Stay. I'll be right back." I tell the dogs.
I go back into the house, and retrieve The Best Treat.
The Cat's Wet Food.
Both dogs crave this Most Forbidden snack with an irrational passion, and it is usually both out of reach in the cat tree AND defended by Mochi, who rules the dogs with an Iron Paw.
I return to the yard, and open the can in full view of both dogs.
"Charlie?" I call. "Do you want Wet Food?"
He is halfway down the stairs before I can finish the question.
Herschel switches his orbit from the tree to my person, and I have to shuffle to avoid tripping over them as we go back inside and the squirrel flees.
None of this is the new crime.
I go out with them later to pull Yet More Thistles, and a few minutes in, I hear a little 'huff' from Charlie.
I look up, and he's standing on the stairs, paw up to indicate he's going to jump over the barrier board and go right back up there.
You know.
...Unless there is wet food to be had.
The children have figured out how to commit extortion. I text my husband.
They're so smart! Do you think we can set them on the jackasses across the street? My husband asks, ever the practical man.
I'm going back to bed.
---
I'm a disabled writier who makes my living tellng stories. if you liked this, please consider giving me a Ko-fi tip, or pre-ordering the Family Lore book of stories on my Patreon. Thank you!
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SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/XâS ASSISTANT!READER 3
Well, shit happens. Youâre not out yet, but you want to be, you want to leave⊠do you? Part 4 here
cw: mature topics, implied female reader and she/her pronouns used, cursing, Stockholm Syndrome, the usual
AN: SORRY IF I DIDNT TAG U!! I completely forgot about the 50 ppl/post, so so so sorry if I said Iâll tag and didnât, or you simply just didnât fit in. Iâm like absolutely so fucking sorry plz forgive me :((
Back then, you were feral in the best way, mean in your own sweet way.
Once, you snapped a plate in half just because Abby took a bite off your sandwich.
âDidnât know it was yours.â he said innocently, bread still in his mouth.
âIt had a FUCKING toothpick flag with my name on it.â
âOhh.â His eyes widened. âThatâs what that was?â
And when he reached to take the other half, you smacked his hand so hard the spoon you were holding broke.
Mystery choked on whatever soul-smoothie he was drinking. Jinu didnât even look up from his book. Baby said, under his breath, âTen bucks she bites him.â
And then you did.
You bit him.
You actually bit him on the shoulder.
That happened, yeah. Back when you were new to this whole thing.
Another time, you were cornered. Again. This time by Romance, whoâd just âaccidentallyâ caught you trying to sneak a text to Huntrix from the balcony with a signal booster youâd constructed out of a fucking spoon and a piece of the TV.
âYou really are clever.â he murmured, head tilting, grinning ear to ear the fucker.
âI really will stab you.â you replied, hand curled so tight around the spoon it left a dent in your palm.
Romance leaned closer, as if the threat had been foreplay.
âBACK OFF, YOU ABSOLUTE MOTHERFUCKING ASS!â
Your voice had echoed. Bounced off the marble. Set Baby laughing from the hallway. Even Mystery flinched, staring at you from across the room.
But the best part?
Abby. That giant musclehead. He squeaked. Squeaked like a squeaky toy and actually leapt into Jinuâs arms, the demon leader catching him effortlessly with an expression like this again. Like Scooby into fucking Shaggyâs.
You stopped shouting.
Stared.
Jinu held Abby bridal-style.
Romance shrugged, one brow raised. âYou scared him.â
You didnât laugh, but god, you wanted to. You just turned and walked off, muttering, âPussies.â
Another time, you were tied to a chair.
Mystery was crouched in front of you. Studying. Not speaking. That kind of silence that made you sweat even though the room was cold.
âYou gonna say something, Chewbacca?â you muttered.
He bared his teeth.
âOh scary.â you mocked. âDo it. Bite me. See what happens.â
He lunged. Fast. Too fast. Grabbed your arm and sniffed at it, tongue flicking the skin.
So you bit him first.
His arm. Hard.
Mystery yanked back, blinking at you like damn. You looked him dead in the eyes(at least where you assumed they were), and said, âFreak.â
He just licked the bite mark.
Abby: âYeah okay thatâs enough. Put her down, Cujo.â
(Guys Abby saw the Cujo movie, god forbid he reads an actual book. Just clarifying :P)
Youâd also asked Jinu for two things: conditioner and your favorite body wash. That was it. Easy. Reasonable. Bare minimum.
You walked into the bathroom that day, freshly restocked cabinet, heart fluttering with the idea of a semi-normal showerâ
Strawberry Vanilla.
You stared.
Froze.
âSTRAWBERRY. VANILLA?!â You shouted so loud it cracked into a squeal. âWho the fuck thinks I smell like that?â
The entire house heard you.
Abby (from the hall): âI thought it smelled nice.â
You stormed out, half-wet, towel wrapped, bottle in hand. You slammed it onto the counter. âFix. It.â
Youâre not that big of an asshole, I promise. If one of the girls or Bobby did this, youâd give them a little kiss on the forehead and say that this was better anyway. But you really did deserve at least this after what the Saja Boys had done to you.
Romance smirked. âItâs very you, though. Soft. Sweet. Lickable.â
You threw it at him. Dead-on hit. Right in the chest.
He didnât even flinch. âThank you for the gift.â
At one point, you fought Baby over cereal.
You reached for the last box. So did he.
You stared at each other.
âYou donât even eat, do you?â you snapped.
He raised an eyebrow. Took the box. Walked off.
You tackled him. On instinct. He dragged you across the kitchen. You screamed. Romance howled in laughter from the couch.
Baby was the quietest. And somehow the most infuriating. He never raised his voice, never bothered to engage in your tantrums, but god, did he know how to push your buttons.
Like the time he stole your only pair of clean underwear and used it as a flag on a makeshift fort he made out of couch cushions.
You kicked him right in the jaw. Not even a screamâjust BAM.
He laughed. From the floor. Didnât say a word. Just laid there, one eye squinting at you.
Youâd never felt more defeated by a demon in your life.
You did more things too.
Listen. You were trying to explain to them that stealing someone wasnât ethical. And Jinu had the audacity to look you dead in the eye and say: âCalm down.â
So you picked up the nearest bookâsome ancient demon text, probably worth thousandsâand threw it at his head.
He caught it.
Didnât flinch.
âOkay.â he said. âLetâs try this again.â
Youâd never hated someone so much while also kind of respecting them.
Once Romance walked in on you changing.
He said it was an accident.
Bull. Shit.
You were mid-change, shirt half on, bra off, and he walked in like he was touring a museum.
You screamed. He gaspedâvisibly excited, not horrified.
Then you launched a slipper so hard it hit him square in the forehead.
âHave you never heard of KNOCKING?!â you screamed.
He blinked. âOh, sweetie, you didnât say occupied.â
Cue second slipper.
He caught it.
Blew you a kiss.
You almost passed out from rage.
They liked you like that.
You were this blazing, buzzing lifeform in a house full of centuries-old boredom. You fought them. Screamed at them. Bit them, for fuckâs sake.
But you also laughed. You pouted. You cussed them out and stomped through the house in socks and fury.
They didnât realize they were falling for you then. Not fully.
But they knew something was happening.
You were making them feel alive again.
Those were the early days.
And they loved you then, too.
Even if they didnât know thatâs what it was.
Now, Romance is standing in the kitchen, leaning half his weight into the counter, and his own damn face staring back at him from the cover of some fan magazine. Heâs flipping through it one-handed, sipping from a cup of juice with a neon pink bendy straw.
That straw, has a little heart twist at the top.
He knew you were coming. Heard it. Felt it. Smelled it, which got him a little excited ngl.
Youâre halfway to the fridge when you speak. âIs that why you guys always catch me so fast?â
He lifts his eyes from the page. Sees you. Blinks once. Then twice.
That. That right thereâthat millisecond of stunned silence, where his mouth parts just slightly, and he looks like you hit him with a gentle slap of pure serotonin? Thatâs the part you clock before anything else. You just asked him a question. Nothing monumental. Not even particularly friendly. But you talked to him, unprompted, and heâs never going to be the same again.
He puts the straw down. Carefully. Like the drink isnât safe in his hand right now.
ââŠSorry, angel. Gonna need you to repeat that.â he says, lazy and smooth, like he didnât just die and come back.
You open the fridge and donât look at him when you speak. âYour super senses. Is that why every time I try to escape you guys catch me in like, two minutes?â
Thereâs a pause. You grab your bottle of water, close the fridge.
When you turn around, heâs smiling. Soft. He shrugs. âA little bit of that. A little bit of instinct. A lot of wanting to chase you.â
âSeriously?â
âBaby, I hear your heartbeat shift the second you think about running. Itâs cute.â
âThatâs unfair.â you mutter.
He tilts his head. âAwww. You want fair now? In this arrangement?â
You toss the water bottle cap at him. It hits his chest with a pathetic plap. He catches it on the rebound without looking.
He sets the magazine down, finally. His own face smirking back up at him from the page.
âCan I tell you something?â he says, walking closer. âYour voice?â
Heâs getting way too close now.
âMm. You should talk to me more. Or yell. Or whisper. Iâm not picky.â
âRomance.â you say, exasperated.
He stops just short of invading your personal space. His body radiates heat, though. His cologne is heavenly. The damn straw is still in his other hand.
âIâd say youâre into me.â he drawls. âBut I think youâre still too cute to admit it.â
You stare up at him. Calm. Calm-ish. Mostly tired.
âYouâre ridiculous.â
âAnd youâre breathtaking.â
You snort and step around him, heading for the counter. âDo you ever stop?â
He watches you go like itâs a religious experience.
âNo.â he replies, still watching. âBut if it helpsâI do mean it.â
You glance back. That moment of eye contact hits. He actually does look serious, in that boyish way.
Itâs infuriating.
Itâs charming.
Romance takes a slow sip from his juice again, eyes never leaving you.
Heâs a slut for you. Fully, unashamedly. Would bark if you asked. Would crawl if it meant being near you. He doesnât say that. Not yet. But itâs in every look.
You sit down at the bar stool, finally, arms crossed. âSo that heartbeat thing. You can really hear it?â
âMmhm.â
âSo whatâs it sound like now?â
âYou,â he says softly. âsound flustered.â
You chuck a spoon at him.
He laughs. Loud, open-mouthed, bright. Then slides the straw into his mouth again and winks at you.
And god, you werenât supposed to be likable.
You were supposed to be a tool, information. Something to be squeezed, drained, used. Never kept.
But somehow⊠you stayed. And the boys? They stayed with you.
They started to like you.
LIKE like you.
Even worse?
You started to like them back.
Sometimes.
Not always.
(But sometimes.)
Each boy had his own pace, his own rhythm to this falling. And god, they were hopeless about it.
Romance was the first, obviously.
He practically came out the womb with his heart in his dick. But somewhere between groping you during pasta making and nearly passing out at the word thong, something cracked open in him.
He flirted still, endlessly, obscenely, but now, his touches lingered. His compliments turned into confessions masked as jokes. Heâd hover too long when you passed, always looking, always watching.
He meant it.
He meant all of it.
Abby, on the other hand, didnât realize he liked you until he already did. Muscle for brains, sweet in the worst way. The kind of demon whoâd pick you up just to hear your little yelp. Whoâd lift you off the ground because he liked how your feet dangled.
Once he told Mystery to back off a littleânot because he was jealous (though he was), but because you flinched.
Thatâs weird because he used to laugh at you being scared.
You were small, squirmy, loud, and he liked that about you.
Mystery was different. Quieter. Harder to read.
But he followed you around sometimes. Always right there. Watching. Circling. Once, you turned around and he was just standing behind the couch, staring at you.
When you screamed, he only blinked and said, âYour hair smells good.â
You still donât know how he snuck into your room that one night and laid on the floor like a dog. Not next to your bedâon the floor. Like your presence alone was enough to settle something beastly in him.
And weirdly? It was.
Baby was a fucking asshole.
No more needed. He laughed at you, made fun of you to the other boys and just didnât give a fuck in general.
Oh, but he did. He did gaf, but only in his head. In his own little world. You didnât know. Jinu didnât know. Mystery didnât know. Romance definitely had no way of knowing. Even Abby had no idea, though theyâre quite close.
Nobody knew of his developing little crush except him and Gwi-Ma.
And Baby wanted to keep it that way.
Jinu, of course, had always been the only one who hadnât tried to see you naked or use you as a footstool.
But Jinuâs affection was the deepest.
He never called it liking. Never flirted. But heâd watch your face too, not just your ass, khm khm Abby Romance and Baby khm khm. Adjust your blanket if you fell asleep on the couch. His big cat tiger thing followed you like a puppy, choosing your lap over Jinuâs. That said a lot.
Gwi-Ma, always whispering, always pushing around in their heads. Gwi-Ma wanted information. Wanted to twist you into something useful again.
âSoftness is a waste.â heâd hiss through their skulls. âSheâll betray you.â
But they didnât listen.
Not as much anymore.
Especially not when you were sitting on the counter in the morning, rubbing your eyes, hair a mess, and Jinu handed you tea.
Of course, the universe didnât let you live in peace.
Your misfortunes were daily. Hourly. Unreal.
Once, you tripped on a fucking mug that Mystery had purposefully left sticking out from under the rug just to fuck with you.
He might seem cute because of his lack of talking but he is evil. (Like think about the scene where the girls had to go down on that slide, he smiled too the evil fuck)
You fell, hard, onto Romanceâs lap, and instead of helping you up, he sighed and said, âAt least buy me dinner first, darling.â
Another time, Baby just straight away fucking tripped you.
Once, Abby told you the front door was unlocked and you booked it, full sprint, only for him to catch you mid-air and giggle about it.
At least the tiger liked you.
You once cried into its fur. Youâre pretty sure it purred.
And now, you are in the kitchen, humming softly, bare feet on the tile floor, chopping crisp cucumbers into the glass bowl Jinu had left out for you. Honestly, if there was one person in this goddamn hellhouse who actually listened, it was Jinu. You asked for tomatoes. You asked for spinach. You mentioned craving feta, and he gave you two blocks, one crumbled, one whole.
âSweetheart.â
You donât have to turn around, you know Romanceâs voice.
âIâm busy.â
âYeah.â he breathes, eyes laser-locked on your hands slicing up cherry tomatoes. âAnd dangerous with that knife. Love a woman who could kill me.â
He walks up to you, quiet, but you can feel him.
âWhat are we making?â he murmurs, leaning too close over your shoulder.
You stab a tomato.
âSalad.â
âOoooh. Sexy.â
âItâs not for you.â
âWhat if I told you Iâve been having dreams about you?â
âWouldnât care.â
He blinks. âOkay, but they were romantic. Sweet. A picnic under stars. Wine. Kisses. Maybe a little tongue.â
âYou licked my cheek last night.â
âBecause I missed your mouth.â
You glare.
He clutches the counter like heâs about to faint. âOkay. Alright. I get it. You donât take me seriously. Nobody does. Poor Romance, too handsome, too charming, tooââ
ââhorny.â
ââhonest!â
You turn back to your salad.
âRomance.â
He blinks. âYes, my future?â
âGo away.â
You flicked feta at his face.
âOH!â he shouts, catching the crumb with a noise that was absolutely not human. âYou want me. I knew it.â
âI want you to leave.â
Heâs unbearable. Radiantly idiotic. You canât stop the snort that escapes you, and unfortunately, he heard it.
âThatâs right.â he says, leaning in again, softer now. âYou like me.â
âI like the salad.â
âYou want a bite of something else.â
You stab another tomato with unnecessary violence.
âOkay.â he says quickly, backing off with hands raised in surrender. âIâll stop. Iâll stop. Iâll just sit right here⊠stare at you respectfully⊠maybe touch myself a little.â
âI donât care.â
And he sits at the stool next to you, arms folded, chin in hands, watching you build your salad.
And when you hand him a slice of cucumber later, tossed over your shoulder, he catches it between his teeth and whispers, âI knew you loved me.â
You whack him with the spoon.
âIâm so fucking in love with you, itâs disgusting.â
Now itâs later. I mean days later, and the bird with the little hat is absolutely beating your ass at chess.
Youâre not even mad about it. Itâs kind of an honor, really, to be in a full-length chess match with a bird. Youâve been locked in with him for nearly an hour now, curled up in your spot on the floor in the living room, one knee drawn up and a banana smoothie halfway melted beside you.
You glance at the board again, chewing your straw.
God, heâs good.
He taps his clawâtap tap tapâon your rook. Intimidating. Kind of rude. But youâre used to that energy by now.
âStop being cocky.â you mumble at him.
The bird cocks his head.
Check.
You sigh. âFine. You win this round. Want to play again?â you ask the bird, moving your knight back to its start.
The bird lets out a small caw, offended, and flutters its feathers.
âActually,â comes Jinuâs calm voice. âheâs making room.â
You glance up.
âMay I?â
You blink, surprised. âYou want to play?â
âI want you to play me.â he clarifies, just a hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth. âShoo.â he says to the bird.
The creature gives a sharp, disapproving squawk and hops off the table, landing on the couch with a ruffle of feathers.
You raise a brow at him, curious.
âYouâre good.â he says, sitting across from you. âI want to see how you think.â
Not âI want to win.â Not âI want to impress you.â
He just⊠wants to understand you.
God, how were you supposed to deal with that?
You nod slowly. âAlright. White or black?â
âLadies first.â he says.
âOkay.â you say, smiling faintly as you reset the pieces. âBut I play dirty.â
âI wouldnât expect anything less.â
You take white. He doesnât even question it.
For a while, itâs quiet. Just the clink of ceramic pieces. The movement of your drinks as you occasionally sip from yours, and he politely declines when you offer him some.
Yes, you did that. You offered him some. Not because you like him, no. Youâre just polite. Thatâs all. I swear. Please believe me.
âYouâre calm today.â you murmur eventually.
âI had time to think.â Jinu says, making a move that sets you up for a trap if youâre not careful. âSometimes quiet is productive.â
âSometimes quiet is suspicious.â You raise an eyebrow.
He meets your stare. Doesnât look away. And then, with a small smirk that threatens to ruin you entirely, he says:
âSometimes quiet is attraction.â
Your hand freezes above your rook.
That was⊠not what you were expecting. From Abby, sure. From Romanceâgod, always.
But not Jinu.
âYouâre saying youâreââ
âInterested.â he says.
Blunt. Gentlemanly. Warm.
Your pulse stumbles.
You shift in your seat. âWhy now?â
âYouâre beautiful.â he says first. No hesitation. âBut thatâs not it.â
You glance away, throat tight.
He makes his move. âI like minds like yours.â
Youâre flustered now. Fully. Hot in the cheeks. You counter with your bishop just to do something.
âRomance wouldâve tried to kiss me by now.â you say, trying for lightness.
âIâm not Romance.â he replies, eyes never leaving yours.
You believe him. Every word.
When the game endsâhe wins, of course, because Jinu is as smart as he is kindâhe helps you pack the board up. Doesnât flirt. Doesnât press. Just brushes his fingers lightly over yours once as he passes the rook back.
The touch lingers.
And when he gets up, he says, âNext time, Iâll bring tea. I know you like peppermint.â
Your chest tightens.
You never told him that.
He leaves with a respectful bow of his head.
And somehow, youâre left breathless. From a chess game.
From a gentleman.
(Ignore my ass time skip)
Youâre sitting cross-legged in the hallway, sorting through a weird pile of tangled wires and ancient weapon parts theyâd dropped in your lap earlier. Nothing major. They did that so you can figure out a way to escape and they can stop you.
âHey.â Abby says.
âMm.â
âIâve been working out.â
âNever wouldâve guessed.â you say dryly.
And then, suddenly, thereâs a very large, very bare chest directly in front of your face.
Now you look up.
Heâs shirtless. Again. His skin gleams like he actually oiled himself for this. Abs carved, arms pumped, veins showing like he just did fifty pushups in the kitchen while whispering your name.
âWanna feel?â
Your face stays flat. You donât even blink.
âCome onnnn.â he whines, bending a little, dragging your hand up with his. âJust real quick.â
He places your palm against his stomachâsolid as a fucking wallâand flexes. Not once. Like four times in a row. Ripples. Actual ripples. You swear you felt your fingers move from the force.
He wiggles his brows.
âRight? Not even my demon form.â
You donât pull your hand back, not yet. Instead, you just nod thoughtfully, like youâre evaluating a piece of expensive furniture.
âCool.â you say finally, as if this is a regular thing thatâs just⊠fine. No big deal. Nice abs. Seen better. Back to work.
You tug your hand back gently, and he lets it go. Then he drops into a crouch beside you, bare chest still glistening, looking over your shoulder at the mess of wires.
âYou want help?â he offers, pointing at a connector like he knows what it is. He absolutely does not.
âYouâll electrocute us both.â you reply, not unkindly. You shift to block his hand. âHere, hold this instead.â
You pass him a coil of wire. He holds it with pride. Doesnât even know what to do with it. But he follows you around now like youâre gravity.
He trails after you into the next room.
âHey.â
You hum, distracted as you sort through some stuff on the table.
âTouch here?â
He points at his bicep this time. Raised it. Flexed it. Grinned.
You nod, reach out, squeeze once. Return to what youâre doing like itâs no big deal.
And he melts.
Giggles.
You let him have it. You donât roll your eyes or push him away, not anymore. Heâs harmless in that way.
At one point, heâs just following you silently, carrying a basket you didnât even ask him to, looking so pleased with himself like heâs finally learned to be âhelpful.â
âHey.â
You pause mid-step. Look over your shoulder. Heâs holding his own forearm this time, pushing the muscle up like he wants you to test it again.
âLast one, I swear.â he says, blinking innocently. âPromise.â
You sigh through a smile. Walk back. Run your fingers briefly along the curve of his arm, slow, like youâre checking for a pulse. Then you pat it once and move along.
âStill impressive.â you say without turning around.
Behind you, he makes the most pathetic little victorious noise. Itâs not even a word. Just this soft, high-pitched âhehhhhhâ
You catch him flexing behind your back in the mirror, giving himself a thumbs up.
Now, Baby.
He doesnât flirt like the others.
Baby flirts by being an asshole. A smug, good-looking little demon who has never said âpleaseâ to a woman in his entire damn life.
Itâs afternoon. Youâre just coming out of your room, down the hall and into the living room where Baby is. Sitting on the arm of the couch. Head tilted back, neck exposed, pale. A lollipop in his mouth. He never chews, never crunches. Always sucks it slow, tauntingly, he knows exactly what image heâs painting.
He doesnât say hi.
Just shifts his gaze to you, eyes lazy, bored. You make your way past him, his gaze drilling into your back, and just before you reach the kitchen
âLeft your door unlocked.â His voice is soft.
âI know.â
A beat. He takes the lollipop out of his mouth with a slick little pop.
âDonât let me be the one to find that out next time.â
His tone is all implication. You should be annoyed, but itâs Baby. You got used to this.
You sigh. Look over your shoulder.
âYou gonna peek?â
He doesnât answer. Just smiles. Not wide. Not big. Just this tiny, slow-curling smirk that says, âMaybe I already have.â
Heâs pissed about it, honestly. That you got under his skin like this. That your laugh lingers. You were supposed to be leverage, a little human assistant with demon-hunting info.
Now youâre his little crush.
He hates that Gwi-Ma still speaks in his head, reminding him heâs not human like you are. Not real. Not worthy. And yet he finds himself around you, the asshole.
He tells himself heâs only watching you for strategy. For weakness. For moments to exploit. HUNTR/X is not quite destroyed yet, mind you.
But then why does it twist in his gut when he hears you laugh at someone elseâs joke? Why does he get irritated when Romance sits too close? Why does he hang around?
A shit time skip later, youâre sprawled on the floor in front of the coffee table, trying to untangle a set of cords that were definitely cursed by someone, probably Baby. Youâre muttering to yourself. Heâs been on the couch behind you for twenty minutes, dozing off, a little lazy eye involved.
âYour hairâs dumb.â he says suddenly.
You pause, blink.
âThanks, Baby.â
âYou should dye it black. Youâd look hotter.â
You glance back at him. Heâs not even doing anything, as usual. He says it like itâs obvious. Like heâs doing you a favor.
You just raise an eyebrow.
âYou think Iâm hot?â
âI didnât say that.â
A beat. Then, like it hurts him:
âYouâre okay.â
God, heâs such a brat.
You stand, brushing dust off your hoodie. His eyes do flick to your legs. Fast, but you catch it.
You walk toward the kitchen, and, as expected, he follows. Not close. Just a few steps behind, to be around annoy you.
âWant something?â you ask, opening the fridge.
He shrugs.
You make him a sandwich anyway as youâre done with yours.
And when you hand it to him, he doesnât say thank you, but you see him looking away before he bites into it.
And under his breath?
ââŠGood.â
You pretend not to hear it.
He pretends not to care.
For now? He eats your food. Watches you hum at the sink. Imaginesâjust for a secondâwhat itâd be like to kiss the back of your neck.
(timeskipâŠyeah.)
Itâs evening.
You sit cross-legged, tossing a fabric mouse for Jinuâs massive tiger of a cat.
That cat has paws the size of your face and itâs so hilarious for you for some reason. Big, dumb sweetheart with eyes that follow you. You adore him.
You flick the toy again. He launches.
Footsteps.
You look up, and Mystery, back from god knows where.
But in his hand?
A single flower.
Pink.
Tiny. A little wilted at the edge. The kind fans throw at their feet. A cheap gesture. Something disposable.
ExceptâŠ
Heâs holding it like itâs glass.
He crosses the room with slow, oddly careful steps. Doesnât say a word. You glance between him and the flower, confused at firstâuntil he stops in front of you. You blink up at him, frozen.
Then he kneels. And places the flower next to you. Right beside your foot.
Not in your hand.
Not in your hair.
Just⊠there.
Like a cat bringing a kill to your doorstep.
He doesnât wait for praise. Doesnât ask how you feel. Just stares, as if checking to see whether youâll get it.
You do.
Fuck, you do.
Something warm wells in your chest. Itâs small. Stupid. Itâs just a flower, something he probably picked up on his way back from a meet n greet or wherever the hell these boys disappear to. But the fact that he brought it homeâ
For you.
It makes something in you ache.
He thought about you.
Of all the things he couldâve done with that flowerâcrushed it under his foot, thrown it back into the crowd, tossed it at Romance for the jokeâhe decided to hold onto it. To bring it home. To hand it to you.
âThank you.â you murmur.
He grunts, stands, walks off.
Just like that.
And tiger, entirely uninterested in this soft moment, chooses that exact second to try to eat the flower.
âNo, noâhey!â
You scramble to scoop it up before itâs covered in drool. Mystery glances back from where heâs halfway to the kitchen, eyes following the chaos. And for a split secondâ
A smile.
You sit back down, cradling the half-crushed flower in your fingers.
God. Your empathy is such a sucker for these boys. Even the quietest of them, the one who growls more than he speaks, who scratches his neck raw when anxious, who once nearly clawed Romanceâs face off over a stolen chocolate bar.
He brought you a flower.
And itâs not nothing.
You keep it.
You press it between pages of the book youâve been reading lately.
Meanwhile, the tiger tries to climb into your lap again. You huff, shifting to make room as he practically crushes your ribs. But you let him. Heâs warm.
Yeah, so things started developing like this. You always got hit on but recently you started to get⊠extra hit on? Well hit on is a sexual term and thatâs not all going on, but what I want to say is that theyâre trying. The boys are trying and not planning to give you back to HUNTR/X anytime soon.
And⊠itâs a bit flattering, to be honest.
Aaaanyways, the next day, your feet slap dully against the marble as you drag yourself toward the kitchen, hoodie down to your thighs, no bra, and the expression of a half-dead. You mightâve slept, but it didnât count.
The living room bleeds into the massive open plan kitchen, andâŠ
âBRO, YOU SLEEP WITH THAT KNIFE UNDER YOUR PILLOW?â
âItâs not a knife, itâs a blade.â Mystery mutters, barely audible, tugging the drawstring on his hoodie.
âSame shit!â Abby barks, stomping across the room barefoot and shirtless, flexing. âWhat are you, a knight? You got a bedtime sword too?â
Abbyâs cackling, slapping Baby on the back so hard the kid nearly chokes on his toast.
Mystery shrugs like theyâre boring. You can tell heâs holding back a laugh, though. His mouth keeps twitching.
âDOLLFACE!!â
Arms around your waist.
Youâre lifted.
Lifted.
You shriek and nearly fall out of your own body, but Romance is pressing himself to your back. Youâre still squinting, trying to locate your soul youâre surprised they didnât take yet, and now heâs sniffing your hair.
âYou smell like heaven, why do you smell like heavenâ?â
âRomance.â you groan, wiggling like a worm.
âDonât wiggle unless you mean it.â he teases, voice dragging slow and syrupy into your ear.
Jinu doesnât look up, but you can see him smile.
You lean your weight back until Romance groans and finally lets go, dramatic as ever, dragging his feet behind you like youâre breaking his heart.
You ignore him, walking past Mystery, whoâs now sitting on one of the island stools, twirling a fork.
And because youâre awake now, you smile softly, real sweet, and say âDonât let them bully you, by the way.â
That hush is instant.
Romance pauses mid-whine.
Baby raises an eyebrow.
Mystery looks up.
Abbyâs face just looks fucking ridiculous but you donât see that.
You look straight at Mystery, walking backward now, hands curled around a mug. âYou were nice to me. With that flower.â
âFlower?â Abby blurts, straightening. âWhat flower?â
You sip your coffee with a tiny hum. âOther day. He gave one to me. Didnât say much, but it was sweet.â
Mysteryâs eyes flick toward the ceiling, like heâs praying to be smote where he sits.
And yeah.
Yeah, theyâre all a little jealous.
The other three look at him like he just invented kindness.
Romance is having a full meltdown. He kicks at the island counter. Whines. âI gave you my soul and you give him praise?! He brought one ugly-ass flowerââ
âIt was pink.â you say.
âFucking peasant flower!!â
He flings himself into a stool, arms crossed, leg bouncing furiously like a brat not invited to a birthday party. You press your lips together, trying so hard not to laugh. You can feel Jinu watching from the kitchen, calm and observant as always. He likes this.
(Geeked vs locked in)
You glance at Mystery.
He doesnât say anything, but heâs smiling. Just the smallest hint of it.
Youâre such an angel.
Theyâve gone from kidnappers to roommates to⊠something worse.
Because now they all want you.
Jinu made it clear.
Crystal.
Over the chessboard and youâre still quite not over it.
He doesnât waste energy playing coy. No winks. No crude jokes. He just looks at you like youâre the last star in a dead sky and nods when you speak and listens when you ramble and alwaysâalwaysâmakes sure you have what you need. Tea when youâre cold. Quiet when youâre tired. Time when youâre overwhelmed.
But behind that gentleman act is intent. Hot, slow, burning intent.
He wants you. No questions. No confusion.
You see it in how he lets the others act like clowns while he waits. Patient. Focused.
Jinu is playing the long game.
Heâd never pressure you. Heâd never ask for more.
But he wants. God, he wants.
Romance, on the other hand, is hopeless, the fucker.
This man is suffering. Actually getting progressively worse before your eyes.
He tries every second. Every breath. Every glance. From the second you step into a room, heâs on you, with compliments, with whines, with declarations of undying lust.
Heâs getting desperate, too.
The more you donât kiss him, the more he stumbles over his words. He steals Abbyâs cookies just to âromanticallyâ offer them to you. Wears low-cut shirts and sprays on three pounds of cologne and leans against counters.
Itâd be tragic if it wasnât so funny.
Youâre the first person he hasnât gotten in one night.
He hasnât known a crush like this in centuries.
He hasnât known rejection like this ever.
Heâs never known yearning like this.
And Abby. Sweet Abby.
Heâs such a slut about it too. Heâll do fifteen pushups near you for no reason. Make you feel him up like I explained earlier. Carry three chairs at once and casually glance at you, waiting for a compliment.
You give him just enough.
Just enough to keep him glowing, to let him feel strong and wanted. You never mock him, never brush him off, and that kindness wraps around his poor demon heart.
Heâd die for you. Actually die.
He probably already has, emotionally.
But heâs still an idiot.
Every time you touch his bicep, he smiles so wide. Every time you say âThanks, Abs.â he goes crazy and kinda cums in his pants on the spot. He waits for your approval. He lives for it.
And the rejection? The casual way you tell him youâre busy? The calm âThatâs nice, Abby.â when he deadlifts the couch?
He doesnât even know what to do with it.
He flexes more. Tries harder. Starts randomly fixing things. Carries you to the other side of the house.
He thinks about crying sometimes. Real tears. Muscular ones.
He likes you so bad it hurts his bones.
Mystery doesnât say much, but god, heâs trying.
You see it every time he sits just a little closer than yesterday. Every time he watches your hands while you speak. Every time he follows you into the kitchen.
He gave you a flower. That says it all.
He likes you. Probably more than he knows how to name. Probably more than heâs been allowed to like anything in a long, long time. He doesnât touch you unless you touch him first. He doesnât stare unless you stare first. But once you do? He locks in.
Baby is a dick.
An asshole. Through and through.
He laughs when the others get scolded. Snorts when you trip over your words. Rolls his eyes when youâre being too nice.
But the second someone flirts too hard with you? He stiffens. Bristles. Frowns. And when you look away? He glares.
Heâs the kind of guy whoâd pull your ponytail as a kid and then fight anyone else who touched it.
He talks the most shit.
But he likes you. Hates it. But likes you anyway.
And inside?
Gwi-Ma is roaring with laughter.
You donât know that a demon overlord haunts them with every blush and boner and soft gaze you donât even mean to give.
Youâre their first love in centuries.
And youâre probably gonna eat cereal and tell them they left the fridge open.
Itâs so unfair.
And youâre so, so valid.
They deadass kidnapped you, youâre in the right!! Youâd be in the right for kicking them in the balls but⊠but you donât do that. Maybe thatâs why they like you so much.
Theyâve lived for centuries. Hundreds of years. Theyâve fought, tortured, burned, lured, commanded. They were gods to some people.
And now Romance can barely see straight. He lays awake at night, shirtless and sweating, imagining you brushing his hair back and saying things like âIâm glad I met you.â and stares at the ceiling like a teenager.
He cannot believe youâre rejecting him. Him. And itâs not even malicious. Youâre not cruel. You just⊠donât give in. You like him, kinda. You smile. But you donât fall. And god, thatâs what kills him the most. That even when youâre being soft, youâre still not his.
Jinuâs pride is intact, barely. He doesnât beg. Doesnât make a scene. He has dignity.
Youâre⊠youâre so full of odd little joys. SUP boarding and books and hot sauce on popcorn. He likes hearing you talk.
And he never likes anyone.
He tells himself itâs enough to watch you grow comfortable here. That your happiness is enough. But still. The thought of you sleeping next to someone elseâhe swallows it. Every time.
Abby is down so bad itâs embarrassing.
The other day you called his arms âstrong looking.â Just looking. Not even saying they are. And he almost dropped a weight on his foot from the joy.
Heâs never been good with subtlety. Or pacing. Or restraint.
So he follows you around like a puppy. Flexes. Smiles. Lifts things. And then you just say, âNice.â and go back to reading or doing your normal human things, and heâs left there, muscles and all, with a little crushed heart the size of a dumbbell.
He just wants you to like him.
He knows he was part of kidnapping you.
He knows thatâs, uh, bad.
But you being kind to him? Genuinely kind? It makes him ache in places he didnât even know he had.
Mystery hasnât felt in so long. But he knows youâre⊠different. Important. He knows the others want you. And he wants to want less.
But⊠oh, how much he likes you.
Baby is the worst.
He doesnât know what to do with you, and you ruin everything.
He wants to slam a wall. Or a door. Or maybe you against a door. But then you say, âHey, Baby.â all soft, like itâs just another name, and he just⊠shuts up, no matter how big of a brat he is.
Theyâve lived long enough to forget how the beginning feels. Four hundred years. Some more, some less. All of them once human, then not.
They are not okay.
Not a single one of them.
They are demon boys with wicked strength and terrifying power and not a clue how to survive the fact that theyâre all in love with a human girl who lives with them because they forced her to.
And youâre rejecting them.
Youâre sweet about it. Warm. Thoughtful. Empathetic, which almost makes it worse. You smile at Romanceâs flirting and then keep walking. You praise Abbyâs arms and then turn back to your book. You listen to Jinuâs calm voice and blink all slow and grateful and thenâgod, why do you have to do thatâand still donât kiss him.
You donât mean to tease. Thatâs the tragedy. You just are.
Theyâre like boys again.
Real boys. Awkward. Confused. Heartburn and everything. Abbyâs trying to figure out what else he can do with his body to impress you, because he has no other tool. Romance is re-writing the same love letter and never giving it to you. Jinuâs building you a bookshelf and pretending itâs just âbecause you needed oneâ and Babyâs picking at you for pronouncing this and that wrong just because it means he can hear your voice longer when you argue. Mysteryâs thinking about your hands again. He doesnât know why. He just is. He likes your hand.
They did lock you up. They did kidnap you. Theyâre the bad guys. They know this. They play around and joke and flirt and build routines with you and pretend itâs fine, but they know.
They know you didnât choose them.
They know you might never.
And they donât even blame you for it.
Meanwhile, Gwi-Ma is living his best life.
He doesnât even try to hide the fact that your rejection makes his hauntings spicier. He could torture the boys so they donât like you, but the weaker the boys are, the bigger control Gwi-Ma has over them. Youâre useful, in this way.
For an example, telling Romance âShe said she liked your shirt. Pathetic. She meant the color, not you.â or to Jinu: âThe bookshelf is nice. Sheâll put her romance novels there and still not touch your dick. Move on.â
Well, heâs not always joking it away. Most of the time he rubs it under their noses that theyâre pathetic and failures and whatnot. Gwi-Ma pokes every bruise. Presses every soft spot. And still, they suffer in silence.
And all this leads toâŠ
Backstage. A cooler of sugary drinks no one wants, and five ancient demons in skin-tight pants pretending to be idols.
Romance has one boot on the makeup table and is picking glitter off his sleeve with lazy disinterest. Abbyâs chewing on something. Babyâs on his phone. Jinuâs fixing a seam on his jacket with tiny, perfect stitches. Mysteryâs sitting on the floor, looking like heâs about to bite someone, which is normal. No oneâs really talking.
Until Romance does. âWhat if we let her go?â
The words hang in the air. Burn in the silence. Nobody breathes.
Baby slowly turns to Romance and mutters, âYou hit your head or something?â
Because thatâs not a question they ask. Thatâs not even an idea they entertain.
Let you go?
Let you go?
âNo.â Jinu says. Not angry. Not loud. But final. Like mom turning something down.
Abby nearly chokes on his food. He waves a hand, then his whole arm, then his entire torso like heâs trying to physically ward the words off. âNo, no. Take it back. No one heard it.â
Mystery growls. Actually growls. Low and feral. Eyes glowing a little.
Baby doesnât even look up from his phone but scoffs. âRomance is having a stroke. Ignore him.â
Not many words like this he remembers from his looooong long time living, but he really likes this word, for some reason. Stroke.
But Romance is serious. Or half-serious. Thatâs the worst part. You can always tell with him when something hits a nerve. His voice might come out beautiful, but sometimes, like now, you can just tell by the tone.
He shrugs, leaning back against the table. âJust saying.â he mumbles, chewing the inside of his cheek. âItâs not like she wants to be here.â
Yeah, no shit.
She doesnât.
You donât.
You didnât ask for any of this. You didnât ask to be kidnapped, or dragged into their living room, or become someoneâs angel just by being decent. You were helping the girls, and now youâre cutting fruit in someone elseâs kitchen and being flirted with by demon boys with gorgeous faces and damaged hearts.
Of course you donât want this.
But they do.
God, they do.
Not the cage part. Not the chains. That was survival. Panic. Guilt still clings to it like dust. But you? They want you. Your laugh. Your sighs. The way you wrinkle your nose when youâre annoyed. Your stupid, wonderful lectures about âproper communicationâ and your goddamn warmth. Your worth.
So when Romance says it, when he dares voice the thing they donât want to think aboutâ
They panic.
Because itâs not a question of right and wrong.
Not for them. Not anymore.
Itâs a question of loss.
Letting you go would mean living in the silence again. No footsteps down the hall. No spoon tapping against the pot while you cook. No sarcasm from anyone whoâs not them, no annoyed eye rolls, no scent of your shampoo clinging to their clothes after they steal your towel off the rack again.
It would mean the house is a house again, not a home.
It would meanâfuckâit would mean being alone again.
And none of them want to go back to that.
So they shut it down. Instinctively. Immediately. Loudly. Not because itâs wrong, but because itâs unthinkable.
Because youâre going to like them eventually.
You will.
They donât say it, but they believe it.
They have to. Itâs the only thing keeping them upright.
So they say no. Again and again.
âNo, dude.â
âAbsolutely not.â
âShut the fuck up.â
âSheâs not going anywhere.â
They all say it in their own voices, their own rhythms, their own ways of desperate.
Romance doesnât argue. Not really. He leans his head back against the mirror, looks up at the lights, and closes his eyes.
He doesnât push it again.
Because he doesnât want to let you go either.
Not really.
And when the some staff member calls them in, when theyâre lining up in sequence and fixing their microphones and checking their in-ears, theyâre still thinking about you. All of them.
In different ways.
In different versions of forever.
In ways they donât dare speak aloud.
And somewhere inside, deeper than they can say, theyâre hoping. Hoping youâll choose them.
Hoping youâll stay.
Even if they never say the words.
(ashamed of my time skips)
âBABYYYYY WEâRE HOME.â Romance shouts. Youâre the first thing he sees. His grin nearly splits his face. They just came home.
âGuess whoâs BACK with the TITS OUT!â Abbyâs shout follows, just as his shirt hits the floor somewhere by the entryway. Why was it off already? No one knows.
Youâre in the sunken living room, tucked into a thick throw blanket, curled up against Jinuâs massive tiger cat.
You lift a hand, a lazy wave. âHi.â
Jinu is quieter when he comes in. Doesnât even say anything at first just walks into the room, and sets a bag on the table next to where youâre laying.
âWhatâs that?â you ask, your voice half-caught in the fur of the beast beside you.
âStuff I saw. Thought youâd like it.â
You blink.
Heâs gone before you even get to answer, the bird following him with a weird sort of offended flapping. It squawks once like itâs scolding him for not letting it deliver the gift itself.
Just as youâre about to sit up, Baby walks by. He doesnât say anything, just tugs your hair as he passes, fingers slipping through the strands at the end. Touching you when he wants to but refusing to be soft about it.
Asshole.
Your âOwâ is mostly just for show. He snorts without looking back and disappears into the hallway.
âHi.â Mystery says and oh your god itâs progress.
âHi.â You look up at him, and just like that, heâs gone too.
And thatâs when Romance and Abby both collapse down on either side of you like magnets pulled in too fast. The tiger cat lets out a long, huffing breath when Abbyâs thigh brushes against its sideâand then the beast melts into him. Practically rolling.
âAwwww, câmere, big guy.â Abby croons, instantly elbow-deep in thick fur, cooing and petting and making baby noises that no one should hear come from a man that buff. âYou missed Daddy, huh?â
âYouâre the worst.â you mutter, but thereâs no heat in it. Not when heâs scratching behind the catâs ears and the thing looks like itâs going to drool.
Romance sighs, and leans in until you feel his breath against your neck. âYou cuddled up all pretty without us?â
You glance sideways at him. His lashes are too long. His face too symmetrical. The pout is real, exaggerated, stupid. âGet your own cat.â you say flatly.
âWhy, when youâre right here?â he replies instantly. âYou warm, you purrââ
âRomance.â
âFine, fine.â But his shoulder brushes yours and doesnât leave. He slouches a little so his thigh presses against yours. A beat later, he whispers, âYou smell really good.â like heâs proud of himself for holding it in this long.
Abbyâs still fawning over the cat, rubbing its belly with both hands like a caveman making fire. The tiger groans happily in response.
You roll your eyes and turn your attention to the bag Jinu left. Unfold it slowly.
Inside, a new journal. A set of colored gel pens. A small box of your favorite tea. Lip balm you mentioned once in passing when your lips were dry. And a soft hair tie, black velvet, probably chosen just because it looked nice against your hair.
You stare at it for a long moment.
Hm.
No one says a thing.
You quietly press the back of your hand to your eye and pretend itâs because something got in it.
And when you look up, Romance is watching you. Not joking, not smirking. Just watching.
He doesnât say anything either.
It feels like somethingâs shifting.
Not loud. Not fast.
Just⊠growing.
This weird, stitched-together thing between you and five demons who havenât known softness in centuries. Who donât know how to handle it now that itâs here. Who cling to you, some of them physically, some of them just mentally.
Abby has both hands sunk into the fluff, cooing at the beast like a baby.
You can feel Romance shaking with laughter, the fucker. Heâs not taking any of this seriouslyâhe never does. None of them really do, but Romance especially lives to push, tease, flirt, inch closer and closer to the line without ever fully crossing it.
It would be easier to write him off if he didnât mean it, if his warmth was fake. But the longer you stayed here, the more you could tell it wasnât.
Romance didnât just flirt because it was fun and because he really really liked you.
He flirted because it distracted him. From the voice in his head. From the pressure in his chest. From the way Gwi-Maâs claws still tugged at the edges of his mind even here, in this safe, stupid apartment. Youâd seen the way his expression broke when he thought no one was looking, how the shine dulled in his eyes when he stared at nothing for too long.
Beautiful, yes. But breakable.
Abby loved the spotlight, loved touching people, he enjoyed a lot of things.
But the guy was always moving. Always laughing. Always doing.
Never still.
Because when Abby stopped?
When he was quiet?
Thatâs when it caught up to him. Gwi-Ma. The memories. The pressure. The guilt. The voices that reminded him of what he used to be and how far heâd fallen. The blood still under his fingernails. The centuries of doing shit no one would forgiveânot even himself.
So he cooed at cats. He flexed his muscles. He grabbed your hand and made you touch his abs.
He needed to be loved. Even if it was just for five minutes.
âI wrote you a song.â Romance says, shirt openâwhy? Why is his shirt open?âand one knee bent.
âNo, you didnât.â
âI did.â
âOh my godââ
âIâm singing it now.â
âRomance, no.â
He opens his mouth anyway, so before he can croon a single note, you slap your palm over his mouth.
âMmmpf.â he mumbles beneath it, eyes crinkling with laughter.
Abby bursts out laughing, forehead pressed to the tigerâs belly. âFinally someone shut him up.â
Romance licks your palm.
âEwâ!â
You yank your hand back, smacking him on the chest. He just grins. The grin that would ruin a weaker girl. The grin that, if you werenât chronically annoyed and slightly feral from being kidnapped, might actually make you melt a little.
But it doesnât.
(Not visibly.)
And it clicks again, painfully, how much effort this is for them.
Not the flirting.
Not the games.
But the living.
Existing in this in-between space, pretending to be boys in their twenties when their souls are threadbare and ancient. When thereâs something else inside themâsomeone elseâalways whispering in the dark.
Youâve heard them at night.
Not just Abby snoring like a lawnmower or Romance mumbling flirty shit in his sleep (which is⊠hilarious, honestly), but the other sounds.
The low whines.
The way their breathing turns jagged like theyâre running.
The muffled words they donât want you to hear.
Gwi-Ma, obviously, you just donât know that.
And then Abby, sensing the emotional weight like itâs a fly he must slap with brute force, sits up and shouts, âOkay, letâs play âWho Wants to Touch My Abs Again!ââ
Romance stares at him for a beat, then mutters âI hate when you say something good before I can.â
You groan, then reach forward and pet the tiger, threading your fingers through the thick blue fur, and when you do, you feel both boys lean in a little closer.
Gravity.
Not prison bars.
Not chains.
Just⊠gravity.
You. And them. And the warm belly of a tiger-cat who doesnât care about demon curses or yearning pop stars.
You smile to yourself.
Just a little.
Yeah.
Being a hostage and missing the girls fucking sucks, but this is fun, sometimes.
Uhuh, all until Romance runs a hand up your thigh.
You grab a pillow and hit him with it. A clean hit to the shoulder. It barely moves him. He chuckles, soft and low, then grabs your wrist mid-pillow swing and brings your hand to his cheek.
And keeps it there.
Romance actually nuzzles into it, gorgeous lashes fluttering. âWhy wonât you love me?â
âBecause you talk like that.â
âEh.â
Behind him, Abbyâs scoffing.
âIâm right here.â he says, hand going to his chest. âRight here. Heart of gold. Literally. Jinu said I needed more iron in my diet and I told him to suck myââ
âAbby.â you cut in.
âJust sayinâ.â
You stare at him.
He flexes.
You blink.
He grabs your hand and shoves it straight onto his bicep. Hard. âGo on. Give it a feel.â
âAbby.â
âCâmon, babe.â
And youâyou actually just⊠sigh. Your hand stays there. Because at this point, resisting is more exhausting than just humoring them. And because, god help you, Abbyâs abs really are the most offensive thing youâve ever touched.
âThis isnât going to work.â you say calmly.
âItâs already working.â he replies, smug.
Romance nods solemnly, still holding your other hand on his face like youâre blessing him. âItâs working on me, too.â
âJesus.â
Then the tiger-cat lets out a snore between you all, paw twitching, tail flicking once. Weird little reality this is. And you donât deny it. Because denying it would mean youâd have to stop letting them lean in, stop letting Abby trace a line up your arm just to, stop letting Romanceâs voice slide along your spine when he sang for you. And okay, his voice was gorgeous.
They arenât subtle.
But they are sincere.
In their own fucked-up ways.
Romance, for all his dramatics, means it. His flirting isnât just empty lines. You can feel it in the pause between his jokes, in the breath he holds when you glance at him for too long. In the ache when you say no.
And Abby doesnât understand subtlety, but he does understand loyalty. When he lingers around you, when he gets all proud just because you let him carry something heavy for you or touched his stomach and didnât insult him, yeah, thatâs affection, demon style. Affection disguised as flexing and teasing and âaccidentallyâ brushing against you whenever he walks by.
You clear your throat, shift slightly, ready to go. âOkay. Cool. Thanks for the⊠attention.â
âYouâre welcome.â Romance says, grinning again. âAnd also, I love you.â
âRomanceââ
âI do. Hey, donât goââ
Abby chuckles, looping an arm around your shoulders suddenly, dragging you back down, cheek pressed to your temple. âDonât worry, babe. Iâll love you tomorrow when he forgets.â
âHEYâ!â
You shove both of them off. The tiger-cat lets out a sleepy growl like even he is tired of their bullshit. You stand, this time successful, stretch, and pretend your heart isnât beating faster than it should be.
And know that they can definitely hear it.
Theyâre not human. They play like they are. Joke like they are. But theyâre not. Their senses are dialed up so loud itâs a wonder they can function in this apartment without genuinely crashing out.
Take this for an example, hear your heartbeat change when you walk into a room.
You experienced this the first time when you tried to sneak to the door at night, barefoot and silent, you heard it behind you: tap tap tap, the unnecessary footsteps of Baby following you just because your pulse spiked. And he didnât say anything. Just leaned on the wall in the stairwell and smiled, evil little smile.
They know when youâre aroused. Unfortunately.
They know when youâre scared. Worse.
And they definitely know when youâre lying.
That one was made clear when Jinu once tilted his head and calmly said, âYouâre clenching your molars again. Makes your jaw tick. Thatâs your lying tell.â
And youâd almost launched the TV remote at him.
But they never stop listening. Even when theyâre laughing, playing with the cat, arguing about what movie to put on, theyâre tuned in. To you. To the wind. To each other. They track one anotherâs emotional shifts like dogs in a pack. When Mystery twitches, Abby twitches. When Baby goes still, Romance glances at him. When you so much as think about walking toward the front door? You hear someone move before you even touch the knob.
Imagine youâre Jinu, how the fuck do you explain to a hostage that you want to bury your face in their neck just to breathe them in?
Not exactly gentlemanly.
Mystery could pick you out of a crowd of a thousand by scent alone. He knew when you entered the room, even if his back was turned. Heâd been trained to track, to hunt, to kill, and now every predator instinct in him was confusedâbecause all it wanted to do was wrap you in his arms and nuzzle into your neck.
Okay, all of them can do this.
Their eyes donât move much. Their ears do. Itâs eerie, sometimes. But youâve stopped caring.
Mostly.
And the strangest thing? You know they do it for your sake, now.
Itâs not just control, not just torture.
Itâs protection.
That one time you dropped a glass in the kitchen, quick little break on the floor, you had three demons in the room with you in less than two seconds. Romance was still wet from the shower, hair dripping, towel twisted low around his hips. Abby was shirtless and breathing heavy like heâd sprinted from the roof. Mystery was crouched beside you before you even realized your hand was bleeding, gently peeling your fingers open to check for shards. It was Jinu who pulled the dish towel off the rack and wrapped it around your palm. When did he even get there?
(Baby simply didnât give a fuck because he knew the others were there. If you and him were alone, maybe he wouldâve checked up on you.)
They donât say they care. But they feel it when your heart gets heavy. They hear it when you cry in your room and try to stifle the sound into a pillow.
And they respond. Not always with words. Never quite the right way. But with presence.
Yeah, they still have to learn the right way, but at least theyâre doing something, okay? Fuckâs sake, man.
They donât know how to be human anymore.
But they havenât lost you yet.
And now, theyâre trying to understand you the way they understand everything else:
By listening.
By smelling.
By memorizing your habits and tells and tension.
You donât say anything about it.
But tonight, when you pour a second glass of water before bed and leave it out on the counter? You notice itâs gone by morning. And you know someone drank it just because it smelled like your fingers had touched the rim.
Okay, who was the fucking creep?
Anyways, they still throw each other into walls. Sure. Mystery still growls. Baby still glares at your soul and rolls his eyes like youâre beneath him, but in reality, would jump anyone who even looked at you wrong. Abby still flexes and preens, but always backs off when you give him that look. Jinu still doesnât stop them, fuck him and his cute nose. And Romance⊠that fuckass is dangerously close to making him falling in love with you YOUR problem.
You caught him once, staring at you over the rim of a cup of coffee. Soft-eyed. Dreamy. Quiet.
You asked, âWhat?â
He said, âWhat?â
Yeah. Exactly.
Youâre still the prisoner, technically.
Still for information you havenât given.
Still wearing the metaphorical leash they tug at when they get bored.
But at the end of the day, when youâre curled on the couch, book in hand, one of them reaching over your head to pet the tiger, another muttering about ordering takeout âfor the humanâ you realize something terrifying:
You might actually like it here.
Not the kidnapping.
Not the control.
But them.
Them as people.
And you donât know when the shift happened. But now when you think about escaping⊠you pause. Because it wouldnât just be running away anymore. It would be leaving.
Plus the apartment is nice. Shower with LED mood lights. Big windows you once tried to climb out of to maybe fall into a window cleanerâs little elevator thingy(yes youâre creative like that, you miss the girls) until Baby appeared behind you and said, âTry it. Letâs see what breaks first, your back or your pretty head.â
He smiled when he said it. That kind of smile that makes your stomach drop and your legs run before you even realize what youâre doing.
Your escape attempts stopped being smart after the first two weeks.
You tried the whole âpull the fire alarmâ route. Didnât work. Baby pulled it first, just to prove that it wouldnât call anyone.
Then there was the âIâm sickâ bit. Jinu played along. Got you soup. Got you a thermometer. Took your vitals. And then said, âYour temperatureâs normal. But I like that youâre lying to me now instead of them.â
Cool. Love that. Humiliating and oddly comforting all in one.
You once attempted to sneak out during a fake nap. Blanket on the bed, shoes by the door, steps quiet.
Except⊠the second you reached for the handle, Mystery was just there. At the edge of the hallway, glowing yellow eyes behind his hair, munching on a grape like heâd expected it. He didnât speak. Just growled low in his throat.
You went back to bed after that. Slowly. Carefully.
But escape isnât the only thing youâve been accidentally doing.
Youâve also been noticing things. Unfair, stupid things. Like the time you walked into the kitchen to grab water and Mystery was reaching up to the top shelf, shirt lifted, and he had insane fucking biceps. The veins. The stretch.
Or the time you were making tea and Romance wandered in, yawning, scratching his stomach, and half-singing a song under his breath and you realized his voice was better than Jinuâs. Not as trained. But raw. Sexy. Real.
The kind of voice that could sing you out of your clothes if he tried even a little bit.
(He did try. A lot. Constantly. But thatâs another issue.)
You noticed that Abby stretches like a fucking gymnast and watches himself in the mirror doing it. He caught you watching once, smiled, and flexed harder. You didnât even pretend not to look. Whatâs the point? He knows.
You noticed that Baby actually hums to himself when he thinks no oneâs listening. Usually lullabies. Soft, strange things in a language you donât know. Probably not human. And heâs never once acknowledged it.
The apartmentâs big, but not big enough. Thereâs always someone in your space. Always brushing past you. Always invading. Romance flopping on your bed while youâre trying to read. Abby coming in while you shower âjust to check if the temperature works.â Jinu folding laundry for everyoneâincluding youâlike itâs totally casual, even though you didnât ask him to touch your underwear.
They treat the living room like⊠they donât treat it. Empty ramen bowls from late-nights. The cat, all massive pounds of him, belly up on the dining table. Abby doing push-ups in doorways. Baby watching The Bachelor.
But despite all this, the weirdest thing is how⊠livable itâs become.
They donât always get human things, but theyâre trying.
They open doors for you. Bring you random things. Offer you pieces of fruit theyâve already bitten.
Maybe they donât know how to be normal. But youâve seen something in them thatâs worse than evil.
Loneliness.
Romance jokes to hide it.
Abby flexes over it.
Mystery hides in shadows to avoid feeling it.
Baby? Baby pretends he doesnât care.
Jinu stares at you like youâre the only human left worth knowing.
So yeah. You still sleep with your door locked.
But youâve stopped hating them for what they are.
Theyâre not your friends. Not yet.
But maybe⊠maybe they donât want to be your captors anymore, either.
That partly could be because captors donât do shit like them.
For an example, once Baby had a whole ass ritual/summoning/sacrifice/fuckknowswhat in the living room. Like, the air shimmered black. The coffee table disappeared. The carpet started curling at the corners.
You blinked.
He blinked.
You: âI just wanted the remote.â
Baby: âItâs in the void now.â
Mystery walks in, nods like this is fine.
Abby walked in just to say âYoâhow do I get my protein bar back then???â
They laughed about that for three days. Youâre still not sure if Baby got bored or if Jinu did something to stop the ritual. Either way, youâre pretty sure the bathroom mirror winks at you sometimes now.
Once Abby accidentally ripped your bedroom door off its hinges trying to âgently knock.â
It was 8 a.m. You were asleep. ThenâBANG. The whole fucking door gone. His sheepish voice after: âMy bad. Thought it was stuck.â
He did install a new door later. You caught him Googling âhow to be useful when you fuck shit up.â It was⊠weirdly sweet.
Now that weâre talking about shit that happened, Jinu caught you crying over a baking fail once.
You tried to make banana bread. It didnât rise. It cracked in weird places. Youâd been feeling off all day and thisâthis stupid breadâwas the final straw.
You stood there in the kitchen, eyes welling up, and Jinu just⊠walked over. No questions. Just grabbed a second bowl, a fresh set of bananas, and started making one beside you.
Didnât say anything.
You sob-laughed and kept going.
His came out better. Of course. But he told everyone yours was his. Said he couldnât eat his own cooking because it was âtoo goodâ and heâd âget arrogant.â
Liar. Beautiful, kind liar.
Also, Abby used you as a bench press weight.
You were lying on the couch. He walked over. Picked you up. Proceeded to bench press you. You just laid there. Limp. Exhausted.
Later, he asked you to spot him while he did pull-ups on the doorframe. âJust in case I fall. I wonât. But, you know. In case.â
He just wanted you close.
Also, they all dogpile when they wrestle.
Yes. Wrestle. Apparently, male demons are like teenagers.
Abby started it, of course. He always does. Tackled Romance in the hallway. Said something like, âYou were staring at my girlâs ass too long.â
Romance: âYou donât even HAVE a girl.â
You, from the kitchen: âPlease donât do this.â
They did it anyway.
Mystery joined five seconds in, unprompted, launching from the stair railing like a fucking jungle cat.
Baby stood watching it for a whole minute, then shoved his boba in your hand and muttered, âHold this.â before leaping into the mess, knocking Romance flat on his back.
You did not hold the boba.
You drank it.
Jinu is kind of above them in this perspective, because he doesnât fight unless someone started it. Sure, he likes launching Baby into walls, but it doesnât really happen if Baby doesnât start harassing him in the first place.
Also, you learned Romance talks in his sleep.
And not just talksâwhispers. Sweet things. Dirty things. âTouch me there, baby.â âYou smell like flowers.â âSay my name again.â
Once you bought it up and, âYou couldâve just joined in.â he said. âMissed opportunity.â
You have not been in the same room with him after 1 a.m. since.
The weird thing about demons is they donât really hide when itâs just them. Not when theyâre comfortable. Not when they feel safe. And unfortunatelyâfor your sanityâtheyâre starting to feel very, very comfortable around you.
Theyâve stopped trying so hard to pretend to be fully human, at least in the house.
It started small. A glimpse of color under the collarbone. A strange purple sheen curling down Abbyâs back when he turned to grab a soda out of the fridge shirtless. Then a jagged streak down Romanceâs hip bone.
The patterns, at first, just peeked out. Not enough to say anything. Not enough to ask.
Now theyâre just walking around like itâs normal. Like youâre one of them.
And itâs not just the bodies.
Itâs their faces.
Romance, who never gave a fuck about subtlety, started keeping his marks visible more often than not. Purple vines around his cheekbones, curling like smoke into his temple and under his jawline. It makes his flirty, slow-spoken words even worse. He knows he looks good with them on. Heâs seen you glanceâhe lives for it.
âDoes it bother you?â he asked one night. Shirt unbuttoned. Mark on his throat glowing slightly when he leaned against the doorway while you tried to do the dishes.
You didnât answer. Because the real truth was: no, it didnât bother you. Not even a little.
You caught Abby flexing in the hallway mirror with the markings all down his shoulders and arms. When he saw you looking, he turned a little, just so you could see his back. The marks crawled up his spine like claws. He didnât say anything. Just winked. Held out his hand for you to trace one. You did. No questions. No words. Just touch.
Even Jinu had begun letting his slip. You noticed he wore low collars more often now.
Youâd once caught Mystery sitting on the floor with the tiger curled in his lap and the marks pulsing across his throat like a heartbeat. He looked so calmâbut so dark.
Baby hides them the least now. They cut across his pretty boy skin, sharp down his jaw, curling onto his hands. He rests his chin in his palm when you sit nearby, fingers twitching, tapping, eyes flicking to your legs.
Theyâve stopped pretending for you. Thatâs what it is.
Now, take this. The apartment is quiet. Itâs the middle of the night.
You like it best like this. The kitchenâs softly lit by the overhead stove lamp, and your little yogurt bowl is in your hands. A little honey, a handful of berries Jinu actually remembered to bring back (you didnât even have to remind him twice, bless), and just a dusting of cinnamon. You stir it slowly, lazy, humming something under your breath as you lean against the counter.
Itâs your moment.
Itâs peace.
Which is exactly why Abby comes in, the wet slap of feet on tile. Shirtless and barefoot, towel low on his hips, still damp from the sauna or a shower, you canât really tell. But what really catches you is him. His skin. Itâs not just wet. Itâs marked. The ones youâd been seeing on them lately.
Purple lines curl over his torso, glowing just faintly beneath the surface. One coiles down his collarbone. One across his ribcage. A few wrapped around his forearms. Heâs technically in human form, but only technically. This isnât fully mortal. This is⊠something between.
âDonât stare, sweetheart.â he says, voice hoarse. âIâm shy.â
Your eyes trail up before you even think twice. Broad shoulders, sharp collarbone, water dripping down one bicep. Towel riding low, one V-line on proud display. The pulsing marks just highlighting all of this. He leans his elbows on the counter next to you.
âYouâre not covering them tonight.â you say, nodding toward the patterns. Not accusing. Just curious.
He scoops your spoon right out of your hand and takes a bite from your bowl.
You donât say anything about it.
You just⊠tilt your head, wait.
âTheyâve been spreading.â he says after a moment, licking the spoon before sticking it right back in the bowl. âLast few decades. No big deal.â
You stare at the curve of one mark near his neck, curling around his collarbone. Itâs not ugly. Itâs almost beautiful, actually. Alive and crawling. You trace it with your eyes.
âHow long?â you ask.
âThree hundred years, give or take.â
You let that sit. He does too.
And he eats another spoonful of your yogurt like itâs his god given right.
You glance at the bowl, then up at him.
âYou know that was mine, right?â
He grins. Cocky. Wide. Unbothered. âYou donât mind though.â
âŠYou really donât.
He shifts, weight leaning in your direction now.
âThey hurt?â you ask, soft, eyeing one that flickers faintly when he moves his arm.
He takes a breath through his nose. Considers.
âNah. Not unless I fight too long. Or resist the shift.â
You can imagine that. Abby, purple lightning under his skin ready to snap. Youâve seen it, once or twice, the blur of the line between his human form and whatever lurks just beneath it.
You dip your spoon back into the yogurt. You let him keep eating it, not even bothering to reclaim it. Heâd just take it again anyway.
âYou donât care Iâm half-demon in your little kitchen?â
They started calling the kitchen your kitchen. Not in a sexist term, though itâs not far from them, but this time because itâs mostly you who spends the most time there. God, youâre sweet.
You blink at him. âI mean⊠youâre all demon. But also? Itâs just yogurt, Abby.â
He laughs.
And just like that, he leans a little closer. Arm brushing yours now. Like youâre just⊠two people. You, and the demon boy covered in violet war paint, bare-chested and still dripping from his shower, your spoon in his mouth.
âYouâre weird.â he says, eyes on you. âIn a good way.â
âMm.â you hum. âAnd youâre naked in the kitchen.â
âTowel counts.â
âIf you say so.â
He grins again, like heâs proud of himself.
You hand him the bowl. Let him finish it. He lights up like a puppy.
And you just keep staring at those patterns. The ones that have been spreading for centuries. That he doesnât even bother hiding tonight. That mean something deeperâsomething ancient and clawed and hungryâbut right now, theyâre just lines on a tired body, one thatâs spent too long at war.
You donât ask what they mean. You donât have to.
Because here he is, a half-shifted demon, warm in the kitchen, stealing your yogurt and leaning against you.
You let him.
You absolutely do.
And you felt itâthat moment where something should have happened. Should have escalated. Should have gone somewhere. But it didnât. It just⊠hummed there. Buzzed between you, the tension.
And you knew what that meant.
âIâm going to bed.â you say simply.
He straightens just a bit, towel staying low, muscles flexing. âWhaâNow? But I just got here.â His voice is still cocky, still laced with teasing, but there is something under it. Something real and desperate that has no business being there.
You donât even look at him when you walk away, just call back over your shoulder with a little smile, âItâs literally 2 a.m., Abby.â
ââŠGood night.â
Desperate. Not even whispered. Pushed out of him.
You stop. Not for long, just a beat. A hesitation. A pause that gives too much away.
You turn your head, not fully, just enough that heâd know you heard. That youâre not ignoring it. âGood night.â
You watch it hit him. Watch the stupid way his lips curl into something almost embarrassed, almost like pride. And for once, he doesnât follow you. Doesnât chase or push or flex one more time.
He just stands there in the kitchen, lit by the fridge light, with demon marks on his skin and your voice torturing his brain.
And as you walk back to your room and close the door behind you, you close your eyes too just long enough to admit to yourself thatâŠ
Heâs⊠pretty.
You hadnât let yourself really see it before. Not like this. Not when he wasnât grinning like an idiot or flexing for attention or tackling Mystery for fun. Not when he was quiet, not when the glow of those demonic scars made him look like something painted by candlelight. Not when his voice cracked with something a little too genuine for a monster.
You crawl into bed, lights off, heart weirdly soft. Your sheets are cool against your skin, your pillow smelling faintly like the lavender water you sprayed when you first got here.
Youâre supposed to hate them. Supposed to fear them.
And yetâŠ
Heâs pretty when he tries to be human.
They all are.
Amazing little memes made by someone I absolutely fucking adore but asked not to be tagged:








Love u babyđ
~ thank you for all the support! tags: @lasa27 @limerenceisserenity @zoeisdreaming6 @killinkiwi @xxying-yangxx @bubbleishiaaa @prettylittlelavvy @gl00muraaii @boo-shalala @stxrrielle @vixyvlo @ny0000mw00m @loreleis-world @mshope16 @littlemissfix-itfic @fandomhoedamien @spiderset @azzberry @aerrz3 @tatsuri-zomushiki @theferretkids @apelepikozume @scpdragon @justanindiangirl12 @fuevrois @soggumm @ri-eveowe @lucifers16ducks @elixua @xh01bri @greensunflowerjuna @valeriele3 @lovely-maryj @c0sm1cp0tat0 @wantstoliveinfantasy @i-am-here3 @naarra @confusedparticle @itsberrydreemurstuff @asphodeloss @x-w-a @nosbaby07 @prorpy @blobbyblobblobblobblob @ryukumi @ryuucollapse @rainbowcupcakes23 @nnasv @aika-3 @thegirloftheirdreams
#kpop demon hunters#kpdh#saja boys#saja boys x reader#kpdh x reader#the saja boys#kpdh x you#abby kpdh#abby kpop demon hunters#baby kpdh#baby kpop demon hunters#romance kpop demon hunters#romance kpdh#jinu kpop demon hunters#jinu kpdh#mystery kpop demon hunters#mystery kpdh
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âDarling youâre glowing
James Potter x f!reader
summary. you intrigued the James Potter. now heâs trying to get you out of your shell
warning. not proof read
Transfiguration, middle of the week, had started like any other classâ the room buzzing with quiet chatter as McGonagall set up a demonstration on cross-species switching spells. You sat a few rows behind the usual Marauder formation, watching with mild interest as James Potter lounged sideways in his seat like he owned the room. He always acted like thatâcomfortable, cocky, clever enough to get away with all of it. But you noticed something different today. He wasnât as loud. Not as sharp with his jokes. He kept glancing toward Remus, who looked paler than usual, shadows under his eyes like he hadnât slept.
You knew what tomorrow was.
You always noticed the patterns others ignored.
McGonagallâs chalk scraped across the board as she launched into the complexities of Animagus transformations. And thatâs when James opened his mouthâcasual, like he couldnât help himself.
âTurning Snape into a raccoon wouldnât be a bad idea, no? He fits the description and might finally be of use.â
It was ânormalâ to see James or Sirius tormenting the poor slytherin boy, however no one made too much of an effort to stop it due to being scared or not caring.
But this time, you didnât let it slide.
You leaned forward slightly, not loud, not sharpâjust clear enough for him to hear.
âUseful, sure. Especially if youâre trying to keep a werewolf company at night.â
James froze.
Just for a second.
Then, slowly, he turned in his seat, eyebrows raised. He didnât say anything, but the way he looked at youâreally looked at youâwas different than before. Like a switch had flipped.
Sirius leaned halfway out of his chair, blinking. âWait, what?â
You tilted your head calmly. âYou four arenât as subtle as you think. Disappearing from the common rooms every full moon, and then Remus not returning for a few days afterward.. strange, donât you think?â
Siriusâs mouth opened, but no sound came out.
James just blinked at you, stunnedâthen finally, slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not his usual cocky grin. Something smaller. Curious. Almost impressed.
âYouâve been watching us.â
âSomeone has to,â you said, eyes flicking between him and Sirius. âMerlin knows the professors arenât.â
Remus, from beside them, looked like he might vanish under the desk. James noticed, and his smile faltered just slightly. He turned back to face forward, voice quieter now.
âYouâre not going to tell anyone.â
It wasnât a question.
You shrugged. âWhy would I? Not my secret. Not my business.â
James didnât respond right away. Then; âMost people wouldâve run the second they figured that out.â
You met his gaze, steady. âMost people arenât me.â
And that was the end of it. At least, for now.
After that day, James started to notice you. At first, it was just little things. You sat alone in every class, always in the back. You left the Great Hall early, books in hand, head down. You walked the castle corridors like a ghostâthere, but never really with anyone. It was strange, and a bit unsettling. Hogwarts was loud and chaotic and full of chatter. You were none of those things.
James didnât really know what to do with that.
You were outside walking along the Great Lake, the morning fog barely beginning to lift, adding to the mysterious atmosphere that always seemed to cling to the school grounds. The water was still, a sheet of silver glass stretching toward the horizon, disturbed only by the occasional ripple from something just beneath the surface.
As you made your way along the winding path, the silhouette of the castle loomed through the mistâfamiliar, yet distant in the haze. The chill in the air nipped at your fingers, but you didnât mind. It was quiet out here, peaceful, the kind of quiet that let your thoughts wander.
You stiffened slightly as the sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence behind you. Turning your head, you saw himâJames Potter strolling toward you with his usual group trailing behind: Sirius Black smirking, Remus Lupin looking vaguely amused, and Peter Pettigrew struggling to keep up.
âDidnât expect to see anyone out here this early,â he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. You glanced at him, then quickly back at the lake. âI like the quiet.â He nodded, stepping beside you. âYeah.. itâs nice before everyoneâs up and shouting about homework and Quidditch.â He nudged a stone with his shoe. âYou come out here a lot?â âSometimes,â you replied softly, unsure why he was talking to you at all, especially with his friends watching. James didnât seem put off by your short reply. âItâs kind of cool though, isnât it? All the fog. Looks like something out of a ghost story.â You gave a small nod. âIt does.â
Sirius whispered something to Remus that made both of them snicker, but James ignored it.
âI donât think weâve ever really talked,â he said, tilting his head. âYouâre in my year, yeah?â You hesitated, then glanced at him. âYes.â He smiled like that was a win. âThought so. Iâm James.â âI know.â That made him laugh. âRight, of course you do. Everyone knows. Sorryâstupid thing to say.â
âHowâs Remus?â
James blinked, then turned to look at you more carefully. âHeâs okay. Bit worn out, but he always bounces back.â
You nodded slowly. âGood.â
James looked at you properly now, brow furrowed. âHow do youâ? I mean.. I donât think I ever caught your name.â
âYou havenât.â
He smiled faintly, curious now. âRight. Mysterious.â
You didnât return the smile. âYou take care of him.âJames sobered at that, nodding once, serious. âAlways.â
You gave a small, almost invisible nod and turned slightly, ready to leave.
Then, like he was trying to keep you there just a little longer, he said, âIâve got a match this weekend. Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. Should be a good one.â
You stopped in your tracks, humming in response.
âYou should come,â he said, bold now, easy with it. âItâs more fun when thereâs someone interesting in the stands.â
You raised a brow again. âIs that your way of inviting me?â
âIs it working?â
A pause. Then, quietly: âMaybe.â
James smiled, a little softer this time. âIâll look for you.â He turned to leave and waved. âSee you there, ghost girl.â âWaitâ Potter.â You raise your voice a bit, cheeks warming at the sudden attention all four boys put on you. âItâs Y/N.â James smiled, nodding before going off with his friends, Sirius shaking his form and smiling excitedly while the other two boys watched, amused.
You didnât know why you decided to go. Maybe it was finally time to get out of the common rooms for the weekend instead of spending it rotting in bed, studying, or sleeping for hours on end.
The students and professors were in a competitive mood, filling the halls with a tension you hadnât quite experienced beforeâthis was your very first match, after all.
You tugged your scarf tighter around your neck as you stepped out onto the grounds, the wind catching at the edges of your cloak. The crowd ahead was already gathering, voices loud and buzzing with excitement, a sea of red and gold clashing against yellow and black. You kept your head down, threading your way through the throng with quiet determination, trying not to look like you didnât belong.
The match played out like a stormâfast, chaotic, impossible to look away from. James flew like heâd been born with a broomstick in hand, weaving through bludgers and bodies with the kind of recklessness that made the crowd scream in delight or horror, depending on their colors. Hufflepuff held strong for the first half, but once the snitch was spotted, it was all over in a blur of motion and gold.
Gryffindor won.
You hadnât planned on waiting, but somehow you found yourself lingering by the edge of the pitch after most of the crowd had cleared. The adrenaline was still in your veins, buzzing under your skin like static, and you didnât want to go back just yet. Not when your heart was still thudding from something you couldnât name. You werenât there long before you heard footsteps pounding across the grass behind you. James, of course. Still in his Quidditch robes, hair a wild mess, cheeks pink from wind and glory.
âYou stayed,â he said, half-surprised, half-relieved.
You turned to face him, arms crossed, but your face betrayed youâlit up with a kind of breathless energy you hadnât felt in ages.
âIââ You hesitated. âIâve never seen anything like that.â
James blinked, caught off guard. âYeah?â
You nodded, and then it all started spilling out, quick and animated.
âIt was so fast. One second you were up, then down, thenâyou nearly got taken out by that Bludger, by the wayâand then you just dodged like it was nothing? I thought you were going to fall right off the broom, I genuinely stopped breathing. And the way you looped around the pitch when you saw the Snitch? That wasâlikeâhow did you even do that?â
He stared at you, absolutely floored. Not because of the wordsâthough there were manyâbut because it was you. Talking. Really talking. More than the usual quiet, clever one-liners. Your eyes were shining, hands moving to match your words, like the match had flipped a switch in you.
âI mean, I knew Quidditch was big here, but I didnât expect that. It was exciting, but also stressful, and I think I might actually have heart damage from watching it. Is that normal? Do people just live like that?â
James laughed, breathless and stunned. âMerlin, youâre adorable when you talk this much.â
You blinked, suddenly aware of yourself again. The words cut off mid-thought. He held up his hands, still grinning like youâd just handed him the moon. âNo, donât stop. I justâitâs nice. Hearing you.â You looked away, suddenly self-conscious, but the warmth didnât fade. If anything, it spread. âI guess I just.. got caught up in it,â you murmured. âIt was kind of incredible.â He stepped a little closer, eyes still on you like you were some rare thing heâd never seen before. âSo does that mean youâll come to the next one?â
You tilted your head, considering.
âOnly if you donât almost die again.â
âNo promises,â he said, eyes glinting. âBut Iâll try. If youâre watching.â
And this time, you didnât hesitate.
âI will be.â
© just1cefor4allâ I donât consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. đ«
#âïžâjust1cefor4ll#james potter#james potter x reader#the marauders#the marauders x reader#james potter fanfiction#the marauders fanfiction#james potter x you#james potter x y/n#james potter fluff#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter x reader#sirius black#remus lupin
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im feeling really normally about the 4k remaster and the release of gerards character name so here r my im not okay headcanons :ppp ive drawn frank and ray maybe once ever
more thoughts under the cut vv
okay i might make these fuckerrs into a little comic because theyre eating in my brain like a little worm.... similarly to the im not okay mv the primary inspiration is rushmore but id also want to draw from like heathers and blue monday and eltingville etc
here are some screenshots w notes on them and dynamics etc
illi: glue of the group, introduces them all to each other. for the sake of this, illi and louise are not related. name is from the 4k rendition of the mv. incredibly ambitious and always creates the main idea for the schemes that the group gets up to. kind of only nonbinary due to the fact that illi is an incredibly interesting name, and a very open opportunity for me to make revenge gerard even more nonbinary. their uniform is neat and tidy, not particularly out of respect for the school, but more out of awareness of their own appearance. into fashion but doesn't really know how to deal with their hair. just lets it grow out and fucks with it in the moment. croquet mallet is blue, so draws a lot of inspiration from veronica sawyer. they/she pronouns? maybe? but i lean towards they/them.
frances: placeholder name i guess? it's important for him to have the initials "FTW" to play on both ft willis/fuck the world but i think percy also works since it's a bit of a play on pencey prep. incredibly strained relationship with louise- very different personalities is a source of conflict between them. frances has the messiest uniform because he's the least put together, and has the most carefree attitude about things. hes really into being a problem but hes an unnaturally bright student when he actually gets into doing the work - taking a page from max fischers book here lmao. chipped nail polish. wears barrettes sometimes. very clever.
louise: i've always been enamored by that interview where gerard says that the band used "louise" as a nickname for mikey so i've associated it specifically with his glasses era. no last name for now but i think it has to have the same ou sound. primary inspiration for his character is max from rushmore. used to wear his hair slicked down until illi staged an intervention and forced him and frances to hang out one-on-one and style hair. neat uniform, but doesn't fit him properly for whatever reason. hand me down? transgenderism? he's just too tall? idk! connected with adults more than peers growing up and as a result is very under-socialized. involved with student leadership at the school.
ray: ughhhhh WHYYY did he have to write ray rules on the paper it would have been so fun to make a completely new name. okay anyways i just like graham and i think it suits whatever i have built for him. undiagnosed adhd and if anything a bit of a halfway point between illi and the rest of the group. illi is really intense and cannot be stopped sometimes so graham is kind of the "babygirl i was made to understand you vision" person. yeah im getting this from the hand on shoulder and sitting closer in that one scene but be nice to me im working with like. two minutes of footage as a launching point. uniform isn't buttoned, not because of carelessness, but forgetfulness. he's a little bit inconsistent about everything he does.
the school in general: rushmore style private school, kind of dying in recent years so funding and management is all over the place. mascot used to be the dogs or something but there were copyright issues with the logo and now they are the bears.
i thiiiink thats all i have for now?? im going to draw them more just you guys wait lmfao. ive always loved im not okay more than any other mv by a large margin so all things considered this is me being normal.
#mcr#again ive. drawn frank and ray like once each#give me a second while i learn to draw them just so they can be the muses for my music video fanfiction#someone did this with that one fall oout boy mv so the idea of expanding a universe based on limited knowledge has always intrigued me#my chemical romance#my art#gerard way#mikey way#frank iero#ray toro#illi mcmillin#<- official name soooo mayb someone has made art of themalready????#mcr fanart#art
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Beastly Instincts âą Vi & Caitlyn Kiramman
Warnings: 18+ characters, begging, edging, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, dom! Vi, sub! Reader, dom! Caitlyn, hair-pulling, double penetration, blowjobs, rough sex, foreplay, biting, blood-sucking, gp! Vi and Caitlyn, multiple orgasms
Pairings: Violet x You, Caitlyn x You, Vi x Caitlyn
Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)
Caitlyn and Viâs growing desperation leads to them initiating a search for you, their hunger not just for your blood but for the power and control you exude. Itâs a game of cat and mouse, but youâve turned it into something far more dangerousâa trap they walked into willingly, even knowing they might never escape.
The night was still, save for the whisper of wind that rustled through the leaves and carried the scent of the hunt. Caitlyn and Vi moved through the dense forest, side by side but worlds apart in focus. Both were creatures of power, bound by their instincts yet driven by something far more dangerous: the memory of you. The two of them had felt the pull of your blood, the intoxicating lure of the power and pleasure youâd given them, and now they wanted more.
No, they needed more.
âI told you, sheâs not just some ordinary hunter,â Caitlyn hissed under her breath, her sharp eyes scanning the undergrowth. Her voice was measured, calculated, but there was a fire burning behind her composed demeanor. âSheâs clever. She wonât make this easy.â
Vi frowned, flexing her fists as she cracked her knuckles. âDoesnât matter how clever she thinks she is. I can track anything. Weâll find her.â Her confidence radiated like heat, but even she couldnât deny the gnawing frustration clawing at her gut. She could still feel the phantom touch of your hands, the intoxicating tease of your presence, and it was driving her mad.
They moved in silence for a time, their heightened senses alert to every sound, every shift of the shadows. Caitlynâs nostrils flared as she caught a faint trace of your scent on the wind, and her heart raced despite herself. It was subtle, almost maddeningly so, but it was there.
âSheâs close,â Caitlyn muttered, her voice low and sharp.
Vi paused, tilting her head to catch the scent as well. Her body tensed like a spring ready to snap. âIâve got it too. Letâs move.â
The hunt continued, the two predators weaving through the trees with predatory grace. They followed the faintest traces of youâa broken branch here, a scuffed footprint there. You were taunting them, leaving just enough of a trail to keep them chasing but never enough to catch you.
âSheâs playing with us,â Caitlyn growled, her fangs glinting in the moonlight. The edge of frustration in her voice was unmistakable, and Vi couldnât help but smirk at her partnerâs irritation.
âSheâs good,â Vi admitted. âBut sheâs not perfect. Everyone slips up eventually.â
But deep down, both of them knew better. You werenât slipping up. You were toying with them, leading them deeper into the forest, away from any semblance of control they thought they had. And that only made them want you more.
As they pushed forward, the air seemed to thicken, the tension between them growing. Caitlynâs normally cold composure was fraying at the edges, her mind clouded with the memory of youâthe way your blood had tasted, the way your voice had dripped with authority, the way youâd held complete control over her.
Vi, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with anticipation. She wasnât the type to overthink things. She wanted action, and she wanted it now. The waiting, the searching, the endless chaseâit was driving her insane.
Finally, the faint scent of smoke reached their noses, and both women froze. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. This was it. You were close.
They approached the source carefully, their bodies low and their senses on high alert. The scent of smoke was stronger now, mingled with something that made their blood singâthe faint, heady trace of you. It was enough to make Caitlynâs mouth water and Viâs heart race.
The small campsite came into view, the dying embers of a fire casting flickering shadows against the trees. But the clearing was empty.
âDamn it,â Vi muttered under her breath, her frustration boiling over. âShe was here.â
Caitlynâs sharp eyes scanned the area, her mind racing. She didnât believe for a second that youâd just left without a reason. âBe careful,â she warned. âThis could beââ
Before she could finish, a low, melodic chuckle echoed through the trees, stopping both women in their tracks. It was your voice, smooth and mocking, and it sent a shiver down their spines.
âWell, well,â you drawled, stepping out of the shadows with a predatorâs grace. âLook who came crawling back.â
Caitlyn and Vi spun to face you, their bodies tense and ready, but there was no mistaking the hunger in their eyes. You stood before them, calm and composed, as if you hadnât been the one hunted all night.
âMiss me that much, did you?â you teased, your lips curling into a smirk.
âDonât flatter yourself,â Caitlyn snapped, though the sharp edge of her voice faltered as her eyes darted to the faint cut on your arm, the scent of your blood filling the air once more.
Vi growled low in her throat, her fists clenching at her sides. âYouâre not getting away this time.â
You laughed softly, the sound like velvet, and took a slow step closer. âOh, sweet Vi,â you said, your voice dripping with amusement. âYou think this little hunt was for me? No, darling, it was for you. Both of you.â
Caitlynâs breath hitched as she realized just how completely youâd played them. You hadnât been running from themâyouâd been leading them, controlling the entire game from the start. And now, standing before you, she felt it againâthat pull, that undeniable need that made her knees weak and her resolve waver.
âNow,â you said, your smile widening as you looked between them. âWhy donât we see just how desperate youâve both become?â
The tension in the clearing was palpable, the air charged with the energy of two predators sizing up their preyâor so they thought. Vi cracked her knuckles, her grin more animalistic than confident now, while Caitlynâs glowing eyes locked onto you, her sharp fangs bared as she gauged your every move.
âEnough,â Vi growled, her voice low and feral. âLetâs end this.â
The first strike came fast, almost too fast. Vi lunged forward, her fist aimed squarely at your jaw, the sheer force of her punch enough to snap a tree in half. But you sidestepped at the last second, your movements smooth and precise, as if youâd been expecting it all along. Her fist sailed past, hitting nothing but air.
Before Vi could recover, Caitlyn was already on you, her speed a blur as she closed the distance and swiped at you with claws sharp enough to cut steel. You ducked low, feeling the rush of air as her claws missed your head by inches. With a fluid motion, you spun and brought your leg up, kicking Caitlyn squarely in the chest and sending her stumbling back a few feet.
âYouâre both getting sloppy,â you taunted, your voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. âI expected better from Piltoverâs finest.â
Vi snarled, her frustration bubbling over. âShut up!â She came at you again, this time with a flurry of punches that were faster and more erratic. But for every strike, you had a counter. You weaved between her attacks, your body moving like water, fluid and untouchable. The sound of her fists cutting through the air was deafening, but not a single blow landed.
Caitlyn, meanwhile, had regained her footing. She darted in from the side, attempting to catch you off guard. Her claws flashed in the moonlight as she aimed for your throat, but you dropped into a low slide, narrowly avoiding her strike. As you slid past her, you hooked your leg around her ankle, causing her to trip and tumble to the ground.
The two women regrouped, panting slightly but far from finished. Their eyes burned with determination, and something moreâsomething wild. They werenât just fighting anymore. They were hunting. And they were losing themselves to the thrill of it.
âYouâre enjoying this, arenât you?â you asked, your smirk infuriatingly smug as you straightened up. âLetting the beast out. Doesnât it feel good?â
âShut your mouth,â Caitlyn snapped, her voice low and venomous. She wiped a trickle of blood from her lip, her eyes narrowing as she glared at you.
Vi growled, her muscles tensing as she prepared to charge again. âYouâre not getting out of this one. Not alive.â
You feigned heartbreak, âOh, Vi, I canât believe you would do such a thing to me. I thought we were just getting closer.â
This time, they came at you together, their movements coordinated and feral. Caitlyn moved with the precision of a predator, her strikes calculated and deadly, while Vi was raw power, her punches shaking the very ground beneath your feet. But even as they pushed themselves harder, faster, more monstrous, you kept up.
You ducked under Viâs punch, countered Caitlynâs clawed swipe with a swift kick to her side, and leapt over a combined attack that would have torn any other opponent to shreds. Your movements were almost⊠effortless.
It was starting to sink in for them. You werenât just skilled. You werenât just lucky. You were something else.
âWhat the hell are you?â Vi snarled, her chest heaving as she circled you. There was a flicker of doubt in her eyes now, and she hated it. Hated that you were still standing, still smirking, still in control.
Caitlynâs gaze was sharper, more analytical even in her feral state. She could feel itâthe wrongness of you. The way you moved, the way you fought, the way you seemed to anticipate their every move. âYouâre not human,â she said, her voice quieter but no less dangerous. âAre you?â
You tilted your head, your smirk widening. âI wouldnât make that assumption.â
Their silence was telling. For all their bravado, for all their power, they were realizing just how outmatched they were.
But the fight wasnât over. Not yet.
Caitlyn lunged at you again, her movements a blur as she aimed straight for your throat. You sidestepped, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back with a speed that shouldnât have been possible. She hissed in pain but didnât cry out, her pride refusing to let you see her weakness.
Vi charged in next, her fists glowing faintly with a hint of her suppressed power. You released Caitlyn just in time to dodge Viâs attack, her punch grazing your ribs but not quite connecting. You spun, your foot sweeping out to catch Viâs ankle, but she jumped back, snarling in frustration.
âGetting tired, are we?â you teased, your tone infuriatingly calm as you faced them both. âYou can keep going if you want, but I think we all know how this ends.â
They didnât respond. Words werenât necessary anymore. They were too far gone, too lost in the hunt, too consumed by the memory of you and the maddening need to have you at their mercy.
The fight reached a boiling point, the air around you thick with tension and fury. Vi and Caitlyn moved with increasing speed and power, their attacks fueled by frustration and primal rage. They werenât holding back anymore, their monstrous sides emerging as they fought with a ferocity that would have overwhelmed any normal opponent.
But you werenât normal, were you?
Vi charged forward, her punches coming in a blur of motion, each one powerful enough to shatter stone. You weaved through them effortlessly, your movements precise and almost lazy, like a predator playing with its prey. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws aimed at your side, but you ducked and spun away, leaving them to collide with each other in their frenzy.
âYouâre getting sloppy,â you taunted, sidestepping another wild swing from Vi. âI thought you two were supposed to be the best of the best. Guess I was wrong.â
Vi growled, her voice guttural as her frustration mounted. âStand still, you coward!â
She lunged at you, her fist glowing faintly with suppressed power, but you sidestepped her again, grabbing her arm mid-swing. With a fluid motion, you flipped over her, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing her into an excruciatingly arched position. She let out a strained snarl, her muscles trembling with the effort to break free.
Leaning in close, you grinned, revealing a pair of sharp fangs. âTell me, Vi,â you murmured, your voice low and mocking. âDo you have a preference? Vampires⊠or humans?â Your teeth hovered dangerously close to her throat, the promise of a bite lingering in the air.
Before you could make good on your threat, Caitlynâs furious snarl ripped through the chaos. She charged at you, her glowing eyes blazing with fury. You shoved Vi away just in time, sending her tumbling to the ground, and dissolved into a swirling black mist as Caitlynâs claws swiped through where youâd been a moment before.
The mist reformed behind her, and when she turned, her eyes widened in shock. You stood there, no longer the calm, human figure theyâd been fighting. Your amber eyes glowed like molten gold, and your hands had morphed into claws sharp enough to tear through steel. The faint outline of fur traced your arms, and your grin was sharp and predatory.
âWerewolves, Caitlyn,â you said, your voice a low rumble. âNot all of them are mindless beasts. Some of them know how to have a little fun.â
Caitlyn froze, her feral instincts clashing with the disbelief on her face. âYouâreâyouâre a wolf?â Her voice faltered, her confusion and rage warring with each other.
Vi, picking herself up from the ground, stared at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. âThatâs not possible,â she muttered, shaking her head. âYouâreâyouâre human.â
You chuckled darkly, flexing your claws as you regarded them with an almost casual air. âYouâre right, I am human. I bleed like a human. Smell like one too. Itâs what makes the hunt so much more fun.â You took a step closer, your eyes flicking between the two of them. âBut youâve felt it, havenât you? That little itch in the back of your mind telling you somethingâs off? You knew I wasnât normal.â
Caitlyn growled low in her throat, her glowing eyes narrowing as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing. âWhat are you?â she demanded, her voice sharp with accusation.
You tilted your head, your grin widening. âWouldnât you like to know?â
Their rage reignited, and this time, there was no holding back. Vi lunged at you with a roar, her fists swinging with a force that made the ground tremble. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws slicing through the air with deadly precision. Their movements were faster now, more animalistic, their monstrous sides fully unleashed.
For the first time, you had to take them seriously. You met Viâs punch with a block, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground, and twisted to avoid Caitlynâs claws, her strike barely grazing your side. Their power was overwhelming, even for you, and you found yourself being pushed back.
But you didnât lose your composure. Instead, you smirked, your movements becoming even more fluid as you dodged and countered their attacks. âYouâre both getting desperate,â you teased, sliding under Viâs swing and narrowly avoiding Caitlynâs strike. âItâs cute.â
Caitlyn let out a snarl of frustration, her claws glowing faintly as she lashed out again. Vi followed up with a punch aimed directly at your head, but you ducked under it, grabbing her arm and twisting her to the side.
âYouâre not human,â Vi growled, her voice strained as she tried to break free. âYou canât be.â
âGood observation,â you said with a smirk, tossing her aside and dodging Caitlynâs attack in the same motion. âTook you long enough.â
Their feral instincts had fully taken over now, their attacks wild and relentless. But you knew when it was time to end a game. As Vi charged at you again, her fists glowing with raw power, you dissolved into black mist once more, letting her attack pass harmlessly through you.
The mist swirled around them, disorienting them as they tried to locate you. âTime to cool off,â your voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, tinged with amusement.
When the mist dissipated, you were gone, leaving Vi and Caitlyn standing there, panting and furious, their monstrous sides still clawing for control. But in the quiet that followed, one thing was clear: they hadnât even begun to uncover the truth of what you were.
Caitlynâs rage was unstoppable. Her mind clouded by the thirst, her vision tunneled to the scent of your blood. It consumed her completely, driving her to abandon everything elseâreason, restraint, and her usual calm. She felt herself losing control with every step, and though Viâs voice echoed behind her, calling her name and trying to pull her back, Caitlyn couldnât stop. The hunger was a beast inside her, and it was all she could do to keep it at bay long enough to follow your trail.
She tore through the streets with frightening speed, her senses sharpened, homing in on your scent as it led her to a small, dimly lit town. She stalked through the streets, her fangs already extended, eyes burning with that bloodlust that had taken over her. The people she passed didnât even notice the air around her change, but she could hear the beat of their hearts, smell the warmth of their blood. She had to hold back. She was going to find you. She was going to make you pay, but she couldnât show her powers to anyone, not yet. The town had no idea what was coming, and she was going to keep it that way.
Finally, she reached the bar where the scent of you was thick, almost suffocating. The door creaked open as she slipped inside, scanning the room with a predatorâs gaze. And there you were. Sitting at the bar, so casual, as if you werenât the cause of everything that had broken inside her. The moment your eyes met, she could feel that familiar wave of fury crashing over her again.
Her fangs elongated, her hands trembling with the effort to control her power. Her eyes flashed red, and a low growl rumbled from her throat. She didnât care about the eyes that were starting to look her way; you were the only thing that mattered. She stalked toward you, her every step radiating pure menace. There was no reasoning left in her, no fear. Just the unrelenting need to tear you apart, to drink from you until there was nothing left.
But you didnât flinch. Instead, you smirked, your posture relaxed as you watched her approach, your eyes gleaming with amusement. âCareful, Caitlyn,â you warned, your voice smooth, deliberate. âYou donât want to make a scene in front of a bunch of hunters. Theyâd take you down faster than you could say your motherâs name.â
Her eyes narrowed, and the rage in them intensified, but there was a moment of hesitation. She could feel the presence of others in the room now. The hunters, the ones who had been lurking, waiting. Her bloodlust was on the verge of consuming her completely, but you had her on the edge of two choicesâfight or retreat.
She didnât listen. She lunged, her body a blur of motion, intent on bringing you to your knees.
But you were ready. Faster than she could process, you reached out and grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward with force that made her stumble. The shock of it hit her like a jolt of cold water, and for a split second, she froze. Her fangs were still bared, her lips curled in a snarl, but there was no action. Not yet.
And then, in one swift movement, you pulled her into a kiss. It was forceful, demanding, and Caitlynâs mind went blank. Her breath hitched, her body stiffened in surprise, but there was something strangely calming in your touch, a strange power in your control. The hunger in her lessened, her senses buzzing as she tried to regain control over herself.
âRelax,â you murmured against her lips, your voice low and teasing. âYouâll be able to show me those scary vampire powers later.â
Something inside her shifted. The red in her eyes dulled, just a fraction, enough for her to think clearly again. She pushed against you, still furious, but she couldnât shake the unsettling calm you had instilled in her.
You released her from the kiss and pushed her gently but firmly into a chair. âStay seated,â you said, your tone firm but not unkind. âLet the storm pass for now.â
Caitlyn was still seething, her heart pounding with frustration, but the primal rage that had gripped her was fading. She remained seated, her fangs retracting, her breath returning to a more normal pace. She clenched her fists, silently simmering in the chair, the tension still thick in the air.
Moments later, the door to the bar creaked open again, and Vi stepped inside. Her eyes scanned the room, locking onto Caitlyn before her gaze shifted to you. The tension between the three of you was palpable. Viâs eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. She stalked toward the table, every step measured and cautious, a predator assessing her prey.
As Vi moved to stand beside Caitlyn, you leaned back in your chair, unfazed, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. âDonât make any threatening moves, Vi,â you warned, your voice calm but edged with something darker. âOne of the hunters in this room will be wearing your canines as a necklace before the night is over.â
Vi paused, her gaze flicking toward the people around the bar. She looked at Caitlyn, the two of them silently communicating with just a glance, both of them reluctantly understanding the situation. Slowly, without another word, Vi took a seat at the table across from you.
You watched the two of them closely, the tension between them and the room shifting into something more controlled, more calculated. The game had changed.
Now, you were in charge.
And they knew it.
âWhat now?â Caitlyn finally spoke, her voice quiet, but the edge of her anger still evident.
You met her gaze, your smile never wavering. âNow, we wait,â you said simply. âBut donât think for a second that Iâm going to make this easy for either of you.â
Vi and Caitlyn exchanged another look, both of them more aware than ever that they were dealing with someone who wasnât just playing by the rulesâthey were dealing with someone who made their rules.
And the night was just beginning.
The moment stretched unbearably for Vi and Caitlyn as they sat across from you, forced to watch while you leisurely sipped your drink. The tension between you all was palpable, a wire stretched to its breaking point. For them, it felt like an eternity of restraint, each tick of the clock dragging them further into frustration. You were composed, maddeningly so, your casual demeanor only fueling their growing impatience. Caitlynâs knuckles were white against the table, her nails threatening to break the wood beneath them. Vi, though trying to appear calmer, had her leg bouncing under the table, a clear sign of her fraying patience.
Finally, Caitlyn snapped. She slammed her hand onto the table, leaning forward with a glare so sharp it could have cut glass. âEnough games,â she growled, her voice low but brimming with fury. âWhy are you doing this? Why us? Everything youâve doneâevery little gameâitâs all been to get our attention, hasnât it? You knew weâd fall for it. Every single time.â
You didnât flinch. Instead, you smirked, the glint in your eyes both infuriating and captivating. Swirling the last of your drink, you finally set the glass down with a deliberate clink and leaned back in your chair, as if you were pondering her question. âYou know,â you began, your tone playful yet cutting, âI think youâre starting to figure it out.â
Caitlynâs glare darkened, her fangs peeking through as she fought to keep her composure. Viâs gaze darted between you and Caitlyn, her own frustration evident, though she held back, letting her partner do the talking for now.
âYouâre good little beasts,â you continued, your voice dripping with amusement. âAlways coming running the second you catch my scent. Obedient, relentless⊠predictable.â You leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Caitlyn. âYou want to know why? Because you like it. The chase, the fight, the thrillâyou crave it, even if you wonât admit it.â
Caitlynâs jaw tightened, and Viâs fists clenched, her patience wearing thin. But before either could respond, you leaned closer to Caitlyn, your smirk growing into something sharper, more dangerous. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as you bit down hard on your lower lip. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and the effect was immediate.
Caitlyn froze, her gaze snapping to your lips, where a thin line of crimson welled up. Her nostrils flared, and her pupils dilated, a flash of red overtaking her irises as her vampire instincts surged to the surface. She gripped the table tightly, her claws beginning to dig into the wood as she fought to maintain control. Her composure was slipping, her breathing becoming shallow and uneven.
You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping to a low, almost taunting murmur. âDo you want it, Caitlyn?â
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her attention was solely fixed on the blood, the scent drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She barely registered your words as her instincts battled with her self-control.
âGo on,â you encouraged, your tone soft but laced with a challenge. âClean it up. I wonât stop you.â
For a moment, Caitlynâs restraint faltered entirely. She leaned closer, her fangs fully extended now, her breath ragged. Her gaze flicked to yours, and for a fleeting second, there was hesitationâperhaps a trace of shame or conflict. But it was quickly swallowed by the primal hunger surging through her.
She closed the distance, her movements almost trembling with need, and before she could second-guess herself, her lips brushed against yours. Her fangs scraped lightly against your skin as her tongue darted out, catching the bead of blood that threatened to spill. The taste was electric, a jolt that sent her instincts spiraling out of control.
Viâs voice cut through the haze like a whip. âCaitlyn,â she snapped, her tone sharp, though it lacked the full conviction of disapproval. There was a flicker of something else in her voiceâcuriosity, maybe even jealousy.
But Caitlyn didnât pull back. If anything, Viâs interruption only made her grip on the moment tighten. Her hands, still clenched against the table, trembled as she fought to maintain some semblance of control while indulging in the taste of you.
You chuckled softly, your voice steady despite the ferocity in Caitlynâs actions. âThere you go,â you murmured, almost teasingly. âGood girl.â
The words seemed to snap something in Caitlyn. She growled low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as she pulled back slightly, her crimson-stained eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around you both, the rest of the world fading into irrelevance.
Vi, still seated, was tense, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. There was a flicker of conflict in her gaze, torn between stepping in and staying back.
You leaned back slightly, licking the corner of your lip as if reclaiming what Caitlyn had taken. âSee?â you said, your voice smooth and confident. âYou couldnât help yourself.â
Caitlyn didnât respond, her breathing still uneven as she fought to regain her composure. The hunger in her eyes hadnât faded entirely, but there was something else there nowâfrustration, humiliation, maybe even a reluctant acknowledgment of the truth in your words.
You turned your attention to Vi, who was glaring at you with equal parts anger and intrigue. âWhat about you, Vi?â you asked, tilting your head slightly. âAre you going to sit there and pretend youâre above it? Or are you just waiting your turn?â
The challenge in your tone was unmistakable, and for a moment, Viâs hands flexed, as if she were considering lunging across the table. But she stayed rooted in place, her jaw tight and her gaze locked onto yours.
âThought so,â you said with a smirk, leaning back in your chair once again. The game was far from over, and you were enjoying every second of it.
The tension in the room thickened as you shifted your attention from Caitlyn to Vi, a slow, deliberate move that felt like a predator locking onto its next prey. Viâs sharp blue eyes met yours, her expression a mix of defiance and barely concealed curiosity. You leaned back lazily, crossing your arms as if this were all a casual conversation instead of the charged, dangerous game it truly was.
âHmm,â you began, your voice dripping with mock contemplation, loud enough to draw Caitlynâs wary glare back to you. âIâve always wondered what werewolves really liked. I mean, vampires? Easy. Blood, obviously. Power. Control. But werewolvesâŠâ Your eyes flicked to Vi, watching her jaw clench as her fingers gripped the edge of the table. âWhatâs the deal with them?â
Vi didnât respond, but her eyes narrowed as she leaned slightly forward, her muscles tense. The corners of your mouth curled into a smirk, and you continued as if pondering the answer aloud.
âIs it the thrill of the hunt?â you mused, tilting your head. âThe feeling of the ground under your claws as you chase your prey? Or maybe itâs the fight? That surge of adrenaline when youâre up against someone who wonât go down easy. OrâŠâ You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, and though your tone was quiet, it carried across the table like a taunt. âMaybe itâs something else entirely. Something more⊠primal?â
Viâs breathing hitched ever so slightly, and you didnât miss the way her eyes briefly flicked to your throat before she forced herself to look away. Her reaction only fueled your teasing.
âDo werewolves like to dominate?â you asked, your voice just loud enough for her to hear. âOr is it the opposite? Do they like to be pinned down, teeth at their throat, heart racing because they know theyâre at someone elseâs mercy?â You paused, letting the words hang in the air, watching as Viâs hands flexed against the table, her knuckles turning white.
You leaned even closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for her. âWhat about you, Vi? Is that what you want? To take me down? OrâŠâ Your smirk widened, your eyes gleaming with amusement as you delivered the next line with deliberate slowness. âDo you want me to do that to you?â
The reaction was immediate. Vi shot to her feet, the chair screeching against the floor as her fists slammed onto the table. Her expression was a volatile mix of anger and something darker, something she didnât want to name but couldnât entirely suppress. Caitlynâs head snapped toward her partner, a flicker of concern breaking through her still-recovering composure.
âYou think youâre funny, donât you?â Vi growled, her voice low and dangerous. Her heightened senses made it impossible to ignore the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, and the maddeningly calm scent of youâhuman, yet notâonly further stoked the fire in her veins.
You leaned back casually, unbothered by her outburst, and shrugged. âI mean, Iâm entertaining myself, if thatâs what youâre asking.â
Viâs teeth bared slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like she was about to lunge across the table. Caitlynâs hand shot out, gripping Viâs arm, and though her strength was still shaky from her earlier loss of control, it was enough to hold Vi in place.
âDonât,â Caitlyn warned, her voice sharp but tinged with the same frustration. She wasnât defending you, not entirelyâbut she knew that causing a scene in this bar, surrounded by hunters, would end badly for both of them.
You watched the exchange with mild amusement, raising your glass for another sip before setting it down with deliberate slowness. âCareful, Vi,â you said, your tone mocking but underlined with a hint of genuine warning. âYou wouldnât want to prove me right, would you? That youâre just as predictable as your partner over here?â
Viâs gaze burned into yours, her chest rising and falling with barely restrained rage. âIâm not predictable,â she hissed through gritted teeth.
âCouldâve fooled me,â you shot back, grinning. Then, as if to drive the point home, you added, âYou came running just like she did. And youâre still here. And you keep coming back. Why is that, Vi? Whatâs keeping you glued to that spot? Is it the thrill? The challenge?â You tilted your head slightly, your grin sharpening into something more dangerous. âOr is it me?â
Caitlynâs grip on Viâs arm tightened, her crimson eyes narrowing as she spoke, her voice low but filled with warning. âStop provoking her.â
You glanced at Caitlyn, your grin softening into a smirk. âOh, Iâm not provoking her. Iâm just asking questions.â Then, turning your attention back to Vi, you added, âSheâs the one getting worked up. Mustâve hit a nerve.â
Vi took a step back, her fists still clenched, her entire body trembling with the effort to keep her composure. For a moment, silence hung between you all, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then, Vi let out a slow, shuddering breath and sat back down, though her glare never left your face.
âGood girl,â you murmured, the words dripping with condescension, and Viâs knuckles cracked as her fists tightened once again.
Caitlyn shot you a sharp look, her voice low and dangerous. âYouâre walking a fine line.â
You met her gaze evenly, your smirk unshaken. âOh, I know exactly where the line is.â You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms behind your head. âThe question is, how long can you two stay on your side of it?â
The clink of coins on the counter marked the end of your drink as you finished it in one smooth motion, savoring the silence that followed. You rose from your seat with a fluidity that made even the smallest movement seem deliberate. Vi and Caitlyn, ever vigilant, mirrored your movement almost immediately, their eyes trained on you like hawks circling prey. Despite the seething animosity that practically radiated from them, neither could bring themselves to break away from your orbit.
As you adjusted your coat, you cast them a lazy glance over your shoulder, smirking faintly at how they followed so closely. âWell,â you announced, your voice calm but carrying just enough of an edge to draw their attention. âI think itâs about time I turned in for the night.â
âLike hell you are,â Vi growled, stepping closer, her sharp glare boring into you.
Caitlyn stood rigid beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her crimson eyes glowing faintly under the dim bar lights. âAfter everything? You think you can just leave?â Her voice was clipped, the words escaping through clenched teeth.
Your smirk widened, clearly enjoying their defiance. âOh? And why not?â you asked, your tone light but steeped in mockery. âWhatâs stopping me from walking out that door? Surely youâre not saying you need me to stay?â
Vi bristled at the implication, her fists tightening at her sides. âDonât twist this around.â
âI donât have to,â you replied easily, your gaze sliding between the two of them. âYouâre both doing that just fine on your own.â You took a single step toward them, your presence almost suffocating as the smirk on your lips softened into something more mischievous. âSo tell meâwhy canât I leave? What is it youâre both so desperate to say but wonât?â
Silence fell between them, the tension palpable as they both stared at you, their emotions warring just beneath the surface. Caitlynâs lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep control. Vi, on the other hand, looked ready to throw a punch, her body vibrating with barely contained frustration.
When neither of them spoke, you chuckled softly, shaking your head. âThatâs what I thought,â you murmured, almost pityingly. Then you tilted your head, feigning curiosity as you asked, âOr maybeâŠâ You paused, letting the words hang in the air. âMaybe you just donât want me to go because deep down, you like this. The chase, the thrill. The fact that Iâm the only one who can make you feel this alive.â
Their reactions were immediate. Viâs eyes narrowed dangerously, her nostrils flaring as she clenched her fists tighter. Caitlynâs crimson eyes glowed brighter, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the storm beneath.
Before they could argue, you took another step forward, this time closing the distance entirely. Standing between them, you reached out, one hand gently brushing against Viâs cheek, the other cupping Caitlynâs with a surprising tenderness. They both stiffened under your touch, their bodies rigid and their breathing shallow.
âThereâs no shame in it,â you said softly, your voice low and almost soothing. âItâs natural to want to follow your instincts. To give in.â Your thumbs grazed their skin lightly before you pulled your hands away, your smirk returning as you straightened. âSo⊠are you coming with me, or do I leave you here to brood?â
They exchanged a brief glance, their pride clearly warring with something deeper, something primal. And yet, neither of them moved to stop you as you turned toward the door. Instead, when you stepped outside into the cool night air, they followed, silent but determined, their presence a steady weight at your back.
You cast a glance over your shoulder as they fell into step behind you, their reluctance betrayed by the fire still burning in their eyes. With a faint chuckle, you reached out and patted them both on the cheek once more, a gesture that was equal parts condescending and oddly affectionate. âGood little beasts,â you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement as you began to lead the way. âThis is going to be fun.â
..
The tavern was dimly lit and smelled faintly of ale and woodsmoke. You strode up to the front desk with the same air of confidence you always carried, Vi and Caitlyn trailing just behind you like reluctant shadows. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged tavern keeper with a tired but pleasant face, perked up as you approached.
âI need a room,â you said smoothly, your voice low and calm. âSomething soundproof.â
The request was simple, but it hung in the air like a thunderclap. The woman blinked, momentarily taken aback, her gaze flickering to Vi and Caitlyn, who stood rigid behind you. Caitlynâs sharp, elegant features were still taut with barely contained tension, while Viâs fists remained clenched at her sides, her glare aimed at the back of your head.
The tavern keeperâs cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as her imagination filled in the gaps. âSoundproof, you say?â she repeated, her voice faltering just slightly.
You gave her a polite, knowing smile, leaning an elbow on the counter as you added, âYes, soundproof. Privacy is very important to me, you see.â Your tone was calm, but there was a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes that didnât go unnoticed.
Her gaze darted to Caitlyn and Vi again, lingering on the two of them with a flustered expression. Caitlynâs crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, her vampiric features giving her a dangerous beauty that likely unnerved the woman. Vi, with her broad shoulders and tense stance, looked no less intimidating. The tavern keeper cleared her throat and fumbled for the ledger in front of her.
âRight, well,â she said quickly, avoiding direct eye contact as she flipped through the pages. âWe do have a room that should meet your⊠requirements.â Her tone carried a distinct undertone of awkwardness, and you could see the way her hands trembled slightly as she scribbled something down.
You tilted your head slightly, watching her reaction with thinly veiled amusement. âPerfect,â you said, sliding a few coins across the counter. âI appreciate your discretion.â
The woman nodded quickly, still avoiding eye contact as she slid a key toward you. âRoom at the end of the hall. Quiet as a graveyard. Should be just what youâre looking for.â
Her choice of words earned a faint chuckle from you. âGraveyard, hmm? Fitting.â You straightened, pocketing the key before casting a glance back at Vi and Caitlyn. âCome on, then,â you said casually, gesturing for them to follow.
As you turned, you caught the tavern keeperâs gaze darting between Caitlyn and Vi again, her expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment. She clearly didnât know what to make of the situation, but she was far too politeâor too scaredâto ask questions.
The three of you moved toward the stairs, the tension between you palpable. Caitlynâs crimson eyes still glowed faintly, her composure hanging by a thread, while Viâs scowl deepened with every step, her fists clenching and unclenching as if itching for a fight.
When you reached the room, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open just long enough for them to follow. You didnât bother waiting for them to settle in before leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and surveying them both with a faint smirk.
âWell,â you drawled, ânow that we have some privacy, letâs talk.â
You leaned casually against the wall, your smirk widening as your eyes flicked between the two of them. Caitlynâs crimson gaze was fixed on you, unblinking and unnervingly intense, while Vi stood a little behind her, arms crossed and jaw clenched tightly enough to crack. They both looked like predators cornered into an uneasy alliance, trying to decide whether to lunge or retreat.
You grin, an expression that was predatory and chilling.
âSo,â you began, your voice low and teasing, âwhy is it, exactly, that you two are chasing me like this? Hmm? Canât get enough of me? Or maybeâŠâ You stepped forward, inching closer to Caitlyn with an almost predatory grace, ââŠyouâre just bored and need a little excitement in your lives?â
Caitlyn stiffened as you approached, her jaw tightening. Her fangs gleamed faintly under the lantern light, and her red eyes never left yours, but she didnât move. Vi, behind you, let out a low, irritated huff, but you could feel her tension like a coiled spring. She wasnât going to make the first moveânot yet.
Caitlynâs composure finally cracked. She took a step forward, her fangs fully bared and her voice trembling with fury. âYouâre toying with us,â she spat. âYou think this is some game youâre in control of, but you have no idea what youâre dealing with.â
âOr,â you continued, tilting your head slightly as you closed the distance to Caitlyn, âmaybe itâs something else. Something deeper. A craving you canât quite ignore. A thrill you canât resist.â Your voice dropped to a near whisper, soft and coaxing. âIs that it, Caitlyn? Am I the only one who can give you what you really want?â
Caitlynâs breath hitched, her composure cracking for just a moment before she forced herself back into control. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She didnât answer, but the way her crimson eyes flickered betrayed her struggle.
You smirked, taking another step closer until you were right in front of her. Her tall frame loomed over you, but you showed no fear. If anything, the proximity only seemed to embolden you. Behind you, you could sense Vi shifting slightly, her frustration simmering as she watched the scene unfold.
âAnd Vi,â you said suddenly, your tone light and almost playful as you glanced over your shoulder. âWhat about you? Whatâs your excuse? I know youâve been itching for a fight, but this?â You gestured vaguely to the room, the tension, the chase. âThis isnât just about a fight, is it? No⊠youâre just as caught up in this as Caitlyn.â
Vi growled low in her throat, but her hesitation was telling. She didnât deny it. She didnât even move. You chuckled softly and turned back to Caitlyn, your gaze locking with hers as you reached up, your hand moving with deliberate slowness.
âMaybe itâs time to admit it,â you murmured, your voice low and intimate. Your fingers brushed lightly against Caitlynâs cheek, your touch gentle yet firm. Her skin was cool beneath your fingertips, and her breath hitched again, her eyes widening slightly as you leaned in just enough to invade her space.
âYouâre both here because you want to be,â you said, your words cutting through the silence like a blade. âBecause no matter how much you hate meâor how much you hate yourselves for itâyou canât stay away.â
Caitlynâs lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes darted between yours, her fangs still bared, but her resolve was slipping. Behind you, Viâs breathing grew heavier, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.
Your fingers trail over the exposed skin of Caitlynâs neck, her collarbone. She trembles beneath your touch, her fangs biting into her lower lip as you descend.
Lower.
Lower.
Your hand ghosts over the flat plane of her stomach, dipping into the waistband of her pants. The need to feel her, to explore the secrets hidden beneath the fabric, is a living thing inside you. But you have company. A warm, solid weight at your back. Vi flanks you, her front pressing to your back as she watches you with heavy-lidded eyes. A growl rumbles deep in her throat, a wordless approval as you cup Caitlyn through her pants.
Caitlyn hisses through clenched teeth as you stroke her through the fabric of her pants. The need to rip away that barrier, to feel her soft, pliant skin is an itch beneath your nails. But Vi's presence at your back is a steadying influence, a reminder that this is a game, a dance. So you hold back, contenting yourself with teasing swirls of your palm over her clothed length.
"You want this, love?" you coo, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Want to feel me wrapped around you, squeezing you so tight you forget your own name?" Your hand squeezes as if to punctuate your words, and Caitlyn's hips jerk into your touch. You smile, all teeth and wicked promises. She snarls, her hands clenching at her sides as she fights the urge to grab you, to take what you're so coyly offering.
You stroke her slow, maddeningly slow, keeping your touch feather-light to drive her wild. Sheâs squirming now, her hips rocking into your palm seeking more friction. You obligingly tighten your grip, humming low in your throat as she pulses against you.
"Such an eager vampire," you taunt, your thumb swiping over the tip of her cock. "So desperate for my touch. Will do anything for it, won't you?" To emphasize your point, you drop to your knees before her, pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses along her length. The need to taste her, to feel her slide over your tongue is an ache in your mouth.
But you have patience.
You suck her through the fabric, letting your teeth graze the sensitive flesh beneath.
She reacts sharply, hissing as your teeth scrape over her straining erection. You do it again, purposefully, your tongue a wet swirl against the hidden shape of her. The need to see her, to truly appreciate the sight of her cock is a burning demand. Without warning, you rip open her fly, your fingers delving into the newfound space.
Your hand wraps around her immediately, the hot, hard length of her against your palm making your mouth water. She's perfect, thick and veiny and hard enough to hurt. The need to swallow her down, to feel her stretching your throat, is a pulsing throb between your legs. But you hold off, settling for a gentle pump of your wrist as you lave the weeping tip with kittenish licks.
You swirl around the swollen head, collecting every drop of pearly pre-cum as it leaks from her tip. She squirms, her hands fisting at her sides as you torment her. The need to wrap your lips around her, to finally put her out of her misery, is a desperate clawing thing. So you do, hollowing your cheeks as you slide down her cock. The taste of her explodes across your tongue, musky and masculine and so deliciously hers.
You swallow around her, fighting your gag reflex as she nudges the back of your throat. The sound she makes is pure sex, a drawn out moan that has your cunt clenching. You do it again, over and over until she's reduced to a panting, pleading mess.
Caitlyn's hands bury in your hair as you release her from your mouth with an obscene pop. She's panting, her chest heaving as you continue to stroke her steadily.
The need to hear Vi's permission, her okay to touch and taste is a sudden, desperate thing. You gazed over your shoulder, your tongue peeking out to wet your swollen lips. "Want me to suck you too, baby?" you purr, your voice husky with desire. "Want to feel that pretty cock fucking my throat while I swallow Caitlyn's cum?"
Vi's answering growl is low and primal, her fangs flashing as she licks her lips. In an instant she's behind you, her hands making quick work of her pants as she frees her massive erection. The thick length slaps against your cheek, smearing pre-cum over your skin. "Yes," she hisses. "Fucking yes.â
You return your attention to Caitlyn, your hand stroking her with renewed purpose. You scoot forward, your free hand wrapping around Vi's muscular thigh for balance as you take Caitlyn's cock back into your mouth. Your lips stretch obscenely around her girth, your jaw aching as you force yourself to relax.
But she doesn't push for more, allowing you to set the pace as you bob up and down her length. Beside you, Vi hisses, her claws scoring your hips as she watches you. Your core clenches, arousal flooding your panties at the feral possessiveness in her growl. Your neck aches from the strain of your double task, the need to have both your beasts inside you, consuming you, a physical hunger. So you double your efforts, hollowing your cheeks as you swallow around Caitlyn's cock.
You alternate between the two cocks, your saliva mixing with their pre-cum to slick the way. One moment your mouth is wrapped around Caitlyn's impressive length, the next your hand is wrapped tight around Vi's massive girth. The need to taste them both, to feel them both, is a burning insistence in your gut. She reacts differently to your ministrations, Caitlyn's hips stuttering as you take her to the root, Vi's thrusting into your grip like it's the most natural thing in the world.
You work them together, your mouth coming down to gently suck Caitlyn's heavy sack. She doesnât disappoint, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, chasing her pleasure on your tongue. Beside you, Vi grunts, her rhythm faltering as you jerk her off with practiced strokes.
Caitlyn curses, a litany of praise falling from her lips as you worship her cock. Her grip on your hair tightens, bordering on painful as she fucks your face. The need to be used, to be nothing more than a convenient hole for their pleasure, is a dark thrill that races down your spine.
You pull back, releasing Caitlyn's cock with an obscene pop. Your spit shines on her cock, a testament to your oral attentions. But there are other ways to pleasure her, other ways to drive her wild with need. So you let your fingers do the talking, jacking her off with a loose, easy grip. The need to multitask, to pleasure both your lovers, is a challenge you're eager to meet. The need to have them coming undone because of you, to be the center of their universe, is a burning desire.
So you lean back, your hand continuing its steady work on Vi's dick even as you lave Caitlyn's with kittenish licks. The combined sensations are heady, intoxicating. A drop of pre-cum lands on your cheek, the warm wetness a brand against your skin.
You turn your head to the side, your mouth gaping wide in invitation. Vi stumbles forward eagerly, her cock sinking into your waiting throat with a low groan. You swallow around her, your nose pressing into the wild thatch of hair at the base of her dick. The need to breathe is a distant concern, eclipsed by the burning desire to taste Vi's pleasure on your tongue. Your tongue undulates along her length as she thrusts, your hollowed cheeks hollowing and swelling with the force of her strokes.
Beside you, Caitlyn groans, her hand joining yours as you feverishly pumps her cock. The added stimulation is too much, Vi's thrusts growing erratic as your throat squeezes around her. You bite back your own moan, the vibrations of your vocal cords urging her on.
You bob back and forth between the two, your hand working Caitlyn with feverish strokes even as you release Vi from your throat with an obscene slurp. You need to have them coming, to see them falling apart because of your touch, is a chant in your head. You kiss up Vi's dick, nuzzling into her heavy sack as your fist tightens around Caitlyn's dick.
She doesnât hold back, her hips snapping into your grip with animalistic grunts. You need to taste them, to feel their hot release coating your hand and painting your skin, is a screaming desperation. So you lean forward, your hand twisting on Caitlyn's cock as your lips wrap around Vi's weeping tip.
Caitlyn hisses, her hips jerking erratically as her orgasm crashes over her. Hot, sticky ropes of cum paint your chest, splashing against your waiting skin in a show of mark-making that has your cunt clenching. But you have no time to bask in the warm, squelch of seed on your breasts. Vi's hands are fists in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks your throat with abandon. She snarls, a broken sound of ecstasy that mixes with Caitlyn's panting moans.
You swallow, your cheeks hollowing as you fight your own gag reflex. The taste of her, salty and thick and so unmistakably Vi, floods your senses. It's perfect. You moan around her, the vibrations of your throat catapulting her over the edge.
You stay kneeling on the floor, Vi's cock slipping from your lips with a lewd pop. Your chest is sticky with Caitlyn's release, the white ropes splattered across your heaving breasts like macabre war paint. They look down at you, panting and flushed and oh so very ready for round two. You need to be filled, to be stretched, to be utterly ruined by these magnificent creatures is a pulsing demand between your legs.
But first, you want to admire your handywork. Vi's cock is bobbing obscenely, pearly drops of cum beading at the tip. Caitlyn's is no different, the head engorged and leaking. You want to have them inside you, surrounding you, consuming you is a roar in your skull. You scoop up some of Caitlyn's seed, painting your lips like you're about to eat the most decadent treat.
Your thoughts are swallowed by Caitlyn's mouth as she yanks you up by your hair. Her kiss is hungry, desperate, her fangs scoring your lips in a way that has you opening automatically. Your blood mingles with her tongue, the coppery taste a metallic counterpoint to the musky flavors of sex and sweat that cling to your tongues. Behind you, Vi is a warm, solid presence, her canines worrying the nape of your neck in a mirror of her lover's actions.
Your head swims, the combination of pain and pleasure shorting out your circuits until the only thing that matters is the mouths on you, the hands groping, the cocks pressing urgently into your curves.
You surrender to it, to them, your body pliant and yielding as they manhandle you between them. You fall in Vi's arms, your fronts flushed together as Caitlyn crowds you from the back. The sword of Vi's tongue duels with the press of Caitlyn's fangs, the dual sensations stoking the fire in your veins to a roaring inferno.
You want to be touched everywhere, to be worshiped and cherished and fucked until you can't walk straight, is a chant in your head. Caitlyn plays her hands over your ribs, her thumbs flicking across your nipples. You moan, the breathless sound dying against Viâs lips. She grinds into you, the hard length of her cock nestling between your thighs like it was made to be there. Vi cups your ass, her fingers digging into the pliant flesh as she grinds against you.
"Fuck," Vi groans, her hips grinding harder into you as she watches you debauch yourself. "Fuck,you're so hot like this. So desperate for us." Her words are a dark promise, the rumble of her voice making your clit throb. Behind you, Caitlyn seems to silently agree with her, her eyes glassy with lust as she takes in the sight of you.
"Câmon," you whisper, your voice raw and ragged. "I need you. Need you both. Need you to fucking breed me." The words are a revelation, a baptism in the basest, most fundamental of needs. And they're only too happy to oblige.
Caitlyn grabs your hips, spinning you around to face her. Her lips claim yours in a bruising kiss, her fangs nipping at your lower lip in a silent demand for entry. You yield, your mouth opening automatically to grant her access. Your tongues dance, the taste of you mixing together in a perverse mockery of foreplay. Behind you, Vi growls, her hands yanking your ass up and back in a move that has you gasping into Caitlyn's mouth. The change in angle puts your cunt right at the perfect height, Vi's dick nestling between your folds like it was made to be there. You shake, the heat of her almost too much to bear.
But thatâs the point isn't it?
To burn in their fires, to be consumed by them until there's nothing left but cinders and ash. Caitlynâs hands roam your body, calloused fingers teasing and taunting until you're a writhing mess in their arms. Every touch is an inferno, stoking the flames of your desire until you're ready to incinerate from the inside out. She scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs locking around her waist as she impales you on her thick dick with a single, smooth stroke. You wail, your head falling back on a scream of ecstasy as your cunt clenches around her. The stretch is obscene, your walls straining to accommodate her girth.
But oh, it feels so fucking good.
So right.
Vi's hands on your hips guide your movements, lifting you up and down on Caitlyn's cock like you weigh nothing. The drag of her dick against your walls is delicious agony, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Behind you, Vi grunts, her own hips rocking forward to slot her dick between your ass cheeks. The slick slide of it, hot and heavy and oh so very her, makes you clench hard around Caitlyn.
Behind you, she snarls, her hands digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise. But you donât care. You just want to be marked, claimed, owned in every way possible, is a pulsing throb beneath your skin. The greed to be theirs is the only coherent thought left in your head.
They work you between them, Caitlyn's thrusts setting a brutal pace that Vi matches beat for beat. Your head lolls back onto Vi's shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut as you lose yourself in the rhythm. Itâs hypnotic, the push and pull of their bodies, the slap of sweat-slicked flesh on flesh. Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your throat, marking you in a way that goes soul-deep. The pain is fleeting, lost in the haze of pleasure as Vi's hips buck, her cock slipping between your folds to slide against Caitlyn's. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, your vision whiting out as the dual stimulation shatters you. You fall, tumbling headfirst into bliss, into ecstasy, into a place where there are no more worries, no more cares.
Caitlyn stands, holding your quivering body aloft as Vi sinks her cock in your pussy, stretching obscenely around her girth. You are stuffed so full, so deliciously stuffed, you feel like you might split in two. But you donât. You donât because this is what you were made for, to be their plaything, their receptacle for all things depraved and delicious.
You sink down, taking them both to the hilt in a move that has you screaming. The pleasure is incandescent, searing, so all-consuming that you donât even feel it when Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your breast or Vi clamps down on your neck. All you know is the bliss, the perfection, of being taken so hard and so deep. Of finally, blessedly, being home.
You can only hold on, your nails scrabbling for purchase on sweat-slicked shoulders as they fuck into you. Caitlyn's angle has her rubbing that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, sending stars shooting across your vision. Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she pounds into you from behind. You are sandwiched between them, a willing prisoner to their combined machinations.
Caitlynâs hands roam freely, tweaking your nipples hard enough to border on pain before soothing the sting with gentle caresses. Vi nips and sucks at your throat, no doubt marking you as theirs for all to see. But you donât need to look to know they belong to you just as much as you belong to them.
The thought is a revelation, a sudden burst of clarity in the haze of fucked-out bliss. The cree is binding, unbreakable, and in this moment you know you would do anything for them.
Anything to keep them, to preserve this moment of perfect connection. Itâs a thing that scares you. It's something that, in your right mind, youwould run screaming from. But this isnt that. This isn't right or wrong, good or bad. Itâs just is, a simple, pure truth that settles over you like a warm blanket. You surrender to it, to them, your body going slack in their hold even as your walls ripple around their cocks.
You're nothing more than a willing vessel now, a receptacle for all their pleasure. And that, you think dazedly as you're fucked into mindless oblivion, is exactly how it should be.
Caitlynâs hands move to your hips, holding you in place as they fuck you with increasing speed. The need to come, to let go completely, is a desperate litany on your lips. Vi's rhythm steadied, her thrusts growing harsher as she chases her own release. They work together seamlessly, as if they've done this a thousand times before. Maybe they have, with countless others who weren't you, who weren't their mate.
The sudden surge of jealousy, of possessiveness, is enough to make you see stars. You clench around them, your cunt bearing down on their cocks as you teeter on the edge. You're so fucking close, every nerve in your body drawn tight as a bowstring. Caitlyn must feel it too, because she bites down, hard enough to draw blood.
And that's it.
That's all it takes to catapult you over the edge. Your orgasm slams into you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that rips through you with the force of a hurricane. You come with a scream, your cunt clenching and spasming around Vi's and Caitlyn's cocks. A flood of liquid heat gushes from your core, soaking their dick and dripping down your thighs. It's obscene, you know, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the pleasure is so sharp, so intense, it feels like it's splitting you apart from the inside out.
Behind you, Vi snarls, her hips slamming into yours with a force that would be bruising if you weren't so far gone. She doesnât pull out, working you through your orgasm until you're writhing, oversensitized.
"Keep going, please keep going," you babbles, your words slurring together as they pound into you. Your overstimulated cunt spasms around them, aftershocks from your previous orgasm still rattling your frame.
But they donât stop, if anything their thrusts grow harder, more insistent. Itâs almost too much, pleasure bleeding into pain as your body is pushed to its limits. You scrap at their shoulders, your nails leaving red welts in their flesh. Caitlyn hisses, the sting only seeming to spur her on. Behind you, Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she fucks into you like a woman possessed. You're being used, claimed, fucked into oblivion, and it's perfect. It's everything you could ever want. You cum again, a high, keening wail tearing from your throat as your vision whites out.
But there's no respite to be had, not when Caitlyn and Vi are so close to their own finish. They work you mercilessly, pounding into your abused cunt with single-minded focus. You're nothing more than a toy to them, a warm hole to spill their seed in, and you've never felt so deliciously used in your life. Caitlyn groans, her thrusts growing erratic as she chases her release.
Behind you, Vi snarls, her canines finding your mating bite and biting down hard. Pain and pleasure short-circuit in your skull, the resulting burst of sensation sending you careening toward a third orgasm. You clench around them, your walls rippling along their lengths as you teeter on the brink of oblivion. Then Caitlynâs coming, her cum flooding your channel in a scalding rush that pushes you over the edge.
You fall, your mind going blank as your body is wracked with pleasure. Your cunt spasms around Caitlyn's cock, milking her for every last drop as you squirt on their cocks for the third time. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already full channel with even more cum.
You want it, crave it, so much so that you can taste it on your tongue. The need used by them, bound to them in every way possible, is a frantic beat beneath your skin. They crush you between them, their mouths finding yours in a sloppy, three-way kiss that leaves you panting. Youcould die like this, youthink dazedly, sandwiched between these two magnificent beasts.
Vi's arms hold you aloft, your legs too weak to support your own weight after your mind-blowing orgasms. She slowly walks you towards the bed, Caitlyn's cock slipping from your pussy with a lewd squelch. Your legs hit the mattress, the sudden change in angle making you pitch forward. But Vi's hands are there to catch you, guiding you down onto all fours.
You collapse onto your elbows, your face pressed into the sheets as you tremble with exhaustion. But that exhaustion does nothing to dampen your desire, the need to feel them inside you once more an all-consuming inferno. Caitlyn scoops your hair away from your neck, her fingers tracing the ridges of your spine. Behind you, Vi hums, her palm flattening against the small of your back.
You squirmed between them, your hips wiggling back against Vi's in a clear invitation. You're so fucking sensitive, every brush of air against your swollen, well-used lips sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. But that pain-slash-pleasure only serves to heighten your arousal, your cunt clenching madly around nothing as you crave to be filled again, to be stretched and stuffed and utterly used until your pussy is molded to their cocks. You beg them to take you again, your babbling pleas falling on deaf ears. Caitlyn chuckles darkly above you, her hands sliding down your sides to grip your hips.
"So greedy for us, aren't you?" she purrs, her breath hot against your ear. Behind you, Vi growls in agreement, her fingers pricking at your skin as she squeezes the globes of your ass.
You mewl, arching into their touches like a cat in heat. Your pussy is throbbing, the emptiness a physical ache that demands to be filled. You know you shouldn't want it, shouldn't crave their cocks like you do. But you can't help it, not when they make you feel so good, so cherished. Caitlyn slides a finger between your swollen folds, the lightest of touches enough to make you gasp. You're fucking dripping, your arousal coating her digit and dripping onto the sheets below. Vi groans behind you, her hand slipping from your hip to your core, swiping through the slick mess.
"Fuck, you're so wet," she growls, her voice rough with lust. She punctuates her words with a sharp spank to your ass, the sting only serving to heighten your desire.
Vi's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as she thrusts into you. Her thrusts are messy and desperate, the force of them jostling the bed beneath you. Over your back, Caitlyn makes her own slick sounds, her fist working her dick to the tempo Vi is setting. Your head spins at the sheer depravity of it, of being used so carelessly, so thoroughly, like a common whore. And yet it's the hottest thing you've ever seen, the knowledge that your body is enough to drive them to such heights. You sob into the sheets, your face pressed into the mattress as Vi takes you harder and faster. She's fucking you like she's trying to split you in two, her grip on your hips hard enough to leave lasting bruises. Behind you, Caitlyn grunts, her hand moving faster as she watches Vi rut into your aching cunt.
You can only take it, your body rocking with every savage thrust. Your cunt is on fire, the pleasure bordering on pain as Vi ruts into you. But you love it, love the feeling of being used so roughly, so thoroughly. Caitlyn groans above you, her fist flying over her cock as she chases her pleasure. You cry, a desperate, keening sound that's muffled by the sheets. Your orgasm is barreling towards you, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Caitlyn slaps your clit hard. The pain-pleasure rocket sends you screaming over the edge, your cunt clamping down on Vi's cock hard enough to make her snarl. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already cum-soaked channel with even more of her release.
Vi pulls out, her cum leaking from your well-used hole and dribbling down your thighs. You barely have a chance to miss the fullness before Caitlyn flips you over, hauling your limp body up into her arms. She sits back on her heels, settling your straddling legs on either side of her hips. Her cock slides against your folds, smearing their combined releases between you. Behind you, Vi moves to kneel on the bed, her chest pressed to your back. Her hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of your breasts and teasing your nipples. You mewl, your hips rolling in Caitlyn's grip, chasing more of that delicious friction. But she holds you still, her grip bruising as she lines herself up with your entrance. You barely have time to brace yourself before she slides into you, impaling you on her thick cock in one brutal thrust.
Vi and Caitlyn work you between them, one thrusting into you as the other nudges her cock to your lips. Your pussy is stretched and filled to the brim, every ridge and vein of Caitlyn's cock kissing along your inner walls in a way that has you sobbing for more. It's a primal move that speaks to the most basic parts of you that crave to be owned and claimed most fundamentally. You claw at the bed, your nails biting into the sheets as you hang on for dear life. Behind you, she groans, the sound sending vibrations through his chest and straight to your core.
You gag on Vi's thick dick, spit bubbling from the corners of your mouth as she fucks into your throat. Your eyes roll back, your hands scrabbling at the sheets for purchase as they use you so thoroughly. You're just a set of fuck holes for their pleasure, a warm sleeve for them to dump their seed in. And it's perfect, so perfect, to be so utterly and completely theirs. Behind you, Caitlyn pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the tip of her cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. The force of it rocks you forward, Vi's dick lodging itself even deeper down your throat. You gag, the muscles in your neck convulsing around her as your eyes water. They pound into you mercilessly, their rhythm ruthless as they chase their release.
The two of you exchange a long, heated look. Then, as if by silent agreement, they double their efforts. Vi's hands fist in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks into your mouth. Caitlyn's grips on your hips tighten, her nails digging into your flesh as she pounds into you from behind. The need to come, to let go completely, is a frantic rhythm in your skull. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Vi roars above you, her dick pulsing as she reaches her peak. Thick ropes of cum paint your face, your hair, your open mouth as you struggle to swallow it all. But it's Caitlyn who steals the show, her thrusts growing erratic as she nears her own climax. You barely have time to gasp before she slams into you one final time, her dick erupting inside you.
You clench around her, your cunt milking her for every last drop of her seed as your own orgasm crashes over you. It's so intense, so all-consuming, that your vision blanks out at the edges. You fall forward, catching yourself on your elbows as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through you. Behind you, Caitlyn collapses against your back, her forehead pressed to your shoulder as she pants heavily. Above you, Vi grunts, slumping down to drape herself across the bed. You're sandwiched between them, a willing victim to their lusts and desires.
And in this moment, as you bask in the afterglow, you know there's nowhere else you'd rather be.
#arcane league of legends x reader#arcane#reader insert#x reader#vi arcane#arcane league of legends#vi arcane x reader#vi x reader#vi x you#caitlyn arcane#caitlyn x reader#arcane smut#caitlyn smut#vi smut#caitvi x reader#caitvi#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn kiramman x you#caitlyn kiramman x reader
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Yours, Mine, Ours
Simon âGhostâ Riley x Reader
wc: 1.5k words
warnings/tags: fluff
âSo did the other two actually say no or did you just never invite them?â
ââCourse I invited them, you asked me to, so I did.â Simon replies with ease, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. âTheyâre smart lads, lovie, they knew to say no all by themselves.â
You shake your head at him in disbelief but the smile thatâs been plastered across your face ever since the two of you pulled out of your flatâs parking doesnât budge. Simonâs been driving for a few hours now, and as stressful of an experience as that is alone, youâre too excited to mind the long journey in the car.
Simon is on leave for the next two weeks, something about Price having to attend a funeral following a death in the family, and deciding that everyone on the force was due for a bit of time off. Seeing as the Captain was going to be preoccupied during his time off duty, he had asked if Simon wouldnât mind checking in on his house for him, making sure things were alright. Heâd even offered for the two of you to stay in the guest room for the duration of their leave.
Simon had explained how Price knew that the two of you were living in a small flat in London, and apparently his home was in a beautiful, forested, isolated area which meant he had essentially no neighbours, something he also knew would appeal to Simon. He offered for the two of you to stretch your legs out there at enjoy the property, including the privacy that came with it.
Wanting to be polite, youâd told Simon he should extend the invitation to Soap and Gaz, thinking they might enjoy a nice, quiet stay-cation as well at their Captainâs place away from it all. It would appear your lover had different ideas in mind however. Though you couldnât blame him entirely, the thought of having the cozy cabin all to yourselves was certainly more appealing.
Every which way you look outside the car, your vision is filled by endless blurry trees as you zoom by, the colours of the leaves having finally changed into the warmer, more vibrant colour palette that came along with the autumn chill. If the drive up to his property was any indication of how beautiful the area really was, then you were in for quite the treat.
Entranced by the beauty of the landscape in comparison to the city lights youâve grown so used to, you fail to notice the glances Simon keeps sneaking your way, the smallest of satisfied smiles seemingly permanently etched upon his face beneath his balaclava. He was grateful that after explaining the situation and Priceâs generous offer to you, you had been too excited to ask many questions, instead getting a jump start on packing a duffel bag or two.
You were one of the most intelligent, clever, curious people heâd ever known, and it was normally quite difficult to get anything by you. He was therefore feeling rightfully proud of himself as he drove you nearer and nearer to the home you believed belonged to his Captain. In actuality, there was no funeral for Price to attend, the sergeants had certainly not been invited along on your getaway, and the home youâd be staying in wasnât Priceâs.
It was yours.
Yours, and Simonâs.
The two of you had been living in that shoebox of a flat heâd considered as âsatisfactoryâ when he was only staying there as a bachelor, for far too long. As ideal as the location might have been, there simply just wasnât enough space for two people to live together, even considering Simonâs absences for work and that fact that when he was home, you two were essentially always on top of one another anyways.
Youâd both been searching for a new flat for what felt like ages now, none of the places you visited feeling like the right fit. Simon would be weary about a certain neighborhood, youâd be concerned with the lack of any balcony or outdoor space, heâd ignore the price tag that felt your eyes bulging, and youâd shake your head as you walked through doorways that had him needing to duck down.
Little did you know, Simon had been doing his own house hunting, outside of the city. You had told Simon you were fine with staying in London, understanding that itâs convenient to have everything near by. But Simon didnât want to give you just âfineâ. He wanted to give you a home. The home he intends to spend the rest of his life with you in, plans on carrying you over the threshold in your wedding dress, hopes to carry sleeping newborns in their car seats through the door.
For months now, Simon has subtlety been learning more about what that home looked like to you. Heâd look over your shoulder as you scrolled through Pinterest, casually asking if you could show him your boards, you know just for fun, and paid very close attention when you showed him the one named âfuture houseâ. On his phone, he had a list a mile long in his notes app, from secretly writing down every comment you made while watching your home reno shows. Heâll casually ask you what you think of the houses you drive by, jotting down your answers in his mind, remembering likes and dislikes.
He believes that like you, itâs the people filling the home that matter more than the structure itself, as proven by the way you continue to put up with his minuscule flat. He knows you mean it when you say youâre alright with another flat. But he has the money goddammit, he has the means to do this for you, and when the listing came up for a home in what youâd revealed as being your ideal area to settle down in one day, the house resembling the amalgamation of everything he believed youâd described as being your perfect place, he knew he had to put an offer in.
And if there ever was anything about the house you didnât like or wanted to change, heâd gladly do it for you, no questions asked. You want to paint the bedroom? Just tell him what colour you want. You want to change the railing on the wrap around porch? Heâs on his way to the hardware store already. You need him to dig a stump out of the backyard to make room for your garden? Sit back and enjoy the show lovie, heâs on it. And when the time comes to build a crib? Well he may as well baby proof the whole house while heâs at it too.
Heâs pictured your reaction a thousand times over in his mind. He imagines youâll maybe give a small gasp when he turns the corner of the long driveway and you first see the cozy, two-storey home, surrounded by never-ending foliage of red, orange, and yellow leaves, the time of year perfect for appreciating autumn in the UK, as well as the privacy the tall trees grant you. He thinks the first thing youâll comment on will likely be the windows, an item high on your priority list he knew to adhere to.
He imagines you kicking off your boots as you step through the door, pace quickening to explore every room, spinning in the kitchen as you joke about how jealous you are of Price. He pictures you groaning with envy when you spot your dream master bathroom, insisting to Simon that since youâd been tasked with checking in on the home you may as well see every room, right? He plans to explain away the obvious sparseness of the home as the Captain not having lived here long, as being very non-materialistic after all his years in service.
Heâll continue to play along for as long as he can, part of him knowing that you know him well enough that youâre likely to catch onto his deception at some point. However he hopes that before you start rummaging through kitchen cabinets and find them empty, too empty even for an absentee captain of a homeowner, that youâll mention something along the lines of wishing you could stay here longer. Thatâs when he plans to slip a key into the palm of your hand, revealing that you might be able to stay longer than you believe.
The small piece of metal thatâll unlock the rest of your lives together, sits heavy in his pocket, in contrast to the light feeling in his heart when his hand reaches across the dashboard to grab a hold of yours, knowing that the content, lovesick smile you offer him is likely stretched across his face as well, staring right back at you.
Though youâre unaware that Simon is currently driving towards your home, and not away from it, youâre gently stroking the scarred skin across his hand, feeling as though your home is sitting right next to you, holding your hand and your heart at the same time.
#call of duty#call of duty fanfic#call of duty fic#simon ghost riley#simon riley#cod fanfic#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod simon ghost riley#cod simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon fluff#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley fluff#simon ghost fluff#ghost x you#ghost fanfic#call of duty ghost#ghost cod#ghost#readwritealldayallnight
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Kartchner Caverns
The first time I traveled to Tucson I was in a car full of zooted children. I would've preferred being one of those children, but alas, any medication that makes me sleep also makes me sleepwalk. And after an incident where I tried to climb out of the car while it was still going sixty (thank God for seatbelts), I was condemned to a childhood of car trip sobriety: No more poor-man's time travel. No more ambien. One less morally ambiguawesome parenting decision from my crazy-ass dad.
I was talking with him when it happened.
I can't remember exactly what we were talking about - something to do with our final destination in Mexico. But at some point, we woke up my little brother.Â
(Nothing good happens from waking the dreamer. Best case scenario, the dream ends. Worst case, it doesn't.)
I remember starting when I felt one of his small cold hands reach up to grab my shoulder. Our dad did the same, and it jerked the car a little bit - startling someone whose hands are on the steering wheel has its risks. Dad and I both turned to look at him, but he wasn't even looking at us. He was leaning over the console, staring into the red and purple sunset ahead, watching the rolling skyline of Tucson like it was drowning in dreams. Like he was drowning in dreams.Â
We waited for him to speak. It took a while. Normal social conventions don't apply to people when they're unconscious. The fact that he could talk was just some broken line code in the fabric of the world.Â
"Wow," he said at long last.Â
"Beautiful, isn't it?" my dad replied. And my little brother shook his head like he just heard the silliest thing in the world.Â
"It's terrible," he said. "Awful. Is Mexico always like this?"Â
"We're still in America," my dad said back.Â
My little brother squinted into the sunset, doubt and derision etched into his face. After a few seconds, both emotions softened, and he nodded in wonder.Â
"Eagle feathers," he said, chuckling softly. Like he'd just solved some clever little riddle. Then he fell like an angel into something deeper than sleep.Â
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(There is a word for angels that fall.)
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The second time I went to Tucson, I hid from the sun.Â
You'd be surprised how easy it is to do down there. Society accommodates it in ways you just won't find anywhere else. When it's 109 outside with single digit humidity, of course you stay indoors. Of course the outdoor markets open at 6 pm, and of course they don't close until 11. Of course. You make the sun mean enough, and everyone becomes a vampire.Â
So I roamed the streets at night, kicking up red gravel, watching coyotes wander in between the sea of strip malls. Strip malls are such an Arizonan atrocity. Nobody bothers to build up because thereâs nothing to be gained from density. The city will never be walkable, because the problem isnât infrastructure. It's the sun. And you can't solve the sun, so you might as well lean into driving. Mash the whole city flat and crawl through the dust like rattlers.Â
(I met a man once, by the canals, that said the strip malls were some sort of American curse upon the inheritors of Johnny Appleseed. There's one God in this world, he said, and it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. So this is our hell.)
Still. It made the days long down there. Lurking at night and hiding all day gives you something like cabin fever. I needed something to do outside. Something that was outside, but also, somehow, inside. What's inside and outside at the same time? What kind of klein-flask ouroboros nonsense fits that bill?
Kartchner caverns.Â
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I wouldn't say the caves were like walking into Dante's hell - more like finishing the journey. At some point in my life, I'd blown past limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, and anger. I'd spent two decades plus change living in the fires of heresy. Every layer past would only get colder.Â
And each step into that cave did.Â
My tour guide and psychopomp was a friendly old man. Familiar in the way that all old people feel familiar to me. I view the world more as a pile of metaphors. He viewed it primarily as water-soluble minerals.Â
It was a good work dynamic.Â
"These here," he said, gesturing to a long, slender series of impossibly frail stalactites, "are called soda straws."
They were beautiful. I can wax poetic at the keyboard, but in real life, my exclamation of wonder is primarily Hot Damn.
"Hot damn," I said, and he nodded good naturedly.Â
"They're pretty fun aren't they? Took a few eons to make 'em but I think it was worth the wait."
I was charmed by the way he talked. I knew it was just a fluke of tenses, but there was something funny about the way he described them - as if he personally oversaw each of the dainty little spires. We went further, and he pointed out more formations as we came across them.Â
"Behold!" he said just a few feet further. "Fried eggs!"Â
And I had to admit: There were fried eggs.Â
"Behold!" he said further still. "A shield!"
And lo, there was a shield. It didn't look terribly shieldlike, but who knows - maybe he made the shields first and got better as he went along. The eggs were beautiful.
We kept walking, deeper, and deeper into the cave. At the surface, it had been hot enough for my sweat to dry into a stinging white powder. Down there it was cold enough to see my breath. The feeling of descending into hell was replaced with the feeling of being swallowed by some ancient, fossilized snake.Â
"We call this serpent-stone," he said, gesturing to an expanse of wall.Â
And then all I could see was the snake that was swallowing me.Â
Now, I want to bring something up right about now. At this point, you might be tempted to write off the unease that I was feeling as claustrophobia. Which would make sense - caves unsettle a lot of people. But not me. I'm borderline claustrophilic. When I was a child, I didn't feel comfortable reading until I was wedged somewhere. Behind a shelf, or in a cabinet, or even underneath the beanbag my parents had intended for sitting. Those were my happy places. I liked being crammed into tight spaces.Â
I did not like that cave.Â
The section of serpent-stone narrowed the further we went. The room started off maybe six feet wide, but eventually it narrowed down. First to five, then four, then three. Two. And it didnât stop at one.Â
The old man put me in front at that point. Said that if I got stuck, he could just push me forward. Didn't occur to me until I'd gone another hundred feet forward, sideways, that maybe getting dragged out would be better. But I was strangely reluctant to bring it up. Iâd already let myself get cornered. There was nothing to be gained from letting him know my thoughts.Â
But the only way to keep them secret was by going forward. So I poured myself through the crack, slick as slip. Â
There's a grain to the scales of serpent-stone, both in the shape of the formations and in the texture of the individual pieces. They're metamorphic, but there's enough sediment left to âem that they have a grain. They bite when you go one way, and slide when you go the other. It felt like I was ratcheting myself in. Even if I could slip forward more, I didn't think I could go back. Not without wearing myself down into something skinless and screaming.Â
Water began to pool up in sections. It was cold enough to avoid the stink that still waters normally carry, but things stranger than algae festered in the waters beneath my feet. The puddles felt thick, almost slimy. A dozen steps later I saw little ropes of the stuff trickling down my feet.Â
Eventually, it got so narrow I couldn't turn my head. I could still hear the old man behind me, but only through little things - the occasional sharp inhale, or steps just an eighth of a beat off from my own. But never words. I remember stopping at one point, just to get pushed, just to know he was there. And he refused. All I heard for fifteen minutes was his breathing behind me.Â
He'd called my bluff. There was nowhere to go but forward.Â
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I don't know why it took so long to get dark down there. I wasn't carrying a flashlight, and if the old man had been carrying one, I'd have seen it bob with his steps. There was a sort of soft glow to everything but that had faded hour by hour. Eventually it didn't matter that I couldn't turn my head sideways - I wouldn't have been able to see the man if he'd been two inches in front of me. I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and just when I was about to get stuck for real - stuck in a way where I wouldn't be able to step forward, where I'd have to be pushed (or dragged back along the sharpness of the scales) - I popped out of the serpent stone crevasse like a cork from a bottle.Â
Plunk.Â
I can't tell you the relief that I felt at that moment. It didn't matter that I didn't know where I was, or how I got there. I'd never been claustrophobic in my life, but at that moment, I couldn't stand even the proximity of the crevice. I scrambled forward, stumbling over the rough cave floor, desperate and eager to find the next wall. To get some sense of where I was.Â
I never did. Even as I calmed down, even as the relief of being free of that infernal vice sat upon me like a crown, I never found another wall. Anywhere. I walked until fear made me crawl, as low and blind as any worm. I crawled until my pants tore and my knees bled and my spine ached.Â
And I found nothing.Â
When the vastness of the space truly sank in, when I realized that leaving that first wall had been a mistake, I turned back. But some choices can't be unmade. There were no walls. Not anymore. No matter how far I crawled, how hard I tried, there was no end. There was nothing but perfect darkness, broken stone, and endless snaking trickles of cold cavern water.Â
I dipped a finger in one of the rivulets. Just to feel it. Just to ground myself in something. I felt the waters slither past, and I found something like sight in their motion.Â
Water always goes down. Whatever else I lacked down here in the stone, in that moment, I knew up and down. And for the first time in hours, I had a choice. A real choice. No instinct or panic or too late realizations: Up or down.Â
I went down.Â
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Iâd visited a rope factory once. Watched the threads dance and spin and weave into something mighty. I got a blind manâs sense of that from my trickle. I felt it meet more of its kind, braiding into them like thread. I liked pretending it was still my rivulet, but eventually, I had to admit it was lost in the mess. Picking out one thread from a rope would be easy, compared to picking out one trickle from a river.Â
Funny how water can drown in itself.Â
The first contaminant to the water was iron. I could smell it in the air -Â strong as blood. It should have unsettled me, but Iâd smelled water like that before. My grandpas well-water stained everything it touched rusty red. His sinks, his showers, his fields. Even his teeth. He was wealthy enough that he could've wiped the stains off decades back, but he told me once that he liked the way it made other people uncomfortable. The way it reminded everyone who saw him smile that by sacrament or soil, they too drank of god.Â
The next contaminant was the thick water from before. Apparently, the stagnant pools werenât as still as Iâd thought. Somehow, over strange eons, they too could seep through the stone and make their way into this deep river. It was scentless, but I could feel it catch around my ankles on some steps. It seemed like a memory from a different life. I just didnât feel like the same person that crawled through the serpent-stone crack. I was just some stranger wearing his shed skin.Â
Then at long last came a smell of deep sulphur đ. It was an odd contrast with the sharply cold air, and the strangely warm waters. It was the least pleasant of the bunch, but I endured it well. I followed until the tears streaming down my cheeks felt as normal as breathing. Until the rush of the river was replaced by the pounding of waves.Â
Iâd arrived on a beach. I couldnât see the ocean in front of me, but I could hear how vast it had to be. There was a terrible stench, worse than the sulphur - the smell of some vast death. Godly carrion. A wound in the world long left to fester.Â
I sat there on the beach of that ocean. Afraid to let those dark waters touch me. Thinking and waiting and worrying about what would happen next.Â
A voice spoke just twenty feet behind me. I recognized it. I never wouldâve recognized it before, but there was a knack to the way this place wore me thin. Like a razor getting sharpened instead of a shirt going ratty.Â
âYouâre very close,â the old man said, and I remembered him from all those years ago - sitting cross-legged in the moonlight by the bank of the canal. Looking up at me, eyes dark, and calling me over to tell me a secret.Â
There's one God in this world, he said then. One God. And it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone.Â
So this is our hell.
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I turned around. I donât know why. I shouldnât have been able to see him. I shouldnât have been able to see anything. But I could see the outline of where he was on that shoreline. Not as a bright thing, but as a darker shade of absence. A little hole in the dark.Â
I could have run. But that wouldâve required taking my eyes off him, and at that moment I couldnât bear the thought. He was the only thing to see down there. The only reason I had eyes. But somehow, more important than the joy of seeing was the feeling that as long as I kept my eyes on him, he was trapped. Pinned to this world like a butterfly on cork.Â
There was a half second pause. The voice was a memory, but seeing through the gaps was new to me. The thing in front of me wasnât an old man. It wasnât even good at pretending. I was oddly embarrassed that Iâd ever been fooled by it. What I was looking at was something older than this cave. Something trapped down here so long it could not bear the thought of light. The dream of something dead. The sloughed skin of a snake.Â
The first apple eater.Â
I could see shades of absence. More than the hole in the dark. I could look at the thing and feel the place where its wings should have been. Its first ones, at least.Â
It lunged for me.Â
Iâd forgotten it could do that.Â
It slammed into me like the water from the bottom of a dam. The power was nothing compared to the cold. I couldnât see a thing, but what I could feel made bile climb up my throat.Â
It was melting. Running down itself in little streams, like snow melting in the sun. Like the river I followed all the way down here. A hand ran over my face and I could feel it pouring into me, and in my fury I did the only thing I could think of: I reached up, and I wrapped my hands around its neck, and I clenched so hard that I could feel the tendons in my wrist sawing up through my skin, taut as piano wire.Â
It was like squeezing wet clay. It deformed under my touch, stretching longer and thinner and smoother even as the muscular length of his impossibly long body wrapped around me. At some point the fists beating on my chest turned into wings. Stolen wings, to replace the ones that were stolen from it, and there was a scream in the cave it was so awful that I prayed it wasnât mine.Â
It was a terrible race. We were killing each other the same way. There was no question about someone dying here in front of the empty throne of god. I just didnât want it to be me.Â
Eventually, it could stretch no more, and my hands could crush more than just nightmare and shadow. The wings beat on me weaker, and weaker, until eventually some cartilage in its great neck snapped under the pressure of my thumbs.
It was like cracking a glow stick. There was a flash of light, brief as thunder, and I could see the waves in front of me. An ocean of rotting meat and bones. The outline of some great, dead serpent, fifty feet tall. And a tower of dead bodies, stretching back to ages that I could not recognize. The only corpses I could recognize were those at the top, with their strange helmets and iconic breastplates.Â
Conquistadors.Â
When the light went out, the body went with it. Most dreams donât leave anything behind. Even when theyâre made by gods.Â
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I donât know how I left the cave.Â
I followed the river up. At some point, it stopped being the river I followed down. The tributaries feeding into it spread out like a fan, and fool that I am, I kept picking left. It shouldnât have worked. Part of me wonders if I somehow bent the river to my will. Filled in for the dead thing bobbing in the lake, or the echo that I strangled on that starless shore.Â
Or maybe I just got lucky.Â
I can remember finally breaching the incline and seeing an exit into the desert. Not the one I stepped in through, but good enough. I can remember getting closer and closer, before stepping out into the burning sun. I thought it was finally over.
I thought wrong. Â
I can remember looking into the bright blue sky and seeing exactly what my little brother saw on that drive all those years back.Â
I donât know what I killed down in the cave. Some dead thing in the dark, dreaming it was alive. An altar of blood and bone, designed to hold a fragment.Â
But the real thing sat there in the sky. Curled up so tight and so smooth, you could mistake it for a ball. Waiting, and watching, and hating. Alive but dreaming death. The mould that stamped out the form of what lay in the cave.Â
Quetzalcoatl, I learned later. The feathered serpent.Â
I moved the month after that. Went somewhere north, somewhere cold, somewhere that a snake wouldnât follow. Most days now, I look up, and I just see the sun. A flaming ball of gas. A little, red, star.Â
But only most.
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Thanks to @qsatisfaction and @foldingfittedsheets for being my editors on this piece. And thanks to @dr-robert-chase-apologist for providing the prompt.
#babylon-fiction#weird memories and outright lies mishmashed together#kartchner caverns#wish there was a way to highlight in yellow#but orange works in a pinch
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Dear Nextdoor,
I was resubscribed, for some terrible reason unknown to me, to emails from this site, an unparalleled locus of poorly-concealed racism, unleashed dogs, missing outdoor cats (surely unrelated), and unabashed classist bullying of the homeless for being unsightly and making people mildly uncomfortable for the minute and a half they are trapped one car behind the stoplight.
I'm not sure why this has happened.
Imagine my dismay when I discovered that in order to be certain I had removed myself from all email notifications, I had to go deep into settings and remove myself from each sub-subcategory individually. There were so many. I fear, even now, that I missed one, and coming to the site to turn one off seemed to reactivate all the others. (If deliberate, an extremely insidious and clever tactic.)
A single button which, when pressed, would end this piecemeal torment would suffice.
I would deactivate my account entirely but A) I want to find out approximately where the Cybertruck owner near me lives so I can find it, drive by, and laugh at it instead of simply hoping to spot it in the parking lot of Dick's Sporting Goods, and B) I don't want to lose track of the lovely interactions I have had here, including the people who told me that the Bible bids us to let homeless people starve, and the ones who said that their free-roaming pets' testicles were so important to God's plan that they should not be removed, lest His intent for all creatures to go forth, multiply, and die on the side of the highway be foiled. I mean, where else do you get to see something like that? Aside from, I suppose, every other social media site at this point. That's where we are as a society.
"But wait!" I hear the leering specter of user retention croon. "This site does offer something special: you get to know these people live near you!"
I do not want that.
Anyway, I wanted to let you know that having to do it all bit by bit was completely unnecessary and felt deeply insulting in some way, as if my ability to know whether or not a given site is a festering cesspit dedicated to the squabblings of a loudly mediocre populace (that would probably gladly fling their own goopy white dogs under the bus in pursuit of a world without bitchy gays like me, were there any public transportation here worth mentioning) were being called into question.
Maybe give people a single button to press to revoke their consent to receive updates on the horrendous cavalcade of human folly. That would be better than making me think about it for almost two minutes during which I could have been showing people on Bluesky pictures of my cat, who eats soap.
I'm not denying the site must be useful for some, but it really is a terrible thing. Probably because of where I live, but I can't help that part.
Be well, anonymous stranger. None of this is your personal fault. Please tell those above you that the email tickyboxes are the internet equivalent of those spikes that prevent perfectly nice birds from landing on beige buildings.
Thank you for allowing me to procrastinate at you.
-- A perfectly normal individual who would never vaguepost about anyone's lawn.
#I actually sent this#after over a week of daily emails i tried to unsubscribe to i finally had a go at stopping them altogether#and it was a biblical trial#(hyperbole)#I hope they appreciate it#i really am not kidding until recently it was worse than the comments section of twitter#by me#screaming endlessly into the void
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SFX Magazine Issue 372 - Designing Good Omens †đ
PRODUCTION DESIGNER MICHAEL RALPH REVEALS HOW THE SHOWâS CENTREPIECE SET, WHICKBER STREET, WAS GIVEN A DEVILISHLY CLEVER UPGRADE FOR THE SECOND SEASON
WORDS: DAVE GOLDER
Invisible Columns And Thin Walls âThe new studio is Pyramid Studios in Bathgate â it used to be a furniture warehouse. And unfortunately â or fortunately, because I accept these things as not challenges but gifts â right down the middle of that studio are a series of upright columns. But youâll never spot them on screen. I had to build them in and integrate them into the walls and still get the streets between them. And it worked.
âThereâs all sorts of cheeky design values to those sets. Normally a set like this is double-skin. In other words, you do an interior wall and an exterior wall, with an airspace in between. But really, the only time a viewer notices that thereâs that width is at the doors and the windows. So I cheated all that. I ended up with single walls everywhere. So the exterior wall is the interior wall, just painted. All I did was make the sash windows and entrances wider to give it some depth as you walked in.â
GOOD OMENS HAD A CHANGE of location for its second season, but hopefully you didnât notice. Because Whickber Street in Soho upped sticks from an airfield in Hertfordshire to a furniture warehouse in Bathgate, Edinburgh. Itâs the kind of nonsensical geographical shenanigans that could only make sense in the crazy world of film and TV, and production designer Michael Ralph was the man in charge of rebuilding and expanding the showâs vast central set. âI wish we could have built more in season one than we did,â says Ralph, whose previous work has included Primeval and Dickensian. âWe built the ground floor of everything and the facades of all the shops. But we didnât build anything higher than that, because we were out on an airfield in a very, very difficult terrain and weather conditions, so we really couldnât go much higher. Visual effects created the upper levels.â
But with season two the set has gone to a whole other level⊠literally. âWhat happened was that the rest of the street became integrated into the seriesâs storyline,â explains Ralph. âSo we needed a record shop, we needed a coffee shop that actually had an inside, we needed a magic shop, we needed the pub. To introduce those meant we had to change the street with a layout that works from a storylines point of view. In other words, things like someone standing at the counter in the record shop had to be able to eyeball somebody standing at the counter in the coffee shop. They had to be able to eyeball Aziraphale sitting in his office in the window of the bookshop. But the rest of it was a pleasure to do inside, because we could expand it and I could go up two storeys.â
For most of the set, which is around 80 metres long and 60 metres wide, the two storeys only applied to the shop frontages, but in the case of Aziraphaleâs bookshop, it allowed Ralph to build the mezzanine level for real this time. According to Ralph it became one of the cast and crewsâ favourite places to hang out during down time.
But while AZ Fell & Co has grown in height, it actually has a slightly smaller footprint because of the logistics of adapting it to the new studio.
âEverybody swore to me that no one would notice,â says Ralph wryly. âI walked onto it and instinctively knew there was a difference immediately, and they hated me for that. I have this innate sense about spatial awareness and an eye like a spirit level.
âItâs not a lot, though â I think weâve lost maybe two and a half feet on the front wall internally. I think that thereâs a couple of other smaller areas, but only Iâd notice. So I can be really annoying to my guys, but only on those levels. Not on any other. They actually quite like meâŠâ
Populating The Bookshop âThe props in the new bookshop set were a flawless reproduction from the set decorator Bronwyn Franklin [who is also Ralphâs wife]. It was really the worst-case scenario after season one. She works off the concept art that I produce, but what she does is she adds so much more to the character of the set. She doesnât buy anything she doesnât love, or doesnât fit the character.
âBut the things she put a lot of work into finding for season one, they were pretty much one-offs. When we burnt the set down in the sixth episode, we lost a lot of props, many of which had been spotted and appreciated by the fans. So Bronwyn had to discover a new set decorating technique: forensic buying.
âShe found it all â duplicates and replicas. It took ages. In that respect, the Covid delay was very helpful for Bron. Thereâs 7,000 books in there and thereâs not one fake book. Thatâs mainly because⊠itâs a weird thing to say, but we wanted it to smell and feel like a bookshop to everybody that was in it, all the time.
âIt affects everybody subliminally; it affects everybodyâs performance â actors and crew â it raises the bar 15 to 20%. And the detail, you know⊠We love a lot of detail.â
(look at the description under this, they called him 'Azi' hehehehe :D <3)
Aziraphaleâs Inspirational Correspondence âThereâs not one single scrap of paper on Aziraphaleâs desk that isnât written specifically for Aziraphale. Every single piece is not just fodder thatâs been shoved there, it has a purpose; itâs a letter of thanks, or an enquiry about a book or something.
âMichael Sheen is so submerged in his character he would get lost sitting at his own desk, reading his own correspondence between takes. I believe wholeheartedly that if you put that much care into every single piece of detail, on that desk and in that room, that everybody feels it, including the crew, and then they give that set the same respect it deserves.
âThey also lift their game because they believe that theyâre doing something of so much care and value. Really, itâs a domino effect of passion and care for what youâre producing.â
Alternative Music âMy daughter Mickey is lead graphic designer [two of Ralphâs sons worked on the series too, one as a concept artist, the other in props]. Theyâre the ones that produced all of that handwritten work on the desk. Sheâs the one that took on the record shop and made up 80 band names so that we didnât have to get copyright clearance from real bands. Then she produced records and sleeves that spanned 50, 60 years of their recordings, and all of the graphics on the walls.
âI remember Michael and Neil [Gaiman] getting lost following one bandâs history on the wall, looking at their posters and albums desperately trying to find out whether they survived that emo period.â
Itâs A Kind Of Magic One of the new shops in Whickber Street for season two was Will Goldstoneâs Magic Shop, which is full of as many Easter eggs as off-the-shelf conjuring tricks, including a Matt Smith Doctor Who-style fez and a toy orang-utan thatâs a nod to Discworldâs The Librarian. Ralph says that while the series is full of references to Gaiman, Pratchett and Doctor Who, Michael Sheen never complained about a lack of Masters Of Sex in-jokes. âHeâd be the last person to make that sort of comment!â
Ralph also reveals that the magic shop counter was another one of his wifeâs purchases, bought at a Glasgow reclamation yard.
The Anansi Boys Connection Ralph reveals that Good Omens season two used the state-of-the-art special effects tech Volume (famous for its use in The Mandalorian to create virtual backdrops) for just one sequence, but he will be using it extensively elsewhere on another Gaiman TV series being made for Prime Video.
âWe used Volume on the opening sequence to create the creation of the universe. I was designing Anansi Boys in duality with this project, which seems an outrageously suicidal thing to do. But it was fantastic and Anansi Boys was all on Volume. So I designed for Volume on one show and not Volume on the other. The complexities and the psychology of both is different.â
#good omens#gos2#season 2#photos#bts#bts photos#interview#sfx magazine#magazines#hq photos#neil gaiman#terry pratchett#michael sheen#david tennant#michael ralph#mickey ralph#bronwyn franklin#anansi boys#the small back room#maggie's record shop#soho#aziraphale's bookshop#dirty donkey#magic shop#aziraphale's correspondence#give me coffee or give me death#fun fact#michael ralph interview#sfx 372 magazine#s2 interview
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â quiet isn't weakness ౚà§â§Ë



warnings: slow emotional tension, confrontation but not violence
pairing: kimi antonelli x protective female reader
a/n: protective reader is my roman empire, request!

kimiâs always drawn attention without trying to.
he doesnât speak unless he means it. doesnât smile unless itâs real. doesnât perform for cameras the way some of the older drivers do. heâs steady. thoughtful. hard to read if you donât know him â and most people donât.
but you do.
you know the way he listens carefully before he speaks. how he notices everything in a room before he picks where to stand. how he keeps his hands in his pockets because people stop staring at them when they canât see them tremble. how he gets a little quieter when heâs overwhelmed, like the world takes up too much space in his chest and the only way to breathe is to shrink.
he doesnât tell people that. he just handles it. he doesnât ask for help.
but youâve never waited to be asked.
and tonight is no different.
youâre already irritated before the man even opens his mouth.
something about the sponsor dinner feels heavier than usual. too many eyes. too many conversations you donât want to be part of. kimiâs not great at these things, and heâs been tense since the moment you arrived â stiffer in his suit, quieter than normal, eyes darting a little too quickly between faces he doesnât want to talk to.
you stayed close. like you always do. fingertips brushing his sleeve every few minutes. hand on his back as you leaned into conversations for him when he couldnât bring himself to say more than a few words.
heâd said thank you once, just under his breath.
you hadnât answered. youâd just squeezed his hand.
the man shows up at your table about an hour in. someone from motorsport media. you donât remember his name, but youâve seen him around. one of those guys who talks too much and listens too little. he looks at kimi like heâs an answer to a question he didnât ask, and then turns to you like youâre more useful somehow.
you already donât like the way he stands too close.
but then he says it.
âso, does it ever get tiring?â he asks, like itâs casual. like itâs small talk. âyou know, always being the one carrying the energy in this relationship?â
you blink.
he keeps going, amused with himself.
âi mean, heâs great on track, obviously. but heâs not exactly a crowd favorite, is he? not the most charming. i always wonder how a guy like that gets someone like you.â
you stare at him.
kimi stiffens beside you.
you feel it instantly â the way his back straightens, the way he stops breathing for half a second too long. he doesnât look at the man. he just lowers his gaze to the floor, hands tucked away so tightly in his pockets you worry heâs digging his nails into his palms.
you step forward, slowly.
the man doesnât notice at first. heâs laughing to himself, clearly proud of his joke.
you wait.
and then you speak.
âdo you enjoy talking like that in public,â you say, voice low and clear, âor do you just assume no oneâs ever going to call you out?â
the man blinks. âsorry?â
âyou should be,â you say. âyouâre not being clever. youâre not being insightful. youâre being cruel. and youâre pretending itâs charm.â
his smile falters. âlook, i didnât mean anything by itââ
âyou did,â you say, stepping in front of kimi now. âyou meant to undermine him. you meant to put him in a box that makes you feel smarter. and you meant to do it with an audience.â
you donât raise your voice. you donât need to. the people around you have gone quiet.
kimi still hasnât said anything.
you glance back at him for a second. heâs looking down, jaw tight. his eyes flick up when you reach for his hand, and he lets you take it.
âkimi doesnât owe you charisma,â you say, turning back to the man. âhe doesnât owe you banter or charm or media clips you can sell as stories. he shows up. he works harder than anyone in this room. he risks his life every time he gets in that car. and he does it without needing to be loud about it.â
you pause.
then softer, like a truth youâve carried for a long time,
âheâs not invisible. youâre just not looking properly.â
the man swallows.
you let the silence stretch.
then you nod politely, still holding kimiâs hand, and walk away.
you find the quietest spot on the balcony, away from the crowd, the music, the low buzz of conversations that now feel a little too sharp. kimi doesnât say anything for the first few minutes. he just stands next to you, watching the city lights flicker below, fingers still laced with yours.
you glance at him sideways.
he looks tired. and not the kind that sleep can fix.
âsorry,â you say softly. âi know you donât like scenes.â
he shakes his head. âyou didnât make a scene.â
âstill,â you say. âi just couldnât let it go.â
kimi finally turns to look at you. really look.
his eyes are soft. serious.
âno oneâs ever done that for me before.â
you let out a breath. âthatâs messed up.â
he smiles. small. but real.
âyou didnât have to.â
you shrug. âi didnât think about it. i just⊠saw your face. and it pissed me off.â
he nods.
âthank you,â he says again.
âdonât thank me,â you whisper. âiâm always going to stand up for you. even when you donât.â
his gaze dips. âi wish i could say something back. when people talk like that.â
you tighten your grip on his hand. âyou donât have to. not when iâm around.â
thereâs a long pause.
and then, so quiet you almost miss it:
âit made me feel seen.â
your chest aches.
you lean forward and press your forehead to his shoulder.
he wraps his arm around your back, holds you there for a long time. like heâs anchoring himself to you. like maybe, just maybe, your voice can drown out the parts of his mind that still believe the things people say.
and when he finally pulls back, his eyes are clearer.
âyouâre dangerous,â he says, not unkindly.
you smile. âonly for people who try to hurt you.â

© ccupcakqs. all work written by me. DO NOT PLAGIARISE!
#ccupcakqs#fleur's fics âËàż#queueing up for a kiss âËê©ïœĄ#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 nerd â§âË#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#kimi antonelli fluff#kimi antonelli x reader#kimi antonelli imagine#andrea kimi antonelli#kimi antonelli#mercedes amg f1#f1#formula one x reader#formula 1#kimi x reader#kimi antonelli x you
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Waaait requests are still open right??
I'm pretty sure you've already talked about it but just in case you'd wanna expand on the subject, since it's bleeding out time for those of us who've aligned; nsfw period headcanons with whoever you'd wanna? I think it'd be very funny to not tell Crowley and just let him screech when he pulls down reader's underwear, headmage of a boys' school who's never touched a woman and talks to one maybe once every 5 five years at best, if he ever knew periods exist he's probably forgotten about it centuries ago
who am I to deny a little period headcanon post...
minors get blocked, 18+ only
â§Ë°. period thoughts
warnings: gn afab!reader (you/yours pronouns), reader is not specified to be yuu, both fluff AND smut, established relationship, mentions of blood, fingering, cunnilingus, and penetrative sex
characters: all staff + fellow + dylla đ + lilia FOR YOU!!!
length: short headcanons!

â§Ë°.Dire Crowley
the mental image of him screaming and passing out upon seeing a Blood is good, but he just awkwardly dances around the matter until he can make an escape- period? what period! he didn't notice anything, he just remembered he left the coffee machine on in the staff room! and Crewel had asked him for a... a thing... yes! those papers! so he'd better deliver those right away! and then do his school rounds one more time, can never be too safe at Night Raven! (if he ever gets over the awkwardness, he would like period sex; but let him figure that out on his own) Mr. Dire Crowley, however, is never one to turn away a chance to manipulate your emotions! he might coerce you into extra cuddles by bringing you cheap chocolate or wine or whatever it is he's got sitting around unopened- and he thinks he's quite brilliant for playing your period to his advantage, while you're thinking you're rather clever for luring him into giving you free food and attention (this is just what dating him is like, I'm afraid) he may also be persuaded to massage your sore spots, if only because the cool metal of his dull talons with the warmth of his hands is Peak Period Comfort
â§Ë°.Mozus Trein
DOES NOT CARE!!! he's not some fickle teenage boy or a man with a fetish, he's just an adult who was married for several years and has daughters- periods are perfectly normal. granted, he hasn't had a partner to tend to in years, but he handles you with grace- that is, not pissing you off and you can expect him to stock up on pads in his apartment and on campus without being asked, and he's always got the finest dark chocolates, cheese boards, and rich wines to satisfy your cravings, no matter what they are sex neither picks up nor is avoided during your monthly; if it happens, it happens, and if it doesn't, it doesn't. your period doesn't bother him, but he'd still be willing to lend a hand if it would alleviate some of your pain- "Better than having to hear your whining", as he likes to say (LOVINGLY)
â§Ë°.Divus Crewel
blood is hot and that's all there is to it, doesn't matter where it's coming from! okay now get on the floor, these sheets were six thousand thaumarks JOKING, Crewel isn't afraid of a little mess- nor is he of getting his hands dirty, which, trust me, he will. he'll be knuckle deep in the pussy, enjoying how much more sensitive and wet you are <3 orgasms help period cramps, he swears by it! he won't let you go to bed without a healthy dose of dick to help you sleep he insists on doing your nightly routine for you (as if his micromanaging problem couldn't get any WORSE) so you don't get too greasy or look too tired come morning, and as much as you'd like to complain, he does a really good job- you never look as vibrant as you do when he's had you in some fancy face mask and fed you egg white omelettes all week. can't have his favorite pet feeling unwell, after all <3
â§Ë°.Sam
Sam is the sort of man to always carry pain meds on him in case your cramps start acting up. he'll happily stay up with you, deep into the night when you can't sleep, laughing with you and making tasty drinks to pass the time. he's no horny beast, but a true romantic when you're not feeling yourself. he's always on call for you, definitely reminds you how good you look even when you're bloated and exhausted and breaking out (speaking of which, there's always just something about you when you're hormonal and moody that just makes him melt. maybe it's how human it is, maybe it's because he likes being relied on, but he can hardly keep his hands to himself, expect a lot of sneak-attack kisses all over your neck and shoulders)
â§Ë°.Ashton Vargas
as much as you don't want to (and for as many pillows you've thrown at him when he's tried to pull you outside), Vargas INSISTS that the only proper treatment for period pains is a good workout. the first time he saw you hunched over and whining about being hungry, he dragged you into the great outdoors for a four-hour hike... you can imagine how that went over since then, he's found a much more comfortable remedy for at-home period relief: annoying amounts of sex!!! it's a full-body workout, it stretches all the important muscles, and it affects the problem area directly- he'll put you in all kinds of weird positions to take the pressure off your uterus (and to tire you out so you don't start trying to bite his fingers off again)
â§Ë°.Fellow Honest
Fellow had heard of periods, but they've never really impacted his life until he met you. at first, he didn't really get it: you're obviously very horny and bothered by it, but you don't want to fuck? is he getting that right? what is he supposed to do, magic it away? ...it took a few days of him getting kicked out of bed before he learned to watch it with the snide remarks. and then he understood that you felt bad. and not just ate-dumpster-food bad, but gross, unattractive, unfuckable. and though he thinks that's insane, because you're never too gross for him to fuck, he knew he had to be more delicate with you: praising you, complimenting you, telling you how sexy you look (and smell- period blood's got a little something to it that his sensitive nose picks up just right), and THEN he gets to fuck the pain out. imagine his delight upon realizing that you're more sensitive on your period! and afterwards, he lies over your stomach and works as a very satisfied heating pad. (also enjoys massaging your tummy- soft and warm and good)
â§Ë°.Dylla Spade
my wife... I just KNOW she's got the full period package at home; the nice cotton pads, hot water bottles, snacks, enough pain medication to fill the Epcot Ball, and every season of her favorite reality TV show, taped and ready to rewatch while she fingers you on the couch. this is as luxurious as it gets on this list, she Gets It one must also imagine taking care of Dylla on HER period, too. she insists you don't have to do anything for her, she's fine "toughing it on her own" (it's what she's always done, after all), but I can't imagine she'd be anything but horny at the slightest provocations. one must imagine eating her out and making her cum three, four, five times, until she's gotten all of it out of her system, or outercourse, grinding on each other through your pajamas in bed...
â§Ë°.Lilia Vanrouge
at this point, Lilia and period sex are basically synonymous with each other, he is in the blood like thoseferatu, he is eating period pussy like his life depends on it. also hot for him? outercourse! rubbing your hips or lower back through your pajamas to work out the soreness, his hand ~magically~ slips between your legs to work out the tension there, too. finds you completely irresistible, crawling all over you all week on the fluffy side, he'd... well, he'd still be crawling all over you all week, but like, cutely! hanging off your side and lovingly asking if you'd like him to make you a snack (SAY NO) or if you'd like more kissies (you don't get a choice with this one). takes you everywhere with him- you're his poor sick beloved angel OKAY!!! unfortunately the kind of guy to point at your uterus and say "stop hurting my partner!!! >:("
#twst smut#twisted wonderland smut#dire crowley x reader#mozus trein x reader#divus crewel x reader#twst sam x reader#ashton vargas x reader#fellow honest x reader#dylla spade x reader#lilia vanrouge x reader
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