#I’d like more people to have the opportunity to commission me if they were interested :)

[da-rulah]

In Cold Blood - Terzo x f!reader

Summary: Solitude had always appealed. Perhaps that’s why you took on this project… The thought of transforming a dilapidated old Victorian farmhouse into a sanctuary of your own, to live in peace and the romanticisms of a gothic home you fell in love with.

After the structural integrity of the house is replenished, you fill your days with DIY and decorating, bringing to life a house that had been frozen in time and left to rot for decades. You could enjoy the solitude of the land already, a few miles outside of a town plagued by disappearances and a fear of the dark. But you couldn’t escape the news of more missing people, nor the strange occurrences happening around your new home.

Were you imagining things? Or was there indeed a shadow haunting your sanctuary?

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Word Count: 19.6k (i'm back bitchesssss)

Warnings: Dark fiction, horror fic, mentions of murder, coercion, manipulation, obsession, masturbation (f), voyeurism, manhandling, threat and mild violence, dubious consent (later turns to verbal consent), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, blood, blood drinking, unprotected sex

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WARNING: This is a work of DARK FICTION. It is a horror fic, and contains mentions of violence as well as elements of dubious consent and manipulation. Please do not read if this is going to affect you negatively. You have been warned, and I take no responsibility if you choose to ignore the warnings and triggers attached.

a/n: well hello there. It's been a while, hm? Radio silence and then BOOM, a 20k word fic outta nowhere? Well, this was written for the wonderful @angellayercake's birthday, and she's been so kind as to give her permission for me to share it. I promise, more new content coming soon, and I'll be working on an update for The Mayor's Daughter ASAP! Happy reading, creeps...

“What’s the catch?”

The real estate agent blinked at you in confusion, as if you’d just asked her to recite the square route of pi to the 30th decimal.

“The… the catch?” she asked, “I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s just so cheap, I have to wonder which closet the skeletons are hiding in…” you joked, knowing full well the skeletons were actually in the backyard under the headstones that sat growing moss and ivy for the last six decades at least.

“Ma’am… I’ve been very upfront about the state of the house. It needs extensive repairs and renovation, it has a graveyard out back, it’s way out in the sticks and the landscaping is overrun… What more could be wrong with it?” She rang out her hands nervously, chewing on her cherry red lips as you scrutinised her body language. You’re sure there was something she wasn’t telling you, but this was a perfect opportunity for you…

Coming off the back of a decent chunk of inheritance left by a relative you’d long-since forgotten, you needed a project. You’d always wanted to renovate a beautifully gothic home from the 19th century, and when you saw the listing for exactly that on the edge of a small town? Ideal. Perfect. Exactly what you wanted. The thought of being a little out in the country, surrounded by land and away from the bustle of the city you grew up in was all too appealing.

“It has a charm to it, don’t you think?” you smiled to yourself, fiddling with the dusty net curtains still hanging in the living room’s huge bay window.

“Uh… sure, yeah,” the agent agreed with reluctance, still so confused as to why you would be at all interested in this ruin that she couldn’t even show you all of due to the structural integrity of the floorboards.

“I’d like to put in an offer,” you told her, turning back to face her with a smile on your face.

“You… really? Oh, my god! Okay, great! Well, I’ll get the paperwork…” she sprung into action, suddenly full of an energy that could only have been triggered by the whiff of her future commission.

It would take some work, sure, but this place had the potential to be the perfect project and future home for you…

It took six months, but the structural integrity of the house had been stabilised by a team of builders you’d hired to take care of the place while you got your affairs in order and ready to move halfway across the country. You weren’t taking much; a lot of the furniture left in the abandoned house was part of the project and with a little restoration would be absolutely beautiful. You were ready for the work, ready to create a home that you could be so proud of and had your stamp on it.

Moving into the house was quicker than you thought it would be, with most of your furniture sold and donated. For now, you had to live out of suitcases until you had a bedroom and closet space that was clean enough to hang your things in.

At the very least, you’d cleaned and stripped the four-poster bed that still lay in the master suite, checking the integrity of the bed itself and noting how… pristine it seemed compared to a lot of the other furniture left behind. But this was made of expensive, dark mahogany wood – it was built to last, and so with a polish, a new mattress and sheets? You had a gorgeous bed to sleep in each night, taking a little bit of pressure off when you’d spent an entire day exhausting yourself over more renovations.

One of your first jobs had been landscaping in the graveyard. You’d felt pulled to the graves, wanting to give whoever was buried on your property a much more respectful resting place, rather than allowing them to be swamped by ivy and moss.

It seemed to be a family plot, probably the last family to have owned the home. Every stone had the same surname, dating back to the first of the deaths in 1904. What struck you as odd, however, was the nature of the stones themselves…

For the time period, you might have expected angels, cherubs, perhaps a cross or two. But whilst these stones were ornate and beautiful, they were not steeped in biblical references at all. Instead, the eldest stone had a decaying gargoyle sat atop it… Another, a ram’s head at the base. One had a stone skeleton laying above where the body would have been buried, carved into a slab of concrete as if it was protruding from the grave itself. You’d never seen graves like this before, symbols and carvings you couldn’t identify but had you on edge the minute you looked at them. But one of those symbols, you certainly recognised.

A pentagram.

Now, as a purveyor of the dark and mysterious, you hadn’t minded the thought of a graveyard in your garden. For goodness sake, you loved the gothic aesthetic, the dark and macabre had always called out to you. But to find these graves had a theme to them, a darker, occult theme… It cast a deeper shadow over the home you’d purchased.

Who were this family? Were they part of an occult? You were itching to understand the history, to uncover more about the lost family that let their home fall to ruin and their graves be overrun by nature.

But it had to wait, the renovations taking over to make your house a far more liveable abode. With the graves at least clear from nature’s extremities, you could come back to them another time to give them a proper clean, to uncover the names in full and potentially use the information to gather more with a trip to the local library or a google search.

For now, you had to get to cleaning room by room so you could begin stripping and re-decorating where it needed it most.

“…The Sheriff’s office have released a statement today to calm locals calling for more action in the string of disappearances throughout town. Last Monday saw the latest in the line of disappearances, 29 year old store clerk, Andrew Walton, taking the total up to 12 missing in the last nine months. Mr Walton was last seen on CCTV heading into the alley of the 7/11 where he worked…”

The radio news bulletin caught your attention as you were working in the master bedroom, stripping the already peeling wallpaper from the panelled walls atop a stepladder. You’d only moved in three weeks ago, and yet, the little radio you always put on to work to kept churning out the same story consistently – the string of disappearances in town that seemed to be getting more and more frequent.  

It would seem it was the town with skeletons in the closet, not your precious new home. The estate agent failed to mention that one…

When you first heard about it, you’d made sure the house was secure, with locks on the windows, every entrance bolted and sturdy. Being so far outside of town, you weren’t particularly worried since you rarely ventured from your home, particularly not at night when most of these disappearances seemed to have taken place. But it didn’t hurt to be safe...

Still, the thought that there may be someone out there snatching people for God only knows what purpose was a little unsettling. You could only hope the sheriff would do his job and catch whoever was behind the crimes soon – but it had already been nine months… All you could do was lay low, stay as far away from the potential risks of heading into town alone in the dark.

As the lunchtime bulletin ended, the radio began to play one of the top 40 songs you’d heard at least three times already today. Whilst it was repetitive, you’d learned the words, and found yourself singing along as you scraped at patches of wallpaper residue with your little scraping tool. You lost yourself to easily in the renovation tasks, the monotony allowing for your brain to whisk you away to distant worlds, like shooting your own music videos to the songs as you sang along.

Drifting so far off into your own thoughts is probably the reason you hadn’t realised the radio had actually cut out completely, and it was just you singing and the sound of the metal scraper to fill the silence… The batteries had died.

“Ah, shit…” you mumbled to yourself, stepping off the ladder and reaching for the radio you’d placed on the window sill. Upon closer inspection, you made the definite conclusion that it was in fact the batteries, and sighed in annoyance. Of all the things you didn’t think you’d need for a while at least, you would now have to rummage around in the unemptied moving boxes that were still stockpiled in the dining room, filled with ‘random crap’ from your ‘random crap’ drawers – the drawers every home has… You just hadn’t renovated enough of the kitchen to have a ‘random crap’ drawer yet.

Digging through the boxes, you pulled a tape measure, a pack of four highlighters with two missing, six bank statements dated four years ago and a set of tiny little wrenches from the collection, until finally, you found a pack of unopened batteries at the bottom of the box.

You fumbled with them, rushing to get them out and replace the dead ones in the radio so you could get your music back and get back to work. Just as you pushed the second battery in, the radio roared to life again, startling you with a sudden gasp. Your heart raced in your chest as you chuckled at yourself, laughing at how stupid you’d been to have forgotten to turn it off before you pushed the new batteries in.

But a sudden and much more frightening crash from beneath you had you jumping again within seconds, your grip on the radio faltering as it flew to the ground, the new batteries flying out at the impact and drenching the room in silence again.

Your head flew immediately to the old door to your left, the one that led beneath the house to the basement…

You don’t know how long you stared at it, your heart rate never calming down as your mind raced with scenarios. An animal? Old house falling apart? Ghost? Psycho killer from town? You had no idea what to think.

But you lived alone. No noise should be coming from down in the damn basement.

You stared for so long, you began to question if you’d heard anything at all. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. But with a mental kick up the arse and a quick shake of the head to rid yourself of the fear, you marched over to the door to investigate like every stupid final girl in every horror movie you’d ever seen.

When you pulled on the string light, it buzzed and flickered before settling on a barely-there orange glow. Thankfully, it didn’t matter so much, the small windows in the house’s foundations letting in just enough light to deem the room visible. You could smell the must as you stepped down the wooden stairs, creaking under your feet as if some obnoxious special effects guy was dubbing the scene.

The movers had moved some of the restorable furniture you’d asked them to keep down here, stacking it in a far corner for you to come back to when you’d sorted the main structure and décor of the house. They were caked in a thick layer of dust, fingerprints from the movers clearly visible.

But nothing looked like it had fallen, there wasn’t anything broken or toppled over on the floor at all. The bang you’d heard had no source, that you could see. Even the cellar doors that led to the yard out back were still chained and bolted shut – you couldn’t blame it on a gust of wind, and upon first inspection, there was no sign of an animal somehow making its way inside either.

But to be sure, you walked through the clear space in the centre of the basement and over to the furniture pile of display cabinets, side tables, some chairs and a wardrobe you’d had moved from the master bedroom. It was one of your favourite pieces, that wardrobe. You planned to only clean it up and revarnish it, matching the ornate wood of the bed that had been kept pristine and you now used as your own. Even the mirrors on the door – oval shaped with dark ivy carved into the edges – were in fantastic condition. No scratches, just caked in a layer of dust like the rest.

A closer look proved there were no animals in the basement, no rodents or critters to try and ferry back outside. But what you did notice were the fingerprints on the brass handles of the wardrobe. Perhaps the movers had peaked inside – you hadn’t when you viewed the place. Maybe there were some old clothes still left behind from another decade?

Curiosity got the best of you, and you opened the door with a shriek of its hinges to find… nothing. The wardrobe was empty save for a few wire hangers that jingled with the opening of the door, and another layer of dust, albeit thinner, on the low shelf inside. But the dust was disturbed…

In the centre, there was a rectangle in the dust, as if it had been carefully wiped clean with absolute precision… It was about the size of a shoe box, but the dark grain of the wood stood out around the greyed and dulled wood surrounding it. Something had been in there for years, and had been removed…

Instantly, you blamed the movers. They’d gone nosing around and taken something they thought was valuable? Oh hell no. It got your back up immediately… You’d trusted these people, and they’d stolen from you? They’d be getting a phone call later.

Now pissed, you shut the door to the wardrobe a little harder than perhaps you should, the bang that sounded ricocheting off the stone walls of the basement.

That sounded like what you’d heard from upstairs.

You brushed it off, thinking nothing of it and instead looking up into the oval mirror of the door to check you’d left no damage to it.

But then you saw him. A man, in the dusty reflection standing in the far corner, the darkest spot of the basement. You could only see an outline, a silhouette. But one of his eyes seemed to gleam brighter than the other, the light perhaps hitting it just right. He was glaring at you, watching you intently in the dull reflection…

You shrieked, spinning in your place and slamming your back into the wardrobe behind you. Your chest heaved in panic, heart racing and breaths coming short and fast while your eyes searched the dimly lit corner and found nothing.

There was no man stood in the corner, nothing at all in fact. You were completely alone, your mind playing havoc on you in your heightened state of anxiety and anger. Even now, your heart was still hammering away, your lungs just beginning to regulate your breathing.

You straightened yourself up and wiped at your clothes that collected dust from the wardrobe when you’d slammed into it.

“Dumbass,” you mumbled to yourself, heading back upstairs quickly and slamming the basement door. You tried your best to shake off the anxiety, putting your batteries back into your radio and rushing back to the master bedroom to continue with the wallpaper scraping in the hopes it might put your mind back at ease. But for the rest of the day, you felt an anxiety you couldn’t shift, as if there truly was a man in the corner of every room you entered, glaring at you from the shadows.

It took a few days to get all the paper and residue off the walls in the master bedroom, careful not to mess with the panelling you wanted to sand down and keep as part of the décor. But for now, you could finally get onto stripping the paper in one of the other bedrooms, hoping to strip all of the paper from the upstairs in one go before getting around to sanding and replacing any panelling so you wouldn’t be spreading the dust into rooms you’d already finished and cleaned. There was method in your madness – strip everything down, sand, then clean.

The next biggest room upstairs had no furniture in it and was in the worst state, having been the room with the most extensive damage to the flooring and structural integrity. Builders had to replace the entire floor, and so had removed everything to do so. Apparently a leak in the roof – now fixed, of course – had caused irreparable water damage to the far corner, where they’d also removed the mouldy panelling and cleaned the remaining black mould properly and safely.

But now the rest of the room needed its paper stripped, so that’s where you found yourself. Your little radio blared the same station as always as you scraped away at the paper, making your way along the walls. It came off easier than the master bedroom, the damp of the room helping to already ease the adhesive from the plaster beneath.

As you moved to a section of the wall near the window, placing the stepladder on the floorboard, you heard one rattle beneath it. Having had the entire floor replaced, you’d assumed that every floorboard would be secured down. Perhaps the builders had missed one, but a few nails and you could fix that. So you moved the stepladder out of the way and crouched to inspect the plank that wobbled.

It had the holes in it where the nails should have been, and yet, there were no nails to hold it down… It was as if it had been secured and then pulled up again, except you couldn’t figure out why.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you pushed on one end of it to lift it from the structured beams beneath it. It opened up to a crawl space filled with fresh insulation and piping beneath the room. But when you pulled out your phone to flick on the flashlight, you noticed a rather out of place looking jewellery box had been hidden just to one side of the loose floorboard.

Instinct overruled you and you reached for it, pulling it from under the floorboard and wiping the dust from the top of it. It was a beautiful jewellery box, made of dark wood with an intricate baroque pattern carved into it and filled with some kind of gold resin. It had no lock on it, only a hook to keep its lid closed.

It made no sense to you… Why would this be under the floorboards when the floor was so new? Where had it come from? Should you open it?

And then your brain connected the dots. This box was the same shape, and a similar size to the disturbed dust inside the wardrobe in the basement. This had come from the wardrobe…

Logically, you concocted a story that maybe one of the builders had found it and wanted to hide it, come back for it later but forgot. But if they knew it was of value, surely they wouldn’t have forgotten it? And that patch in the wardrobe seemed too fresh, too pristine… Still, you had no other logical answer. You refused to believe it had magically found its way up from the basement and under the floorboards by itself – or even more horrifyingly, at the hands of someone else.

But you had to open it, right? You had to see what was inside, to see why someone would want to hide such a pretty little box at all. So you flicked the hook open, and slowly opened up the jewellery box…

You’d have to say you were disappointed. There were things in here, but nothing that screamed value at you, more like cheap and random items. There were some cuff links that you thought may have been silver, but were only sterling silver; a costume jewellery bracelet made of plastic pearls; a lipstick, worn down to within an inch of its life in a deep red shade; various little knick-knacks that together made absolutely no sense at all. The only thing that stood out to you as remotely unusual, was a watch.

This watch looked ordinary, something you’d pick up for cheap. It was broken, the glass cracked and the time clearly not moving on from 11:06 on the day it broke. It wasn’t branded, the clock face not diamond-incrusted or made of any real precious materials. But just under where the hands connected in the centre was a tiny little rotating set of numbers for a date, reading as 19/03/24 – just over a week ago. The watch had stopped working just over a week ago.

You couldn’t entertain this idea any longer. You stuffed the watch back into the box, slamming the lid closed and putting it back under the floorboards in the hope it might poof itself out of existence. You had to be imagining things, this wasn’t real. First, hearing noises down in the basement. Then, seeing the reflection of a man in the wardrobe mirror, only for him to disappear when you turned around. Now, finding a box of trinkets in the floorboards with items that were completely out of place for the time period of the old house.

You were being ridiculous, making up things that didn’t exist and had no significance at all. This must have been left by a builder, the battery being the reason it stopped, not the crack in the glass. There was just no way. No one had been by the house since you moved in besides the postman, and even he had quickly stuffed the mail into the mailbox at the end of your drive and run off quickly every time you caught him.

A creak in the floorboards in the hallway snapped you from your racing conspiracies, igniting your fight or flight response much like the noise in the basement the other day. This time you didn’t freeze, you stood up quickly and ran to the doorway to see if you could catch whatever was making the noise.

There he was again.

The same silhouette, a man stood in the hallway, backlit from the large window behind him and the sun streaming in through it. You couldn’t see his face properly, left in shadow but you could see those same eyes, glaring at you, watching to see if you would make a move…

Anger flared inside you, thinking you had an intruder in your home. You weren’t one to back down from a fight or go quietly. If this man was skulking around your house in broad fucking daylight, you were going to confront him.

“HEY! Who the fuck are you?!” you yelled from the doorway, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

The silhouette said nothing, instead stepping to the right through the door to your master bedroom. Without a second thought you ran towards the open doorway, grabbing the scraper from the floor where you’d set it down earlier as some kind of precautionary weapon.

“I said, get out of my-“ you stopped, frozen in fear. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, confusion replacing the rage inside you.

Nothing.

There was nobody in here. And you made damn sure to check… No one behind the door, no one in the en-suite, no one under the bed… No one.

You were losing your mind. You had to be. Perhaps you had spent too long alone in this old house, maybe you needed to socialise, head into town and meet some real people instead of chasing shadows. This wasn’t healthy, all this obsessive renovation work. This was your brain telling you you needed a break, right? It had to be that, because you could come up with no sound, logical explanation as to why you were seeing a shadow man roaming around your house other than madness. None of this was really happening, this was simply a descent into insanity caused by too much isolation.

At least, that’s what you told yourself to quiet the pounding heartbeat in your ears as the fear crept its way inside, burrowing deeper with every strange happening you seemed to experience.

A day off was all you’d needed, time out of the house to escape the need to be working, to essentially touch some grass and speak to another actual human being besides the shadow you’d conjured in your head. You’d gone into town, done some shopping, sat in a local coffee shop… You’d met a lovely older woman in there – Amelie, a widow and life-long resident – who’d welcomed you to town, so excited to have a fresh and pretty face to say hello to.

Although, she had warned you to head home before the sun set… That you should never walk alone in the evenings, and should lock your doors and windows at night.

“He likes the younger ones,” she’d told you. “I’m no good, you see… He likes them young.”

That had chilled you to the bone… Perhaps the mad ramblings of a woman hitting senility, but already on edge after the last few days at home, it seemed to strike a nerve. But nothing could have prepared you for the look on her face when she’d asked her where in town you had moved into, and you divulged it was the old farmhouse on the outskirts.

Her cheeks had sagged, smile dropping instantly. She shifted in the chair she’d taken at your table, straightening out the skirt of her dress over her knees and avoiding eye contact. And then she clutched her necklace in her fist – a gold crucifix – as she reached to take yours in her other hand.

“You must protect yourself, yes? That house… Something is there. You must be careful,” she told you, her voice as stern as she could make it to hide the tremble of fear.

“I-I’m okay, really… It just looks old, it’s overgrown and falling apart but I’m working on-“

“No!” she yelled, turning the heads of other patrons in the coffee shop. Her grip on your hand squeezed tighter, her nails digging into your hand painfully. “You should leave, before it’s too late. Such a pretty young thing, you shouldn’t be there…”

You pried her bony, arthritic fingers from around your hand and gently held hers in both of yours.

“I’m okay, Amelie. Please, don’t worry…” you comforted her, but she seemed dissatisfied, her eyes wide as she conceded.

That entire interaction had sat with you for the rest of the day as you’d wandered through the local farmer’s market, picking up fresh vegetables to turn into a casserole for one tonight. It shouldn’t have unnerved you the way it did, such an elderly woman was clearly suffering the effects of an ageing mind and yet, with the experiences of the last few days? Her warning unnerved you.

You headed home long before sunset, and locked the doors and windows like she’d told you to. Did it make you feel any better? Absolutely not… But as you pottered around in the kitchen making the casserole you’d planned, slowly the anxiety started to ease, helped mostly by the music on your little radio.

You ate in peace, scrolling through your phone while you tapped your foot on the tiled floor of the kitchen. You didn’t mind these lonely evenings so much, having grown tired of the bustling city long ago. These days, the quiet of your own company was quite welcome, easily sinking into your own little world.

Even as you stood at the sink, scrubbing at the dishes, you were in your own world, humming along to another overplayed song you’d heard time and time again. You’d find yourself staring out the window in front of you at the sunset, the sky painted pinks and oranges and casting a tranquil glow over the little graveyard out back. Dusk was quickly approaching, the night drawing in as you cleaned.

Just as you placed your plate on the drying rack beside you, you looked out again at the graves, now like silhouettes as the sky turned to a deeper shade of bluey purple. But your heart dropped, every hair on your body standing on end.

The shadow figure. The same shadow figure… Stood out by the graves, looking down at them with its back to you. He seemed to be wearing the same thing as last time you spotted him; slacks, a black coat made of heavy wool that just passed his knees. He was just standing, staring…

You froze in place, watching… You felt paralysed, like you’d spotted a large spider on the wall, staring at it to make sure it didn’t move out of sight because losing it was worse than staring in fear.

It didn’t move, just standing there, staring down.

A rush of anger hit you out of nowhere – this fucker was trespassing on your property, scaring you stupid. You’d locked this prick out when you’d come home, and so he thought it was okay to skulk around your land, trying to frighten you?

Fuck that. No. Enough of this.

You wiped your hands on the dish towel to the side, instinctively reaching for the biggest knife in your knife block on the counter before running to the back door. You unbolted the top and bottom, and ran out into the evening with a surge of adrenaline.

“HEY!” you yelled, like you had when you’d seen him in your hallway, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

The figure didn’t move, still staring down as you approached quickly from behind. You stayed back a few feet, clutching the knife in your hand and ready to use it should this fucker try anything…

“Answer me…” your voice shook with fear, no matter how hard you tried to keep it steady and strong. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing on my land?”

A dark chuckle… The shoulders of the figure shook with his laugh, and it only pissed you off more.

“Your land? Interesting…” the figure muttered, his voice thick with a heavy Italian accent and gruff like he hadn’t spoken aloud in decades.

“I-I’ll call the cops…” you threatened, “just leave and no one gets hurt.”

His head cocked up at that, turning to look over his shoulder. For the first time, you got a small glimpse at his face, and the eye that gleamed brighter than it should. He seemed to be smirking, as if this situation was somehow funny to him.

“You would hurt me, cara mio?” he teased, his eyes flitting down to the knife you held extended towards him. “I did not have you pegged for a violent woman.”

It caught you off guard, the way he spoke to you. Was he trying to belittle you? Make you question your own self-defense to weaken you? You wouldn’t let that happen.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him defiantly, ignoring his comments and still wielding the knife.

“Paying my respects,” he grumbled, as if he were annoyed by an intrusive question.

“Th-this is my property, and you need to leave. I’ve seen you in my house, and you need to go before I call the cops,” you repeated yourself, your voice shaking.

“Why did you buy this house?” he asked, frustratingly ignoring your warnings.

“None of your business-“

“It is my business,” he snapped, “This house belonged to my family,” he span on the spot, finally facing you. His expression was intimidating, his eyes – now visibly different colours – were boring into you, just begging you to try something. “These are their graves. This is their house. It does not, and will never, belong to you.”

“Well you might want to tell the bank that, Mr, uh…” his name escaped you, forgetting the surname that you’d uncovered weeks ago on the graves behind him.

“Emeritus,” he smiled sadistically. “Terzo Emeritus, and this house is mine.”

He took a step closer to you, and naturally you stepped back in fear. The grip on the knife readjusted with the second step he took, readying yourself to use it should you need to.

“But a pretty thing like you? I’m willing to share…”

“Don’t make another move…” you jabbed the knife forward a little, raising your voice in an attempt to appear threatening. “I know there’s some creep going around town, snatching people… And now you’re here, in MY house, threatening me?”

“I think I’m the one being threatened, cara mio…”

“SHUT UP!” you yelled. “Leave, now. Or I will call the fucking police.”

His hands, encased in leather gloves, shot up in a defensive pose, his smile widening sickeningly. He stopped approaching, but his morbidly beautiful eyes slowly scanned you from head to toe, taking you in, analysing. For a moment, you were locked in a stalemate, staring each other down. You thought maybe he was sizing you up, waiting for the opportune moment to strike like a predator hunting its prey.   

But instead of pouncing like you’d expected, he turned back around and knelt down before the graves.

“Penso che forse lei non è così affezionato a me come io sono di lei, non siete d'accordo? (I think maybe she is not as fond of me as I am of her, don’t you agree?)” he mumbled, as if the dead could hear every word. “Non temere, non lascerò che questa bellezza mi scaccia, i miei fratelli. Questa è casa nostra e imparerà a godere della mia compagnia. (Fear not, I will not let this beauty drive me away, my brothers. This is our house, and she will learn to enjoy my company.)”

“W-what did you say?” you stuttered, still wielding the knife. He looked briefly over his shoulder at you.

“Non vedevo tanta bellezza da più di un secolo, (I haven’t seen such beauty in over a century,)” he spoke to the graves again. “Non dal mio esilio e ritorno. (not since my exile and return.)”

You were growing more and more frustrated as he spoke his mother tongue to thin air, waiting for him to do something – even if that something were to force you to defend yourself. This was just… bizarre.

He stood again, kissing the tips of his gloves and pressing them to each headstone, save for one on the end. Why he missed that one, you weren’t sure, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. He seemed to be saying a goodbye, as if he were actually going to leave upon your request.

“Until next time, bella cosa (pretty thing),” he bowed his head a little and began to walk towards you, giving you a wide berth but keeping his eyes trained on you at all times. You figured he was simply making sure you didn’t try to stab him as he passed, walking himself out of the gates of your land and a little ways down the street before he turned back to you, and blew you a slow, calculated flying kiss.

As he continued to walk away down the lane that stretched towards town, you quickly glanced back at the graves, noting now that the names did indeed all share a common family name.

Primo Emeritus. Secondo Emeritus. Copia Emeritus. Terzo Emeritus.

Your eyes widened. You were sure that was the name he just told you belonged to him? That wasn’t possible… Such an unusual name, and he’d made no mention of being a ‘Terzo Junior’, or ‘Terzo the second’. And it was the only grave he didn’t plant his kiss to…

You span around in the grass beneath your feet, looking out down the lane you’d just seen him walking down and yet, he was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the fields that lined the lane into town, and the road stretched with no bends for at least two miles, no obstructions at all. You should be able to still see him walking, running even if he had chosen to. He hadn’t had time to vanish like he had, in mere seconds.

Your head whipped back to the grave – his grave? – before you shook your head of the nonsense that he might well be some kind of spirit who can appear or disappear in the blink of an eye. These ‘occurrences’ were nothing more than fuel for a spooky story around a campfire. None of this was true, you’d just… lost sight of him, or misjudged the view of the road. Something, anything, had to explain this away.

But it didn’t stop you from bolting back through the garden and into the kitchen, slamming the door behind you with the knife still in hand and bolting the door shut, heart thumping in your ears.

You slept with that knife under your mattress that night.

His face haunted you, both day and night. No matter what you did, or how you tried to refocus your mind, to fixate on only your renovations, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. In the few days since the incident by the graves, you were questioning your sanity more than ever.

Had that even been real? Was he real? He couldn’t possibly be… The way he disappeared in an instant every time you saw him led you only to the conclusion that you’d lost your mind, officially. You must have concocted this spectre after seeing his name on the grave when you’d cleared the landscaping around them. You told yourself that over and over again.

That became harder to do though, when you’d spot him out by the graves again not even a week after the first time. You’d been installing some small curtains to the window by the kitchen sink for you to hide the site from view when you’d spooked yourself at the mere thought of that night, and yet there he was again.

You stared in shock, frozen and motionless, as he turned his head towards the house, looking it up and down, before his gaze settled on you in the window. He raised his hand, but before he could gesture a wave at you, you shut the new curtains and obscured his view, darting out of the kitchen and hiding in the dining room still full of packed boxes.

Your heart pounded as it always did when your imagination ran away with you and spooked you like this. You shook your head, told yourself to snap the fuck out of it.

But then you saw him every evening.

Always by the graves, always turning to wave at you, no matter from which window you were watching him from. You did your best to hide, to ignore it and tell yourself he wasn’t real. You just had to keep going, to continue your work and maybe find a good psychologist in town one of these days.

This plan of wilful ignorance was barely working, but what else could you do? Giving this apparition any kind of attention would surely only make it worse, whether he was a figment of your imagination or a genuine ghost from the past.

Ignoring him was hard. There was such a large part of you that wanted more information about him, to learn where he’d come from, why he haunted you. He was intriguing, if terrifying. The face that followed your dreams, both day and night, was starting to become all too familiar, all too comfortable. If it weren’t for that ghostly white eye of his, he’d have quite a charming face. His glare wouldn’t seem so dark if it wasn’t pierced by the white glow, and perhaps he wouldn’t be so threatening… Home invasion and grave haunting aside.

Still, you did your best to continue as normal. The renovations continued, and before long you had stripped every room upstairs of the aged and withered wallpaper that desperately needed replacing. Finally, you could start decorating to your own tastes – starting with your bedroom.

After a trip to the nearest hardware store, and a delivery of wooden slats, you got busy creating the wainscoting that was to run along the bottom three feet of the wall in your bedroom. The idea was to panel it, and then paint everything a beautiful deep shade of royal purple. The hardwood floor was going to be stained a dark shade throughout the entire upstairs, but you’d managed to source a stunning Persian rug in a purple that matched the aesthetic you were hoping for. The furniture – the items you’d had moved to the basement – were already perfect for the room, matching the bed that had also been left behind. You’d chosen gold metal accents to replace the handles on the wardrobe and chest of drawers, and sourced lamps and trinkets in the same gold to match.

After no longer than a week, you’d completed the room with a mix and match of modern and Victorian gothic aesthetics. Frankly, it looked like a Pinterest board – but it was so inherently you.

When you’d laid the finishing touches to the room, you stood in the middle of it, proudly looking around with a wide grin on your face at the beautifully finished space. That estate agent couldn’t see the potential of this house, but you had the second you stepped foot inside. And whilst it was only one room, the rest of the house still just the bare skeletal bones of a home, this was a huge victory.

“I like what you’ve done with my bedroom, bella cosa (pretty thing).”

Your body stiffened at the sound of his voice, coming from the doorway behind you. You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head and willing for the nightmare to stop. You hadn’t heard him, you were imagining it. You had to be.

Except, you heard footsteps behind you, on the hardwood floors. His shoes clacked with every step, slow and deliberate as if he was taking in his surrounding, inspecting your work. When you braved opening your eyes, that’s exactly what he was doing.

He really was here.

“Grazie for keeping my furniture, cara mio. I was always fond of it, and you’ve given it new life,” he said, ogling the wardrobe as he dragged his gloved fingertips along the edge of the wood.

“And purple, too…” he span on his heels to face you, a warm smile crossing his dark features, “My favourite colour.”

“How did you get in here?” you asked, voice shaking as you watched him look around the room.

“I told you, cara, this was my house. I know every entrance and exit there is,” his mismatched eyes settled on you again, “even the ones you don’t.”

He was lying. There were only three ways in or out of the house, and they were all locked – bolted, latched, even the cellar doors in the basement were chained shut.

“This is not your house,” you argued, spitting the words through grit teeth. “You need to leave. I will call the police.”

His eyes darkened again, a veil of threat overcoming him.

“And I told you, this has always been my house.”

You weighed your options. Your phone was on the kitchen counter downstairs; if you were fast enough, you could run down to it and out the back door before he caught you, calling the police as you ran along the road into town. If you didn’t fuck it up, you could even lock him in, taking the key from the back door and locking it shut behind you, leaving him gift wrapped for the cops.

You just had to be quick.

And you tried, you really did. You bolted out of the bedroom, running down the length of the long hall towards the top of the stairs. You hadn’t heard him behind you, his shoes making no noise behind you and so you imagined he’d been left stunned by your sudden departure, giving you a head start.

So you hadn’t expected a pair of large, strong hands to grip you by the tops of your arms at the top of the stairs, and slam your body into the wall. A sharp pain radiated up through your spine, but you cried out in fear more so than pain when you realised he’d trapped you, palms flat against the wall by your head and arms encasing you.

Instinct had you closing your eyes, squeezing them shut and waiting for the next blow, or for this nightmare to end. You could feel a cool breeze against your cheek as you turned your head away from the man trapping you, as if his breath were ice cold.

“Look at me, cara mio,” he ordered, his voice deep and slow. You whimpered beneath him, trying to plant yourself flat against the wall to get as far away from him as possible. “Per favore, I want to see you.”

You wanted to deny him, but his silence said he’d wait for an eternity until you did. And you didn’t want to find out just how aggressive he could be, if given the chance. So slowly, you opened your eyes, looking at him through your peripheral vision before you turned your head ever so slightly.

His face was so close to yours, hovering above you. His eyes flickered across your features, like he was looking for something, or maybe mapping every feature and committing it to his memory for some nefarious reason.

This close to him, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing the same… You avoided his eyes, noting instead how his skin seemed pale for an Italian man, but soft and smooth without a single imperfection. His jawline was chiselled, like you’d cut your palm if you tried to slap him. He had frown lines in his forehead that came with a life of frustration, yet forked lines from the outer corners of his eyes that came with a life of happiness; neither made him look haggard, yet showed he wasn’t quite as youthful as you.

Despite his pale complexion, his lips remained a soft pink. They were full, parted as you both silently examined each other up close. That breeze you felt was most definitely his breath, which you’d expected to be warmer but given the situation, perhaps it was your fear adding to the chill.

Running out of features to scan, you landed on his eyes; the eyes that haunted you more than any you’d seen. At first glance, the colour mismatch was disconcerting. It would put anybody on edge, perhaps make them wonder if he’d fallen victim to some kind of accident or birth defect but the more you stared, the more you fell into them. You couldn’t place why, but they seemed older than the rest of his features, holding more wisdom than you might have expected.

“Are you real?” you asked him, logic and reason battling against the very real fear that you were imagining him, that he was some kind of spirit that haunted his family home you’d never be rid of. But you’d felt him. His hands had been the ones to throw you against this wall, his body was imposing on yours as he trapped you. He was solid, flesh and blood. But there was an innate and visceral fear that something was wrong.

At your question, his eyes met yours, and his lips quirked into a playful smile.

“I am very real, cara mio,” he assured, taking his hand from beside your head and wrapping his gloved fingers around your wrist. He lifted your palm, gently laying it flat against his chest. “Can you not feel me?”

You could. He was solid, like you’d now discovered and you could feel his heartbeat beneath his shirt. Still, something felt wrong. He had no body heat like a normal living man through a simple cotton shirt should, and the heartbeat you felt was significantly slower than it should be.

“Who are you?” you whimpered, palm to his chest without even an attempt to remove it.

“I told you who I was. Terzo Emeritus.”

“J-junior?” you asked him. His brow creased in confusion, missing what you were asking entirely. “Terzo Junior? The grave, it… it says Terzo.”

Now he understood, sensing your confusion and chuckling lightly at it.

“Just Terzo,” he told you, gentle grip still on your wrist. You could pull your hand away if you tried, and yet, you kept it in place as if his own slow heartbeat was somehow reducing your own to a more comfortable pace.

You were at a loss for words now, brain running far too quickly to settle on something suitable to say to him. But at least now you had grown aware of your palm still settled on his chest, prompting you to rip it from his grip expecting him to put up some kind of resistance, to which you met none.

“What do you want from me?” you asked him, unable to tear your eyes from him in the same manner you’d torn your wrist from him.

“Perhaps only your company,” he shrugged slightly, raising an eyebrow in suggestion. “To exist with you, here.”

“This is my house…”

“Sí, so you keep saying.” A beat of silence passed as you thought of what he was truly asking, what that even meant.

“I want you to stay away from me,” you insisted, finding a shred of strength within you. Terzo took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it go as he studied you.

“I don’t think I can do that, cara mio,” he sighed. His admission had tears forming in your waterline, a new fear that you wouldn’t be able to shake this man’s seemingly growing obsession with you. All you wanted was peace, solitude and an escape but you’d fallen into a web, and the spider was crawling towards you agonisingly slowly.

You took a few deep breaths, each exhale shaky. You just wanted him to go, to leave you alone. Maybe this had been his house once before, but it was yours now, and he couldn’t stay here. He already seemed infatuated with you, if the way he looked at you now was anything to go by. His eyes drank you in like he was a starving man, and you were the ripest of fruits for him to devour.

“Please, I just want to be left alone…” you begged, tilting your head back against the wall and letting the tears fall as you squeezed your eyes shut, suppressing a sob in your chest.

Silence descended, and suddenly the weighted oppression of his presence vanished with a swift breeze. Even with your eyes shut, you could feel he wasn’t entrapping you anymore but when you opened them, you saw he wasn’t anywhere near you at all.

He’d vanished again, faster than a snap of your fingers.

And you were left wondering if any of that, once again, was real or a fantasy of your own making. You were so sure you felt a solid body, a real heartbeat. You weren’t a scientist, nor a paranormal specialist but you would assume if he was the spirit of the man buried in your back yard, you wouldn’t be able to feel him in such a way.

But now he had vanished, the feeling he left with you felt very much like an oppressive presence, a lingering energy. Now he left you with the anxiety of another visit without warning, another appearance to trick you into believing your delusions were true.

You expected to see him again.

Another week passed, a surface layer of anxiety lingering persistently. All you could do was focus your attention on your project, doing your absolute best to continue as normal. Now you had finished the master bedroom, you moved onto the upstairs bathroom, which had needed gutting and refitting.

You’d had a small team of plumbers in to replace the pipes through the house just as you had electricians to rewire the place before you’d moved in, and until now, all you’d had was the bare bones of a shiny new bathroom. You’d installed some counters with a new sink, the gold hardware matching around the bathroom. The marble top was a beautifully tasteful black with gold veins to match the black wood of the cabinets.

Even in here, you stuck to your darker aesthetic. The walls were painted a beautiful matte black, the floor tiled with black and white squares. It took you all week, two of those days on tiling alone. But it was something to focus on, a room that you knew would be frequently used and so needed to be finished now your bedroom was complete.

When it came to adding the finishing touches, it felt like the cherry on top of another beautifully made cake. Your house was quickly turning into a showroom, a place that could be featured in home renovation magazines had you been willing to open it up.

But already, you’d had one too many visitors in your home for your liking…

By the end of the week, you were exhausted – more so than usual. The anxiety of feeling watched, monitored, stalked was taking its toll on you, and you needed some respite. For all you knew, Terzo Emeritus could show up at any moment to frighten, repulse and excite you. It was weighing heavy, and your mind was just as spent as your body was.

As you headed to bed that evening, you allowed yourself some self-care in the bathroom you’d now finished. The point of renovating this house was to enjoy it, right? So why deny yourself that…

You filled the new clawfoot tub with hot water, brimming with bubbles and scents that had you falling into a state of total calm before you’d even sunk into it. Your tiny little radio joined you in the bathroom, tuned to a station that played nothing but classical, and on a bath shelf you’d bought you rested some candles, a book and a full glass of red wine to enjoy as you pampered yourself.

Sinking into the water, you relished in the feeling of being submerged in its warmth. Almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders melted away, eyes closing in bliss as your head slipped back to rest against the tub’s edge. You couldn’t help but let out a hum of satisfaction, the relief and pleasure accumulating in a soft moan.

As you let your body relax, a noise caught your attention; a floorboard, creaking just outside of the bathroom door. Your eyes shot open, your body reacting and freezing in place. However when you let your eyes roam over to the mirror above the bathroom sink, you saw him…

By force of habit, you’d left the bathroom door ajar, a small gap just large enough to be able to see that ghostly eye of his in the dim hallway, and the outline of him peeking through the door. Your heart rate hammered in your chest as it always did when you saw him, but you remained still. For now, he wasn’t making any kind of move, and he didn’t seem to be aware you had seen him.

But he was definitely there, watching you as you bathed. It was violating, invasive, perverse… And yet, you did nothing about it.

Instead, you sank further underneath the bubbles, reaching for your wine glass with your eyes trained on the mirror. You took a sip, relishing in the taste and releasing another satisfied moan as if putting on a damn show for him. What possessed you to do so, you had no idea, but he’d been tormenting your mind for weeks now – why couldn’t you do the same to him?

Reaching for your loofah, you dunked it under the water and sat upright, back exposed to him. You stretched your arm out, running the loofah along your skin in a slow and deliberate manner. You were careful to never expose yourself too much, but to tease with the expanse of pretty, bare skin to conjure enough suggestion in his mind that would leave a man desperate to see more.

When you ran the loofah up the length of your leg just above the water, you heard the floorboards creak again, like he was fidgeting on the other side of the door. You checked in the mirror to see if he was still there, and he most certainly was, but you were having the effect on him you hoped for.

Perhaps you stretched it out a little longer than necessary, running the loofah over your body more than needed but you were making your point. Your wicked little mind was ticking over, aware he could only see what you wanted him to; your shoulders and head above the bubbles from behind. Do you dare to cross the line…?

Perhaps the thrill of being watched was having an effect on you too, because you came to the conclusion that yes, you did dare to cross the line.

You lay back against the tub again, using the loofah now to run across your shoulders and down between the valley of your breasts, which the bubbles were barely covering in your relaxed position. You trailed the loofah further down, reaching over your stomach and between your legs.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you brushed the loofah over your core, now realising that washing yourself so intimately – and being watched while doing so – had aroused you more than you’d first thought. A flash of pleasure had you squeezing your eyes shut again, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grazing over your centre with added pressure, hips rocking in the water.

Before long, you abandoned the loofah all together, and from where he was stood, Terzo could see it float and bob up to the surface which had him drawing only one conclusion; you were definitely not just washing yourself.

You worked slowly, methodically. It had been so long since you’d let go like this, since you’d last touched yourself at all and you wanted to savour it, to enjoy it. You were in no rush, working your fingers in gentle and slow circles over your clit under the water. The moans that you let slip weren’t at all restrained or controlled; for all you knew, you were alone, right? So why would you hold back?

 It was impossible not to keep checking the mirror, to make sure he was still there and every time, he was. You couldn’t help but let your imagination run away with you, picturing him entering the room, kneeling down beside the tub and reaching his hand between your legs for you. You pictured him taking you from the bathroom, into the bedroom and having his way with you, dark, handsome and brooding as he always had been.

You imagined his hands beneath his gloves, his bare fingertips tracing patterns into your skin, his full lips trailing kisses down your still wet body. What did he look like under those layers of his? How would he feel under your own fingertips? How would he feel inside you?

But Terzo made no such move. Instead, he watched silently from the shadows, and each time you caught that glimpse of him your hips bucked towards your hand until eventually, you couldn’t hold back anymore and allowed yourself to fall over the precipice.

Your orgasm was powerful, thanks to not only the lack of self love recently, but also, the arousal of becoming an exhibitionist. It rippled through your body like the water around you, and had you crying out wordlessly as you sank further into the water up to your chin. You hadn’t felt so good in a long time, and it worked perfectly to relieve the remainder of that tension in your body.

As you came down from the orgasm, you dared to glance back at the mirror only to find that he’d vanished. Another little disappearing act, only this time, you found yourself free of the anxiety that usually came with that, and instead smug with the knowledge you might have got one over on him for a change. You’d teased him to a point that he couldn’t tear his eyes from you until it was over, and for a moment you felt truly powerful. At least, if he were real… and not a fantasy you’d concocted for yourself. There was still the very real possibility that all of this was just your own madness and loneliness, and you were just now starting to lean into the delusions as a form of self-preservation.

For a little while longer, you stayed put in the tub, enjoying your book, the rest of your wine and the music in the background. Of course, you kept checking on the mirror to see if maybe he’d return for another look, but nothing. It was twisted, the way your stomach drooped in disappointment each time, but you brushed it off. You were sure before long, you would see him again – whether real or fictional.

Once you had finished in the bathroom, draining the tub and rinsing the suds away, you floated back into your bedroom wrapped in a bathrobe and ready to sink into bed with your book. You pottered around, changing into some pyjamas and crawling under the sheets when a glimpse of colour caught the light beside your bed, earning your attention.

Hanging from your bedside lamp was a pendant, and most certainly not one of yours. They were stored in a jewellery box atop the dresser, not hung on display like this… but it was beautiful, and you reached over to lay the charm in your palm and inspect it properly.

It was simple, yet elegant. The charm was shaped like a water drop, except the stone was purple; perhaps amethyst or a rarer sapphire but it caught the light exceptionally. Surrounding it, were smaller stones that resembled diamonds, but your knowledge of precious stones couldn’t confirm whether they were in fact real, or if this were costume jewellery. It didn’t matter though, it was beautiful as it was, sparkling under your bedside lamp.

You had no idea how it got here, but you could hazard a guess. It had been left for you like a gift, delicately placed in a position that would get your attention. There was only one person it could have come from, and as you played with the unusual pendant under the light, you began to realise that maybe he wasn’t the figment of your imagination you were trying to pass him off as…

The next morning, you had a revived energy, a spring in your step from a decent night’s sleep. The time spent on self care seemed to do the job, relieving the stress enough for you to be ready to tackle the downstairs living room next. Truthfully, your new found vigour may have also had something to do with a large part of you giving in to the idea that Terzo was not a fantasy, he’d been very real this whole time.

You still had no idea who he was, or how he was a real person. You were beginning to think that perhaps spirits did walk the earth, just by how he seemed to appear and disappear on a dime. But you remembered the heartbeat, the solid chest under your palm…

There were so many questions. Who was he? A descendant of the family this house once belonged to, and rested in your garden? How does he keep getting in? He mentioned entrances you might not know about, but you’d searched thoroughly, or so you thought. Was he obsessed with you? Stalking you?

Was he dangerous?

His behaviour was most definitely shady – people don’t just come and go in other people’s homes as they please. But you’d never reported him, no matter how much you’d threatened it. To begin with you’d hoped the threat of calling the cops would be enough to deter him, but he always came back. And at every opportunity, he could have done something to hurt you, yet never did. Even last night, you were in a completely vulnerable position. And whilst peeping on you in the bath was absolutely a violation and a crime in itself, all he did was watch. And you let him.

His existence was confusing, but you’d surrendered to the notion that he did in fact exist; and honestly, that in itself was quite freeing. It felt like some kind of weight had lifted, and it made beginning work on the living room easier to stomach.

This room had suffered in the years the house sat in decay. The old windows had made way for black mould to grow around it, and whilst you’d had the windows replaced since, the mould was still present. Your first job was to clean the walls and potentially replace some of the floorboards, if the moisture had taken hold of the wood.

Armed with a bucket of diluted bleach and a sponge, you got to work scrubbing at the walls and the large window sill that you were planning to convert into a cosy nook; a perfect place to sit and watch the world go by, book in hand. Your little radio sat on the mantelpiece of the stunning fireplace you were going to bring back to life, blaring out the same cycle of tunes you were used to now you’d tuned it back from the classical of last night.

You let yourself zone out as you scrubbed at the mould, singing along to the radio now you knew most of the songs blaring from it. It was a wonder you weren’t sick of them yet, but you still hadn’t got around to unpacking your record player that was supposed to have a home in this particular room. First, you had to finish it though, of course.

As one song ended, the radio host announced a lunchtime bulletin. By this time you were only half listening, fixated on the satisfying cleaning job.

“It’s 1pm, you’re listening to 108.3fm – here’s your lunchtime bulletin. Police have made a shocking discovery after the disappearance of 25 year old Amanda Riley just three days ago.”

Your ears perked up at the news, now getting your attention. Another one? This was concerning, terrifying even. And now they’d made a discovery?

“Human remains were discovered just outside of town in a wooded area yesterday, which police have now confirmed are that of Amanda. Family members formally identified the body, and police have given a statement to locals urging caution and vigilance. Sheriff Ansel had this to say…

“‘We believe Ms. Riley’s murder to be connected to the string of disappearances in the area in the last few months. The victim was found with all her personal belongings still on her person, including wallet, cash, ID and mobile phone, however when the family came to formally identify the body, they noted that the only thing taken from her was her unusual pendant…’”

Your blood turned cold. The hand still scrubbing at the wall froze in place, and slowly, you turned to look at the radio as if it was speaking directly to you.

“‘The pendant is recognisable as a purple amethyst in a teardrop shape, surrounded by smaller white diamonds. While the item is valuable, we believe that the killer may have taken such a personal item as a trophy, which could be part of their M.O. Still, we are urging the public to please keep an eye out to see if we can trace this item, either in pawn shops or perhaps being sold online. We ask that you not panic, and please get in touch if you note anything suspicious. Thank you.’”

Your hand dropped the sponge back into the bucket of diluted bleach, drifting up to your chest where that very same pendant was sat against your skin. You’d put it on that morning, barely even thinking about it, just because you liked it.

But he’d given it to you. Left it out in the open for you, like he was proud of it. He’d given you a dead girl’s fucking necklace. And there was only one way he could have got it…

You stood up, running into the kitchen and colliding with the sink before your body displayed it’s disgust by vomiting violently. All those unanswered questions, and yet, one of them had been answered.

Who was he? A murderer.

As you coughed and spluttered your breakfast into the sink, your mind raced. She wasn’t the only missing person, just the first body to have been found. There were others. So many others, for nine months. Thirteen missing people, one of which found dead with this fucking necklace missing.

You felt dizzy, like a wave of vertigo hit you in an instant. You hobbled over to the fridge, clutching at the kitchen counter to keep yourself steady and rooting around for a bottle of water. Your hands shook as you unscrewed the lid, taking a sip to rinse out your mouth as you stumbled back to the sink to spit. You took another sip, this time swallowing and trying your best to focus on the sensation of the cool water trickling down your throat. But your head was too busy.

Trophies. He was taking trophies? Why? This sick bastard must enjoy it, he must relish in his kills, wanting something to remember each one by. What else had he taken…? And then you remembered.

The box under the floorboards.

You slammed the water bottle down on the side, a jet propelling out onto the work surface from the force. Before you knew it your feet were moving of their own accord, up the stairs and down the hall. You were unsteady, tripping into the walls as you walked. You needed to know, but you didn’t want to.

Stumbling into the bare room, you fell to your knees with a hard smack where the floorboard was loose. Shaking hands lifted the plank, reaching underneath to check the box was still there; it was. You pulled it from its hiding place setting it down on the floor while you racked up the courage to open it again.

In one quick motion, you unlocked the latch and flung the lid open like ripping off a band aid. All the items were still there, just the way you’d left them, including the watch that had made you question them in the first place. It looked like it could have been vintage, save for the date wound to March of this year.

You looked at the collection of random items; the watch, the cuff links, the old red lipstick, the cheap bracelet, a skeleton key, a tiny used bottle of perfume, a red comb, an old butterfly hairpin, a daisy pin badge, a rusty swiss army knife, a fountain pen and a vintage zippo lighter.

Twelve items.

With the necklace, that made thirteen. Thirteen items. Thirteen victims. Thirteen trophies.

“I should have hidden them better, eh?”

The sound of his voice had your body stiffening in fear, skin instantly peppered with goosebumps. You hadn’t even begun to think about confronting him or having to see him. You weren’t sure what you were going to do yet, but you’d have hoped to have time to calm yourself down and think rationally about your options.

But you were going to have to do this ad-hoc.

“I don’t often make mistakes, bella cosa, but when I do… They haunt me. I suppose my kindness is coming back to bite me on the culo (ass).”

He sounded surprisingly calm for a man who’d just been found out to be a serial killer. It unnerved you, and no part of you could figure out his next move. You were a sitting duck.

Slowly, and carefully, you stood up, turning around to look at him. Part of you worried if you startled him with sudden movement, he might strike like any predator would its prey.

He was stood in the doorway, leaning up against the wood with his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks, coat pushed back behind them. He looked far too casual, his face hinting at neither anger nor humour – nowhere on the emotional spectrum.

“Kindness?” you asked, ruminating over his use of the word. “There’s no kindness in what you’ve done.” Perhaps it was dangerous to speak so ill of the murderer in front of you, but you couldn’t help yourself.

His neutral expression darkened in a warning glare, his chin tipping up so he was looking down on you, adding to his intimidating aura.

“Not everybody deserves kindness, cara mio. Some deserve far less,” he challenged, pushing himself off the doorframe and taking slow steps into the room, keeping a distance from you still.

“No one deserves that…”

Terzo scoffed, looking off to gaze out of the window and shaking his head as if what you said offended him in some way.

“So now you know,” he shrugged, looking back towards you, his hands still shoved deep in his pockets. You kept an eye on them, mind racing with all kinds of possibilities – he could have a weapon of some sorts hidden from view. You needed to be on your guard. “I suppose you will report me now, sí?”

There was a playful glint in his eyes that you didn’t miss, like he was taunting you, waving a red flag to a bull. If you said you were, would he attack you too? But surely he couldn’t simply take your word for it if you said you wouldn’t either… Truthfully, you weren’t sure what you were going to do. Your only instinct was to run – fast.

You let his question linger in the air, far too much silence going by as he watched you, assuming you’d frozen in fear. He hadn’t expected you to dart towards the door, your only goal to get downstairs and out of the house as quickly as possible. So when you did exactly that, he watched for a split second, anger snapping inside him.

You barely made it out of the room before you felt a sudden force slam you forwards and into the wall of the corridor. A scream erupted from your chest, blood-curdling and gut-wrenching to anyone who would have heard it – but out here? No one would. How he’d moved so fast, you had no idea, but he had both of your wrists behind your back, and his whole body weight held you tightly against the wall.

“You are leaving so soon?” he asked, leaning in to speak directly in your ear as you writhed under him to try and escape, but his grip was too strong even without him putting seemingly any effort into it. “I was just getting used to you living in my house…”

“This is MY house,” you growled, gritting your teeth and avoiding his eyes.

“Then why should you want to leave? Are you scared I might hurt you, cara mio?”

Tears spilled from your waterline, giving away your fear and distress. Of course you were scared he was going to hurt you. He’d already hurt so many…

When he received no answer from you other than a sob in defeat and the stilling of your limbs as you gave up fighting his grip, he manhandled you until you span around, your back now against the wall just like it had been the other day.

“Th-this isn’t real… You’re not real…” you whispered to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut in the hopes you might wake up from your nightmare. You did not.

“I’m quite real, cara. We’ve been over this, no?” he lifted your wrist again like he had the other day, this time settling your hand delicately on his cheek and holding it there with his much bigger palm. “See?”

His gentility confused you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw a strange softness in his face. For a moment, you almost thought his expression was one of admiration. It didn’t matter what it was, but you couldn’t look away. This man – this serial killer – was being so gentle with you, his eyes cast over you like he was utterly obsessed with you.

“Why?” you whispered, more tears spilling over your cheeks. Still, you held his, despite his grip on your hand lessening ever so slightly. You wanted to understand, talk him down maybe just enough to let you go. You wanted to appeal to the softness you saw in him.

“I have no choice,” he said flatly, almost with a hint of shame. But that only crossed the wires in your mind more.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“I choose them carefully… They are not good people, cara. They have ruined others lives, even taken them and I-“ he stopped himself, looking down at the floor in shame. Your brows creased together, trying to piece your thoughts into coherency.

“It’s always a choice,” you started to argue back, softly so as not to raise any more rage within him in such a precarious position such as the one you found yourself in beneath him. But his head snapped back up nonetheless, his hand gripping onto yours and throwing it back down beside you. He kept you caged beneath him still, hands planted firmly on the wall.

“I assure you, bella ragazza (pretty girl), there is no choice. It is me or them.”

Slowly, he raised his head from where he’d stared at the floorboards between your feet. His eyes watched you closely as he tilted his head back a little, and his lips parted until you could clearly see two very white, very sharp fangs protruding from under his top lip.

For a moment you didn’t react at all, calculating what you were seeing. His hands hadn’t moved, so he hadn’t put them in himself. You’d seen him so many times, and up close too, and never saw them before… They had to be real. He had fangs.

“That’s impossible…” you whispered, “there’s no such thing as-“

“Vampires?” he finished your sentence for you, “I’m sorry to shatter your illusion of a perfect world, cara mio, but I can assure you, there certainly is.”

Finally, your survival instincts kicked in, adrenaline pumping through your veins almost in an instant. You shoved your hands against his chest and pushed with all the strength you had, trying to get him away from you, to preserve yourself. All this time you had felt like prey, and it had been instinct all along. You were prey.

Your shove did nothing. He remained unmoving, like stone encasing you against the wall. You thrashed your arms around, trying to escape him but it was completely useless. You were already trapped, and at the mercy of a real vampire.

“I’m sorry, cara mio, but you will not overcome my strength nor my speed. This is useless, I assure you.” His voice had no hint of patronising, instead of genuine sorrow. It felt as if he knew he had to kill you now, but he didn’t want to kill you. You gave up, your fists balling up against his chest as you lay your head back against the wall, out of breath and sobbing as you accepted your fate.

“Please… don’t kill me, Terzo…” you wept, head lolling forward to look into his eyes for what you thought might be the last time.

His brow was creased, his lips parted in horror as he looked back at you. He raised his gloved hand and wiped at the tracks on your cheek. “I don’t wish to kill you, cara mio… You understand, no? I must kill to stay alive, but not you – never you.”

You barely registered what he was saying before you were shooting questions at him again, needing to know more, to understand why he chose those people. Why he kept their trophies…

“Why them? Why did you choose them? They were innocent, just like me. Why did they deserve that?” you sobbed, your chest heaving as he held your cheek, still caging you against the wall.

“The girl they found? What the polizia (police) don’t know is she was behind the wheel of an intentional hit and run a few years ago. The store clerk a few weeks back? You do not want to see what was on his hard drive. All of them, vile humans. There is more evil in this world than you could possibly fathom, tesoro. They even tasted different…” he shrivelled his face in disgust, “but it keeps me alive, and my conscience semi-clear.”

The shock of his revelation did nothing to help your racing heart or foggy mind, processing everything far slower than you would like in this tumultuous situation.

“Suppose that was true, why do you keep their things?” you prodded further – there must be some part of him that enjoys it. Even if only the fact he were proud of removing scum from the earth, if that were true.

“Because I carry their souls with me… No matter how evil, they are people, and I take their life. Each one is a burden, and I must never forget that.”

There was genuine sorrow, genuine regret there. You could see it. But it changed nothing, he was still a murderer, a monster. And you were still trapped underneath him, literally backed up against a wall and inches away from deadly threat.

“But… it’s sick, Terzo! They’re kept like trophies, like you’re proud of what you do to them!” you protested. He hollowed his cheeks in annoyance, becoming more defensive as you accused him.

The hand that wiped your tears lowered to your neck, his fingertips tracing along the chain of the necklace you had yet to take off, until it reached the unusual pendant, where he played with it against your collarbone.

“And yet, you still wear it. You had time to take it off, if you were so disgusted by it. But here it is, looking so pretty around your… beautiful neck,” he sighed, his eyes roaming hungrily over the exposed skin he so clearly wanted to puncture and drink from. The fear in you started to rise again, your pulse that had just started to settle raising. More hot tears fell over your waterline as you took a deep, shaky breath.

“What… what do you want from me?” you pleaded, your voice trembling and squeaky. His eyes flickered up to yours, fingertips still playing with the pendant, grazing the skin so gently it left goosebumps. You would never admit to the thrill his touch seemed to be giving you, knowing what you know of him now.

But Terzo leaned in further, his hips meeting yours and pressing you further against the wall. The hand that had been keeping you caged against the wall all this time dropped to your waist, holding you just enough to send a wave of curious gratification through your abdomen. He was close enough that your noses would touch, should he tip his head down to you. You could feel his icy breath against your face again – a symptom of his state of undead, you now understood.

“I want you to love me, tesoro…” he confessed in a whisper, watching for your reaction.

“I only fear you,” you defied, unable to admit the curiosity his request sparked.

“Are they not the same?” His eyebrow arched up in question, waiting for your response. But honestly, you had none. You were dumbfounded, wondering what on earth he meant by that. Of course they weren’t the same, nothing about love and fear are the same. The attraction you had felt towards him in recent encounters was fleeting; a right place, right time kind of attraction. It had nothing to do with him, and now knowing what he was, it could never be him again.

Terzo understood your silence to be an internal monologue, a debate in your own mind. He pressed further, illustrating his point.

“Let me ask you, tesoro, does the thought of me make your hairs stand on end?” his fingertips grazed along the length of your collarbone, the grip on your waist squeezing slightly, “Does it make your stomach fill with the flutter of butterfly wings? Does it make your heart beat like the thrum of a hummingbird’s wings?”

You couldn’t deny it, but those were markers of fear as well as love. It didn’t mean they were synonymous. You refused to answer him.

“I can hear it, you know…” his hand flattened against your collarbone, “The pounding in your chest, the rushing of your blood through your veins. I hear them, working so hard when you are near me.”

Terzo leaned into your neck, his nose brushing against your jugular so tenderly as he breathed in deeply, enjoying your scent to the point of near intoxication. Little did you know, it was that scent that drew him out of hiding in the first place. He simply couldn’t stay away from you, and when he saw where the scent was coming from, saw your sheer beauty, he understood why you smelled as tempting as you did.

“Fear smells just like love to me, tesoro. It adds a sweetness to your already saccharine scent. Just like nectar appeals to a honey bee, you appeal to me much the same,” he continued to nuzzle his nose against your skin, his breath fanning over your collarbone. Every so often in his clumsy, inebriated state his lips would gently tickle the skin, sending a rush through you that now you were certain he could smell. “That nectar can be turned into honey, no? I wonder if I could do the same for you…”

You bit your lip, looking up towards the ceiling in an attempt to avoid his eyes that frankly were too hypnotic for their own good.

“They are all markers of fear, Terzo…” you whimpered. You felt his breath as he chuckled against your skin.

“Then tell me why I can smell the sweetest honey already pooling between your legs, cara mio…”

Your head snapped down to look at him, and you met his eyes already waiting for you, a smirk on his lips. You wanted to deny it, to slap him, to push him away from you but what was the point? He was right. There was no denying it. He could smell you.

The shame you felt, letting a monster like him have such an effect on you, was astronomical.

“Please…”  you pleaded; for what, you weren’t sure.

“What is it, cara mio? What can I give you?” he asked, straightening up and again cupping your cheek with his gloved hand, still holding your waist, still pressing his hips to yours. His lips were so close, all you could do was stare at them until you snapped yourself out of it, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Everything.”

It took no longer than a heartbeat for Terzo to process your answer, before his lips attached to yours so fast and hard you felt his fangs scrape against your bottom lip. A thrill zapped your core, and your balled up fists against his chest gripped the lapels of his coat to bring him impossibly close. You succumbed so quickly to him, desperate to feel his lips against yours.

While you were sure this feeling was not love, it was certainly not fear either. ‘Infatuation’ felt closer to the truth, borderline obsession just as Terzo had exhibited towards you. But denying it was futile now, and so instead, you leaned into it. The pair of you desperately held onto each other, kissing as if this was the only way you could get oxygen, and you’d been suffocating without each other.

Terzo started to move, trailing his passion down to your jawline, underneath your ear and down to your neck. Your heartrate quickened again, knowing that his mouth near your neck could go only one of two ways. Both options seemed to excite you in equal measures…

“W-will it hurt…?” you asked him, as you felt his fangs graze against your skin lightly, like he was holding himself back.

“Just for a second…” he panted like a dog laying out in the sun. And he wasn’t wrong, the pain would be momentary, his fangs emitting a small amount of venom that acts as an anaesthetic. That wasn’t the problem, and it wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks. “But I can’t…”

You cupped his cheeks, lifting his head to look him in the eye again. “What’s wrong?”

He looked as if he were in pain, his face screwed up in utter agony. He kept shaking his head, like he didn’t want to say it, like he was hiding a secret that would break him just to say aloud.

“If… If I do this, I might not be able to stop,” he whined, “and even if I do, how could I ever let you go after tasting you?”

You searched his eyes, saw the pain and the uncertainty in them. He truly didn’t want to hurt you, and right now he looked more vulnerable than you would think a creature of the night was capable of being.

“When you moved in I couldn’t leave you, I couldn’t stay away… And that was merely your smell, Tesoro. I’m afraid if I taste you, I could never leave you alone again.”

His admission floored you, and as much as the idea of giving yourself over to him willingly seemed to appeal to you, the rational part of your brain was still working enough to understand that that was a line that should not be crossed just yet.

“It’s okay… It’s okay,” you told him sincerely, comforting his distress before bringing his lips back to yours and resuming your heated exchange. Perhaps someday you would allow him that taste, a way of committing deeper than you could possibly comprehend at this stage. But there was a reason for the phrase “blood pact”, and it didn’t originate with the exchange of open wounds between two mortals.

As enthralled as he was in your lips, feeling your pulse beneath them tempting him, Terzo had to push the thought to the back of his mind. He couldn’t lose himself to the temptation so soon. He’d frighten you away if you saw him so feral, and he couldn’t let you disappear like everyone else in his life – not the only woman to ever have smelled so divine to him. Only he knew what that meant, that pull…  You were it for him. His obsession was unavoidable, you were his promised love.

It happened instantaneously for his kind, but for you? It would take time for you to see it, to feel what he felt. Human sense of smell was nowhere near as powerful, and so you could never know just by his scent that he was the one for you, the soul on the other end of the red string tied around your wrist.

To rid his mind of the temptation, he focussed on the moment at hand. His intense grip on your waste drifted over your hips and to the backs of your thighs until he was lifting them, using his hips to ground you against the wall so you wouldn’t fall. It was as if you were weightless to him, his inhuman strength making such light work of carrying you further down the hall and into your bedroom – his bedroom – until you both fell onto the bed.

No part of you thought for even a millisecond of stopping him, an intense need for him screaming from within you. You pushed his coat from his shoulders, diverting to his shirt buttons as soon as he began pulling at his sleeves to rid himself of the heavy wool. In no time at all, his chest was bare to you, peppered with dark hair that you’d expect from a man of Italian descent. You pulled him closer to you, reattaching your lips desperately.

His gloves disappeared as you kissed him, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the touch of his cold skin on yours, his hands sliding up under the hem of your shirt to hold you. He paused for a moment, searching your face for any sign his touch wasn’t welcome.

“Just cold…” you assured him, running your fingers through the dark locks of hair that had fallen over his face as he hovered above you.

“I, eh… sí, mi scusi, I am cold to the touch…” he apologised, a wave of insecurity flashing through his expression.

“I don’t mind,” you smiled sweetly, pulling him down with your hand woven into his hair and kissing his insecurity away. He regained his confidence, grip returning to your bare waist under your shirt and tightening with gratitude at your reassurance.

The way he kissed you was like worship, like he valued every second you allowed him to touch you, to be with you – and as he slowly began to undress you, his worship continued. He started with your shirt, pushing it up your abdomen and peppering the skin with more kisses as he exposed it. Over the curve of your breast peaking from above the cup of your bra, you felt the low rumble of a groan against your chest that was suppressed as he buried his face into your flesh. He was so gentle, so calculated in his motions and it was driving you crazy already.

Once your shirt was finally above your head and discarded somewhere to the side, he pulled the straps of your bra down, kissing along your shoulders and down your arms until he reached behind you to unclasp it. Your breasts bounced before him, and he immediately began to leave open mouthed kisses over them, laving his tongue over your nipples as they stood to attention under the chill of his lips. His free hand worked at your other breast, kneading like he was making the finest ricciarelli biscuit dough.

You couldn’t help the soft whines and hums that left your body as he worshipped you, hips rolling under him in a desperate attempt to feel something more. You wanted him so badly, already overcome with desire.

His hand came to rest on your hip, squeezing and he continued to suckle at your breast. His fingers dipped easily into the waistband of your paint-smeared sweats – one of several pairs you alternated when working on the house renovations. Before long, he was dragging them down your thighs, his cold knuckles grazing at the skin and sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

Terzo was taking his time without wasting any. He knew what he wanted, what you wanted, but he spent just enough time working your body, lavishing it to build anticipation. But before long, his kisses began to travel south, leaving a path of wet little marks down between the valley of your breasts and your navel until he was tracing the hem of your underwear, daring to run his finger along the sensitive skin.

It took a formidable amount of strength and restraint to keep your hips as still as you did, and even then, you were wriggling under his touch. But when he could tell you were growing restless, he wrapped his arm underneath your thigh and lifted it above his shoulder. Naturally, you spread wider for him, giving him complete access to your covered core where he could see so clearly the stain of arousal.

He was so close to you, the scent of your sweet honey so intoxicating. You could never understand how divine that scent was with your own human senses, but to him? It cemented itself in his memory. He knew that after today, he would never forget it. He didn’t want to rush, but frankly, it was getting impossible to resist a taste.

He lifted the hem of your panties and pierced the material beneath it with his fangs, easily tearing it away from your body before he pressed his nose to your mound, and took in a deep inhale. He growled between your legs, the vibration and exhale teasing your nerves until you were clenching around nothing.

He could wait no longer, his tongue reaching out to lap between your folds in one slow motion. He savoured the taste on his tongue, making sure to collect as much honey as he could for a truly overwhelming taste. You watched as his hips rocked into the bed below him, his hands tightening on your thighs. His tongue felt cold too, but the pressure was so welcome, a wave of euphoria passing through your core.

Expertly, Terzo used his whole mouth to bring you the pleasure he thought you deserved and yet, not once did you worry about the sharp fangs he’d used to strip you. He had the ability to retract them should he need to, and for this particularly delicate activity, he did just that. But his lips and tongue worked together to have you moaning at every lap, hips rolling underneath him.

Your hands found their way to his hair for purchase, tugging at the roots every time he sent a surge of pleasure through your clit. He loved it, moaning with you as if he too was close to an orgasm. Both of you had lost yourselves to the moment, completely enthralled in lust.

Terzo was becoming more and more desperate to have you finish on his tongue. Each pretty little sound he caused only made him want to hear more, and as you grew closer and closer to orgasm, you sweetened with added hormones that drove him wild. He unwrapped a hand from around your thigh and easily slid two fingers inside, not bothering nor needing to tease with how your body already gave itself over to him. He curled his fingers inside you, a shock of pleasure forcing your back to arch from the mattress as he found the perfect position.

His pace increased with every moan he elicited, the tension in your lower abdomen growing until you were on the verge of snapping.

“T-Terzo… Please,” you begged him. He chuckled darkly as he buried his face deeper within you, his nose adding to the equation and making your hips writhe until finally, that tension inside you snapped.

He didn’t stop, holding you down with inhuman strength as you erupted in cries of bliss. Your muscles contracted, thighs trapping his head in place and fingers pulling painfully at his hair.

Terzo slurped at your core, not letting a single drop of arousal go to waste. You tasted different as you came, the rush of hormones adding something so damn addictive that it wasn’t until you physically tried pushing his head away in oversensitivity that he snapped out of his trance, his head jolting up to look at you with his mouth and skin shimmering. He looked completely feral, his eyes wide, and you watched as his fangs returned with a snarl of a hungry animal locking onto its kill.

Your heart jumped in your chest; out of fear or lust you couldn’t be sure. But he heard it, the irregular thump as you lay vulnerable and weak beneath him. It only served to make his erection twitch in his slacks… Fear was a powerful feeling, and mixed with lust it was one of the most erotic combinations.

He crawled his way back up your body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before diving into a punishing kiss that knocked any remaining wind out of you. You could feel his length pressing into your hip, and while you were certainly already struggling with exertion you wanted nothing more than to know how he’d feel inside you.

So you reached between you both for his belt, fiddling with the buckle as you kissed him. Taking the hint, he kicked his shoes off over the edge of the bed, and when you’d managed to undo his belt and slacks, he helped to kick them with his underwear passed his knees to follow suit. With him bared to you and pressing into your hip once again, you could feel just how endowed he was, and just how ready for you he was.

“You are so beautiful, cara mio…” he mused between kisses, his cold fingertips trailing down your neck and arm, then back up. “And you can’t ever understand how exquisite you taste.”

“To an extent, I can…” you teased with a flirty smile, “I can taste myself on your tongue.”

He stared down at you for a moment, until realisation finally settled and his lips curled into a devilish grin.

“Tu sei una tentatrice, amore mio… (you are a temptress, my love…)” he whispered, lowering himself to your lips once again.

As you both lost yourself in another steamy kiss, you couldn’t help rolling your hips up to meet his. He hummed into your mouth, understanding that you wanted him completely, and reached between the two of you to grip himself. You spread your legs a little wider to make it easier for him, feeling how he prodded at your entrance once he’d lined himself up.

“Are you sure, amore?” he stopped to ask, and you nodded, biting your lip to contain the smile as you cupped his cheeks. With your permission, he slowly pushed forwards, filling you slowly as he glided through your slick. You fought to keep your eyes open, if only to watch the look of bliss that overcame his face – and boy was it worth it.

He looked so ethereal, like his pale skin had been carved by the finest of Greek sculptors in marble burdened with the curse of perfection. The chill of his skin did nothing to quell the burning heat of yours, finding the perfect balance.

“You’re so… warm,” he moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he enjoyed the feeling for a moment. “Sembra fottutamente incredibile. (feels fucking incredible.)”

Given a moment to compose himself, he began to slowly rock his hips back and forth, gritting his teeth from the sensation alone. You would be the first to admit that he, too, felt incredible inside you, reaching places his fingers had only moments ago and sending waves of a dull pleasure through you once again at the embers of your last orgasm were being stoked.

His hand gripped your thigh and lifted it around his waist, obtaining a better angle and something for him to grip onto to stop his mind spiralling into sheer madness. Already, you were so difficult to resist; temptation was calling to him in the form of your steady, yet thundering pulse where his face lay against your neck. But if he lost himself, lost control like he was so terrified to, he was afraid resistance would fail him.

It was like torture. How could he feel so incredible pumping his length inside you while simultaneously experiencing the physical strain of holding his thirst back. You were his, he’d decided that long ago. But to truly make you his, all he would need to do was to give in, to sink his fangs into the skin he was peppering with kisses. He felt like a recovering addict desperately trying to resist as someone waved a hit under his nose. In some ways, that was exactly what he was.

But not yet. It was too soon. He had to resist for now, to let you make up your mind without ancient ritual influences before he allowed himself to truly make you his. He couldn’t bind himself to you, only for you to walk away when it all became too much, or hell forbid, you found someone more human to settle down with.

Instead, he focussed on the pleasure filling his cock as he pistoned in and out of you. He focussed on your pretty moans, and the way you clenched around him. He focussed on kisses to your neck instead of bites, groaning against your skin as he indulged in you. But too easily he lost himself, and soon he couldn’t help but drag his tongue from the bottom of your neck, to right underneath your ear.

You loved how it felt, completely oblivious to just how close you were to becoming a meal to him. To you it was simply another thing to drive you wild, and when you once again wrapped your fingers in his hair, your other arm pushing down on his back to pull him against you, you had no clue you were making it so much harder for him.

He kept suckling, licking, even nipping so gently at your neck – so fucking close to what he truly wanted as his instincts began to take over. He fought them as hard as he could snarling at himself in warning but still, you were oblivious to his internal fight and mistook his anguish for noises of pleasure.

Truly, he hadn’t meant to let it get this far; but when the sharp tip of his fang grazed just a little too close to where your pulse thundered against his tongue, and you writhed under him with a targeted hit to your g-spot, he nicked your skin just enough to draw the tiniest spec of blood… He hadn’t even noticed, your scent already filling his nose that he didn’t sense it intensify just a fraction until it was too late, and he’d laved his tongue over the graze.

It all happened too fast, then.

You were mid-moan when you felt an excruciating pain where his tongue had just been, the noise catching in your throat with a sudden choke. Your fingers naturally tightened in his hair, and your nails dug into the cold flesh of his back as a scream travelled its way through your ribcage and you couldn’t help but let it out. Your back arched and your muscles constricted, but Terzo’s hips never stopped and now that he’d got a taste of you – a real taste – he growled a visceral growl that you felt rumble in the pit of your stomach.

If he thought you’d tasted good between your legs, this was the most intensely delicious thing he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting. Such pure, untainted blood coated his tongue, dribbling down your neck as he ravished it. He’d known this was dangerous, that one bite would bind him to you for eternity after the first whiff of your scent when you moved in. But now that he’d tasted you, he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d fought so hard to stave off.

“T-Terzo, you-“ you tried to stop him, remembering how pained he’d looked when he explained why he really couldn’t do this, but it truly was too late. All it took was one drop. He cut you off with a hand clamping over your jaw, his other holding your hip in place with bruising force.

His hips never stopped, every sensation he felt only pushing him to fuck into you harder like a rabid monster. In that moment, that was exactly what he was. In that first split-second, he frightened you. You saw the side of him he’d tried so hard to hide, and coupled with the pain in your neck, your body flooded with adrenaline – which of course, only added to the sublime taste of your blood.

But like he had promised, the venom acted fast. The pain ebbed away into nothing but a sensation of being prodded and sucked at. Still you held onto him tightly, unable to deny that this was possible one of the most intimate feelings you’d ever felt, and the pleasure started to stack up.

Even to a point, where the rush of blood through the two puncture wounds in your neck became a pleasurable experience. You’d have trouble explaining just how, but it felt unbelievable, like a massage that tickled and sent endorphins flooding your mind. Little did you know, that was also the venom coursing through your body. But it didn’t matter, because coupled with Terzo’s cock thrusting against your g-spot it was the most glorious feeling in the entire world.

As you barrelled closer to a second orgasm, Terzo ripped his fangs from your neck and looked down at you beneath him. He had a look in his eye that was so predatory that you knew immediately you belonged to him now, whether you liked it or not. As luck would have it, you did like it; very much. That obsessive look, that ownership turned you on to a point that had you squealing for him beneath his hand.

Quickly, you reached your peak for a second time, holding him so tightly you thought that maybe even you would draw blood with your nails in his back. Just as that second burst of pleasure coursed through you, Terzo reattached himself to your neck, drinking in the newly sweetened blood that a rush of hormones created for him. If you could imagine the most expensive, and decadent wine you had ever tasted, it wouldn’t hold a candle to the taste of your blood to him right now.

Suddenly he lurched back again, this time removing his hands from your body and holding himself up, only to dive in and sink his fangs into the swell of your breast as it bounced with the force of each of his trusts. Again, you were met with pain the flooded your body but mixed with the high of your orgasm, you could only scream in pleasure. He drank from you again, kneading at your other breast as he too hurtled towards an orgasm.

The pain subsided quickly thanks to another dose of his venom, but he continued to drink from you, prolonging your euphoria just long enough for him to finally and violently reach his own high.

He erupted inside you, his head throwing back as he growled and lost his rhythm, pounding sloppily into you with each twitch of his cock. In your post-orgasm haze, you witnessed the look of bliss on his face, seeing for the first time the distinct red that coated his lips and dripped from his fangs down to his chin. He looked manic, but holy shit it was intensely erotic.

With the small amount of strength left in you, you sat up just enough to push your lips to his. You don’t know why you did it, or even that you had until you could taste the metallic twang of iron on your tongue. Terzo collapsed into you, wrapping his arms around you as he rolled to the side, taking you along with him. With the mess he created of your core, he slipped from inside you, now simply intent on holding you close while he processed that you were kissing him, despite being tainted with your blood. But it grounded him, and slowly, his orgasm subsided and his mind cleared of its fog.

Your kiss came to a natural end, the pair of you exhausted, and without a word you lay yourself on his chest, not bothering to wipe away the smears of blood around your own mouth as you caught your breath.

“I’m so sorry…” he whimpered, pulling you tighter against him and obscuring your view of his face so you wouldn’t have to witness the shame that settled there. You didn’t have the energy to speak, instead hoping that the circling of your thumb over the cool skin of his chest was enough comfort for now to show him you didn’t mind, that you’d wanted that as much as he had.

You let some time pass, calming yourselves down in each other’s arms. His grip on you lessened as the minutes passed, and eventually, you were able to look up at his face. To your shock and heartbreak, you noticed his cheeks were wet with something other than blood – Terzo was crying.

“Hey…” you soothed, shuffling further up the bed to hover above him. He covered his face with his hand, hiding himself but you pulled it away, cupping his cheek and swiping at the tear tracks. “No, no no… Stop this, it’s okay.”

“Mi dispiace tantissimo, (I’m so sorry,)” he cried, “I hurt you. I did the one thing I should never have done…”

“Shhh,” you hushed him like a newborn who couldn’t sleep, “I wanted that, remember? I told you you could.”

“You don’t understand, I… I have bound myself to you, and now, when you leave… it will devastate me,” he sobbed, staring straight up at the canopy of the large bed, unable to look you in the eye.

“What makes you think I will leave?” you asked him gently, still gently swiping his fresh tears away whilst fighting your own.

“Amore mio, I have lost everybody I have ever cared about,” he told you, finally looking you in the eye. “I have either outlived them, or watched as they turned their back on me. And now I have selfishly bound myself to you, knowing that I cannot ever let you go.”

His admission broke your heart. You certainly had no intention of going anywhere, the bond you now shared with him feeling strangely cemented and more intimate than any you’d had with another. But in the end, time would come for you just as it had the rest of his family, lying under the earth of your own back garden.

“How does someone… become like you?” you asked tentatively, absentmindedly, playing with the chest hair the covered his pecks.

Terzo’s brow creased in confusion. “Why would you ask such a thing? I couldn’t condemn you to a life like this…” After all he’d been through; the killings, loss, isolation, and even the exile he’d faced decades ago when the townspeople discovered what he was… He couldn’t put you in a position like that. He didn’t want you to become part of the dark legend of the Emeritus house, another spooky story passed from generation to generation to tell around campfires for years to come.

“Just tell me, how?” you pressed. He sighed, laying his head back on the pillow and staring back up at the canopy.

“You would need to drink the blood of my kind,” he stated simply, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “I could not ask that of you. The process is not an easy one, and to become like me is to be condemned to a life of heartache.”

You thought for a moment, acknowledging his concerns but deciding that whilst that had been his experience, it didn’t need to be yours. Not with him beside you – neither of you would need to be lonely ever again.

“I’m so sorry you’ve felt that heartache, but I believe that the two of us together could avoid that.”

He raised his head to look at you again, examining your face for a moment while he contemplated what some kind of future might look like with you.

“Perhaps not yet, I understand. But Terzo, I will prove that I intend on going nowhere. And when you feel like you might be ready to trust that, I’ll be waiting,” you promised him, cupping his jaw and stroking your thumb gently over his cheek. “Until then, I can be your very own personal supply, hm?” you smiled, “You won’t need to take a life, so long as you have me little and often, right?”

“You… would do that? For me?” his eyebrows creased together in question, truly in disbelief you would offer him such a thing.

“Mhm,” you nodded, “I mean as long as every time feels as incredible as that,” you giggled. “And besides, you’ll get a decent meal at least once a month,” you joked, lightening the mood a little with a cheeky smirk.

Terzo rolled his eyes with a laugh that vibrated his chest beneath you. He shook his head at the absurdity of your offer, no matter how technically practical that sort of arrangement would actually be to a man of his kind.

“Oh, amore… sei davvero una tentatrice (you really are a temptress)…” he grinned, leaning up to capture your lips in a sweet, blood-stained kiss.

A/N: Huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading! If you'd like to leave me a tip, you can do so here.

If you'd like to read any of my other works, you can find them here.

[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid | Chapter 20

Word Count: 3.1K

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack, as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

A/N: so, I was planning on updating three stories this week but my body decide otherwise and put me out of commission for the past three days. I had a fever of 102.4 that lasted all of tuesday, accompanied with a wide array of other symptoms. Then wednesday and today, I had a mind breaking migraine. I was able to finish this chapter and I hope I can finish the others too 🤍

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They were late.

No. They were later than late.

By the time Isaac and (Y/N) rolled up to the school, the game had already started and was going in full swing. Cheers and screams were heard from the parking lot, and they hoped nothing had gone down just yet.

“Get to the locker room and get the rest of your stuff,” (Y/N) said as they hopped off her motorcycle. “I’ll go down to the field and see what’s going on.”

“Be careful, (Y/N),” Isaac worried. “We don’t know what we’re facing yet.”

“I’ll be fine. Just go,” she affirmed. “I’ll see you out there.”

She waited until he had disappeared into the school before tucking a gun in the back of her waistband and her knives inside the holsters on her ankles. One thing was certain: if anyone, whether it be the Kanima or her family, tried something that night, she was going to fight back and defend the people she cared about.

In the field, there was a shared nervousness between all those who knew the truth of the world that was hidden in plain sight. But no one felt the pressure more than Scott. Not only was he forced to sit out of the game, putting everyone on the field in danger, but he also had to protect his mother and his friends from Gerard and Jackson.

“Let’s put a real clock on this game, Scott,” the boy’s ears twitched towards the man’s voice. “I’ll give you until the last thirty seconds. When the scoreboard clock begins counting down from 30, if you haven’t given me Derek, then Jackson is gonna kill someone.”

Dread settled in the pit of the boy’s stomach. The man listed off potential victims, putting in the pool his mother and Stiles’ father. Even Lydia’s and the coach’s names were mentioned. What he had not expected was the last person he said. He knew the man was cruel, but he never thought Gerard would stoop so low. “Or maybe I’ll send him off on (Y/N),” he said. “Maybe Derek will hand himself over if I do that. You know how much he likes the Argent girls.”

Scott’s head snapped behind him, his gaze colliding with a frantic (Y/N). She was speaking into her phone, at a tone so low even he couldn’t hear, but he could tell she was worried. He just hoped it had nothing to do with what was going to go down that night.

“It’s up to you, Scott,” the man instructed. “But you are going to help me take Derek down. Because if you don’t… I’ll have Jackson rip someone’s head off right in the middle of the field and drench everyone you love and care about in blood. And I’d really hate for that person to be my own granddaughter.”

Even without the Kanima, there was a slaughter on the field. With Stiles' little to no experience actually playing the game, the team had no chance of winning, much less of benching enough players to get Scott in there. It was wrong move after wrong move, and there was nothing he could do—at least, not just yet.

As the coach forced him to sit back down when he tried to join the team, he felt a presence next to him. Someone he wasn’t quite expecting.

“You came to help.” 

Surprise was splattered across his face as the other boy smirked at him. “I came to win,” Isaac said before his eyes fell on Gerard’s threatening gaze. “Do you have a plan yet?”

“No,” he sighed, “right now it’s pretty much just keep Jackson from killing anyone.”

“Well, that might be easier if you’re actually in the game,” the blond stated. “We have to make it so coach had no choice but to play you.”

“How do we do that? He’s got a bench full of guys he can use before he ever puts me on the field.” All it took was one look before both boys knew what had to be done and how. “Can you do it without putting anyone in the hospital?”

Isaac took a deep breath, knowing he could not lie. He said, “I can try,” before sliding on his helmet and joining the team on the field, and setting off to work.

Whoever saw him on the field would think Isaac was playing for the opposite team. With jabs, swipes, and kicks, the boy got his teammates out one by one. He knew they’d be hurt, their bodies and their egos, but there was a greater good to be fought for. A couple of bumps and bruises would heal a lot better than a dead body.

The plan was working and working well. One by one, his teammates were driven on and off the field. It was going too perfectly. Until Jackson rammed himself into Isaac, sending him to the ground and dislocating his arm while inconspicuously nicking him with venom. Either way, Isaac was out of the game, and Scott was in. He was out his only supernatural advantage, but he would protect everyone like he had an entire army behind him.

(Y/N) couldn’t stay in her seat as she saw Isaac being taken away. She sped down the bleachers to follow the medics but stopped dead in her tracks. She wasn’t the only one that was heading back to the school. Gerard and two hunters followed the men back to the boys’ locker room, their sights set on the werewolf.

The girl knew where her grandfather’s head was at. He was going to torture information out of the boy and kill him afterward. He had no need to let Isaac live once he got what he wanted. He saw no need to let anyone live.

The medics had left Isaac by himself in the recovery room after putting his shoulder into place. But it wasn’t enough to completely trigger his healing and not fast enough for him to protect himself from three men and a sword.

“It was a good effort, Isaac,” Gerard called as he motioned to his hunter to hand him his sword. “This would be so much more poetic if it were halftime.”

Gerard and the hunters made their way toward Isaac, the older man dragging the tip of the blade on the ground. It was intimidating, sure. But not when the boy knew he had backup. As the older Argent raised his weapon toward him, Isaac smirked, making him stop dead in his tracks.

In the reflection of the mirror behind the blond boy, (Y/N) stood, knife in hand and a smirk on her face. Before the younger hunters could do anything, she hit one on the back of the neck with the handle of her knife, knocking him out cold before turning to the other.

The second man put up more of a fight since he knew what was coming. He was strong and agile; she would give him that, just like she gave him the first punch he threw to her jaw. But he had no idea who he was fighting. (Y/N) had been trained her entire life for that type of situation, even if she didn’t know it.

(Y/N) went low, using his height to her advantage. She drove a punch into his abdomen, making him hunch over in pain. As he bent down, she grabbed the back of his neck before slamming her knee one time on his nose, making a bloody mess of his face, and another on his temple, right between the bridge of his nose and his eyes. The man tumbled to the ground as though he weighed nothing more than a doll, succumbing to the blow she had managed to land.

“You know this looks very predatory,” she said between pants. “Three grown men cornering a teenage boy in a dark room, not a great look. Especially the principal of the school! What will the parents say?”

“(Y/N),” Gerard announced. “Can’t say it’s a surprise to see you here. I should have known you’d betray the family. At the end of the day, you do have your father’s blood running through you.”

“But this is not about that, is it?” she questioned, slowly making her way toward him. “This is about you using innocent kids to get to Derek Hale because you can’t do it on your own.”

“None of this concerns you anymore, (Y/N),” he said. “Maybe you should take a page out of your cousin’s book and accept your fate. You’re a hunter. You always will be. These people… these things, they are not your blood. They will turn on you the second they need to protect themselves.”

“Weird,” she chuckled dryly. “The only people who have done that is my own family.”

“That’s because you have no sense of loyalty, granddaughter. But I can’t blame you. Not when your father turned out the way he did,” he sighed. “Although, he seems to have learned his place now.”

“Enough chitchat already, old man,” the girl exhaled. “Why don’t you show me a real fight? Something those two clearly didn’t have in them.”

“Come on, (Y/N). You wouldn’t hurt your dear old grandpa, now, would you?” Gerard smirked deviously. “I don’t think that’s a line even you would cross. Not when I have the information you have been dying to know.”

“What could you possibly know that I don’t already?”

“I know all about the mystery woman your parents always talk about,” he smirked. “I also know why you’ve always felt so… different. Especially this past year. Everything is just so… heightened.”

(Y/N) wanted to accept his offer. Something in her told her that his information was reliable, that he knew everything her parents were hiding and more. But as much as she wanted the truth, there were bigger things in play.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a piece for free,” he said. “Ever wondered why you don’t look quite like us? Like your mother? Ask your father about Raina, and maybe you’ll find out. Or let me go, and I will tell you all you want to know. And something tells me you’d prefer the latter.”

“Wanna test your theory out?” she threatened as she pulled her gun from her waistband and pointed it at her grandfather. “Because you may have the years of experience, but I have my health.”

The words made the man stumble in his stance, the phrase sending shivers down his spine. There was no way she could know what he thought she was implying. Her choice of vocabulary had to come from a catalog of random remarks she could use to hurt him. Because she couldn’t know, no one could.

“I think it’s best if you just go while you still can, Gerard,” Scott called out as he came into the locker room. “I’ve seen her fight, and it’s better if you just go.”

The man didn’t think twice as he took steps back, his gaze set on his granddaughter. “This isn’t over yet,” he said. “But the game almost is.”

As Gerard ran from the locker room, (Y/N) took a stumbling Isaac into her arms. “Okay, I have to trigger your healing, okay?” she told him. “Just, please, don’t fight back.”

She sank her knife into his arm, flinching as he let out a painful scream. Blood ran down the knife and onto her hand, but she knew it was the fastest way he could recover. “Hold on for just a bit more,” she said. “Gotta make your body work hard.”

“It’s fine,” he winced. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“What did Gerard mean about the game, Scott?” (Y/N) asked as she turned her head to face the boy. “He said the game is almost over. Why?”

“Jackson’s gonna kill someone if I don’t give up Derek,” he said. “Gerard gave me until the last thirty seconds of the match.”

“Then take these two out back and get to the field,” she instructed. “I’ll clean up here, and Isaac will be with you as soon as possible.”

Scott set off quickly to work, pulling one of the men onto his shoulders while dragging the other out. But he stopped as (Y/N) called out, “Be careful, Scott. Night’s not over yet.” And he was gone.

“Alright, Isaac, I’m gonna pull this knife out now,” she said as she turned back to the blond boy. “It will sting, but it’ll hopefully be enough for your body to metabolize the rest of the venom in your body.”

Just as she had said, the girl slid the blade from her friend’s arm, holding her hand over the wound as it healed. She could feel his blood pool under her hand, warm and sticky, and all kinds of uncomfortable. His body was slowly healing, but it was still healing.

Slowly, she removed her hand from Isaac’s arm, letting out a breath of relief as the cut disappeared before her very eyes. Only then, when she was sure he was recovering, did she set off to get towels and a mop to clean off the trail of blood the hunter had left behind. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to warrant concern if anyone else saw it.

“Somehow, I keep forgetting you were raised to be a fighter,” Isaac muttered as he helped (Y/N) wipe away the last of the water on the floor. “Really saved my ass back there.”

“I told you I could protect myself,” she smirked. “Maybe now you’ll stop worrying about me.”

“I’ll always worry,” he said. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, at least you’ll know I can hold my weight in a fight,” she chuckled, bumping her shoulder against his. “I’m okay, Isaac. I’m gonna have a pretty bruise on my jaw, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Suddenly, the sound of a whistle echoed through the room, signaling the end of the game. Terror washed over the pair as screams followed soon after. Fear infiltrated the locker room, sending waves of dread through the teens. Something had happened out on the field, and Scott hadn’t been able to stop it.

“Go,” (Y/N) instructed. “I’ll finish up here.”

“What if Gerard comes back?”

“He brought a sword to a gunfight,” she smirked. “I think I know which of the two is most lethal.”

(Y/N) finished cleaning up the floor, making sure there was no evidence that a fight had ensued there. Her jaw ached and her limbs throbbed but there was an exciting rush that flowed through her. She knew she was good. She had bested her parents in sparring matches since she was only fifteen, but being able to prove herself in front of her grandfather made her feel proud of the progress she had made. She was strong, and that was something no one could take from her.

But Gerard’s words hung at the back of her mind, taunting her. Mocking her. Raina, he had said. It was a name she had never heard before, much less from her father’s mouth. But he’d known exactly what question it would answer, and what information she craved for. If it hadn’t been for the situation at hand, (Y/N) knew she would have gone as far as torturing even the smallest detail from the old man.

Still, as much as her brain yelled at her for answers, she knew she had to focus on that night. Whatever Gerard had planned would change everything between the hunters and the wolves, and they had to do everything they could to stop him.

Once she was satisfied with her work, (Y/N) ran out of the locker room and into the commotion of the lacrosse field. The lights of an ambulance van and police cars flickered in the field, painting the groups of concerned people in red and blue. She quickly spotted Isaac and Scott close to the ambulance, and she ran to them for an update on the situation.

“What do you mean Jackson’s dead?” she questioned. “And Stiles is just gone? None of this makes sense.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “When the lights turned back on, Jackson was on the ground, and he’d stabbed himself in the stomach. My mom checked him, and he had no pulse.”

“But Gerard needs him,” she muttered. “There has to be something we’re missing here.”

“If there is,” he said, “I have no idea what it is.”

“What about Stiles?”

“He disappeared,” Isaac answered. “He won us the game and was gone by the time the lights turned on. We’re gonna look for him after we change out of our uniforms.”

“What can I do? How can I help you find him?”

“Hang around the locker rooms until everyone else is gone,” Scott said. “We’ll get his scent, and you and Isaac can look for him.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed. “This is gonna be a long night, isn’t it?”

“You can bet on that.”

(Y/N) waited in the dark hall as boys left the locker room, doing her best to keep out of sights. From where she hid, she could hear the Sherrif’s heartbreaking plead to Scott and Isaac to let him know if anything came up about his son. She had not felt as useless as she did at that moment. She could fight, she could defend, but she could do nothing to find someone who had seemingly vanished. 

When the man walked out of the room, she fought the urge to tell him she’d make sure his son came home. On the one hand, she didn’t have a lead on him yet. And on the other, she wasn’t even supposed to be there.

“Coast is clear, (Y/N),” Isaac called out. “Get in here.”

Inside the room, Scott and Isaac both held something of Stiles—a shoe and a shirt. “You know I could have just picked the lock,” she said as she noted the twisted locker door on the ground. “Save the school a couple of bucks.”

“I’m gonna need your resumé for future occasions,” Scott chuckled. “There are too many things you can do.”

“You have no idea,” Isaac smirked before his gaze turned back to the shoe in his hand. “But how come you get his shirt, and I get a shoe?”

Before he could answer, a sudden presence made the hairs at the back of (Y/N)’s neck stand up. And the wolves had noticed. Their attention was no longer held by the items that could help them find Stiles. Instead, their sights were set on the man standing before them. The very man who had been avoiding (Y/N) like the plague.

“Derek,” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”

Next ->

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[dodalgic]

Make money with ClickBank

People all over the world spend thousands of dollars each year on their affiliate businesses in order to ensure a consistent passive income. And I was among them.

This review is based on my personal experience with CBProAds. I’ll go into detail about what I liked and disliked about it.

NOTE: This is my personal experience with CBProAds, and what follows is my unbiased opinion.

So it all started in late 2015… I was tired of my 9 to 5 job and wanted to start something that would provide me with a steady stream of passive income. So I could quit my job and pursue my dreams.

I started looking for good business opportunities and suddenly thought of my colleague at the job, Erica, she was a part-time affiliate marketer. In her spare time, she was doing affiliate marketing. She used to write fitness blogs and promote fitness products from Clickbank.

To be honest, affiliate marketing piqued my interest right away. I liked the overall concept. But I was sceptical at first because she used to spend a lot of time and money on increasing traffic and visibility for her blogs.

Even if thousands of people used to read her blogs on a regular basis and found them useful and valuable in their personal lives…

She used to get relatively low conversions. Something didn’t make sense. Despite having a cult-like following and a good reputation, her affiliate conversions were low.

I spoke with her and told her about my plans, and what she told me next surprised me.

She advised me to avoid wasting my time and money on affiliate marketing. She was an experienced blogger who knew what she was talking about, had credibility and authority on the subject, and even had a cult-like following, but she was still struggling with conversions.

This made me even more hesitant to start my own affiliate marketing business. That’s because, unlike her, I didn’t have any professional knowledge on any subject about which I could write.

Even if I wrote about something and got a lot of traffic, there was a good chance my conversion rates would end up like Erica’s.

But, deep down, I was sold on the idea of Clickbank affiliate marketing. I used to read and follow a lot of affiliate marketing content, and I liked Clickbank.

It’s the best platform for affiliate marketers to rise and shine because it has a great reputation and, most importantly, it offers the best commission for affiliates — up to 75% per sale.

But Erica’s example made me reconsider my decision to start an affiliate business.

I was extremely perplexed and worried. But then, one day, while casually scrolling through the Clickbank product list, I came across CBProAds. It piqued my interest. I read a few reviews about it, which provided me with some in-depth information about what it is.

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So I told Erica about it, and she said it looks promising, and she’d give it a shot anyway because it’s cheaper and easier to apply.

After a few days, she had completed all of the necessary setup to make this tool work for her. Surprisingly, her conversions began to improve day by day.

People used to click on her affiliate links before using this tool, but they never purchased the products. However, after using CBProAds, she saw her conversions more than double in just a few weeks.

Then I realised what her problem was:

She was using the tools Clickbank offered which were quite inadequate Even if Clickbank is the best affiliate marketing platform in its market, it provides very few options to its users and affiliates. Everything is beyond your ability to control and customise.

She had no say over the appearance of the ppc ads she placed on her websites. People already find advertisements irritating, so if there are a slew of them all over the site, they’ll become irritated quickly, resulting in a massive drop in conversion rates.

She didn’t have a storefront and relied solely on Clickbank’s XML feed for product information. Clickbank does not provide its users with a storefront to display their products; instead, it displays a long, visually unappealing, and confusing list of products with descriptions. Your sales funnel’s biggest stumbling block is this.

So, it was clear that these were the biggest gaps in her affiliate business funnel, and using CBProAds actually assisted her in filling those gaps and smoothing out the sales process.

I was so impressed by the results she achieved with CBProAds that I immediately implemented it into my new affiliate business. Also, considering my lack of experience, I had a surprising amount of success.

I’m happy with it and will continue to use it until I find a better alternative to CBProAds, which I believe will be difficult.

That was my storey, my first-hand experience with CBProAds, so there you have it.

Now, so you can get a better picture of it, here’s a list of its features, benefits, drawbacks, and how they all helped me run a successful affiliate business, along with my honest opinion on the product:

FEATURES FEATURE #1: Ad Rotator

With the help of this tool, you can create your own personal ads and publish them on your website. However, don’t forget to paste the script into the widget in the sidebar. To do so, go to the bottom of the page and click the ‘Generate Script’ button.

FEATURE #2: Affiliate Storefront

Affiliate marketers without websites will benefit from this tool. Clickbank does not provide affiliates with a storefront; instead, they receive an XML feed that appears to be boring and is confusing to many people.

CBProAds, on the other hand, provides you with a wide range of storefront templates to choose from. You can chose it, customise it, and use it to monetize your visitors. It’s an excellent tool for keeping your sales funnel simple and easy to navigate for your visitors.

FEATURE #3: Automation

Even if you have your own storefront or website, you must make changes to it on a regular basis. This is due to the fact that Clickbank’s feed is constantly changing. Adding new products to the list, removing expired product offers, and changing product descriptions and images are all examples of this.

Using Clickbank’s XML feed, you’ll need to update the list to add new products or remove old ones. This is an extremely important and challenging task. Some affiliate marketers even employ Virtual Assistants to assist them with this task. When you use CBProAds, however, they take care of this difficult task for you.

That is, you don’t have to keep an eye on your store or be concerned about it all of the time. They will update product information, remove or add new products without you having to do it manually every time.

FEATURE #4: Wordpress Plugin

If you have a website where you want to promote Clickbank products, integrating a niche storefront into it can be a good option because it gives you 100+ customizable templates to choose from and an automated service that updates all of the product information on your site on a daily basis.

These templates are categorised into a variety of popular niches, including online dating, forex, Mixed Martial Arts, work from home, and many others…

UPSIDES Legitimacy. Clickbank is unquestionably one of the most secure platforms available. They have a great system in place to keep track of any potentially fraudulent offers or products. The products you’ll find here are 100% genuine and safe. Even though it is extremely cost-effective, they also provide a free version. You won’t have any trouble installing or setting up anything because their instructions are simple and straightforward. You’ll be paid weekly, rather than monthly, which is preferable for some people. My personal experience with their affiliate programme has been extremely positive. Customer service is extremely quick and responsive. You are free to add your store to as many websites as you want. There is no limit to it. DOWNSIDES Although there aren’t any major drawbacks because my experience was fantastic. But, to highlight one, I believe that in order for this system to work, you must direct a significant amount of traffic to your sites.

FINAL WORD To put it another way, CBProAds improves the appearance of Clickbank. Even though Clickbank is the most popular affiliate platform today, it still has room for improvement in terms of user-friendliness.

However, I believe that CBProAds is the most effective tool for increasing Clickbank’s potential. It serves as the missing cherry on top of this massive affiliate platform.

But, in my opinion, this is also the best option for some serious startups that don’t have or can’t afford their own website. And it’s also a great tool for people who own a blog or a website because you get to use and benefit from incredible features like their Ad Rotator tool, hundreds of storefront templates, and much more.

When it comes to their Ad Rotator feature, it is the most important tool for me because it has greatly aided me. It’s undeniably a superior alternative to Adsense.

The most important thing to note is that the storefront is updated automatically. Imagine having to look up the XML feed on a daily basis in order to add new products, remove obsolete or deleted products, and update product descriptions and images!

I’d also like to appreciate their support staff for their efforts. It’s like one of the best customer service experiences I’ve ever had in my journey as an affiliate marketer and working with dozens of Clickbank products. Their responses are prompt and polite. They’re also incredibly patient and helpful.

I would strongly advise anyone reading this review to use CBProAds because they are the best in their field. Even if you don’t want to pay that small one-time fee right now, you can try their free version first. But, of course, I’d recommend the paid version because it’s clearly superior to the free version.

VISIT WEBSITE

[nelofairc]

there’s a special kind of liberation which comes from blogging under a pseudonym, without the aim of creating a following (or the income/influencer ‘status’ which has become so pervasive). it reminds me of the early days of the net, when all of the weirdos starting coming out from underneath their sofas, freely sharing whatever was on their minds, without caring what - or who - it was FOR. it was for THEM. they had shit to say and they simply needed to feel free enough to say it (lol, like that’s ‘simple’). these days it all feels so hideously transactional, and there’s enough of that everywhere else. i don’t want to be part of that noise, so i’ve struggled to find my place within the chaos.

i was too scared/shy/awkward to share whatever was on my mind back then. i didn’t think anything i thought was interesting, certainly not unless it ‘served’ someone else’s needs. i fell into a professional role of servicing the needs of creative souls, because that’s how i’d been conditioned as a kid. i didn’t have needs, or so i thought. only my mum had needs. i wasn’t talented, with the kind of creative flair which merited attention in its own right (at least, not to me). and attention had historically only ever resulted in even more bullying… why would i want to encourage that?

instead i ‘helped’. and i was good at it. in later years i would take my company around the world talking about my emerging profession and the opportunities we were carving in our weird-assed newly evolving, early creative digital culture space. i was called ‘a pioneer’ more times than i could count. but i didn’t blog. i later regretted that when seeing other people blogging my words and ideologies, gaining the credit for my ideas. but i was generous enough to understand - or believe, perhaps naively - that we were cocreating a better world together, and therefore ‘my’ ideas were ‘our’ ideas anyway… right? i mean, isn’t it better that those ideas were out in the world and not just stuck in my own head, or the heads of limited audiences at the conferences and festivals i presented at? far too often those established bloggers were building on top of other people’s foundations, without raising them up in turn. sharks, users, people with no inherent creativity who simply pounced on whatever was trending at the time, discarding them as each new trend arose. their words felt shallow, because their intentions were shallow, and that made me feel… diluted, and used.

when i first started blogging in earnest, after i closed down my own company, i wrote about things which would help the community, for employers who paid me to help those communities. essentially, i blogged because i was asked to, not because i wanted to hold court. sure i shared aspects of myself via those words, and via the social media posts i’d been writing (i was ironically pretty late to the social media space, considering my career’s context). but i wrote them FOR others. just like when i’d stood on stages around the world and presented MY creations, i could only do so because i wasn’t talking about MY work or myself: i was talking about the work of the other creative souls whose work we supported, commissioned, and platformed. i created innovative spaces where other people made the content… was how i thought about it (despite having also made plenty of that content myself). but what i now realise i was doing was deferring my own part in that - not ‘look at me’, but ‘look at the amazing work that people have created’, somehow skipping over the part which said ‘…within the universes which i created for them’. i removed myself from the equation, not because i chose to but because i was conditioned to do so.

when i took yet another deviation in my career and returned to freelancing, i blogged to keep people updated about the project i had run a crowdfunder for. again, i blogged for THEM. but it was a different kind of blogging, with me at its centre. for the first time my project was about me, my life, my journey, not about calls for contributions or promotion of other people’s content. and with the vast attention that a successful crowdfunder brings (one which went viral because famous people tweeted about it), the pressure and vulnerability was horrendous. i didn’t know i was neurodivergent at the time, and looking back at that period in my life feels extra raw accordingly. my othered self was starting to peek out from behind the masks it didn’t even know it had been wearing, and i was completely oblivious to everything aside from how exposed i felt. i’d turned ME into a service, and that felt wrong, uncomfortable, dangerous (and not in an exciting way)… because i didn’t understand why.

in recent years, while i’ve been trying to untangle what’s autism, what’s adhd, what’s trauma, what’s social conditioning, what were the masks i’d unwittingly created for myself as protection and compliance, i have felt this enormous surge of ‘shit i’d like to say’, and failed each time to say it. i kept trying to fit myself into what other people might want, lacking the self-esteem to trust that i could simply write FOR ME. several support coaches and therapists have attempted to nudge me in the right direction over the last few years, telling me that i don’t need ‘an audience to write for’, and that trying to do so would only keep me tangled. and they were right, but i still didn’t have the sense of self worth to dare.

what was perhaps weirdest of all within that struggle, was that i didn’t want to write under a pseudonym. i didn’t want to hide. perhaps because i feel like i’ve already hidden for 50 years. perhaps because my words and ideas had been appropriated, stolen, so many times before, i didn’t want to not claim them for myself. and also i have a kind of style, anyone who’s read me elsewhere is highly likely to recognise me behind the avatar. but that’s all part of the same tangles, right?

i want to feel free to speak and write as myself in the exact same way that i want to feel free to be myself out in the world in every other way. and while i lack all self esteem (DESPITE what i’ve made happen for myself and others): i am the only person holding me back. so i didn’t want to use a pseudonym, i wanted to write as me. but i don’t -yet- feel safe enough in myself to do so. and THAT’s the work. that’s the momentous mountain of recovery work i need to focus on. so if writing under a psuedonym is what might help me get there, that’s what i’m gonna do.

it doesn’t matter if no one reads these words, it matters that i am building new internal practices of Having Things to Say And Then Saying Them Out Loud. that’s it. that’s the work, here.

[mx-ryder]

Commission Sample

Roughly 900 words. A super-girl character I've written several pieces for/about. She's always a good time, and lets me stretch my action/fight scenes.

I can see the figures waiting in the alley quite clearly. Not in a “I can see in the dark” way, but I can see the outline of their bodies against the corners of buildings, where they really should have stayed further back into the alley. Amateurs.

Most people are afraid to walk at night, especially in this part of the city, but not me. Maybe once I would have been, avoiding this part of the city, or walking with my keys clenched in my fist like a knife if I couldn’t avoid walking here. But I only smile as I approach the alley where the shadowy men are waiting for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity.

As I draw near the alley, I see the men move into position. I pretend not to notice, staring down at my phone, tapping through screenshots of news articles I’ve found over the last few months.

Maybe tomorrow there will be a new one for me to save.

“Hey, girly.” One of the shadows steps out of the alley in front of me. The voice is rough, and the choice of honorific unnecessarily patronizing.

I step back, pretending to be startled by his “unexpected” appearance. Letting out a gasp, I look up from my phone and start noticeably as I pretend to notice the man. He’s bigger than I expected, but that only makes it harder for me to hide my smile. Behind me, I can hear the other man moving into place, stepping up to block me in from behind.

I was trapped.

Or at least, they thought I was.

“Gimme your purse, sweetheart, and I won’t have to hurt you.” Again with the annoying pet names. He’s not my lover, why should he think he can use those names for me?

I make my voice tremble slightly as I answer, falling back a nother step only to come up against the other man. “P-please don’t hurt me!” As the man behind me puffs out his chest, I squeal and jump away from him, spinning on the spot as though just now realizing there were two of them.

Both men laugh, their merriment sounding like they’d both spent far too many years smoking, and far too few educating themselves.

“Just give us the purse, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” The first man seemed genuinely interested in only my purse. If I’d been any normal girl, he probably would have let me go after getting my purse, like he said.

But the other man, the one behind me, stepped closer. I felt his breath on my neck, and the heat and the awful odor of smoke and booze sent an unconscious shudder down my spine. “Or,” there was coldness in his voice. “We could keep her. Pretty thing like her. . .”

The implication probably should have scared me more. As it was, I had to choke back a laugh and turn it into a false cry. “Please, let me go!” I pull my purse from my shoulder and shove it at the man in front of me. “Take everything, just let me go!”

The man behind me laughs, and I feel his hands falling to my shoulders.

That’s when I decide enough is enough.

Spinning on my heel, I slam my elbow into the man’s chest. I hear a crunch, and then a heavy thud! as he hits the wall of the building. Behind me, the first man yells, and I dodge to the side, feeling the breeze as his heavy fist flies past my head. I spin again, laughing, to face the first man while his partner-in-crime groans and slides to the ground.

One down.

By the time I turn, the man is throwing another punch. He’s quick. But not as quick as me.

I let the punch land. Still laughing, I absorb the hit, hardly feeling a thing as his fist smashes into my face. Though I barely felt it, I hear the man groan and he pulls away, shaking his fist. Blood splatters to the concrete. Turning my head, I grin, wiping my mouth and shaking my head. As I watch the man curse and wring his probably broken hand, I laugh again.

My purse has fallen, makeup scattered on the ground, but I barely spare it a glance. While the man is distracted, I step forward, putting my whole weight behind the movement as I grab the front of his shirt and slam him into the nearby wall. His weight is nothing to me as I lift him off his feet, and for an instant as I look into his face, I see a sharp expression of surprise.

Then his face slackens and goes blank. I let him go, and he drops to the ground near his friend. That’s that, then.

While the men groan on the ground, probably more startled at how quickly I put them there than hurt, I bend down to gather up my things. I click my tongue, irritation rising again as I realize my expensive lipstick has rolled out of my purse and opened. It’s full of grit. Unusable.

In a fit, I stand up and throw the lipstick at one of the men. It hits him, bouncing away into the shadows, and he groans. “You owe me a new lipstick.” I call back over my shoulder as I leave them lying in heaps on the ground. “I’ll be coming round to collect. Be ready, won’t you?”

[lisacatara-actress]

Almost Lisa : Pt 3 “Almost Superstar”

*I retain all rights to my photography and story, story details, biographical information, fashion designs, art work, and anything and everything I have posted which is my own creation*)

"Do that one thing that makes you feel the most vulnerable and uncomfortable. Because that is the space where you actually figure out who you are"

Months passed without work as the Writers Strike all but shut down production across Hollywood. Now, without any agency behind me, my momentum stopped. Where I’d been booking alongside name talent in reputable roles, I was only finding employment via commercial and print work (having begun a modelling career at the ripe old age of 28, that window was closing, quickly). I attempted to reintegrate into background jobs, but the competition was fierce. Everyone was struggling.

Just before my NBC stint, I began training with a group of fellow performers in a local gym. Our workouts were unique as the class was comprised of athletes and stunt performers. I came to enjoy these sessions and the community. Over time, I found myself learning boxing, martial arts, fights and falls, gymnastics, driving, tactical... There was a never ending amount of skills to be learned. When theatrical work came to a grinding halt, there was time to devote to these sessions and improve. A year later, I landed my first contract stunt jobs. One on a TV show, the other a doubling job, driving for a commercial featuring Jennifer Lopez.

Flashback: Back in NYC, I'd attempted to venture into the world of pop. My degree from Eastman (being coveted and revered) was somewhat a calling card for interviews and auditions. On one such occasion, I remember walking into the offices of FHM Magazine, just as Jennifer Lopez was exiting with an entourage of at least 13 people alongside her. One of us won that interview. It wasn't me. I was on Jlo's heels a bit at the beginning of my career. She always seemed to be two steps in front of me. Now, I was on the same set, doubling her. And each time I did, the sensation was that I was standing on the outside, watching someone else live my dreams.

After a few such jobs, as coordinators began to acknowledge my skills and trust me more, these stunt opportunities broadened and became more frequent. I was earning a solid (though modest) income again. As much as I enjoyed being on set, painting these scripts with “physical acting”, it never replaced the desire or passion I had for acting. I craved that energy and connection. But the business had changed. You Tube stars and influencers were “acting” in guest stars and costars. Hedge fund money and private equity began to fund and float projects. Production became “content”. Talent became “stocks” and investment opportunities. The jobs I booked were smaller, though frequent. I relied on these costars, stunt gigs and even modelling/ print work to keep me industry-relevant. It felt like I was rolling a tractor tire straight uphill most of the time. I was tired, physically and spiritually. But I was in the Game.

In order to have an outlet for displaced creative energy (I'd turned so many into vocations already) I picked up a new creative hobby. A spontaneous purchase of a Nikon DSLR camera led to endless opportunity to explore the world I saw on a regular basis with different perspective. To reinvent my reality and find beauty in everything, even in broken things. As with anything creative, I quickly excelled and soon adapted a trademark style to my work. Specifically with cars.

My automotive photography offered a new, artistic perspective which lead to countless car shows and commissions for personal and corporate collectors. Including a couple of magazine covers for the president of an automotive club of which I’d become an honorary member. But it wasn't just cars which held my photographic interests. I branched out to other subject mater and was inspired to take my first ever vacation (those are trips you take for no reason other than to travel and explore a new part of the world. Crazy, I know. I’d never allowed myself to rest. It was time).

In May of 2014, I traveled all the way to the other side of the planet to land on a postage stamp (95 miles wide) in the middle of the Indian Ocean. My intention was to shift perspective, see something beautiful and rest my mind. And there was plenty to distract me on the small island. On one perfectly clear day, I sat on top of a mountain, overlooking a volcano, accompanied by a guide who spoke English and smoked Camel cigarettes. He explained to me about Hinduism and the beliefs of Balinese people which were - unsurprisingly- in line with my own. I quickly became inspired by Bali’s magic, its people and its culture. Before I knew it, I’d documented the entirely of my trip in photographs. Later, I would organize these images into an educational travel book and self publish it for my parents, so they could experience a part of that journey. Today, I have many of these self-published books of my photographic art and research from the places I’ve visited. And a growing bucket list of places I’ve yet to see (while I can).

I returned to the States with renewed appreciation and focus, continuing to establish myself as a working actress (and stunt woman) across multiple creative mediums, earning a positive reputation with casting directors and constantly working on my crafts. But no matter what I did, I could never seem to regain the momentum I had prior to the strike. It haunted me. I tried everything I could think of: new acting classes with specific instructors, networking events, lending my time and effort to others film projects, producing writing and casting my own... There was never traction. And every year, more and more new prospective talent landed in Los Angeles with Hollywood Dreams of their own. The pool was crowded. My jobs now now leaned more in favor of stunt work and stunt acting roles which were generally cast via stunt coordinators with approval by casting. Not the other way around. So now I was not only auditioning against name talent, but stunt people who could “do dialog”. If you weren't known or favorited by the stunt coordinator, your chances of getting those auditions were slim, not matter how suited for the role you are.

I was constantly close to moving the needle forward, but too often a 2nd choice. It was a never-ending string of “Almosts”.

(to be continued)

(PS If you like what you're reading, I welcome contributions to the efforts via Venmo @LTarantinoDesigns)

[httpjeon]

SEHEBON ― KTH (M.)

synopsis. you find yourself on izo huen, home to the sehebon. luckily for you, you've arrived at an interesting time.

pairing. taehyung/reader genre. angst, fluff, smut au. alien!au wordcount. 16,580 contents. Huge Dick Tae, cocky!tae, soft!tae, protective!tae, lowkey possessive!tae, human!kink, slight harrassment, dom/sub themes, size kink, size difference, sensitivity kink?, orgasm kink?, cunt slapping, breath play, dry humping, cunnilingus, fingering, cumflation, belly bulging, lowkey consent kink, unrealistic sex but it’s aliens what do u expect, lots of mention of humanity note. tae just wants to learn human things ):

blog masterlist. made of stardust masterlist.

© httpjeon 2020. do not repost, modify, or translate.

It had been a little over a half a year since your move to the Vela System of the Fanet IV Galaxy courtesy of the Interplanetary Relations Commission had begun. You were still adjusting to your new environment, Izo Huen being a vastly different place compared to Earth in terms of culture and climate.

"So, to wrap up the events of this past week," you shifted in your chair, staring into the lens of the camera you used to send reports to your superiors, "I met with the head of the Embassy for a dinner in order to meet the head of Izo Huen's military. The only way I can describe the whole interaction is...tense. Warrior Sehebon are truly another level of terrifying. Horrible burns across their bodies correlate with the information we had about their rituals. They wear the burns with pride, however ― a mark of bravery I suppose. The middle of the week was rather uneventful," you shifted in your seat, leaning over just out of frame to take a sip of your water. You stared at the arched ceiling, thinking of anything that could come to mind of importance to note. Outside your window, you could see people walking through the streets, laughing and chatting with one another.

"Oh!" you sat up straight again, "The monthly market came back once again. This time it was mostly vendors from Liana. They had the most amazing fruits I'd ever seen ― nothing like Earths. They were delicious too, so sweet. I wish I could send some back for everyone to be able to taste. You know," your gaze shifted out your window again, to the people bustling about, "Things got really hectic here in Fia recently, I don't know what it is. They're hanging banners up and there seems to have been an extreme increase in population of the city. I'm not completely sure what's going on."

After ending your weekly log and sending it to your fellow researchers on Earth, you downed the rest of your water and groaned. Izo Huen was sweltering hot, the two suns that hung in the sky upping the temperature past comfortable.

You couldn't wait for night to come, the freezing cold giving you a wonderful excuse to cuddle under the wool blankets.You decided to take a bath to pass the time, as it would be night in just a few hours. Plus, you desperately wanted to wash the days grime off your body.

By the time you woke up the next day, you were acutely aware of how incredibly loud it was outside. Shouts and cheers emanated from just outside your window. So with sleep-filled eyes you hurriedly dressed yourself and rushed out to see what the fuss was all about.When you stepped out of the door, you were shocked by the incredible crowd of people filling the streets.

Banners and streamers, even balloons, decorated every inch that could be covered. The alphabet was one you hadn't yet learned to decipher so the meanings were completely lost on you.

"Excuse me?" you asked a nearby woman. She was much taller than you ― a key trait in both men and women of their race. She turned and looked down at you with surprise in her eyes, "What's going on?"

"It's the pre-celebration," she answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She turned her back to you once again and quickly disappeared into the crowd and you sighed. Sehebon citizens were still getting used to their planet being visited by other races outside their own solar system ― they were the newest planet to be opened for visits by the Interplanetary Commission.

It unfortunately resulted in some of the citizens to hold ill feelings towards those entering their cities.

Sighing, you decided to follow the flow of the crowd to appease your own rabid curiosity. A lot of the cultural information on Sehebon had yet to be discovered or disclosed, as a race that held their own traditions close to their hearts.

You were surprised that the place everyone was flocking to was the massive Colosseum that was centered in the very middle of the city. Larger than any stadium found on Earth, you'd never had the opportunity to find out what it was for.

In your excitement to get through the crowd of large Sehebon, you stumbled over your own feet and hit the ground hard ― knocking the air out of you. The crowd didn't wait, stepping over you and for a second you were scared you would be literally crushed under a stampede.

However, strong hands grabbed your arms and lifted you up, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the crowd. You stumbled trying to catch up, with his large steps while trying not to end up slammed into unsuspecting people.

The person tugging you pulled you out of the crowd and rounding the stone walls until you realized the amount of people had dissipated. You had the opportunity to look at the person who had helped you ― a male Sehebon finding a safe spot for you and finally slowing down.

"I...thank you," you muttered when he didn't say anything, his back still facing you.

"You're a human right?" he asked, finally turning to you. You choked on your own spit at the sight of him ― black hair hanging over two pretty dark eyes. He was tall, probably a little above average for his race and he was absolutely gorgeous, "I heard there was one staying in Fia but...damn."

"Uh...I'm an advocate for the Interplanetary Commission," you sputtered out, unable to break your gaze away from his face. He had tanned skin, smooth as could be with a jaw so sharp it could cut glass, "I'm from Earth, yes. My name is _____."

"Incredible," he moved closer, having to lean down to look at you how he wanted. You could feel his breath on your face and you could see the way he had one mono-lid and one double ― which was absolutely adorable, "My name is Taehyung...you know, you're so...small."

"I-I'm actually quite average," you refuted, glancing away under the power of his gaze.

"Maybe by human standards but..." he straightened up, looking around, "You should be careful. You can get hurt easily, you're lucky I saw you fall and bothered to help you."

"Bothered..." you whispered with a soft scoff. You could still feel his eyes on you, burning into you as if he was analyzing every inch of you, "Hey, so what's going on anyway?"

"You don't know?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow when you shook your head.

"I asked someone and she just said it was a pre-celebration," you shrugged.

"Yeah sort of," Taehyung gnawed at the inside of his cheek, jaw cocking to one side at the action, "It's gonna be our lottery in a few days so we come to the stadium to get our tickets."

"Wait...lottery? Like a money thing?" you asked, "You guys have that?"

"What?" Taehyung shook his head, staring at you like you were stupid and you suddenly felt embarrassed.

"O-On Earth we have this thing called a lottery and...you scratch these little papers and you can win money," you explained, hoping to help him make sense of you assumption.

"Huh, that's interesting," he actually did seem interested and maybe a little impressed, making you feel weirdly proud, "But no, that's not what we have. Once a year the government holds a lottery here in Fia, in the stadium. You draw and if your number is picked you gotta fight."

His words made you blank out.

Fight?

They had to fight?

"What the hell?" you sputtered before you could stop yourself and Taehyung cocked his head to the side.

"Have you not read any of the banners and information sheets floating around?" he asked, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, "They put them up to inform new visitors of what's going on, you know."

"I..." you cleared your throat, suddenly feeling embarrassed again, "Can't read the alphabet."

Taehyung went quiet for a minute before he snorted, beginning to laugh way too much for the simple problem you had. Your cheeks burned as he held his stomach, no doubt aching from how hard he was laughing.

"Oh my gosh!" he choked, wiping under his eyes, "Y-You're illiterate!"

"I am not illiterate!" you gasped, ears beginning to burn now at his accusation, "I-I just haven't had a need to read the alphabet! Since we speak the same language, you know?!"

"Okay, okay," he sniffled, finally calming down from his outburst. He looked down at you and cooed, placing his hand on your head, "Aw, don't-don't pout, I'm sorry. You're so cute!"

"St-Stop making fun of me!" you whined, petulantly stomping your foot which just made him coo more at you, calling you cute.

"I'm not making fun of you!" he argued, standing at his full height again, making you look up, "Isn't it only natural that I find the small little human girl cute? You're so...small."

"So you keep saying," you mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, "Are you going to go into the stadium?"

"Yeah, probably a little while later," he shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets, "It'll calm down soon enough and it'll be less hectic. You're welcome to wait with me, if you'd like."

"I might as well," you sighed, leaning back so you rested your shoulder against the wall, "I'll probably literally be killed if I try to go in there at this point."

"Probably," he agreed, looking away from you when you squinted up to glare at him, "Say..." He looked back at you, head cocked to the side curiously, "Is it true Earth has a lot of oceans? And only one Sun?"

"Eh? Yeah, that's right," you nodded, making him hum, "You've never been to Earth?"

"Nah, can't afford to make that trip," he sighed, sliding down the side of the wall to sit on the ground, "I read about it when the news that we'd be open for visits from them, though. Here sit," he tugged your hand until you were finally sitting beside him.

"About this...fight," his head lulled to the side as he gazed at your through his lashes, "What...why do you guys do it? How's it work?"

"Well," he rested his hands on his bent knees, head resting against the wall behind him again, "You know majority of our planet is uninhabitable right?"

"Yeah, dominated by deadly deserts that will kill even Sehebon," you replied mechanically, having studied their landscape immensely on your voyage from Earth.

"Then you also know there's only a few, select places suitable for us to live," you nodded and he continued, "We have three cities on Izu Huen, Fia our capitol, Veles, and Holis. That isn't a lot of room for an entire planet to live, right? We have to stay within the habitable zone and fit every person on the planet in the cities. Excluding those that have the means to move to Vimoldara, that is. That's a lot of people, isn't it?"

"Wait," you sat up straighter, jaw dropping open, "You mean, it's a form of population control?"

"That and," his gaze turned much darker, sending a chill up your spine, "It's a chance for us to show each other how strong we are. That we're the best and we deserve to live, we offer more. Those who lose are killed and only the winner can stand."

"That's..." you cleared your throat uncomfortably, "That's scary."

"Not for us," Taehyung shrugged, casting a sideways glance your way, "It's a celebration. We're all excited and ready to do it. We get to make our families and ancestors proud as we fight."

You hummed, still weary of the lottery but kept the rest of your opinions to yourself. You and Taehyung dissolved into talking about things he was curious about on Earth, deciding it would be worth it to travel there simply after hearing what a cheeseburger was.

The suns began to set when Taehyung stood, helping you to your feet.

"We should be able to get in easily now," you followed him to the large entrance that you'd been unable to see past when you had first approached.

With the smaller influx of people, you could see fully inside the stadium. There were banners and decorations strewn about everywhere, a wash of white, red and black colors seeming to be the theme. In the very center of the stadium was a booth with a man standing inside, handing things out to the people in line.

"I hope he doesn't think I'm here to pick a lottery," you mumbled to yourself as you stood in line with Taehyung. He was still holding onto your hand as you waited, large fingers wrapping completely around your wrist, making the size difference more apparent.

He really was right when he said you were small. But his hand was so warm and comforting against your skin that it made you feel...cute.

"Nah, they won't assume a foreigner is here to participate," he said, not breaking his gaze from the booth.

By the time you reached the booth, the suns were down to just peeking over the horizon and the moon was, instead, shining large in the sky. The temperature was dropping and you couldn't help but move closer to Taehyung for warmth. You weren’t dressed to be out at night, you’d only anticipated spending the daytime hours out.

"Thank you," he said, tucking a slip of paper into his pocket after folding it up. The man behind the booth nodded, waving the next person forwards.

He began to walk when he paused, looking down at you with wide eyes. You scrambled to detach yourself from his side, not realizing just how close you were to him. However, you were quickly brought back when he pulled you flush against him again with a small smile.

"You humans are so fragile," he breathed, beginning walk, keeping you tucked into his side. Your face was burning with embarrassment but you also felt a strange sense of pride flowing through you at the prospect of such a good looking man treating you like he was.

"I-It just gets really cold here, you know?" you mumbled, trying to defend yourself albeit weakly.

His chest vibrated with his laughter, tightening his hold around your shoulders, "I guess if you're not used to it. You live around here?"

"Uh yeah," you pointed in the general direction of where you were staying, "I live down this road a ways."

"Alright, I'll walk you there," he offered, though he left no option to refuse.

You both fell silent as you walked, every once in a while another person would pass and stare at the two of you. Their eyes followed you even as you passed, turning back to stare at you and you began to feel strange about it.

"Why is everyone looking at us like that?" you asked suddenly, making him look down. The moonlight cast a soft glow on his face causing the shadow of his lashes to dust his cheeks.

"Probably because you're a human and you're with me," he answered as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "It's not exactly common for Sehebon and foreigners to be together yet."

You swallowed thickly, cheeks burning for the thousandth time that day it seemed.

It wasn't long before you reached the stoop of your house and you dislodged yourself from Taehyung, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep in the warmth you now missed.

"Um thanks for walking me home," you said, shrugging your shoulders self-consciously as his eyes scanned over your body.

"It was my pleasure," he leaned closer to you, "Hey, why don't you come to the celebration in a couple days, hm?"

"You mean the fighting?" you asked, feeling uneasy at the invitation. He nodded eagerly, eyes bright in excitement, "Taehyung, I do understand it's an important practice for you...it's your culture. But humans and Earth...it's punishable to kill someone. It's against the law. We find the concept of death scary...you know?"

His head cocked to the side, brows furrowed and the excitement in his eyes gone, "You're scared to die? And you don't like to see others die?"

"Exactly, it's...it's a very negative thing for humans," you attempted to explain while trying not to upset him.

"You know being invited to a fight is a very special thing," he muttered with a frown, leaning close to you so his nose was touching yours. Your eyes grew wide at the fire burning in his eyes and you swallowed nervously, "It's very offensive to reject an invitation to a fight. I want to show you how good I am, how well I can fight. I want you to be proud of me. Impressed by me."

Your mouth grew dry at his words and the way he uttered them, deep voice dark and no hint of the gentleness he had spoken with before. You attempted to move back but found your back pressed against the door. He loomed over you, leaning on his forearms above your head ― caging you in. Strangely, the only thing you could think of was how good he smelled; like the fruits you'd eaten a couple days ago.

"I-I'm sorry, Taehyung," you whispered, licking your lips in an effort to rid yourself of your nerves, "I just...Y-You don't need to kill someone t-to impress me, you know?"

"Then how can I?" he squinted, "I find you fascinating. A cute little human girl, smart and charming. I want to...what is it you humans call it...court you?"

You wanted to smile at the sound of the outdated term he used. But it was stopped by his confession, of what he thought of you.

"W-Well...you're trying to court a human girl..." you spoke slowly, meeting his eyes in faux confidence even though your heart was beating a mile a minute, "Why don't you try...a human method?"

"A human method," he gnawed on the inside of his cheek ― apparently a habit he had while thinking, "What are human methods?"

"Well um..." you noticed that with his body covering yours like it was, you weren't affected by the cold and that your trembles were no doubt excitement, "Like...dates. Do you guys have dates?"

"Usually an invitation to fight for someone to see is sufficient enough to begin a relationship," he explained, making you sigh. He frowned at the sound and leaned closer to you to meet your gaze, "Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"F-For humans usually a man will ask a woman on a date," you explained simply, "Like...you would ask to take me to see a movie or take me to dinner."

"A dinner," he repeated, seeming to mull it over for a moment before nodding. The dark look was gone and he smiled the cutest boxy smile you'd ever seen in your life, "Then I'd like to take you to dinner, _____."

"I'd like that, Taehyung," you smiled, feeling your cheeks burn under his soft gaze.

"After my fight, to celebrate my win I'll take you."

"Alright, Taehyung, I look forward to it," after what seemed like an eternity, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes, he finally stood up straight. The cold immediately began to sink into your bones and he stepped back off your stoop.

"See you soon, cutie," he waved, twiddling his fingers before spinning on his heel and walking in the direction you both had just came from.

You opened your front door, slipping inside and relaxing once the warmth hit you. Leaning back against the door, you pressed your hand to your chest and sighed.

"Not how I expected my day to turn out," you mumbled, taking a seat at your chair in front of the camera, turning it on so the red light blinked indicating recording, "I know it hasn't been a week yet but I've found something interesting. I met a man named Taehyung and he told that they're about to begin a planet-wide lottery. Everyone draws a number and they're picked to fight. It's a...form of population control and some kind of cultural flex on each other to show who is the toughest and bravest. The fights are set to take place in a few days and I was invited but...I had to decline. The prospect of watching it was just too much for me to consider so I apologize for that."

You went quiet for a second, deciding to leave out the fact that the invitation was an attempt to ask you out. You greeted the people who would be watched goodbye and shut off the camera, turning to your computer monitor and hurriedly sending the video before shutting everything down.

The city was quiet for the next few days, everyone packed into the stadium. You would frequently hear the thunderous roar of the crowd but ultimately did your best to block out the prospect of the death no doubt going on.

You laid on your bed, reading a book you'd read several times already but lacked the means to acquire a new one. You wouldn't be able to read the books in an alphabet you couldn't read. Though you could take the time to learn but, you were in no mood to study.

As expected, you found yourself thinking of Taehyung. He was charming, no doubt, and you were surprised by how much you ultimately enjoyed his company. It was quick that he decided he wanted to date you, by human standards anyway, but Sehebon were very fast-moving people as more than half their race were warriors who could be killed in the blink of an eye. No doubt a cause for Taehyung's rush to be with you.

You couldn't deny the complete attraction you had for him; he was incredibly good looking and had the cutest smile. His voice was hypnotic, smooth as whiskey and as deep as the ocean. Dating someone of a completely different species wasn't the strangest thing by far ― plenty of humans had counterparts from different races. Dating a Sehebon, on the other hand, was different since the brand new introduction of their race to humans.

There was no fear that Taehyung would bring you any harm or have ill intentions, there was just a lot of confusion about him. You didn't exactly know much about who he was as a person rather than his race.

The date would no doubt clear things up and open doors for you.

Remembering the fact you would be going on a date with him set butterflies off in your tummy and you bit your lip to hold back the gleeful grin that threatened to spread across your face.

It was a full week before the streets became the same again. The population of Fia went back to normal as visitors from other cities left and went back home. The banners were taken down from around your street and before long everything seemed to have returned to the way it was.

Unfortunately, you were running out of food so you needed to go food shopping. As the suns were beginning to set, with the temperature steadily dropping, is when you decided to go shopping.

You slid a sweater on to keep you warm before stepping out the door. It was still a little warm but you knew you'd be grateful for your choice later.

In the past, you'd made the mistake of forgoing something warm and had to quite literally run home before you froze to death.

You carried a bag, an effect from when you lived on Earth and refused to use plastic bags in fear they'd end up in the oceans. When you first presented the bag at the local grocers, the cashier had looked at you like you were stupid ― making you feel just a tad self-conscious.

Fortunately, they'd now grown used to your practice and barely batted an eye in response when you brought.

The shop wasn't busy during that time of day and you were thankful to be able to navigate the aisles without having to avoid the giant Sehebon people that easily blocked your shelf access. You packed your bag with things you were vaguely familiar with. There was a lot of food you didn't dare try ― you couldn't read what it said or it was just gross looking.

Unfortunately, however, the shelves were so damn tall that you sometimes had to scale them to actually reach the things you needed. Standing on your tippy-toes using one of the shelves to grab a simple box of noodles ― something you were very pleased to find on Izo Huen.

You chose a lot of fruits and vegetables ― trusting them more than their alien-meats. You were basically the alien version of a vegetarian at that point.

When you stepped outside, you were immediately grateful of the sweater you wore. The cold still seemed to seep in a bit but it was tolerable despite the light shivers that took you. Carrying your bag, you hummed a tune to yourself as you navigated the darkening streets. The lamps were lit to illuminate your way but there were no other people in sight, making you feel calm.

"Hey, you a human?" scratch that, there were people.

You paused, looking into an alleyway separating two residential streets. A small group of young men were smoking cigarettes. Part of you wondered if they were cigarettes or some Izo Huen-version.

"Yes I'm a human," you replied, pulling your bag off your shoulder to hold it in front of you.

"You want a hit?" one of them asked you, offering you what he was smoking off of.

"N-No thank you," you backed away slightly to get away from the smoke emanating off the burning end, "I really should be getting home...I have things to put away."

You turned to walk away but a hand aggressively gripped your arm to stop you, startling a gasp out of you.

"Hey, that hurts," you mumbled, attempting to tug your arm free but he tugged you closer to him, "Let go!"

Before he had the chance to speak, a hand was violently wrapped around his throat and slammed him back. He pulled you with him slightly, knocking you to the ground as the man was pinned to the wall. Looking up, you could see Taehyung leaning close to him ― whispering something that had the man's eyes widening.

"Do you understand?" Taehyung growled, loud enough for you to hear. The man nodded so hard you were sure he was going to give himself a headache. Taehyung held him still for several more seconds, looking over him to make sure he was telling the truth.

When the man was dropped, he took off down the alleyway with his friends following, none of them daring to look back.

"Are you alright?" he asked, crouching down to where you were sitting on the ground. He cupped your cheek ever so softly, thumb grazing beneath your eye, "I didn't mean for you to get knocked down."

"It's alright," you muttered, using his shoulders to pull yourself back to your feet. He remained crouched for a moment, just gazing up at you silently, "W-What is it?"

"You should be more careful, _____," he said, picking up the bag of groceries you had dropped, tucking some of the things that had been knocked out back in where they belonged, "Didn't I tell you that you could get hurt?"

"W-Well yes but that was different― "

"It wasn't," he snapped, moving close to you once again. Fingers hooked beneath your chin to make you look at him, "Don't you understand how much people want you? How they look at you when you walk around?"

"N-No..." you blinked as you tried to recall any staring while you were on your own.

"Everyone finds you alluring here, _____," Taehyung's voice dropped and he stepped even closer so your foreheads were just barely touching, "The cute little human girl. And I'd be very disappointed if I had to kill someone for hurting you."

You were speechless, lost staring in the fiery blaze within his eyes. He held your gaze for several seconds before stepping back and smiling.

"I'll walk you home, I was on my way to see you anyway," you sputtered in shock as he tugged your hand in the direction of your home ― his rapid change of demeanor no doubt going to give you whiplash.

Your feet pounded the pavement as you struggled to keep up with his large strides. You were running out of breath and stamina, though he appeared unaffected.

"T-Tae...can you s-slow down?" he halted in his tracks so suddenly that you fully ran into his back.

"What did you call me?" he looked over his shoulder, staring sharply down at you.

"I-I..." you pulled yourself away from his back and stuttered, "I called you Tae. I'm sorry i-it just slipped out...h-humans like to make n-nicknames, you know?"

He was quiet for a second before he turned around completely, cocking his head to the side.

"Say it again," he commanded.

"Uh...T-Tae?" the name sounded more awkward than it had before coming out of your mouth.

"Hmm," he made a noise akin to a moan, rolling his head back in response before looking down and smirking, "I like that. You're the only one allowed to call me that, yeah?"

"A-Alright," your heart was racing from the way he had reacted to the nickname but you didn't get to dwell on it long before he was tugging you along once again.

You stood on your stoop again, looking at Taehyung, a small smile on his lips as he watched you. He held your bag of groceries out for you and you had to hold back a gasp when your hand brushed his.

"Shit, your hands are freezing!" he gasped, taking one of your hands in his and bringing them closer to him.

"U-Uh yeah it's...pretty cold," your words came out a whisper, reveling in how warm his hands were against yours.

"Poor thing," your eyes widened as he pulled your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your fingers.

"T-Tae," the nickname had his eyes flicking up and he hummed, pressing another kiss against them.

"Did you like that?" he dropped your hand from his lips but continued to hold it, smiling at you, "I read in a book about common human practices for courting and it said a kiss to the hand will make her heart flutter. Did it work?"

"I..." you swallowed thickly, nodding your head ever so slightly, "I-It was nice, Tae..."

The two of you fell quiet, his hand enveloping yours and his soft gaze fixated on you. Your groceries hung in his free hand and he slowly reached out to hand them to you once again. Once the bag was in your hands, he released your hand from his hold and shoved his own into his pockets. He stepped backwards off the stoop but continued to stare at you, bottom lip tucked in his mouth.

Your eyes danced over his body ― never really looking him over that much besides his face. He had a black button-up tucked into tight fitting jeans and boots that made him even taller than he already was. It surprised you how thick his thighs were but how small his waist was ― it's like he was sculpted by actual gods.

"Well," he smirked, no doubt having caught you staring, "See you around, cutie."

"Hey, Tae wait!" you called before you could stop yourself.

He halted immediately, turning to look at you once again, "You alright?"

"I just..." he jogged back to the stoop, stepping up and moving close to yours.

He cupped your chin between his fingers and made you look up at him.

"You can tell me, sweetheart," his brows were drawn together in concern.

The pet name causing a shiver to go down your spine, "What is it?"

"C-Can...Would you...like to stay for a while?" your cheeks were on fire and you couldn't meet his gaze after whispering the words.

Taehyung's eyes softened and his lips quirked up, running his thumb over your lips for a split second ― so light you almost missed it. He stood up straighter, removing his fingers from your face. You found yourself missing the touch and your heart was pounding at the possible rejection you could face.

"Were you nervous to ask me that, baby?" your core lit on fire at the new pet name and you held in a whimper, "I'd love to stay with you."

"O-Okay..." you reached behind you, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

Warmth hit you from the inside and you scurried out of Taehyung's view as fast as you could to the kitchen. You could hear him walking, the sound of his boots on the floor seeming deafening in the silence of the house. Leaning against the counter, you took a few deep breaths to steady yourself.

You began putting your groceries away in their designated places, noticing that Taehyung's footsteps had gone silent.

"This place given to you by your job?" he asked suddenly, making you jump.

"Um...yeah," you cleared your throat, "It's nothing special but it's cozy."

"It's nice," he muttered before falling silent.

You placed the box of noodles in your cabinet, steeling yourself before moving to the living room. Your brain nearly short-circuited at the sight before you.

Taehyung sat on your couch, legs spread wide and arms stretched out on the back of the couch. His head was tilted back, exposing beautiful expanse of throat. The way he sat was so confident and commanding that you had to clench your thighs together to control yourself.

"Um...are you okay?" you whispered, stepping forward as he lifted his head to look at you.

"I'm perfect," he responded, scooting to the side to allow you to sit beside him, "I think I've figured out a place to take you on our date."

"Oh?" you'd nearly forgotten about the date, "So you're ready to take me?"

"I'm thinking tomorrow, if that's okay," he looked down at you and you smiled.

"I'd love that," your gaze fell to your thighs, noticing the size difference between his and yours ― reminding you of how large he was.

Flicking your eyes up, you were frozen by the sharpness in his own as he stared at you. As you kept his gaze, you felt one of his hands find its way to your thigh and you bit your lip to keep from outright whimpering at the feeling.

"You're so soft," he muttered, shifting to turn more towards you, "And absolutely breathtaking..."

His lips drew closer to yours, his hair brushing your nose as he dipped down. When he pressed them completely, his hand tightened around your thigh. You whimpered, seeming to set Taehyung off as he cupped the back of your head with his free hand ― deepening the kiss.

Your hands clutched at the front of his shirt, losing yourself in the feeling of his lips and hands on you. The hand on your thigh traveled up, grazing your hip, drifting up your stomach and over your breasts before wrapping around your throat. You gasped at the feeling, lips parting from Taehyung's just slightly before you surged back forward to reconnect them.

He groaned against your lips, giving your neck the lightest squeeze before he released you and reached lower to cup your breast through your sweater. You arched your back into the muffled touch but he didn't linger for long because his hand was diving between your legs.

Your jeans impeded you from feeling his touch properly and you whimpered, grinding your hips forward in hopes to remedy the problem. You reached down, holding his hand against your core as you whimpered into his lips.

"Do you want me to touch you, pretty baby?" he asked, kiss parting until your lips just barely brushed his.

"P-Please Tae," you whimpered, feeling your eyes sting with tears of desperation ― having never wanted to be touched so badly in your life.

Taehyung didn't reconnect the kiss, instead he tilted your head back to press his lips to your neck. His long fingers unbuttoned your jeans and hurriedly tugged them off your hips until you finally reached down to pull them off completely, tossing them away.

The way you cried out when his hand cupped you again, this time through your panties, was nothing less than lewd. He tugged your thighs open further, one of them resting across his own, leaving you completely open to his fingers.

"Sound so pretty," he mumbled, teeth grazing your neck where he continued to mouth at you.

You wrapped one hand around his wrist, dragging his fingers up ever so slightly until you were able to push them past the band of your panties. He immediately took over, fingers diving between your folds to find just how wet you were for him. He groaned, pulling away from your neck to meet your gaze, his lips open just slightly as he brushed against your clit. Your hips twitched and you found yourself clinging to his arm as you whined.

"So sensitive, little one," he whispered, wrapping his free hand around your thigh to pull you even closer to him until you were completely in his lap with your back tucked to his chest.

"Tae..." you whispered, eyes fluttering closed when he began to press kisses to your shoulder ― the sweater not allowing you to feel it properly but enjoying it nonetheless.

"Yeah baby?" he cooed, resting his chin on your shoulder to watch his hand move beneath the fabric of your panties.

"C-Can..." you trailed off, feeling your cheeks burn and he tsked.

"Tell me what you want and I'll do it, baby," he assured, fingers now running across your folds without dipping between ― teasing you.

"Can you...take them off?" you asked, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze.

"If that's what you want," he pulled his hand out of your panties and you whimpered at the loss, making him chuckle, "So needy, huh?"

His thumbs hooked into the band and he pushed them down your thighs. You pulled your legs up to help him take them off ― tossing them off somewhere else to join your jeans. He gripped your knees, roughly tugging them open until your cunt was completely exposed to him ― glistening in the dim light and flushed swollen with your arousal.

"Fuck, babygirl..." he breathed, reaching down to run his fingertips through your parted folds, "Such a pretty little pussy, hm?"

Deep in your mind, you wondered where he learned such delicious dirty talk from ― seeing as he didn't even know the proper word for courting. The thought was completely wiped from your mind, however, when he used two fingers to spread your folds open. Your hole clenched around nothing and Taehyung let out a choked groan.

"St-Stop staring!" you whined, snapping your thighs closed around his hand.

Taehyung growled, wrapping his hand around your throat again and pulling the back of your head against his chest. You whimpered, eyes flicking up to briefly catch his glare. His jaw was set, glaring down at you with a gaze that made you feel incredible small.

"Spread your fucking legs," he ordered, tone making your eyes flutter slightly. When you hesitated to do as he said, he leaned closer until his mouth brushed your ear, "I said...spread your legs."

You whimpered, bottom lip trembling as you pouted, slowly opening your legs back up. Too slow for his liking, he jerked one open and pinned the other down until you were just as exposed as before. His hand cupped your entire core, middle finger sliding between the folds.

"That's more like it," he sighed, finally releasing your neck, "You better act right, baby, or else I'll have to punish you."

His words made you tremble, thighs twitching ever so slightly. He raised a brow at your reaction, an almost detached look coming across his face.

"Would you like that? To be punished?" when you only whimpered, he smirked, "I see...how would you like it, hm? To be choked until your lungs burn for air? Or maybe if I spanked your little cunt?"

"Tae..." you felt your hole clench, sending a gush of arousal to meet his fingers.

"Oh?" he chuckled, making you cheeks burn, "You'd like to be slapped, huh?"

Before you could even think up a reply from your foggy brain, a sharp pain right against your clit had you crying out. Your eyes found his face but he was watching as he smacked your cunt again. His fingers ran over your folds to soothe the sting and he laughed.

"Interesting..." he hummed, middle finger circling around your clit. Your eyes fluttered and your hips arched into the touch more.

His index and ring fingers spread your folds, his middle finger swirling over the hardened bud until you were moaning. He pulled the hood back, exposing it even more to his sensitive touches. Your eyes rolled back in your head and you choked out his name.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, "Does it feel nice to have your little clit touched?"

"Y-Yes!" you squeaked, reaching down to take hold of his wrist. Your body was practically vibrating as you trembled beneath the almost too much stimulation. Suddenly, his touch was gone and you were left still trembling with the remnants of his fingers lingering.

"It's alright," he cooed, wrapping one of his arms around you to hold you tighter against him, "I've got you, little one."

"Please, Tae," you begged, burying your face into his arm, thighs trembling still spread.

"What is it?" he asked, voice soft as silk.

"Your...Your fingers," you canted your hips up ever so slightly and he hummed.

"Want my fingers inside?" he asked, although he already knew before you nodded.

He hummed, two fingers finding your spasming entrance, coating them in your juices. You held your breath as he finally sunk them inside you, stretching you deliciously even though you were plenty wet enough. His fingers were big, filling you up nice and deep. Gasping against Taehyung's arm, you mindlessly ground your hips up as he slowly pulled them out. You didn't get to mourn their loss for long because he was quickly pushing them back in ― slick sounds accompanying the movement.

"You're so fucking tight," he muttered, "So small...Shit, how long has it been since you've been fucked, pretty girl?"

"Ah-Never..." you gasped, hand circling around his wrist as you squirmed.

His fingers paused, halfway inside and you whined, "You've never been with somebody?"

"N-No, Tae," you whined, using your hand on his wrist to push his fingers back inside, "J-Just you...only you!"

He cursed under his breath, wrapping his arm tighter around you before he began to finger fuck you wholeheartedly. The sounds pouring from your lips only spurred him on, your cunt tight like a vice around just two of his fingers.

"This little cunt won't ever be able to take my cock, sweetheart," he growled, crooking his fingers up to nail that little spot that made you sob, "I'm gonna be too big for you."

"W-Want it a-anyway, Tae," you cried, nails digging into his wrist. Tears welled up in your eyes, trickling down your cheeks as your body was sent into overload.

"Yeah? Want me to fuck you open until you can't take anymore?" he groaned, "Watch your virgin cunt get stuffed full of a cock you simply can't handle...have you make those pretty noises while you cream all over me..."

His words seemed more self-indulgent than aimed at you but you whined and nodded anyway. His palm ground against your clit as his fingers filled you up so nice and you found yourself teetering on the edge.

"I-I'm gonna cum," you panted, thighs twitching erratically in response to your pleasure."Go ahead, cum for me," he commanded, groaning alongside you as you tightened up around his fingers.

"Tae! 'S so good..." you slurred, eyes closed as you buried your face in his arm to ride out the pleasure he was giving you.

"Coming so prettily, little one," he whispered into your ear, fingers beginning to slow as your orgasm died down, "You're such a good girl."

"Ah...Tae," you whimpered as he pulled his fingers from your still-clenching pussy, sensitivity hitting you like a brick wall. Your thighs clenched shut, trembling uncontrollably in the aftermath of the most pleasure you'd ever received.

Taehyung slid his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back at the taste of you on his tongue. His arm still held you tight as you continued to whimper against him.

"Taste so so good," he whispered, mostly to himself.

Once his digits were clean, he glanced down at you. It was clear you were still a bit overwhelmed and he cooed, shifting you in his lap until you were facing him. He pulled you into a hug and couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"Humans are so fragile," he whispered, "So overwhelmed...even that was too much for you, huh?"

You didn't respond, simply tucking your face away in his neck. You let your weight drop fully on his lap but froze immediately. You hadn't realized while you were being touched, how hard Taehyung's cock was against you but with a clear mind you could.

He was fucking big.

He chuckled darkly, lips finding your neck as he slowly made you grind against his covered length, "I told you, babygirl, I'm too big for your little pussy."

When you whined and tightened your grip on him, wanting to avoid the painful overstimulation, he simply chuckled. He let you cling to him and lay with him until your eyes fluttered shut ― sleep quickly and eagerly overcoming you.

Just as you sunk into darkness, you felt him press the softest of kisses against your forehead.

"My cute little human," he whispered, voice fading out as you finally fell asleep.

When you woke up, you were tucked cozily in your bed beneath your wool comforter. The sun was up and you groaned, kicking the blankets off as you grew warmer with every passing second.

You had on your sweater from yesterday and a pair of panties you hadn't been wearing. Looking beside you, you found the bed empty and sighed.

Despite yourself, you found yourself feeling disappointed he hadn't stayed the night. He had shown you such a sweet, caring side before you fell asleep. It had made your heart flutter, how he treated you so delicately yet used such a sharp tongue to fluster you.

"He's such a strange dude," you muttered, staring at the ceiling as you spread starfish on your bed.

There was a dull ache between your legs, reminding you of the night before. Feeling your cheeks flush, you sat up straight and hurriedly crawled out of bed intending to take a cold shower.

Drying your hair with a towel, you hunted around your closet for a cute outfit for the date. Briefly, you wondered if he was still planning to take you out. Excitement thrummed through your veins, a giddy smile lighting up your face and making your cheeks ache.

After choosing your outfit, you took a seat in front of the vanity you had set up. You had found a mirror at the monthly market a few ones back and decided it was the best purchase ever. You hadn't known mirrors were scarce on Izo Huen for whatever reason until you desperately needed one.

Deciding to leave your hair down, too lazy to try and make anything of it, you mindlessly spun around in your chair.

A strange feeling bubbled up in your chest that made your heart race. Leaning your head back against the back of the chair, you ran your hands over your face with a groan.

"I actually miss him," you scoffed, leaning forward to rest your head on your vanity counter, "What is wrong with me?"

The day seemed to drag on longer than any other as you waited for Taehyung to arrive. The heat hadn't even bothered you, your mind too muddled with thoughts of your date. You wondered if he would hold your hand and where he planned to take you.

As the sun finally sunk beneath the horizon, you were more antsy and began to pace your living room. Every once in a while, you'd glance out your window in hopes a passing man would be Taehyung. Unfortunately, you were mistaken every time.

Before long, you began to realize that he simply wasn't going to show up. You changed into your pajamas, rejection burning in your veins before sitting on your bed. The streetlights and the moon cast a decent glow around you.

Your feelings were hurt. You’d been stood up by an alien.

Your heart ached and you felt your eyes sting with unshed tears. You flopped over, covering your face with a pillow before screaming into it.

"What a jerk!" you shouted in the material.

By the time you went to sleep, your simmering anger gave way to pitiful dejection. Your eyes were wet with tears as you closed them.

He was polluting your mind, everywhere you went you found yourself hoping that he'd turn up around the next corner. You’d hoped he would come knocking on your door with a sheepish smile, apologizing.

Though as the days passed and you had seen neither hide nor hair of him, the prospect of an apology made you angry. You didn't want his stupid apology anymore.

A week lapsed and it was time, once again, for your weekly log.

Sitting in front of the camera, you sighed, "The...friend I had made seems to have disappeared. It's weird, I was perfectly content by myself but once he showed up and vanished ― it's made me lonely," you gnawed on your bottom lip before sighing, disappointment becoming a common feeling in your life by then, “Maybe I need to make some friends but...I can't explain it; the Sehebon are such a strange race that it feels like it's going to be really difficult to make friends. There's really nothing eventful that happened worth logging besides my own problems so...I'll sign off."

A couple clicks on your computer had the log sent. You'd be getting paid again soon, perhaps you'd be able to go out and find something to do for yourself. Maybe you'd hit the jackpot and find someone who would want to be your friend.

It felt childish, the need for friendship you had. But with Taehyung's absence, your loneliness was at an all time high.

It was beginning to get dark and you decided to say 'fuck it' and get dressed. You'd find something to do ― you hadn't really checked out nearly all the districts of Fia and you knew there were some popular places to hang out.

It was a long walk to the area they dubbed the Social District. The second you stepped onto the rowdy street, you were blown away by the flashing lights and heavy bass emanating from the various buildings.

They had their own clubs.

You suddenly felt out of place and awkward, weaving through the giant people blocking the streets as they talked with friends. It seemed like no one saw you, as if you were just invisible to them. You moved to the sidewalk, being able to squeeze by the people and avoid the large crowd that filled the street.

You slipped into a pub ― judging by the tables and bar. You couldn't read the sign but you still walked in anyway. It wasn't very crowded, a few tables still open. The vibe inside was much cooler and calmer and you felt yourself begin to relax.

Walking up the bar, you took a seat, grabbing a menu without thinking about it.

"God dammit," you muttered, staring at the alphabet you still couldn't read.

"Can I help you?" the tender asked, moving to stand in front of you.

"Uh...I can't read this," you admitted, feeling your cheeks burn.

"That's alright, what do you like?" she pulled the menu from your hands and looked over it herself.

"Do you have any good alcohol?" you slumped against the counter, chin resting in your hand.

She regarded you with furrowed brows, closing the menu, "You do know alcohol is poisonous, right?"

"Wait what?" your head snapped up and the woman laughed.

"Alcohol is poisonous to us. We don't drink it," she placed the menu back where you got it and smiled, "We have some Soda."

"You do?" you perked up at that, not tasting soda since you'd left Earth. You watched eagerly as she filled a glass with brown liquid, placing it in front of you.

"It's not...Earth's soda but it's basically the same," she smiled, "It's got seltzer and sugary syrup in it."

You thanked her before she was whisked away to take care of another customer, leaving you by yourself. You sipped out of the straw, sighing at the taste. It was slightly off compared to the soda you were used to but bubbling seltzer had you smiling.

"_____?" you jumped at the sound of your name, choking on your drink and erupting into a fit of coughing. A hand carefully patted your back until you calmed down, "Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you."

"I-It's fine," you choked out, clearing your throat and swallowing a few times to rid the feeling. Your eyes flicked up to meet Taehyung's and you felt a frown fall over your face before you realized it, "Taehyung."

His brows furrowed at your using his full name but he didn't say anything, "I uh...didn't know you came around here."

"It's my first time," you muttered, turning back to sip on your drink. When you didn't offer another opening for a conversation he let out a sigh and slid up next to you between the vacant seat beside you. You didn't have any choice but to interact, seeing at he wasn't going to back off.

"I'm sorry I missed our...date," the word still sounded foreign on his tongue, "I had urgent business to attend to in Holis."

"You don't owe me anything Taehyung," you muttered, failing to mask the hurt in your voice.

He sighed again, "I had to go visit a friend of mine, he was stranded and couldn't get home on his own. I promise that's all it was, _____."

You sighed, feeling your hurt and anger soften. Turning to look at him, you opened your mouth to reply but were interrupted.

“Whoa, is this the little human?” a loud voice from behind you made you jump. Twisting around, you saw a large man with biceps so big his t-shirt was stretched taut, “Oh you are a cutie!”

“U-Um...hello,” you greeted timidly.

"Uh yeah," Taehyung smiled, placing his hand on your shoulder, "This is _____. And _____ this is Wonho."

"N-Nice to meet you," you held out your hand, gasping when he leaned down and pressed a kiss against your knuckles.

"It's my pleasure," you could hear Taehyung let out a long sigh, "Bartender, I'll take a Blue Ice please. I gotta take a leak," he muttered the last part to himself, fingers lingering on your shoulder before he disappeared.

"You drinking a soda?" Wonho asked, peering into your glass, "Mind if I have a sip?"

"I guess not," you shrugged, watching him wrap his hand around the glass and bring it to his lips.

He was good looking, you couldn't deny. He had cute ears that stuck out just slightly and pretty teeth as he grinned at you. You found yourself comparing him to Taehyung ― deducing Taehyung definitely set your heart racing the second you looked at him.

"You know," Wonho placed your glass back down in front of you, "I was surprised to hear Taehyung was fooling around with a little human. I never thought he'd be the type."

"What do you mean?" you asked, brows furrowing as you mindlessly stirred your drink with your straw.

"Well I just can't believe he's actually giving in to it," Wonho said, pulling out a menu to look over it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you muttered, quite blunt.

He seemed surprised, chuckling and waving his hand, "Just the whole human kink that's going on. You know, since humans have started coming here it's become like a game to see who can actually manage to bang one. Can't believe Taehyung managed to snag one."

Your eyes drifted to your glass, the ice melting in your soda ― watering it down. A human kink?

"So...I'm just a conquest?" you whispered, though you were sure Wonho didn't hear as he was ordering a drink.

So many things bubbled up inside you; anger, humiliation, shame. Humiliation at the fact you'd been used, shame over the fact you fell for it and were so close to giving in, and anger of the audacity he had to do such a thing to you. Tears stung your eyes and you bit your lip to hold them back.

"Oh man, that looks delicious," Taehyung groaned, grabbing his tall glass of blue drink and taking a sip.

"I'm leaving," you muttered, sliding off your stool and moving to walk away.

You were stopped by a hand grabbing your elbow. Taehyung stared at you, brows drawn together.

"You just got here," he muttered, obviously confused by your sudden change.

You scoffed, "I'm going home, Taehyung."

You snatched your arm out of his grip and stormed out the doors and onto the busy streets. You could vaguely hear your name being shouted but it was quickly covered by the noisiness of the people. Crossing your arms over your chest, you weaved through the bodies. Tears were burning your eyes but you held them back.

"Hey a human!" you heard someone shout but you didn't stop, "Why don't you come party?"

'The whole human kink.' Wonho's words echoed in your mind, making it harder to fight your tears. 'It's become a game to see who can bang one."

By the time you reached your front door, your jaw was aching with keeping your tears in. Slamming the door behind you, you immediately burst into tears ― bringing your hands up to cover your eyes with your sleeves. Sniffling, you dropped onto your couch and let your sobs out freely.

Hugging one of your throw pillows, you attempted to calm yourself down. Just as you were about to drift off to sleep, eyes fluttering against your will, there was a series of sharp knocks against your door. You didn't move, silently waiting to see if they'd go away.

Unfortunately, the knocks became harsher and more frantic. Deciding that they weren't going to go away, you stood up and dragged your feet to the door.

You already had a feeling who it was and you weren't wrong ― Taehyung standing on the other side. His fist was raised like he was going to knock again and his hair was a complete wreck. His shirt clung to him with sweat and his breathing was a little heavy.

"What do you want Taehyung?" you muttered, crossing your arms around yourself.

"You've been crying," he whispered, moving to step forward but stopped when you moved back, "I knew you were upset. What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"Don't!" you snapped, turning on your heel and storming into your house.

"What?" Taehyung whispered, closing the door gently behind him.

"Don't call me that," you said, keeping your back to him so he wouldn't see your tears.

It felt so nice to have him call you pet names so gently. But you remembered it was just a ruse to lure you in ― and it was so hard not to fall.

"Why not? I thought you liked being called that?" he sounded so confused and you could imagine he looked akin to a kicked puppy.

"Because it's not fair!" you shouted, finally turning around, "You can't just play those games with me because I'm a human, Taehyung!"

"I really...What are you talking about?" his voice was so soft, so gentle. He took a couple steps towards you, hands outstretched, "I'm not playing any games."

"Oh yeah?" you scoffed, wiping away a few stray tears from your cheeks, "Wonho told me about your disgusting kink! You don't care about me, you just wanted to be able to say you fucked a human!"

"Wh―" he stumbled over his words, irises desperately scanning over you, "That's not...true."

You scoffed, shaking your head., "You're so unfair, Taehyung." he cocked his head to the side curiously, "You made me like you and I trusted you. But you just...you really aren't any different from men on Earth, huh?"

"What do you mean? Of course I'm different!" he argued, his own eyes growing glassy, "I never lied to you, _____. I promise!"

"You just wanted to use me as a conquest, something to brag about," you breathing stuttered as you sobbed, "And I almost fell for it!"

"Would you listen to me?!" he snapped, suddenly moving and pinning you against the wall.

He was caging you in, scent overwhelming you and making more tears fall from your eyes. You refused to meet his gaze, even though you could feel his eyes burning into you. You sniffled, staring down at your cardigan sleeves that were functioning as sweater paws.

"I never once intended to use you like that," Taehyung growled, voice giving away his frustration, "Everything I have said and done for you is real and not because you're a human. I don't want you as a...a...conquest," the word sounded foreign on his tongue, "And I certainly am not like your pathetic human men on Earth. I am better in every single way."

"Taehyung..."

"Stop calling me that!" he snapped, making you jump, "I-I want you to call me Tae!"

"I don't think..." you shook your head.

"Why won't you believe me?" he sighed, voice going soft, "Is it really so easy to lose trust in me when I haven't even done anything? You heard my friend say some stupid nonsense a-and you're suddenly convinced I'm evil!"

When he put it like that, you felt silly. Your own insecurities caught up with you and you shifted awkwardly in your place against the wall. You sheepishly looked up to find him staring at you, eyes dark beneath his long bangs. They were damp from sweat and you swallowed thickly at how good he looked.

"I'm sorry Tae..." you mumbled, nibbling on your lip beneath his glare, "I just...I really like you and I don't want you to―

"Listen to me," he tilted your head up, making you look at him directly. His eyes were much softer now and your eyes felt hot once more, "I have no intention of hurting you. You can trust me, _____. I promise."

It felt like all self-control slipped through your fingers as you suddenly surged forward to press your lips against his. Standing on you tippy-toes, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He eagerly kissed you back, arms wrapping around you ― teeth nipping at your bottom lip to make you whine.

One of his hands traveled lower, cupping your ass and pulling you closer to him. You could feel his length hardened in his jeans ― and it was just as big as you remembered. It made you whimper, feeling him so hard against you. You squeaked when the floor was suddenly pulled out from beneath you and you found yourself pressed against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist, his weight supporting you.

You whined when his lips found your neck, trailing his lips over the sensitive skin beneath your ear. He smirked at the feeling of you shuddering against him.

"Are you wet for me, baby?" he asked against your skin. You whimpered and nodded, feeling your pussy clench and gush into your panties, "Do you want me to touch you? Tell me."

"Yes please, Tae," you begged, blushing when he chuckled at your desperation.

The wall was pulled out from behind you and you scrambled to hold onto him around his shoulders, "I got you," he reassured, turning to walk through the open doorway of your bedroom.

You were deposited onto your mattress, making you bounce slightly on it. Taehyung was covering your body once more, however, as he met your lips for another kiss. Resting his weight on one forearm beside your head, he used the other to push your shirt up.

Getting the hint, you pulled your cardigan off and tossed it off the side of the bed before tugging your shirt off as well. Taehyung groaned, his lips kissing the swell of your breast above your bra. His fingers trailed over your bra ― cupping you and sighing softly.

You were surprised by your own boldness as you reached behind you and unclipped your bra. Before you could tug it off, however, Taehyung pinned your arms above your head and growled.

"Why are you so eager?" he asked, making your blush further.

"I-I just want you to touch me..." you confessed, lashes fluttering when he leaned down to brush his lips against your lips once more.

"There's no rush, little one," he cooed, "I'm not going anywhere until I've made you cum for me."

You clenched your thighs with a whimper at the pressure in your core. He pulled off your bra, finally, tossing it away and sitting back to admire your body. You were laid out beneath him, breasts heaving in your arousal.

His head dipped down and you held your breath as he enveloped a perked nipple into his mouth. Your hands flew up to clutch at his hair, back arching. His teeth grazed the bud, and groaned at the way you whined.

"Fuck, you're so responsive to everything I do," he gasped, pulling his lips away from your nipple. His fingers found it and brushed his thumb nail over and you choked out a sob, "I love it so much..."

"T-Tae please!" you whined, arching your hips up.

"Alright, baby," he cooed, flicking the button of your jeans open and tugging them down. Your panties went with them but neither of you cared, "Look at that. So wet."

"Please touch me, Tae," you begged, spreading your legs wider around him.

"You ever been eaten out, sweetheart?" he asked, watching the way your breath stuttered at his question. When you didn't answer, he gave your cunt a swift smack. You cried out, clutching at the blankets desperately, "I asked you a question."

"N-No I've never― " you were cut off by his fingers sliding over your clit softly.

"Do you want to?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes, yes please, Tae!" you gasped, eyes wide when he shifted down the bed until his head was positioned over your core.

"So pretty, baby," he sighed, spreading your folds open to expose the pretty wet hole that clenched desperately around nothing.

Your mouth fell open, a stuttered breath escaping you when his tongue slid over your entrance up to your clit. He hummed, licking his lips to chase the taste. He looked like he was in heaven, swirling his tongue over your bud and chuckling when your whole body trembled.

"Love how you react to me," he whispered, mostly to himself. He tongued at your hole to taste your juices once more before dragging up to your clit once again, "I don't think I'll ever get enough of you."

"Tae!" you cried, tugging his hair harshly though he didn't seem to mind.

His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking the bud into his mouth. You keened, eyes rolling back into your head at the stimulation. You nearly screamed when you were suddenly filled with two long fingers.

"Fuck!" you cried, back arching. You abandoned your hold on his hand to wrap your hands beneath your knees ― keeping yourself open for him.

"Good girl," he praised, making you smile down at him.

He pressed a kiss against your thigh before diving down to take your clit into his mouth again. His fingers stretched you open, catching your g-spot every chance he got. He reached so deep inside you with just his fingers and you suddenly remembered how big his dick was. Just the thought of it had your walls clenching around his fingers. He groaned in response, the vibrations against your clit making your thighs twitch.

"A-Another finger, Tae, please," you begged, voice not above a whisper.

"Can you handle that, sweetheart? Your little cunt’s already stretched around two," he teased, his index finger beginning to nudge against your entrance.

"N-Need it," you gasped, "Need to take it for you cock."

His fingers froze and you felt him exhale sharply against your core ― as if the air had been punched out of him. Glancing down, you saw his jaw was clenched and his brows were furrowed.

"Don't say things like that, little girl," he growled, finally pushing the third finger into you, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Tae I― " your words died on your tongue when he enveloped your clit once again.

You felt stuffed with his fingers, the digits making your entrance stretch deliciously. You lost your grip on your knees and let them fall open once again. Taehyung's tongue danced over the sensitive nerves, eyes closed as he relished in having your cunt wrapped around his fingers. You were gushing, coating the digits in your juices and he couldn't wait to have them in his mouth.

"W-Wanna cum, Tae," you gasped, reaching above you to grip desperately at the pillow.

He reached up, pulling on one of your hands until you released the material. You felt your walls clench tight when he urged you to put your hands on his head.

He wanted you to pull at his hair.

Not one to reject such an offer, you tangled both your hands in the soft locks as he began to fuck you with his fingers eagerly. The wet noises were obscene, mixed with your moans made an incredible melody for Taehyung.

The fact he was the only one who had ever had you like that made his cock throb. His hips moved mindlessly against the bed beneath him to get some stimulation. His cock hurt in the confines of his jeans but he didn't dare try to pull it out.

Suddenly, your walls clenched tight and the grip on his hair began to sting the harder you pulled. Sobbing out his name, your entire body began to quake beneath him. The pleasure was overwhelming and you snapped your thighs closed around his head. He didn't pull away, however, keeping his lips attached to the throbbing bud through your orgasm ― milking every spectacular second until you were whimpering from overstimulation.

He gasped as he pulled away, sitting back on his heels before pulling his fingers out of you. He spread your folds, groaning at the way you gaped slightly from being stretched open. Sliding his soaked fingers into his mouth, his whole body trembled and he reached down to palm himself through his jeans.

The feeling of a smaller hand covering his had his eyes snapping open. He pulled his fingers out and stared down at you as you shyly palmed him through the material. He groaned, head falling back.

"C-Can I..." you trailed off, not quite sure what you were asking.

"I...I don't know..." he bit his lip, apprehensive.

"Please Tae?" you pouted, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Shit, alright," he whispered, switching your positions. He scooted up until his back rested against your headboard, shoving your pillows aside to make room for himself, "Come here. Sit on my lap, pretty girl."

Your hands were trembling as you did what you were asked, swinging your leg over his lap until you were straddling him. As you pressed your full weight on him, he tossed his head back in a groan. The pressure of you sitting on him felt spectacular.

Gripping his shoulders, you suddenly felt shy with his eyes on you. He gazed at your body on top of him like you were a goddess, hands drifting up your sides and cupping your breasts. Thumbing your nipples, he smiled crookedly when you shivered at the feeling. He cupped your cheeks, finally, and pulled you down for a soft kiss.

"Go ahead and grind on me, baby," he cooed, gripping your hips to urge you to move.

The first grind against him had him releasing the most beautiful moan that you felt yourself gush in response. His head leaned back against the headboard, watching through lidded eyes the way your cunt ground against his cock through his jeans. He wishes he could take it out and feel your wetness drip all over him ― to feel you cream against him as you came. He swallowed the urge down and continued to guide you.

"D-Does it feel good?" you asked, biting your lip as you watched his jaw tense as he held back his moans.

"So good, babygirl," he groaned, feeling his heart stutter when you proudly grinned down at him, "You're so fucking cute."

"D-Don't call me cute when I'm doing this," you hissed, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Doing what?" his head rolled against his shoulder and he smirked at you, "Go on and say it."

"No..." You whispered, clutching his shirt. Leaning forward, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close.

"Why so shy, little one?" he chuckled, kissing your temple and trailing his hand up your back before cupping the back of your head, "Grinding your wet little cunt against me like this...wanting to make me cum. And you want to act shy?"

You whimpered, gasping into his ear so prettily that he shuddered. He felt his orgasm coming and he groaned through clenched teeth.

"Close..." he whispered, fingers digging into the soft skin of your waist while he other clenched in your hand, "You're gonna make me cum, baby."

"Please cum, Tae," you begged, gasping when he wrenched your face out from where you were hiding in his neck.

"You want my cum?" he panted, mouth falling open as you fastened your pace. You nodded as best you could with his hand in your hair, "How about you cum first for me?"

Your eyes fluttered, realizing with his words how close you were to another orgasm. You leaned forward, pressing your lips against him. He hummed in response, smiling in the kiss when you started trembling in his lap.

You pulled away from the kiss and tossed you head back as you cried out his name, gushing against his jeans. Taehyung cursed, his own hips stuttering beneath you.

By the time you came down, you realized how wet his jeans were beneath you. You whined, falling off the side of his lap. He still sat up, chest heaving as he caught his breath. With his eyes closed, he didn't see you cupping his softening length through the wet material. He hissed, brushing your hand off of him.

"I-Is that all your..."

"I should get home," he interrupted. You frowned, watching him stand up and shift uncomfortably.

"Can't you stay?" you asked, finding yourself not wanting him to leave.

"Sorry, baby," he leaned down and pressed a kiss against your forehead, "Maybe another time." With a final, departing kiss, he turned and stepped out of the door. He paused, however, and looked back at you, "Be ready tomorrow, 8PM. I'll take you for dinner."

You were left alone on the bed with a little smile on your lips ― the promise of seeing him tomorrow making you giddy.

You felt apprehensive when 8PM rolled around and there was no sign of him ― the time blinking on the screen of your computer. You sat on your desk chair, watching the moments tick by.

It was nearing 8:30 when there were a series of knocks on your door. You jumped to your feet and raced to the door, pulling it open to see Taehyung with a guilty smile and a handful of flowers.

"Sorry I'm late I uh..." he cleared his throat and held the flowers over to you, "I had to go a bit out of my way to get these."

"Oh Tae..." you smiled, taking them from his hands and bringing them up to your nose to smell, "They're beautiful."

"They're imported from Liana," he smiled, shrugging sheepishly.

"How'd you think of this?" You asked, motioning for him to enter your home as you went to your kitchen to put the flowers in water.

"Well..." he cleared his throat, "I just...I've been reading about human dates and just human things like that, you know?"

"You've been studying for our date?" you giggled, putting the flowers on your counter before turning to him. He looked shy, keeping his eyes averted from you, "I really appreciate it, Tae."

"Really?" his eyes lit up and he grinned his adorable smile.

"I think it was very thoughtful," you led him back to the door and out into the cool night.

"There's this place I really like around my place," he suddenly explained, taking your hand in his as he helped you down from the stoop, "I like to go there with some friends. I think you'll like it!"

"I'm sure I'll like anything, Tae," you admitted, smiling when he squeezed your hand in response.

The two of you made simple talk as you made your way to the restaurant. You hadn't had the opportunity to go to one in the time you'd lived on Izo Huen.

It was a simple, small building with an Open sign in English. You grinned, bouncing inside tugging Taehyung by his hand excitedly.

"Pick a seat, little one," Taehyung cooed, nudging your back.

It was set up exactly like a restaurant on Earth and you slid yourself into a booth, grinning. Taehyung took the spot across from you, lounging back as he looked at the menu. You followed his lead and opened the menu yourself. Eyes wide, you realized you were able to read everything.

"Hey...It's in English!" you muttered, eyes scanning over the words. They were translated underneath into what Taehyung could understand ― the characters and symbols lost on you.

"Yeah it's the only place around here that does it," he shrugged, "I figured you might enjoy that."

"You're..." you grinned, shaking you head, "You're so thoughtful, Tae. I really appreciate it."

He shrugged, though you could see that his ears were tinged red.

You both ordered drinks and food, the atmosphere dissolving into one of calm company. You both chatted idly about anything ― Taehyung asking a lot of questions about Earth and him trying to teach you the different characters for his alphabet. He gave up when you just couldn't get a hang of it ― teasingly calling you illiterate and cooing when you pouted.

"Hey Tae," you muttered, picking at the salad you had ordered. He hummed, mouth full of some type of steak ― though the meat was of a consistency that made your stomach turn, "How did you learn to speak so...casually?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, sipping his soda.

"You know..." you blushed, realizing the question wasn't really something to ask over the dinner table, "When you talk you use a lot of slang terms. Like...in bed," You whispered the last word and picked at your salad again.

"Oh," Taehyung chuckled, "See, I have a friend who has been to Earth a few times. He has a lot of...interesting material that he let me read. And he kind of taught me some popular slang on Earth."

"You didn't have to go to so much effort, Taehyung," you whispered, although you were grinning. Your heart fluttered in your chest nonetheless.

"I wanted to," he suddenly set a hard gaze on you, "I want you to like me and I want you to feel comfortable around me. I want to be good for you."

"Tae..." you reached across the table and cupped his hand in yours, "I already like you very much. You make me feel comfortable and you make me feel very happy."

He grinned, looking away from you shyly but squeezed your hand tightly.

The walk home was peaceful, you found yourself wrapping your arms around one of Taehyung's ― wanting to be close to him. He didn't seem to mind in the slightest, squeezing your hand tightly and staring down at you with sparkling eyes. It felt like he looked at you like you hung up the moon ― it made you feel fluttery inside.

"Do you want to come inside, Tae?" you asked, opening your front door.

He hesitated for just a moment before stepping inside. He kicked his boots off along with you, watching as you tucked both of them away in the corner. You went to your bedroom to change into something comfortable ― settling on some pajama pants and an oversized sweater. When you walked back out, Taehyung was sitting at your desk looking at your computer.

"What's this?" he gestured to your setup with your camera.

"It's where I record the logs needed to send back to Earth," you explained, "I update my superiors every week on things that are happening. When I learn something new about the culture or something interesting happens."

"Interesting," he muttered, sitting there for a moment before standing up and navigated over to your couch.

You dropped into the seat beside him and molded yourself against his side. He wrapped his arm around you and pressed a kiss against the top of your head. The silence was comfortable and you rested your head on his chest ― listening to his heartbeat.

"Hey Tae?" he hummed, looking down at you when you looked up at him, "Can I have a kiss?"

His gaze softened and he quickly leaned down to press his lips against yours. He went to pull away but you followed him, pulling him into a deep kiss making him moan. Swinging your leg over his lap, you straddled him boldly. He seemed surprised by it but didn't say anything, just moving his lips against yours.

"Tae," you whispered against his lips, "I want to touch you, please?"

"_____― " he pulled away from the kiss, pushing you back slightly by your shoulders.

"You keep saying I can't handle it, but I can!" you argued, pouting at being pushed back.

"I don't want to hurt you, _____," his brows came together in a deep furrow, "It wasn't just talk when I said you couldn't handle it. It's too much, you're too...small."

"It turns you on though doesn't it?" you teased, noticing how he was growing hard beneath you, "Can't we at least try, Tae?"

"I-I..." his head fell back when you ground against him, "Fuck, we can try."

You held in a squeal of joy when he scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the bedroom. He dropped you on the bed and stripped his shirt off.

It was the first time seeing him naked and you sat up to admire his body. He was fit, as you expected. His stomach was flat with a small trail of hair leading beneath his jeans. On his shoulders were patches embedded in his skin that reflected off the dim light of your bedroom.

"What..." you sat up on your knees, brushing your fingers over them. It felt like normal skin, and you hummed in wonder.

"They're...light-sensitive patches that we just...never evolved out of," he explained, "They were useful for survival when we dominated the deserts. Now they're just...here."

"Interesting," you muttered, trailing your hand down his chest and stomach to the button on his jeans.

Before you could flick it open, however, he grabbed your wrist and pinned you back to the bed. His gaze was dark, making you shiver underneath it. He smelled wonderful and you reached up with your free hand to brush his bangs out of his eyes.

"You've got another thing coming if you think you'll get anywhere near my cock before I think you're good and ready, little one," he growled, making your thighs clench at the sound.

You whined when he rushed to discard your clothes, not wasting a single second in getting you bare for him. He palmed himself through his jeans as he looked down at you, licking his lips.

"So pretty," he whispered, smoothing his hand down your body. Smirking, he pinched one of your nipples to hear the way you whined, "Spread your legs for me."

You hurriedly did as you were told, shame and inhibitions thrown out the window. You felt nervous under his gaze but with every compliment and soft touch ― you began to feel better. Mouth falling open, you gasped when his fingertips brushed against your folds.

"You're so wet," he mumbled, more to himself, "Are you always so wet, baby?"

"Y-You're the only one ― "

"I know that but when you touch yourself, pretty baby," he glanced up when you tensed, "I know you do. Tell me do you get this wet?"

"O-Only when I think of you," you admitted before you could think twice about it. You felt your cheeks burn at your own admission but Taehyung cursed and grunted as he squeezed his cock.

"You're such a good girl," he praised, fingertips trailing up your body again. Goosebumps ignited across your skin and you arched your back to get more of the feeling of his touch.

His fingers eagerly dipped back between your thighs to find your entrance. You whimpered when he immediately slipped a single digit inside. It felt nice but unfulfilling.

He pulled his finger out and circled it over your clit ― using your own juices to lubricate the movement. You hummed, eyes fluttering as he circled the bud several times. When your thighs began to tense, he pushed his finger back inside.

He continued the teasing until you were whining beneath him. Suddenly he pressed his thumb against the bud, circling and pressing against it relentlessly.

"I'm gonna cum!" you warned, your eyes squeezing shut.

"Go ahead, pretty baby," he urged, not pausing in his torture of your clit.

You came quickly, arching and trembling on the bed. Your cunt was empty, gushing and clenching around nothing. His touches on your clit slowed until they stopped all together.

You figured he'd give you a moment to recover but, he was suddenly sliding two fingers inside you. You were so wet from your orgasm, your cum slicking down his fingers and onto the bed. You sobbed, grinding your hips into his touch. He didn't try touching your clit or your spot, showing that much mercy. Instead, he leaned down to envelop a perked nipple in his mouth while he scissored his fingers, stretching you a bit more.

You hummed, cupping the back of his head to keep him in place. He didn't seem to mind, beginning to fuck his two fingers into you faster.

"A-Another, please," you requested, whimpered when he immediately did so.

There was a slight, tiny burn that immediately gave way to pleasure. His palm pressed against your clit ― still so sensitive that it made you tremble. As he fucked you with his fingers, he switched to give your other breast attention.

Your hips jerked with his every movement, following the pace he'd set. Every time he brushed your g-spot and you whined, he would laugh.

He took so much enjoyment in your pleasure it was almost baffling. You were always sure that men would be selfish and unsatisfying in bed but Taehyung was nothing but attentive.

Perhaps he was right; he was better than any human man.

"Cum again for me," he purred, swiping his tongue along your chest before meeting your neck.

The feeling of his fingers and teeth on your neck had you inching closer to the edge of the abyss.

"T-Tae, please," you whined, grinding your hips down, "T-Touch me, please."

He hummed, moving his thumb to press against your clit. The simple touch set you off and you were coming once again beneath him. Your body was on fire, sweat sticking to you and making you pant. It crested beautifully and faded out into trembles and whines.

He didn't remove his fingers, instead beginning to nudge a fourth into you ― his pinky finger. His eyes met yours, keeping his eyes on your face as he stretched you further than he had before. The width of his hand was bordering on painful but you found it highly enjoyable. His thumb continued to circle your clit even as you sobbed in overstimulation. Your spasming walls eagerly accepted the new stretch and you found yourself relaxing into it.

He was quickly going to send you to another orgasm but before you could fall off the edge again, he removed his thumb. You whined, grinding your hips to chase the feeling. His eyes drifted down to where his fingers were buried into you, smoothing two of his fingers from his free hand over your folds.

"Stretched so wide," he muttered, scooping up some of your cum on the digits and popping them in his mouth. Your walls squeezed his fingers in response to his display.

He suddenly pulled his fingers out and you cried out at being empty so fast. Your walls weren't able to close properly and you closed your thighs at the feeling.

Instead of stopping you, Taehyung stepped off the bed. Your mouth went dry when he unbuttoned his jeans and began to shuffle them down his thighs.

You realized he wasn't wearing underwear when his cock popped free ― flushed incredibly red at the head and leaking precum down the shaft. He visibly shuddered when his cock was free from its confines and he quickly wrapped his hand around himself ― giving himself a few good squeezes.

He was just as big as you thought. His fingers didn't meet when wrapped around the girth. He was wider than his four fingers and so long that you found yourself whimpering at the thought of him drilling into you that deep.

"You still think you can take me, little one?" he asked, crawling on the bed to kneel in front of you still clenched thighs.

"Y-Yeah...want it," you let your legs fall open, showing him your flushed and swollen cunt.

Her cursed, tapping the fat head of his cock against your cunt. You whimpered when you saw just how big it was compared to your own pussy. He was surely going to rip you in half but damn if you wouldn't enjoy every second.

His precum mixed with your cum as he slid his shaft between your folds, getting the underside of him nice and wet. You whimpered, feeling him grinding against your clit bringing you close to the orgasm you'd been denied.

Before you could fall into it, he positioned his tip at your entrance. Prodding ever so slightly, he sighed at the feeling of your heat against him. You spread your legs wider for him as he began to press inside.

You cried out, clutching the sheets beneath you as he stretched you wide open. The head of him was so thick, bordering on painful. You reached out to stop him from going any further, gritting your teeth at the feeling.

"You're okay," he whispered, shifting back so he pulled out of you.

You breathed heavily, relaxing once more as he circled your clit with his thumb. As your eyes fluttered, he began to press back inside. You whined as he pushed past what he had been, thumb not letting up on your clit. You walls spasmed around him, making him groan as you began to tremble.

The head of him popped inside and you cried out as you were sent over the edge. Taehyung's body fell over yours, catching himself on his hands beside your head. You sobbed, tears filling your eyes at the pleasure of being stretched as you were.

Taehyung's mouth fell open as he felt you cum around the head of his cock. When you calmed down to just little sniffles and whimpers, he leaned down to press his lips against your neck.

"You okay, baby?" he whispered. You nodded, reaching up to cup his cheeks and pull him into a soft kiss.

He took that as his cue to sink further into you. The flare on the head of his cock was the thickest part of him and it felt much easier for the rest of him to slide in. He nudged your cervix and when you flinched at the pain, he pulled back slightly.

"Look at that," he chuckled looking between your bodies. Following his gaze, your eyes widened, "You can't even fit all of me inside you, little one."

He was right, you'd only managed to fit half his cock inside you. Your walls clenched around him at that.

"Feels so good, Tae," you whispered, feeling his cock twitch against your walls.

He grinned, moving his hips gently, sinking in as far as he comfortably could before pulling back out. Although he wasn't able to fit in you completely, he still found himself groaning against you

"Such a tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your jaw, "Took me so well, like a good girl."

You began to grind your hips up as he sunk into you and he growled. Sitting back on his heels, he soothed his hand over your body to soothe you.

You cursed loudly when he snapped his hips much harder into you ― testing how much you could take. When you gushed and spasmed around him, he took that as a sign to keep going. You moaned so beautifully for him, body reacting like a dream to his every touch and movement.

Cunt stretched wide and stuffed full of cock, you couldn't even think of anything else. You felt drunk, dizzy and lightheaded. Taehyung cooed when you slurred out his name, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip to collect some drool there.

"You're so cute," he grinned, breaking out into a moan when you clenched him tight, "All you can think about is my cock, huh?"

"'S so good..." you whispered, the words coming out almost breathlessly.

"I know, baby," he replied, licking his lips as he moved to his cock pounding you open wider than you should have been able to take, "You're gushing and squeezing me so nice. Are you gonna cum? Can you cum for me?"

You swallowed and nodded, whining when he hit your cervix. It hurt but it blended in with the pleasure. Mindlessly, you reached down to find your clit ― intent on sending yourself over the edge.

"No, no baby," he cooed, brushing your fingers away, "You'll cum without touching your pretty clit, yeah?"

"C-Can't," you sobbed, tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes.

"I think you can," he muttered, smoothing his hand over your lower stomach. "Fuck, look at that, babygirl."

You lazily followed his gaze to where his hand laid. Your cunt clenched at the sight of your stomach bulging every time he sunk in ― his cock literally molding you around it. You gasped, your high bubbling in your stomach.

"Wanna cum!" you cried, attempting to reach down and circle your clit again only to be stopped once more.

"I said no, little one," he snapped, pinning your hands above your head as he loomed above you, "You can do it. Cum for me."

Your body went still, focusing on the feeling of his cock filling you and stretching you. His cock was so big that he didn't even have to try to reach any good spots within you.

Astoundingly, you shrieked as your orgasm finally washed over you. Taehyung cursed in your ear, fucking you ruthlessly through the high. Distantly, you felt wetness splatter between your thighs and coat both of you. You chanted his name as you squirmed and writhed at the overwhelming pleasure.

"Shit, I'm― " Taehyung's warning was cut off by a groan.

His weight fell on you fully and he hid his face in your neck as he came. You hugged him against you, still trembling as he pumped his hot cum into you. There was so much, his cock keeping his cum plugged inside you. You gasped and twitched as you felt your stomach bloat over so slightly. You walls clenched around him, the idea of him filling you so much sending you into another quiet orgasm.

It was less spectacular than the others, but still left you gasping of air. Taehyung groaned in your ear as he felt you cum around his sensitive cock once again ― forcing a couple more spurts out of him to add.

It seemed like forever until his body finally relaxed. He continued to hold you, pressing kisses against any place he possibly could.

"That was...nice..." you muttered, making him laugh as he rolled off of you.

Your mouth fell open as he pulled his cock out ― it ached, there was no denying it. There was a gush of his cum, so much of it that it formed of pool beneath you. Your cheeks felt hot as Taehyung watched his cum pour out of your abused hole.

"Who knew my little human girl could take so much?" he teased, enjoyed the way you squirmed in embarrassment, "Want to take a shower?"

"Only if you will with me," you offered with a tired voice, watching his face morph into an expression of confusion.

"Is that some type of human thing?" he asked, sitting up and stretching his muscles.

"Apparently so," you whispered.

"Hey..." he paused from getting off of the bed. "You...you'll be here a while, right?"

"What do you mean?" you asked, clenching your thighs shut as you felt your core begin to burn and ache as you came back to yourself.

"Like...you won't have to go back to Earth any time, right?" his voice sounded small, almost fragile.

"I'll stay as long as I want to," you reassured, leaning over to kiss him but freezing before you could.

"What is it?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm just really fucking sore," you mumbled, flushing when he burst out laughing.

"Ah, my cute little human," he cooed, kissing your nose.

[lostcontrolfreak]

The Best Videos Are Hardest To Watch

Since I’m just now trying to get active on Tumblr again, I thought I would take this opportunity to post something a little different: an essay and sort of a review, in lieu of the usual fiction.

I recently completed a direct transaction with @lildiaperedsunshine, an ABDL content creator that goes by the name Chloe, after I saw on Twitter that she was offering a package deal on her videos. I wouldn’t normally be enticed by that sort of thing, because my interests are so specific that it’s hard to find more than one or two by the same model that really do it for me. Chloe is different, as I found out when she offered a similarly generous deal on simple custom videos last summer, and I took a chance on commissioning one.

I never would have thought of doing that otherwise. I’m not financially well-off, so it’s impossible to justify most models’ rates when all I want out of a custom video is a few minutes of play-acting dialogue. It’s also nearly impossible to tell who’s capable of delivering that dialogue effectively. I’ve found fetish porn to be extremely inconsistent in terms of both quality of acting and understanding of the subject matter.

What little I’d seen of Chloe led me to believe that she understands certain aspects of ageplay better than most. I was not prepared for how correct I was. Neither was I prepared for how exciting it would be just to ask a model to bring my fantasy to life. I fear that if I were to raise my income a bit, I would want to do that every time I posted an especially affecting caption or story here on Tumblr.

I don’t know if this is part of the appeal of customs for other people, but I found the process of ordering one to be pleasantly nerve-wracking. Even though it’s just a few direct messages with someone who’s probably heard it all before, it still feels like a risk to lay out the details of your fantasy for a stranger. It’s not unlike holding a crush’s hand for the first time, or like how I imagine it would feel to ask a spouse or partner if they’re willing to do that one thing in the bedroom that really drives you wild… You know the thing.

My only instructions for Chloe were to imagine herself scolding someone for having, risking, and/or hiding a series of accidents. She cheerfully accepted the request, and then I was left to wait for it to be filmed and delivered. It took a few days, and for that whole time, whenever I thought about what I was waiting for, my heart fluttered a little.

The element of delayed gratification added so much to the experience. I literally felt like a little kid who had been sent into the corner to await the arrival of an authority figure, knowing full well that I was in trouble but not knowing exactly how it would play out. Then, when I got the link to download the video, it just loomed over me like a disciplinarian waiting patiently for me to be the first one who breaks the silence.

It took me several more days before I actually watched it. Partly, I was just waiting for the opportunity to enjoy it properly. Partly, I was still enjoying letting the anticipation build. It was like the slow ascent of a rollercoaster. It’s possible I was already blushing before I hit play, and when I did, the very first words out of Chloe’s mouth sent me right over that peak and made my stomach drop.

She stood center-frame with her hands held behind her back and a cryptic smirk on her face, and let her gaze shift as if looking me over and then looking away thoughtfully while she began: “You know, I think we need to, uh… have a conversation.”

And with that, I could feel my soul leaving my body. Five seconds in and I was already dead. This was exactly what I’d wanted to hear: the casual but authoritative tone that evokes a sense of shame without really trying to do so. Then over the next twenty seconds, it got even better because Chloe took that time to pretend like she was responding to a futile effort at playing dumb: “What do you mean about what? I think you know what I want to talk about.” She leaned toward the camera and affected a note of mockery. “Come on. Think a little harder.”

At this point I’ve been resuscitated only to die again. Denial and evasiveness are hugely appealing as expression of the power dynamic in many of my ageplay fantasies. But I hadn’t even specified that in my instructions for this video. Either I just got extremely lucky, or Chloe implicitly understood the effect that it can have when a ‘little’ is allowed to sit with the quiet dread of discovery for a few moments before their ‘big’ really takes charge.

Those kinds of little nuances are missing from almost all of the content I’ve purchased. And most of it also goes too far in one direction or the other, toward the saccharine sweetness of a doting mommy or the aggressive condemnation of a dominatrix. As I suspected she might be, Chloe was tone-perfect for the entire five-minute runtime of my custom. And frankly, because of it, it took me a few weeks to watch the entire thing.

I… didn’t make it the first time, and was left so emotionally overwhelmed that I found it difficult to revisit. Even now, the thumbnail image for that video makes me feel strangely nervous, and I can’t seem to play it without instinctively averting my eyes, but I also can’t help but dutifully absorb the scolding.

In a crowded landscape of fetish models, Chloe is the only one I know of who occupies my Goldilocks zone. The only femdom content that’s “just right” for me is the kind that demeans me without making me feel like garbage, and lets me feel little without making me feel like I’ve given up my claim to adulthood altogether.

I suspect I’ll get at least some of the same feelings out of the pre-made content I’ve just purchased from her, and if that’s something that you, my followers, are interested in, you should consider purchasing some, too. Check out her Clips4Sale. See if she’s still offering a bulk discount on Twitter. Follow her on Tumblr so maybe she’ll post here more. And just… give her the money I think she deserves.

[yummyyume]

Of Love and Sunlight - Part 01

I’m cleaning my maribat folder, so have another thing I wrote and never got around to post. There will be three parts, but the last one hasn’t been written yet, so you’ll get it eventually. 

Hope you all like it!

Tittles are adapted from Sunlight by Hozier, because I love this song and I didn’t have any idea how to name this series. 

I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors, English is not my first language. I hope it’s still intelligible.

Taglist: 

@alysrose-starchild @vixen-uchiha

If you wish to be added to or removed from the taglist, you can PM me. I’m still not sure how it works. (I think there’s a limit to how many people you can tag?)

.

.

.

A buried and burning flame

.

Marinette meets Damian first.

She’s been apprenticing under Audrey Bourgeois for a couple years when she finally gets around to take a business class. She’s determined to build her own fashion business and working under the Style Queen has only reinforced her desire to be in charge of her own brand.

The fashion world is cutthroat, she couldn’t afford to decline Audrey Bourgeois’ apprenticeship offer, but she has had enough of the Bourgeois to last her a lifetime. And now that Chloe has graduated, she’s more often than not in New York with her mom and dealing with two Bourgeois in one day is more than Marinette is willing to do. She endures for now, but the moment she can, she’s running away and never looking back.

It may happen sooner than she had planned actually, because her customer base has been growing steadily since she was fifteen thanks to Jagged and apprenticing under Audrey has made the quality of her work increased exponentially. Even when the apprenticeship ends, Marinette won’t be left adrift. She has commissions planned for the next few months and her portfolio has never look so perfect.

The only thing she really needs now is a solid plan to build her business into a proper fashion house. She wants to see MDC amongst the Big Names of Fashion. So, a business course, no matter how boring it may seem, is what she needs.

Marinette doesn’t realize who she’s sitting next to until two girls cornered her just as she’s about to sit down, a month into the course.

“Aren’t you tired of keeping him for yourself? He’s obviously not interested!” The blond one sneers.

Marinette blinks up at her, distracted from the flower design she was slowly mapping for her next dress. The blond reminds her far too much of Chloe and Marinette already feels a headache building.

“Who?” She asks, nonetheless.

“Damian Wayne!” The brunette hisses, sounding almost scandalized that Marinette has to ask.

Marinette blinks again. She’s going to have to disappoint the poor girl again, because she has absolutely no clue who they’re talking about.

“Who?” She repeats.

“Me,” someone says from behind the two girls, making them jump in surprise before they swirl around with a look close to horror.

“Be gone,” he says in such a cold voice that Marinette almost feels bad for the girls. Almost. All her patience is spent dealing with Chloe and Audrey, she has none left for Chloe wannabes.

The two girls disappeared to the other side of the amphitheater without another backward glance.

The young man with exquisite bone structure, warm brown skin and green eyes who just talked, takes the seat next to her looking quite bored with the whole drama.

Marinette had noticed that he was beautiful weeks ago and that she wouldn’t mind dressing him up if ever given the chance, but again, she had far too much going in her life to really take the time to ogle her table neighbor.

“You’re famous?” She blurts out. She can see it, he’s the kind of handsome that people love to see on tabloid covers. With broad shoulders, a slim waist, and legs for days, he’s the kind of man Marinette wishes she could afford to model for her. She unfortunately doesn’t quite have the means for a professional photo shoot yet.

“Of a sort,” Damian answers coolly. He hesitates a second, before continuing. “My father is Bruce Wayne.”

It takes Marinette a minute to place it.

“Oh right! From Wayne Enterprise, in Gotham, right?” She smiles and offers her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Marinette.”

“Charmed,” he replies, shaking her hand firmly, before purposefully turning to face the front of the class and ignoring her.

Marinette internally shrugs. If he doesn’t want to be friend, she’s not going to force the issue. She has already enough famous people to deal with. She doesn’t need to add another one who is not even interested.

Opening her sketch pad to a new page, she goes back to mapping the flower design she was imagining before she was interrupted.

.

In the following weeks, Marinette realizes that she may have been wrong about her assessment of Damian Wayne.

Once she has proven she isn’t going to schmooze up to him, she’s apparently been placed in the category of friendly acquaintances. In no time at all, he knows she’s taking the business course in order to build her own fashion empire, that she’s apprenticing under the Style Queen and that she personally knows plenty of famous people like Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, or even Prince Ali of Achu, and she’s not counting all the other celebrities she had never met but who have commissioned her through Jagged, so Bruce Wayne’s son isn’t all that impressive to her.

The fact that she hadn’t recognized him seems to both pleased him and disgruntled him in equal measures.

But for all the things Damian has managed to weaseled out of her, she still doesn’t know him all that much, so she takes the initiative to invite him out.

“Uncle J is playing the Madison Square Garden in two weeks and asked me how many tickets I wanted, do you want to come?”

Damian actually looks surprise at her invitation.

“I am already romantically involved with someone,” he tells her a bit stiffly, his eyes burning into her own and daring her to say anything about it. Too bad for him, Marinette has faced far scarier things than her classmate.

“I’d love to meet them! Should I ask Jagged for three tickets?” She asks with a bright smile.

Damian visibly deflates at her question, before nodding.

“Yes, please, Marinette. Jon will probably cry if he learns I let go of the opportunity to attend a Jagged Stone concert.”

“Great!” She exclaims, taking out her phone to text her honorary uncle. “So, his name is Jon? How long have you two been together?”

“Two years. But I’ve known him since we were eleven.”

Marinette has to bite her bottom lip to resist the urge to coo. Damian wouldn’t like that. At all.

.

Jon, when Marinette meets him the day of the concert, is nothing like she imagined. He reminds her an overexcited puppy who is so sweet and in love with Damian, it’s enough to give her cavities. Damian, on the other hand, has never looked so soft than when he’s holding hand with his boyfriend.

By the end of the concert, Marinette has both Jon’s and Damian’s phone numbers added to her small list of contacts and Jon has invited her to join the both of them on their expedition to try all the restaurants in New York. Yes, all the restaurants of New York City.

But even though Marinette is going to end up third-wheeling their dates, she can’t find the strength to say no. She doesn’t really have friends in New York, and she misses that. Even Damian, looking soft and warm, tells her he’d like if she’d come, and really what can she do but accept? 

[otonymous]

⚠️ PSA: Everybody Hurts (When People Repost)

Hello @thebestaqua32​,

Thank you very much for your Ask.  I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the fact that you are reaching out to ask me for permission before actually doing so.  Unfortunately, I do NOT allow my work to be reposted by anyone other than myself, on any platform, whether it is Wattpad, Instagram, Twitter, etc.

What follows is by no means directed towards you, dear @thebestaqua32​, but I thought I’d take this opportunity to talk about something many creators (writers and artists alike) have been dealing with for a while now, and me, myself, recently.

Over the course of the past 3-4 weeks, I have found instances of my work being reposted to no less than 3 different platforms, once with attribution in difficult to see fine print with no links back to the original source of my work, and twice with absolutely no credit at all.  As you can probably imagine, it was quite upsetting to me that pieces I’ve worked so incredibly hard on was being distributed in such a manner, and a lot of time and energy was expended in order to rectify the situation — time and energy that could’ve been otherwise used to create more content for my lovely readers and followers.

Unfortunately, reposting without permission from authors and artists is a common occurrence, and some may not realize the damage doing so can inflict.  I seek here to try to explain why reposting in this manner hurts everybody, not just the content creator.

Argument #1: 

“How can I possibly hurt someone by reposting their work?  The more likes and comments I generate on this post of mine just means I’m giving them free publicity!”

This is something I’ve heard many reposters say in defence of their actions, and while publicity is definitely a good thing for content creators, that is only the case if the people consuming a piece could be bothered to check its original source — that is, if exposure is a guarantee of user traffic being driven back to the creator’s website, social media accounts, etc.  And oftentimes, especially in this digital age of “see it and forget it” fast-consumption, most cannot be bothered to do so — the action that is one-step removed proves to be too much of an effort, even if it is merely clicking a link.

Please also consider this: many creators depend on commissions to make a living.  This avenue of revenue has only become more important in current times because we are in the midst of a pandemic.  People are literally relying on these funds to pay their rent and feed and support themselves and their families.  The ability of a creator to support themselves is thus dependent on the size of their fan base or their numbers of followers.  If people cannot be bothered to check the original source of a piece of writing or artwork, this essentially cuts down on their potential earnings.  You cannot commission a piece from someone or support them if you don’t know of their existence.

This is especially so if things are reposted without proper credit at all, as was the case with one of my works.  The worst part was that the stolen piece was taken from a project where the proceeds from all commissions were being donated to charity.  In doing so, the thousands of people who liked this post had no way of finding out about this charity project, which means that even if they would’ve been interested in donating, they would not have known how.  In essence, this translated to less money being raised to help those who really needed it in dire times.

So please, please, please do not think that the act of reposting hurts no one because that is simply not the case.  There needs to be a direct link between people that engage with the content and the creator, which is why reblogging on Tumblr is excellent (feel free to reblog any of my content here if you wish, dear @thebestaqua32​) and retweeting (without quotes!) on Twitter is great.  These are among the best ways to support us!

Argument #2: The act of reposting could potentially contribute to the decline of a fandom.

Imagine you spent hours, days or even weeks working on something — pouring your heart and soul into a piece — and when you finally shared it to the world, not much happened.  Maybe you got a few likes here or there, a couple of comments if you were very lucky.  How would you feel?  What conclusion would you draw?  Some might feel discouraged, others might stop creating altogether.

Imagine then, that same post receiving tons of comments and likes and legitimate shares because someone with a bigger following reposted it on their own social media account without your knowledge.  Imagine what you would’ve done with this information — the feeling that others loved and enjoyed your work and wanted to see more.  Perhaps it might’ve encouraged you to continue creating.

Case in point:

I wrote this letter.  And if I weren’t alerted to the existence of this post, I would’ve never known that thousands of others had liked my work.  Also, that’s 124 comments I didn’t get the chance to read.  Furthermore, this was a piece that was written for the charity project.  Imagine how many potential donors we might have received if people knew about its source.

Feedback is absolutely crucial to creators.  It enables us to discover what others did and did not like.  Not only can it serve as a compass of sorts to guide our artistic progress and work (and create pieces that can cater to the needs and desires of those who consume it), it is also a point of communication between members of a given fandom.  It builds community.  And without a strong sense of community, a fandom flounders and could eventually fizzle out.

Without content creators, there is very little for people to consume.  Please support all of us by not reposting our work, especially without our knowledge and/or permission.

With that being said, please accept a giant THANK YOU from me to you for reading till the very end.  It is very much appreciated. 🙏🏻💕

[parkerslatte]

Years Passed [Chapter Three]

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Part Summary: After Spencer asks Y/N our for coffee, the two share about their unlucky love lives.

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of maeve, mentions of surgery

previous chapter / next chapter

Years Passed Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist

***

CHAPTER THREE: CASE CLOSED

In the days following since Spencer showed up at Y/N’s apartment, she had been quite lonely. Harper’s school had started back up so she was gone the majority of the day leaving the house in silence. The constant giggles of her daughter were absent for six of the twenty four hours. Of course, Y/N took this as an opportunity to finish a commission she had been working on these last few weeks. The smell of paint was evident in the air causing Y/N to open all the windows around her. Y/N enjoyed painting very much but she missed the smaller version of her by her side, questioning everything she did and copying it to her best ability. 

The slip of paper that Spencer’s phone number was written on was sitting not too far away from Y/N and she would find herself occasionally glancing over to it. She did want to call Spencer but she didn’t want to seem too eager, and besides, he was working a case, there was no way he had the time for her. 

Seeing Spencer again wasn’t exactly on Y/N’s bucket list. Ever since she moved back six months ago, she hadn’t run into him once and he never even crossed her mind. However, once she saw him just days ago, she thought about him at least once a day. None of the thoughts were exactly bad, she just wondered if he had a family. If he was still interested in the same thing he was thirteen years ago. If he was the same Spencer she loved thirteen years ago. Shaking her head clear of any thoughts of Spencer, Y/N continued to paint the canvas that stood in front of her while softly singing along to the music that drowned out the silence. 

Y/N had only been painting for what she guess was another fifteen minutes before her phone started to ring from across the room. Groaning, as she had just gotten into a rhythm of painting, she walked over and looked at the caller ID. The number didn’t have a name but she recognised it - it was Spencer’s number. 

“Hello?” Y/N answered. 

“Hi, Y/N. It’s Spencer.” 

“Spencer, hi. What’s up?” 

“I was just calling because we caught the guy who abducted Ava.” Spencer said. 

“That’s good. Is she okay?” Y/N questioned quickly.

Spencer paused, “She’s alive, she’s in hospital currently. If we didn’t get to her in time there was a chance that she wouldn’t make it.” 

“But she is alive.” Y/N clarified.

“Yes, and the doctors say that she will make a recovery.”

“Thank god.” Y/N said, placing her hand over her heart. 

“You okay?” Spencer questioned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad that Ava is okay.” Y/N replied. 

“We all are.” Spencer responded. 

The two fell into a long silence, normally if this happened someone would hang up however neither of them did. Y/N wanted to say something but she didn’t know what to say. She did want to continue speaking to Spencer but she didn’t exactly know how to approach the topic. Luckily she didn’t have to say anything. 

“Do you want to go and get coffee, um, with me?” Spencer asked.

“Um, sure, when?” Y/N asked, suddenly feeling a weight lift off her chest.

“Now? Only if you’re not doing anything, if you are we could always reschedule and have coffee another time.” Spencer rambled.

Y/N couldn’t help but let a small smile appear on her face, “Coffee sounds great Spencer, text me where.”

“Okay, okay, I will, I’ll see you soon Y/N.” Spencer replied, suddenly sounding perkier.

“See you soon.” Y/N responded before hanging up 

***

As Y/N stepped through the doors to the cafe, she immediately looked around for Spencer. She found him sitting at the back corner of the cafe. As their eyes met, a wide smile spread across Spencer’s face as Y/N began to walk over. When she was finally standing at the table Spencer’s gaze didn’t move from Y/N for a second. 

“Hi.” Y/N greeted with a smile. 

“Hi.” Spencer responded, his smile that Y/N could recognise anywhere still evident on his face. 

Y/N sat in the seat across from Spencer and got comfortable. Once she looked down she noticed that there were two cups of coffee on the table.

“I don’t know if you still like your coffee like that but if you don’t I can always get you another cup.” Spencer said nervously.

Y/N smiled, touched at the simple action, “You still remember my order?”

Spencer felt his face heat up slightly, “Yeah, I do.”

Y/N smiled at him, causing Spencer to clear his throat, “So how have you been?” He asked, changing the subject.

“I’ve been good,” Y/N responded, “I’ve been settling in since I moved back here six months ago from England. Normally I would settle in quicker but Harper took a little longer to adjust.” 

“Why did you move back?” Spencer asked curiously.

“I loved living in England but being away from my family and friends was always hard and I couldn’t exactly afford to keep coming back and I couldn’t keep taking Harper out of school to have a small holiday to visit her family. I wanted her to get to know them in person not just through a screen,” Y/N explained, “Harper has loved being around her family since we moved.”

“She seems great,” Spencer said, “Harper that is.”

Y/N smiled at the thought of her daughter, “She is. Harper is the greatest thing to ever happen to me, I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“How old is she?” Spencer asked, genuinely interested.

“Seven, she’s eight in a couple weeks,” Y/N said, “I can’t help but feel a little sad about it. Like I know she’s going to grow up but these years seem to have flown by. I feel like it was only a week ago she learnt how to walk, now she’s practically running everywhere,” Y/N was lost in thought for a quick moment before she snapped herself out of it, “Anyway, that’s enough about me for now, how’s the FBI been treating you?”

“It’s been treating me fine.” Spencer said, the grin on his face faltering.

Y/N narrowed her eyes momentarily, “Are you sure? I may not be a profiler Spencer but I can tell that you’ve been through a lot,” Y/N said as Spencer made eye contact, “You wanna know how I know that?” Spencer nodded slightly, “It’s your eyes, they used to be so innocent, now they’re filled with sadness.”

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking eye contact, “I, um, I’ve seen a lot and I’ve been through a lot.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through,” Y/N said sympathetically, “Thirteen years working for the FBI. I can’t even wrap my head around how long it’s been.”

“Me neither,” Spencer agreed, “You have a sadness in your eyes too.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N questioned.

“You have sadness in your eyes too,” Spencer repeated, “The only time it disappeared was when you were talking about Harper.”

Before Y/N could stop herself, she nodded her head, confirming Spencer’s comment, “I do. For the last eight years everyone has commented on it - around this time of year too.”

Spencer could tell that Y/N was abou to tell him why she felt the way she did but he was quick to interrupt her, “You don’t need to tell me Y/N.”

“No, it’s fine, seriously, practically everyone knows,” Y/N said before taking a deep breath, “My husband and Harper’s father, Owen, well he was in an accident and had to have surgery. We were told that there was a seventy-five percent chance the surgery would be successful. It was successful for the most part, he was like himself, always around Harper, playing with her.” 

Y/N found herself smiling at the memory of Harper playing with her father, “However, after a couple of weeks, he began to find himself getting more tired than usual. He just thought that it was the stress of work but he began to get worse to the point that he couldn’t get out of bed without him being in constant pain.” Y/N stopped her story for a moment, she never had a problem explaining this story before, but being the time of year it was, she was having a hard time.

“He was on so much medication just so he could actually walk around. Both of us knew that he didn’t have long left. I never wanted to make peace with that, I kept denying the inevitable saying that he was going to get better and we would be the happy family I always wanted. Deep down I knew that would never happen but I couldn’t help but lie to myself,” Y/N took a deep breath, by now her eyes were glossy with tears. 

“The one thing Owen wanted was to make it to Harper’s first birthday,” Y/N said, “He died four days before.”

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Spencer said sincerely, he contemplated reaching across the table to take her hand and give her a bit of comfort but thought better of it. 

“It’s okay,” Y/N said, “Normally when I tell people about Owen, I don’t normally get this upset about it, at least I don’t anymore. But since it’s coming up to the anniversary of his death, I guess I just can’t help myself from feeling this way. Sorry for dumping all of that on you, I don’t know why I did it.”

“Y/N, it’s fine, seriously.” Spencer said. 

Y/N gave Spencer a tight lipped smile, “So what about you Spencer Reid, do you have a family?”

Spencer shook his head, “If you mean an actual family as in a wife and kids, I don’t.”

“Why’s that? Do you ever want a family?” Y/N asked.

Spencer nodded, “I’d like nothing more in the world,” He said, “You don’t mind if I talk about something personal do you?”

“I mean I just did so I’m sure it’s perfectly reasonable for you to share too.” Y/N said.

Spencer cleared his throat before speaking, “Well a few years ago I had a girlfriend, Maeve. She was being stalked so we only communicated through phone calls,” Spencer began to explain, “We never saw each other but I fell in love with her. The only time I saw her was when she was killed in front of me by her stalker,” Spencer paused, “I thought that when we could eventually see each other then we could start a family, get married, have kids. Of course that could never happen but I could only think of what would’ve been.”

“I’m sorry Spence,” Y/N said, unconsciously reaching across the table and gently placed her hand on top of his. Neither Y/N nor Spencer thought any different of it and Spencer squeezed her hand as a silent thank you. 

“I haven’t really felt a connection to anyone after Maeve, not enough to fall in love with.” Spencer said.

Y/N nodded in agreement, “Ever since Owen died, I haven’t really had a long term relationship, none of them lasted more than a few months at most. Some of them just thought of it as a fling, some of them couldn’t handle the responsibility of being a parent and some of them were scared off by the thought of me being a mother.”

“You’ll find the right person eventually.” Spencer said.

“And you will too Spencer, and you’ll get to start your family.” Y/N said, offering a small smile to which Spencer returned with one of his own.

Looking down at her phone, Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, “Is that the time? I’ve got to go now, I need to pick Harper up from school.”

“Of course.” Spencer said, removing his hand from Isla’s after he had noticed that they were still connected. 

Y/N stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder before turning back to Spencer, “This was fun, we should do it again soon but I’m buying the coffee next time.”

Spencer let out a quiet chuckle, “That’s only if you’re here before me.”

“Oh I will be,” Y/N said, “I’ll see you soon Spence.”

Y/N gave him a parting smile before turning and walking out the cafe to go and pick up her daughter.

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@spenxerslut @averyhotchner @drayshadow @moviequeen51 @spencer-reid-am-i-right @ssavanessa22 @amurderofcrowsinatrenchcoat @mbjackie @jklemps @reformedmoneyshovel @nomajdetective @jesuisbenny @jooniehomie @spencerreid-187 @onyourfingertips @uhuhuh @rubyhi208-42 @archer561 @c0rpsecore @sweetandsunny @zoeygraygubler @algonsa @jswessie187 @shemarmooresfedora @kaz-2y567 @alfonsais @aikrus @nani-2305 @death-becomes-her @sarejane @isabelle-558 @measure-in-pain @the-nerd-gang @manuosorioh @luredwithpretzels @ceeellewrites @totallyclearwitch @jekkles @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @sarahpaulsonlov3r @periwinklemax @kuolonsyoja @heartmira @hoodpankow @parahmur @happymangospot @beepbooptoop @ilovespencerreidmarryme @spencesoulmate25 @bloodyxheaven @nyx2021 @morganwilliams @malindacath @pastelbabygirl19 @doctorspenceryeet @reidsbookclub @pinkdiamond1016 (will be continued in reblog)

SERIES TAGLIST

(Will be added in reblog)

[ikeromantic]

My Favorite Place

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, Approx. 2600 words. This scene takes place after the romantic epilogue and completely inside my head. Fluff!

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Lunches with Friends

The letter from Sasuke arrived on the same day Mitsuhide planned to speak with Nobunaga - to request permission to take his little one on a journey.

The timing of the ninja’s reply could not be better. His letter said the passage 'home' would be open in less than a month’s time, ‘assuming calculations are correct.’

He also went on to say he was uncertain how regular these passages would be. And that he didn’t recommend travel unless all parties were committed to the destination.

An interesting wrinkle in Mitsuhide’s plans. He did not want to be caught, 500 years from all his plans, his allies, his work. It struck him then that this was what his little mouse had done. Perhaps not purposely, not when she left. But she’d chosen - for him - to abandon all she knew and held dear. How could he shrink at the possibility of doing the same for her?

These thoughts swirled through him as he mounted the steps of the tenshu. He did his best to bottle them up when he reached the door. In dealing with Nobunaga, he must have a clear mind.

Mitsuhide knocked lightly. The door opened.

His little mouse stood there, looking quite surprised to see him.

He smiled at her, hiding his own surprise. She’d gone out shopping today, or so Kyubei told him. Either his vassal was slipping or the chatelaine was improving her skill at misdirection. “Little one. I see you arrived ahead of me.”

Mitsuhide studied her expression. She looked pleased. Her cheeks were pink, eyes bright. His gaze passed her into the room beyond. Nobunaga sat, his newest tea set in use on the table. Ranmaru stood nearby, head down. The kitsune warlord wondered what transpired, but he knew he would get it from his little one later, if nothing else. She couldn’t dissemble well enough to avoid his direct questions.

“I . . . didn’t realize you were dropping by too! We could have had tea together.” She fiddled with the tie on her obi.

“Yes. We could have. I was under the impression you were in town. How silly of me.” Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow.

His little one had the grace to blush. “Ah, well, I am going to town. Now. To shop.” She looked down.

Mitsuhide chuckled. She was still so very innocent, even when she tried to be tricky. He cupped her cheek and gently raised her head to look at him. “Then allow me to kiss you goodbye.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Slowly, savoring the moment he felt her relax into his touch, responding with her mouth, her body.

She took a step closer to him, and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Mmm,” Mitsuhide smiled as he pulled back from her. “I will see you at home later. You will be back before dinner?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a tad breathless.

“Good. I am sure we will have many things to discuss.” His golden eyes shone with curiosity that would not be denied.

His little mouse nodded. “See you later, then.” She scurried past and down the stairs.

“Was that for my benefit,” Nobunaga asked dryly.

“It was for mine.” Mitsuhide entered and bowed.

Nobunaga gestured him forward. “Sit. I expected to see you today.”

“I thought you might.” Mitsuhide sat and waited quietly while Ranmaru poured tea.

“Do you have something to report?”

Mitsuhide sipped at the hot tea, considering what he did have to say, beyond requesting time absent from Azuchi. His gaze drifted to Ranmaru and then back to Nobunaga.

His lord’s eyes narrowed. “Ranmaru, you are needed in the kitchen.”

“My lord?” The page looked up, surprised.

“The kitchen,” Nobunaga repeated.

Ranmaru gave a quick bow and hurried out. He cast one look at Mitsuhide over his shoulder, a nervous glance, and then he was gone.

“Thank you my lord. I do prefer privacy for our discussions.”

Nobunaga frowned slightly. He said nothing, only waited for his warlord to continue.

Mitsuhide picked out a few gems to share. “The Aki province is not as peaceful as Hideyoshi has been led to believe. The coalition he is working on a treaty with will fall apart. They are not honest in their dealings.”

Nobunaga’s brow furrowed. “How do you know this?”

“A bit of information here, some there. I put it together. The Mouri clan will continue to defy you, I am sure. And there is more. The Ikko Ikki still have much influence among the common folk. They continue to recruit and train. It is only a matter of time before they make another attempt on your life.”

“That isn’t news so much as a certainty.” Nobunaga gestured imperiously. “They will yield or fall. I do not fear Kennyo.”

“It isn’t the demon abbot I worry about either. It is the forces that seek to use him. He was once friends with The Tiger of the Kai, and some of his followers have been seen in Sakai, speaking with foreign merchants.” Mitushide shrugged. “I cannot say what it will mean.”

Nobunaga nodded. He hadn’t forgotten their enemies in Echigo.

“I have placed some people in each camp, watching. If an opportunity arises -”

“I trust my left hand to deal with the knives at my back.” He smiled for the first time since Mitsuhide’s arrival. “But I think you came to do more than report?”

Mitsuhide bowed his head. “Perceptive as always, my lord.” He cleared his throat. “I need to be absent for a time. With my fiancee. I wish to show her Sakamoto, and to take her to the Mino province. Perhaps . . . further.”

Nobunaga was quiet for a moment. “How long do you intend to be gone?”

“A month? Likely more.”

“You would take my good luck charm and leave me one-handed, knowing my enemies surround us?” Nobunaga didn’t sound angry, only curious. He knew Mitsuhide always had some sort of plan in mind.

“Think more than your left hand will be out of sight, rather than gone.” Mitsuhide looked up.

Nobunaga regarded him with those impenetrable carnelian eyes. He was one man the kitsune warlord could never fully read. “And my good luck charm?”

“Will be in good hands.”

“And if I say no?” One brow rose in question.

Mitsuhide smiled, sharp and thin. “Have I ever betrayed you?”

Nobunaga laughed, a full throated, head thrown back guffaw. It faded to a chuckle and then just a smile. “You may go. I expect you to bring my luck charm back unharmed and in good spirits.”

He bowed again. “I will endeavor not to disappoint you.”

“You will not.” Nobunaga’s eyes were hard, though he still smiled.

Mitsuhide spent the rest of his day wondering what his lord and his lover had talked about. He could think of a dozen things. A sewing commission? Her work as chatelaine? Funds? Was there something she needed - and had she gone to Nobunaga for it? Not knowing bothered him more than he expected.

Worse, Kyubei was nowhere to be found. A fact that made him certain his vassal knew what she was up to. Of all the things Mitsuhide had expected to share with his lover, his vassal’s loyalty had not been his first thought. Not that he minded . . . much. But Kyubei’s first oath was to him.

He nearly went to Azuchi to look for the two of them. But patience was always the wiser course. Instead, he busied himself at the manor, sending missives to his castles and telling them to expect his arrival. Then, preparing his manor servants for an extended absence. They knew what to do and needed very little instruction.

Despite his attempts at distraction, he was on pins until he heard Kyubei and his little mouse return. They were laughing as they walked into the hall, his vassal’s low voice an indistinct rumble under her high, sweet chatter.

“We were lucky we -” She stopped speaking as Kyubei interrupted.

“We were! I did tell you, my lady. I expect we will need to -” His vassal stopped himself, then continued on a whole different topic. “Ready yourself for dinner with my lord. I will check on the menu. Do you need a maid?”

“No, Kyubei. I think I can handle it. Thank you, again.”

“It is the least I owe you.”

Her laugh, sweet and gentle. “You owe me nothing. But I’d like to think we’re friends now.”

“We are, my lady.”

Mitsuhide looked out in time to see Kyubei bow and leave for the kitchens. Clearly he suspected they were being listened to. What lucky thing had happened? And what did he expect they would need to do? His little one was turning into quite the conspirator. She would need to deliver herself of these secrets. Her lover had some ideas on how best to get them out of her.

He waited until she was in her rooms to approach, sliding her door open silently. She was dressed in just her underclothes, a cool, wet cloth pressed to her face. She didn’t hear him as he came in, and shut the door behind him.

Mitsuhide took advantage of the moment to see if she’d brought any packages, but there was nothing new in her room. He came up behind her and settled his arms around her waist.

His little one shrieked and leapt up. She put her foot back and tried to pull him forward, but that move only worked if he was moving that direction when she did it. Like this, it was ineffective, but he was proud of her for trying. She turned, ready to place an elbow in his ribs, and then she saw who had her.

“Mitsuhide! You - you bastard!” Her cheeks were bright pink, all the way to the tips of her ears.

“Are you angry with me, little mouse?”

“No. Yes! You scared me!”

Mitsuhide chuckled. “And are you still afraid?”

She shook her head. “Just mad at you.”

“Oh? Then I will have to make it up to you.” He bent down to kiss the nape of her neck. “I cannot bear for you to be angry with me.” He kissed along her neck, enjoying the little sigh of pleasure that escaped her lips.

“It’s going to t-take more than a few kisses. Tease.”

“I have much more than that in mind.” Mitsuhide sat and pulled her into his lap. He hadn’t realized how much he missed holding her until she was in his arms. His unsettled feelings faded as she nestled against his chest.

“I missed you today.”

“And I, you.” He kissed her and it made the one they’d shared at the tenshu seem a pale shadow for the warmth and passion in it. Mitsuhide stroked her back and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

They parted, reluctant and breathless. Neither said anything for awhile. And then they both spoke at once.

“What were you -”

“Why were you -”

She laughed. “You first.”

“Alright.” He shifted her to face away from him and began unpinning her hair. Mitsuhide told himself it was because she was less guarded when enjoying herself, but the truth was, he just liked the feel of it. He waited until he’d released her hair from it’s bun, and began gently combing his fingers through it, before he spoke again. “I wondered what you went to Nobunaga for. Did he summon you?”

“Mmmm, no . . . I just had to talk to him.” She sighed happily at his gentle ministrations.

“Oh? Is your lover allowed to know what you talked about?”

She gave a breathy laugh. “Are you jealous, Mitsuhide?”

“No.” He scowled. “A little.” It was more than jealousy, and less. A layered emotion. He didn’t fear that she loved someone else. No one could take her from him. It wasn’t that. It was . . . Nobunaga’s claim on her as his charm. His casual ownership of her as an Oda princess. Coming from his lord, he could accept it but if she saw herself that way . . .

“I needed to talk to him about us. I didn’t want bad feelings. He was my boss after all. Still is, I guess.” She laughed again.

“About us, little one?” His heart thudded suddenly in his chest.

She bent her head forward and took a breath. “I hope you don’t think it’s silly. I just wanted him to know I love you. And that I needed to be here with you.”

Mitsuhide froze. Of all the things he thought they might have discussed, he hadn’t thought she went to Nobunaga to have a heart-to-heart.

“Of course, I let him know I still care about him, and the others. I mean, I haven’t abandoned them - I’m still around.” She realized he wasn’t moving. “Is that alright? Mitsuhide? Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” She looked at him, worried.

He pulled her into a hug, burying his face against her shoulder. “You have no idea . . .”

She kissed him on the side of his head. “I don’t understand you sometimes. Most times, actually. I thought you might be angry.”

“I am never angry with you.” He sat up and resumed finger-combing her hair. Mitsuhide was intensely glad no one could see how easily she disarmed him. Took apart his plans and defenses and left him bare by just being so adorable.

“Is that all you wanted to know?”

“About Nobunaga, yes. How did your shopping go? Was Kyubei a help?” Mitushide was relaxed now, confident her answer would be as innocent as the first.

“Shopping went fine. Kyubei was great. He is really very resourceful.”

“Oh?” Mitsuhide began to braid her hair. His dextrous fingers were good at three and five strand plaits. It was a little like tying a bond, or ropework. But infinitely more pleasant.

“Yes. We - we found what we needed to.”

“And what was that?”

She shrugged. “Just, stuff. Nothing to be interested in.”

Mitsuhide knew deflection when he heard it. “But I am, little mouse. Did you find some new fabric? A tool for your sewing kit?”

“No . . . don’t worry about it.”

“Is it a secret?” Mitsuhide’s eyes shone. “You know how much I like teasing secrets from you.”

She wriggled in his lap, as if considering escape.

He tied off the braid with a ribbon and leaned down to nip her neck. With his lips against her ear, he whispered, “Is that what you want me to do?”

“N-no! This is - Mitsuhide - that’s not fair!” She nestled back against him as if defeated. “I’ll tell you if you really want to know. But I’d rather keep it a surprise.”

Ah, what a conundrum. He wanted to know everything about her, especially the things she wanted to hide. But he knew how hard she tried to surprise him. His gorgeous haori was the latest example, though he’d figured it out only a week into its construction.

Mitsuhide stroked his hands down her arms, soothing. “I will be patient then. Until your surprise is ready. But . . . we’ll be traveling soon. Will that be a problem?”

She made a happy squeal. “Are we going to visit your home? On a vacation?”

“Yes, love. I spoke with Nobunaga about it and he has granted us both leave.”

“I can’t wait. I want to see all your favorite places. Hear all the stories about you as a boy! Will you introduce me to your family?” She sounded so excited. It pleased Mitsuhide to no end to hear joy in her voice.

“My family has passed, but I will be glad to introduce you to those that remain. I will show you everything you might find beautiful, but you should know little one, my favorite place is wherever you are.”

Next: My Home Is Your Home

[angelz-dust]

masters of none - part 4 (jason todd x reader)

summary: after many months, we are back in action and back in reader’s head. pls enjoy these jason crumbs. if you need a refresher on the plot, the other chapters will be linked below!

word count: 3.7k

warnings: food/eating. alcohol. cursing.

part 1 /// part 2 //// part 3

gravity

ever since i ever felt ya, right there life couldn't seem better. tulip flowers in my sweater. ask me now, is this forever?

…

you rested your chin on the table before you, your arms hanging limply between your knees as you listened to your manager, dana. you were really just watching her mouth open and close while she pointed at a powerpoint. god, what you would've given for an extra hour of sleep. the all nighters in the studio were starting to take a toll. 

the feeling of the back of daisy’s soft hands brought you back to earth. the smell of cocoa butter dancing beneath your nostrils as her smooth engagement ring rolled across your cheek. you breathed in her smell, exhaling in content through your nose.

“you good?” she mouthed and you closed your eyes, giving her a little nod. the bassist rubbed her calloused fingers against your forehead, pushing strands of your hair past your hairline. you pouted when she eventually pulled away, leaving you only with the sensation of touch that once was.

you heard tyler shift in his seat and then felt some air graze against your hand. you looked under the table, noticing he was holding something out to you. you two made eye contact briefly before you scooted back in, grabbing what felt like an envelope. looking down at your lap, you saw a sticky note attached to it. jason’s money was what it said. you carefully put the envelope in your jacket pocket, sitting back in your seat now and looking at dana’s powerpoint. she was going over reports from your publicist, jerry, which you didn't particularly care about.

“now, i have to ask,” dana’s words pierced your bubble of inattention. “have you all thought about what i said about this next album?”

jordy raised his hand like a school kid. “yes?”

“y/n and i decided that we'd be okay with making our album a group project. it has been, admittedly, kinda hard and boring without everyone else. we’d honestly be doing ourselves a disservice by not doing it together,” jordy explained, dana clapping her hands together.

“wonderful,” she nodded, keeping her hands clasped. “i know you two were excited to do your own thing, but i was talking to jerry and he was really pressing me to get a group album from you guys. the people wanna see you guys as a unit of established artists, which you all are. so what's the concept? we never discussed it.”

“uh,” you verbally paused, raising your arms above your head to stretch. “disco, jazz, and funk. it's a mix of those.”

“retro is in right now,” dana nodded, pacing around the room. “how far back will this set us on a release date?”

you grimaced, leaning back in your seat, the back of the seat lightly bouncing as it absorbed your weight. you pondered the question for a moment. “if it’s gonna be a group thing, it'll have to be significantly longer. we have a decent starting off point but i'm gonna need way more songs now.”

“what about the rest of you? any tracks that we could swing?” dana asked, looking at the rest of the group. 

grabbing a pen and piece of scrap paper, you started jotting down notes as everyone spoke out to you. dex and quinton didn’t have anything, but they wouldn’t be a problem. you just needed to give them a beat to rap over and you’d be set. the twins had a finished song already that fit the concept, which was good. with tyler’s voice and aly’s excellent song writing abilities, you doubted very seriously that anything else needed to be done to it. daisy and hector had plenty of lyricless songs, too. funk and soul was their specialty, after all. misha even had a demo track she was willing to share. 

you looked over the notes you had taken, tapping your pen on the table as you hummed to yourself. “this could probably work. we’ll need to go over everything in the studio, though.”

“we should just do it now. no one is doing shit else today, right?” dex asked the group, who all shook their head. 

“i have a request,” you raised your finger, looking at dana. “i want gotham to be involved in this project.”

“gotham…” dana repeated slowly, unsure of what you meant. “care to elaborate?”

“music videos directed by student directors from gotham university, commissioning local artists for album art. dancers, actors, musicians, whatever. all of them have to be from gotham. i don't want any of the money we put into this project leaving this city,” you stated firmly, dana giving you a blank look. 

“i like that idea,” hector said, giving you a kind smile before turning to dana, shifting in his seat. the drummer was like a big brother, always backing you up in moments like these. “accessibility to the arts is really limited here and we should change that.”

“i’d rather give back to the city, too,” quinton agreed, playing with the gold cross hanging from his neck. “we’re one of the only groups in gotham known outside of gotham. we should use that as an opportunity to rep our city.”

“it sounds like you have your minds made up on this,” dana narrowed her eyes, letting out a sigh. “it would definitely be good PR.”

“because god forbid we do something out of the kindness of our hearts,” misha laughed, rolling her eyes. “we're trying to put the city on and you're worried about how it makes us look.”

“that's my job, misha. don't you want me to do my job?” dana retorted. “besides, i'm more concerned with the funding. you all don't have disposable income, believe it or not.”

“but i know someone who does,” she said with a singsong tone, giving you a look.

“i hope you're not referring to me,” you deadpanned. your income was far from disposable.

“i’m referring to our good friend, bruce wayne,” she explained, grabbing a business card out of her purse, handing it over to dana. “ever since i got invited to that charity gala, i've had a direct line to a representative with the wayne foundation. i say we ask them to help fund the project.”

“now that could work,” dana admitted, eyeing the card as she tapped her foot. “if we pitch for more youth involvement, it'll probably go over better. we all know how much bruce wayne loves saving the children.”

you frowned at how dana described bruce’s initiatives as a philanthropist. you were sure his motivations for favoring youth projects were good intentioned, considering his parents had been killed when he was just a little boy. you wanted to go into this good intentioned, too and you hoped that they'd agree. they being the wayne foundation and subsequently, bruce himself.

“ty and quinton could do something with forrester. if we’re going for the youth involvement route, i mean,” aly spoke up. 

“forrester correctional. our old stomping grounds,” quinton sighed wistfully as he patted tyler on the shoulder. “i think that would be a good idea.”

“they use the arts as an outlet for them, so it could be beneficial for everyone,” tyler nodded. “there are a lot of good kids there. just unfortunate circumstances, that’s all.”

“wasn’t one of bruce’s son’s a troublemaker before he was adopted?” aly continued, not noticing the look you and tyler shared. “i’m sure he’d probably be interested in doing something with them if his son comes from the same background.”

“it’s settled, then. you all keep working on the music. jerry and i will handle the rest. we need this album out before hector and daisy’s wedding,” dana said, grabbing her suitcase. 

…

hey, i have your money. did you still want it?

you stared down at the unsent message, your thumb floating over the send arrow. you hadn’t spoken to jason since that night after the race, as per his request. your mind kept wandering back to it, even as time still went on. what happened was scary, to say the least. fun, but scary. you wondered how the hell jason didn’t get the two of you killed. that part, you didn't want to think about too hard. everyone in gotham had their secrets and it was an unspoken rule amongst citizens to not pry. secrets were secrets for a reason. nothing good ever came from unearthing them.

speaking of secrets, you hadn't exactly told tyler and quinton what happened that night. not in detail. you conveniently left out the chase and stopping to get something to eat. omitting the first part was obvious, but the second one was for your own sanity. you didn't need them teasing you over nothing. besides, all that mattered was no one was dead or arrested. and for the way the three of you used to get down, that was a win. 

you considered texting jason earlier this week, just to check in on him, but you decided against it. he obviously wanted you to text him and you obviously had to do the opposite. his little mind game wasn’t going to work on you. you pressed send, frowning immediately as you did so.

maybe it already had.

“it’s too many people in this bitch,” dex sighed, the cold of the water bottle you had asked him for against your hand bringing you back to reality. blinking, you were suddenly very aware of the chaos surrounding you in the studio as you put your phone back in your pocket. you looked to your left, where jordy was leaning against the wall and scrolling through his phone. to your right was aly, who was scribbling in her songbook in the chair next to you. you remembered you were supposed to be working, too. “we need a new stu.”

“i’m working on it!” hector hollered from inside the booth as he and daisy were setting up equipment and instruments. you glanced up at the glass in front when you heard his voice, accidentally catching the pair share a little kiss. you quickly averted your gaze, smiling to yourself.

“new stu, new view, what it do?” quinton began to freestyle to a beat he was making on the coffee table in front of him. “off 92, posted up with southside crew.” 

“okay,” dex laughed, noddinh his head as he was vibing with the beat, making his way out of your line of sight. you heard someone, presumably tyler, join in and add some depth to the beat. it sounded like he was hitting a pencil against a shot glass.

“i got a new boo, but i’m tryna slide with misha, too,” quinton continued, dex adlibbing in the back as quinton lowered his voice to his signature melodic whisper. “on the low, nobody gotta know.”

“would you shut the fuck up?” you heard misha say, followed by a barrage of muffled smacking noises and verbal objections from quinton, who you assumed was on the receiving end of what sounded like an assault by pillow.

laughing to yourself, you leaned your head in aly’s direction, not fully facing her. “pass me the flash drive?” you held your hand out weakly. once you felt the plastic in your palm, you leaned back over and put it into the computer, pulling up the proper files. 

“we’re done back here,” daisy smiled at you, she and hector coming out from the booth. 

you clapped your hands together. “wonderful. everybody shut up, please.”

you pulled up the twin’s song and let it play, your eyes fixed on the colorful audio loops on the screen. the green ones were tyler’s vocals, the purple were aly’s. it looked like blue was reserved for instruments and red was any added sound effects or layered sounds. 

“you two sound really great,” jordy walked up behind aly’s seat, leaning against it as he swayed his head to the beat. 

“thanks. i wrote it with our mother in mind,” aly said, the words coming out of her mouth uncomfortably. you placed your hand on hers and gave it a little squeeze, which earned you a look of appreciation.

“it's missing something, though,” tyler scratched the back of his head. “i need the producer squad to give us some assistance.”

“oh, say less,” dex laughed, snapping his fingers to the beat with one hand and holding his glass of hennessy in the other. he danced his way over, taking aly’s seat as she, tyler and jordy moved to give you all some space. 

misha sauntered her way over, sitting against the table and flipping her hair over her shoulder. the smell of her sweet perfume floated in the air around you. “i think it just needs some fluffing up. some snapping might work. more vocal layering in certain spots.”

“i agree,” you nodded, dex letting out a satisfied sigh as he took a sip of his cold drink. 

“is it good?” misha asked him teasingly and he took his final swig, letting out a more dramatic and drawn out sigh. this time, though, it was on beat with the song. you were pretty sure it was unintentional on his part, since he and misha just shared a laugh before returning their attention to the screen.

after a moment of pondering, you swiveled around in your chair, looking at tyler. “okay, hear me out…”

…

two weeks of very diligent working between the nine of you had given you a lot to work with for the album. all that was left was to start putting things together. you still had a ways to go, but you had a good starting off point. as much as you hated to admit it, it was a good call on dana’s part to have you all do a group album. the fans seemed to be greatly anticipating the release and the work ethic the nine of you shared was incredible. even in that cramped little studio, you all made it work.

you all agreed to take the day off, but you were still working at some capacity. you had just traded one small space for another, working in your walk-in closet/home studio for the day. you still needed said walk-in to function as a closet, so there were still garment bags pushed up into a corner and shoe boxes haphazardly stacked, surrounding your desk that you had shoved in there. there was just enough space for you to move your chair and safely get out without twisting an ankle, a fate you often flirted with in that room.

in the spirit of your day off, you hadn't done anything too difficult. you were just trying to decide what order you wanted the completed songs to go in. it may seem like an insignificant detail, but the order was important. the transitions between songs couldn't be jarring for the listener. everything had to flow together with natural progression. at this point, it didn't matter since you weren't done with the album, but it was just giving you an idea of how to fill the gaps with future songs. 

the sound of your growling stomach indicated that it was time to stop for the day. you quickly saved all your work and headed to the kitchen. you popped some leftovers in the microwave and scrolled on twitter while you waited. the microwave beeped at you, so you set your phone back down and grabbed the bowl, mixing up the contents with your fork. the flash of light coming from your phone got your attention. a text notification.

are you home?

oh, so now he wanted to respond? cute.

despite your annoyance with the situation, you quickly responded with a yes and set the phone back down. you leaned against the counter, eating what little food you had in your reheated bowl. you mixed the contents around with your fork, grumbling. stupid jason and his stupid inability to text back. he could have at least had the decency to leave you on read. he probably didn't even have read receipts on. you weren't sure which was worse. tossing your now empty bowl into the sink, you grabbed your phone to read his next message.

i’ll be over soon. 

soon was very vague and you wished that you would've demanded an exact time, but that opportunity had passed by the time you thought about it. you busied yourself with tidying up, trying to make your place look presentable. you even lit your new candle, which you found yourself focusing your attention on while you waited for him to show up. staring at the flame was much more entrancing than you anticipated.

you heard the door buzzer go off. you weren't expecting anyone else, so it had to be him. you leaned against the wall, pressing your finger to the button.

“who goes there?” you presented the question as a joke, but your tone was a little flat.

“it’s the irs,” jason’s voice came through and you buzzed him in. 

not too long after, you heard him knock on the door. you cracked it open and the first thing you noticed was his cologne. it was a strong but pleasant scent. spicy and sweet. it was very intoxicating, actually. so much so that you almost forgot you were angry at him.

“hi.”

“hello.”

you opened the door fully and handed the envelope to him. jason eyed it suspiciously. he opened it up and began to count it out in front of you. he made an effort to do it very slow, the sound of the crisp dollars echoing in the quiet hall. his eyes stayed glued to yours as he counted out loud. you leaned against the doorframe as you watched.

“six… seven… eight,” he said, pulling out his wallet and stuffing it with the cash. “thought you would've skimmed some off the top.”

“i should have with how long you made me wait,” you said matter of factly, letting your annoyance be known now. 

“i know. i’m sorry,” he sounded honest but you couldn't see it in his face or in his eyes, which was worrisome. it was a nice alternative to listening to a sputter of excuses, though. “let me make it up to you?”

“how do you plan on doing that?”

“i’m so glad you asked,” he smiled. “as it turns out, i've recently come into some money. let me spend it on you?”

“so you like throwing money at your problems?” you asked him. well, you weren't really asking. it was more like you were telling him. 

“no,” he said, sounding a little offended. “i just thought-”

“you just thought that throwing money at me would make me forget about the fact that you ignored me for a month.”

“no, no,” he shook his head, sighing in frustration. “listen, i-”

“i really don't wanna hear it,” you said honestly, watching as his frustrated look turned into kicked puppy. you almost felt bad. “i don't like feeling stupid, jason. that's how i feel right now. i want you to make it up to me but you'll have to be a bit more creative than this.”

“you want me to make it up to you?” jason had repeated, confusion on his face. 

you poked him harshly in the chest. “you do that or you leave me alone. those are your options. goodbye.”

you shut the door in his face and let out the breath you were holding in. you weren’t sure how jason was going to react to your little ultimatum, but those were your terms. you liked him but you weren’t going to stress over someone you barely knew, especially with your assumptions about him floating around in your head. 

“i’ll be right back,” you heard him say through the door, catching you off guard. 

“what?”

“don’t go anywhere.”

you didn’t respond but you heard his footsteps getting quieter as he walked down the hall. the elevator ding indicated that he had left. you stood there, confused as to what it was he was trying to do. you were still stewing in your negative emotions, so you went and busied yourself again. you decided the dishes needed washing and got on it right away. in the middle of scrubbing the stubborn sauce stains out of your plate, you heard your door buzzer go off again. 

so he did come back after all. interesting.

you buzzed him in like you did before and waited by the door for him. he knocked and when you opened it, you were met with two gifts: a bouquet of pink tulips and a small box of something from the bakery around the corner. 

“i shouldn’t have ignored you. it was rude and stupid and i’m sorry. it won’t happen again,” he said to you, holding out the items to you. you hesitantly accepted them, taking the opportunity to look through the plastic opening of the box to see chocolate covered strawberries. 

“it better not happen again,” you pouted, looking up at him. you had to appreciate the effort he put in at such short notice. it was a sweet gesture and he actually looked sorry this time. 

“it won’t,” he assured you and you smiled.

“i forgive you. but you’re on thin fucking ice,” you reminded him and he grinned at you with a nod.

“i’m going to make it up to you. just you wait,” he said confidently. “not all of us are naturally creative like you, though. you gotta give me some time to think of something else.”

“seems like you’re getting your feet wet with the flower selection,” you noted, taking a whiff of the delicate and fresh scent. they’d look nice on your coffee table.

“lady at the shop said they would convey my sincerest apologies,” he explained, a hopeful look in his eyes. “did it work?”

“for now,” you shrugged, setting the items down on the table next to the door. 

“i can accept that.”

“you’re gonna have to because that’s all i’m giving you,” you said firmly. his charm wasn’t going to get him out of this one. not completely. “now go away. i want to eat my berries in peace.”

“i’ll text you as soon as i get the chance,” he told you as you were shutting the door. you peered at him, narrowing your eyes before shutting it again. “i’m serious!”

“goodbye, jason!” you said through the door. you heard his faint farewell as you walked away, plopping on the couch with your dessert in hand.

were you still a little mad at him? yes. but you weren’t going to pass up free stuff, even if you had made all that fuss about the money earlier. at least the gifts had some thought behind them. so long as he held up his end of the deal, you had a feeling being friends with jason wouldn’t be that bad.

hopefully, anyway.

[fairestwriting]

title: white to red

word count: 2223

summary: You’ve been invited to one of Heartslabyul’s famous Unbirthday Parties, Riddle wanted you to help him with inspecting the other dorm members’ activities even. You use that as an opportunity to get Che’nya to come so you could spend some time together, but that ends up not going too well...

commissioned by @honey-deerling , available on ao3 here ! tysm for commissioning me, i hope you enjoy this! ^_^

my guidelines for commissions are here, in case anyone else is interested

The Heartslabyul dorm’s garden is lively as ever. Blue skies blanketing over the scenery, sun shining brightly as the few, cotton-like clouds seemed to open their arms to introduce it. The wind blows gently, the leaves of the trees and bushes sway along, dancing to the lovely tune of the spring.

Following the tradition, today Riddle Rosehearts, Heartslabyul’s current crimson ruler, had picked a random date where none of the members’ birthdays took place — Today, in this case — to hold one of their famous Unbirthday Parties. And so the outdoors is decorated not only with the half-finished setup of the event, but the rush of a multitude of students.

The roses must be painted red, the queen had ordered. And so his subjects completed the task, some collared and some not, some chattering with their friends and some complaining about the ache in their limbs from reaching upwards, bringing pure white petals to bright red.

The party must be immaculate, after all. Just as the queen said.

Although in the bushes, hid a lone troublemaker, a flash of warm purple and shiny piercings on pointed ears, ready to taint the symphonic chaos of Heartslabyul’s event…

But, well, you didn’t mind that he was here. On the contrary.

He was invited.

“Prefect, have you checked on Spade and Trappola?” The crimson ruler’s voice comes into play, high heels crushing emerald-green grass. A couple years ago he might have held some papers, lists of regulations to follow for the Unbirthday Parties, but now, he knew all of them by heart.

“Hmm, not yet, no.” You respond. Riddle’s face contorts slightly, eyes narrowing. Vague displeasure. Though you’re pretty sure it’s not at you, Riddle wouldn’t have assigned you the task of helping him with the inspection if he didn’t believe you to be a responsible person. “I’m sure they’ve learned their lessons from last time, though.” You offer him a chuckle.

“That’s what we’ll see now. Would you follow me?” Riddle says, making polite eye contact. You don’t have a reason not to comply, strolling across the beautiful garden by his side. “Trappola specifically… just seems to never learn his lesson.”

“Aw, I’m sure he’s trying his best.” You say, though you’re not sure of it yourself, really. Riddle shakes his head with a sigh. “...well, maybe not, but he’s got a good heart.”

“Trappola has so much potential, yet he keeps refusing to just follow the rules…” Riddle grumbles, maybe mostly to himself.

Walking your path, you finally reach the rose bushes that your so-called friends were assigned to — And you come to find that out of all the reactions a student could have to being tasked with painting the rose bushes, Ace was of the collared, constantly complaining kind, and Deuce was the quieter, diligent one who on occasion told Ace off about regarding his complaining.

“Here they are.” Riddle says, unenthusiastic.

“...they’re working, right?” You say, narrowing your eyes at the duo. Neither had noticed you yet. Riddle takes a couple steps closer, straightening his posture even more (You didn’t know such a thing was possible) to face Ace.

“Trappola, care to explain why you’re whining instead of painting?” He queries, you take tentative steps towards Riddle to watch the scene closer. Just doing your job as a fellow inspector, really!

...you can’t help but give Ace a sympathetic smile and shrug. Sorry, Ace, I’m not defying your dorm leader.

“My arm hurts!” Ace complains, the turn of his head couldn’t possibly feel comfortable against that collar… “C’mon, prefect, can’t you release me just to do the rose painting?”

“You’re the one who chose to broke the rules, now you suffer the consequences.” Riddle states, then turns his gaze to Deuce. “Spade, you’re… doing okay, actually. Keep up the good work. You should improve as your magic gets better.”

“Ah, thank you so much, Prefect…!” Deuce’s eyes are wide upon the praise, he stops his painting for a second to bow to Riddle. Ace looks annoyed in the background. “I will continue to do my best!”

“Sure you will.” Riddle adds, and continues his walk, followed by you. “Frankly, these two…”

You take a couple more steps, before Cater hops into the scene. “Prefect— Prefects! I finished my rose painting quota!” He announces with a smile. Riddle hums in acknowledgement.

“Good job, Cater. Do move on to your next task.” He says. Cater winks, fingers positioned into a peace sign next to his opened eye.

“Sure, sure. Just gimme a minute, though — Prefect, can I take a selfie with you? I love what you did to your hair today, it looks so cute!” Cater chimes. You blink, a surprised hand touching your own hair for a moment, but you smile.

“Ahh, thank you! I’ve gotta help Riddle with the inspection, though.” You say. It’s a shame, really, Cater takes nice pictures. “But we can do it later! Pinky promise.”

“Aww, that’s a shame. It’s alright, though! I’ll be sure to ask for that later.” He sing-songs, and with one of his signature bright smiles, he hops away. You wave at him with a short giggle.

“So troublesome…” Riddle is mumbling.

You’re almost at the tea garden — When you almost cause a tragedy by bumping onto Trey clover, whose sleeves were rolled up as he carried a big, bright red strawberry tart.

“Careful there!” Trey warns, Riddle almost trips on his shoes trying to step back. He looks down at the two of you, smiling wryly. “Did you get distracted by the tart? It looks pretty good, I know.”

“I-I did not!” Riddle protests, flustered. “It… does look good, though.”

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Clover-senpai.” You praise. It’s true! The glaze on the fruits was brighter than ever. You could only imagine how sweet it tasted.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget you have to wait until the party to taste it. But I do hope you like it.” He says, giving you a smile as he walks away, and you do too.

“I didn’t get distracted…” Riddle mumbles again, and you reach the garden, your formal venue for the tea party, vacant since it wasn’t time to set down the dishes yet. “Oh, we’re here.”

“Yup!” You confirm. “So were people doing good today?”

He shrugs. “It was better than the last one. Acceptable, I’d say.” Is his response, before he takes a brief moment to probably go over his mental list of tasks. “I have to check the insides of the building now, to make sure nobody’s trying to slack off. You’re… done with your duties, so you can stay here as long as you don’t cause a ruckus. Though I doubt you’ll do that.”

“Yes, your majesty.” You reply with a smile. “I’ll wait here, I can help with the table when it’s time.”

Riddle’s expression softens. “That would be appreciated. Thank you, Prefect. You’re a kind person.”

He says that, and then he leaves.

You’re left by yourself in the quaint tea garden, rocking back and forth on your heels as you look around at the perfectly cut bushes, the soon to be beautifully set table.

Or, rather…

“Che’nya, dear?” You call out. Anyone who walked by might think you’re crazy, talking to absolutely nothing. But you knew he was here, you could sense his presence. An amused smile appears on your face. “They’re gone now, you silly cat.”

“Meow?” Your hear Che’nya’s voice, the mimic of a meow, and you look around for the source — Until you see him up on a tree, laying on his stomach over a thick branch, grinning at you as his tail swishes around playfully. “There are no cats here. You’re seeing things.”

“Sure I would, with how my cute kitty boyfriend just drives me so crazy. ” You joke, answering his grin with a giggle and a smile, reaching out towards the tree. “C’mon. I’m done with my stuff, now, so we can hang out here.”

“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” Che’nya chuckles, and he hops off the tree, cleanly landing on two feet — A cat, alright — before he takes the hand you’ve offered him, pressing a playful kiss to it. “Hey, how about I take you away from this place? Away from this tyrant of a queen?”

Through your hand, he pulls you closer. Che’nya’s mischievous grin never falters, decorating his face like the strawberries to a tart. Near him, you can’t help but laugh, feeling his other hand on your waist as he holds you like you’re a princess, his princess.

“To ride off into the sunset together?” You ask, smiley. “I never thought you were the princely type.”

“I can be anything, y’know.” He says. “For you at least!”

“Well, I like you best just like this.” You chuckle at him, making him smile bigger as he wraps his arms around you tighter, pulling you into a hug—

But then you hear a paint bucket drop.

“...is that an RSA student?” An unfamiliar voice asks with an edge to it, you step away from Che’nya to see who it was — A boy with messy black hair, you hadn’t seen him before.

“Oops.” Che’nya laughs with a hint of nervousness to it. “That’s my cue to leave, meow! See ya later— ”

“No, you stay right there!” The boy snaps, and for some reason, Che’nya freezes in place. “What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s like the air around you suddenly gets cold.

“I— ” Che’nya mutters to himself. “Can’t move?”

The student barks out a laugh. “Well, yeah, that’s my unique magic.” He informs. “I’ve been waiting to catch you here somewhere. You come here for every Unbirthday Party, don’t you?”

“H-Hey, man, come on, they don’t have any rules against that, right?” Che’nya asks, still completely still, standing up straight with his arms glued to the sides of his body. “I’m friends with your dorm leader, y’know! And it’s not like I’m here for too long.”

“You’re still in RSA. Do you have any idea what your school’s done to NRC students?” Taking steps closer, the student eyes at Che’nya dangerously. They’re about the same height, but he’s still sizing him up. You’re ignored in your shock, standing a couple feet away with wide eyes. You can’t believe the sight in front of you. He’s attacking your boyfriend? “You know what happened a couple years ago, when my older brother went here? During a Magift match, he got his knee broken and now he can’t play anymore at all. He lost his chance to make it big because of you!”

Che’nya laughs dryly, though his eyes still dart around. “I did that?” He questions, and you see how he spasms lightly, struggling against the spell. “That’s got nothing to do with me, come on!”

“I don’t care. It’s about what your school stands for— ”

Someone’s threatening Che’nya? They’re about to hurt him? And just like this, for a reason that doesn’t make any sense?

No, not on your watch.

It happens like a flash — The adrenaline hits your brain like a bullet, kicking you into motion. Air thinning, growing cold, nothing but that simmering rage in your blood — and suddenly you have that boy lifted up by his shirt, fist clutching the front of his shirt.

Your heart races with the anger.

“Excuse me,” You start, voice lowering, a waver to its edge. “What exactly made you think you could talk to my boyfriend like that?”

“H-He’s…!” He stutters. His eyes are so wide, skin ghostlike pale. “What the hell is wrong with you? He’s from RSA! Do you think you get anything protecting people like this?”

God. This idiot — Your grip on the shirt tightens, you feel how he tenses under your surprising strength. Something about how he looks at you, so terrified, just gives you this sort of rush. The satisfaction of justice.

This is what he gets for trying to hurt Che’nya.

“I don’t listen to scum like you.” You snap, and you — Raise your hand. To slap him, punch him, do something worse? You’re not exactly sure. But the adrenaline courses through you so fast, spiking even higher when you’re about to do it and…

You feel your wrist being grabbed.

“It’s okay. I can move now.” Che’nya’s voice brings you back to reality, and your grip on the boy’s shirt loosens. Suddenly he’s heavy to hold up, you drop him on the grass with a loud noise as you blink yourself back into full consciousness.

You turn to look at him. His face is serious like it never is.

The boy you’d been holding up shrieks without a word, fumbling to get up and run away, steps rapidly crushing grass on his way. Che’nya releases your wrist, gently.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter. “He was so stupid. But I’m not gonna let anyone lay a hand on you, Che’nya.”

Che’nya keeps watching you with this unreadable expression. Is he angry? Scared? You can’t exactly tell. You curse that student for ruining your sweet spring afternoon.

(You promise yourself to get him again later. Magic or not, you’d make him pay— )

“It’s okay.” He says, quiet, and he grins again. Your heart does a leap — Che’nya’s gentle hands cup your face, fingers carefully treading through locks of your hair. “I’d do the same for you, yeah?”

[guiltycorp]

Playing Genshin for a couple of weeks now and I have some thoughts about Mondstadt, its seeming prosperity, and criminal elements!! Also dunking on Diluc a little bit lol. I'm not even going to touch hilichurls, they're probably the one issue I expect the game to come back to in time! They seem to be an intelligent race that was cursed and so we might get some sad backstory and realize that we've been assholes to them, not 100% sure but hopefully. Other than hilichurls and the Fatui (and yeahhh so fun to make russians into villains, im guessing it's for attracting the american audience or something... at least the characters are interesting enough), there are also Treasure Hoarders, who in the archive are mainly described as workers who lost their jobs or some other manner of poor people who turned to looting and crime out of desperation. And yet the angle is that 'thieving is always morally wrong'. Somebody didn't read Les Mis, I guess! Another note, there seems to be a weird gameplay and story segregation where we as the Traveler do lots of looting and treasure hunting ourselves only to be commended for it. But I digress. My actual point is that interestingly enough those elements of worldbuilding come together pretty well when you look at the city itself!   In Mondstadt it is most difficult to become a small business owner, made all the more obvious when compared to Liyue's wealth of shops, services, and traveling traders (Liyue has its own baggage of problems which tbh seem more serious to me but that's another topic). It's just not the most profitable occupation! Almost everyone we see out on the streets does their own resource supply, production, and service. Naturally, this means that those people don't earn enough to hire their own workers. In turn, that means that there are no jobs to be found in those places. So, where are all the jobs? For that we have the Dawn Winery, the Knights of Favonius, and the option to leave for Springvale to become a hunter or go to a different country altogether. The winery is described as the city's most powerful industry both for local consumption and export, but how does it actually treat its workers? Well, for example there's Patton who accidentally broke a bottle of expensive wine and is now basically an indentured servant to Diluc. He says that even if he worked without any breaks he still would need 48 years to pay off his debt. We can meet his daughter near Venti's statue who has to play by herself because her father is always working. Does that really seem like freedom to you? There's also Guy's father who works at the winery itself and can't afford to rest even when he is heavily sick and old. These are the worst examples for sure but others also have their own smaller problems like Charles who confides in us that he often feels tired and only takes nights off when Diluc is in a mood to tend the bar himself etc.  It is kind of telling that we don't have the option of engaging with their problems and we can't really talk to Diluc about it either. For all that he defends the city each night, he shows no interest in defending his own workers from his business's predatory tactics. To say nothing of the great damage he does to the adult populace of the city, always supplying alcohol and tempting people with deals and sales when there are already too many drunkards even among the named characters. When the opposing tavern (which also only has Diona for a bartender even when her own father has alcohol dependence) chose to present a non-alcoholic beverage during the holiday Angel’s Share doubled down on alcohol. And it doesn't even have snacks? This one bit was probably just for joke purposes, but tbh it's pretty dangerous to drink without any snacks at all, it makes sense why people get so heavily drunk in the first place. Note that Diluc himself doesn’t drink, showing good judgment when it comes to himself. Meanwhile the only person Diluc seemingly has no problem cutting off is Kaeya and it’s not obvious whether that’s out of concern or pettiness. Nobody is cutting off Nimrod who is ruined by his addiction! Now this is probably the core reason why Nimrod turned to crime, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he and his wife are dependant on Kaeya who at the very least knows to appreciate his informants. Kaeya himself is also a gleeful enabler, by the way, which makes sense considering his uh.. everything. And his upbringing at the Dawn Winery didn’t hurt, no surprise why he’s so keen on wine himself. He might be shrewd and oh so clever when it comes to getting information in taverns, but his story details and voice lines confirm that there actually is a problem even if we don’t know the full scope of it.  Now, the Knights of Favonius? Aside from being corrupt in the past they happen to hire minors (we can read that in their handbook) whom they don't even pay. What's that, free labor for the simplest of tasks? Makes sense why some of the adult knights laze about if all the work gets done by minors or the more focused and accomplished senior knights with Visions. That's a wonky structure for sure. Guy tells us that he became a squire at 16 and still has the boring job of guarding the back gates despite repeatedly showing signs of great dissatisfaction. I wouldn't be surprised if he betrays us later or something, honestly. Maybe Kaeya is preparing him for double agent work, who knows. Right now he has no opportunities for climbing the career ladder to take better care of his sick father, stuck in a pointless job for months. And that's a talented and focused young man! what about regular folk? Well. In the end, regular people have several options. They can give up and overwork themselves while spending nights looking for coins in the wishing fountain to try and scrape enough for their sister’s medicine. They can go to the Adventurers' Guild which has highly dangerous commissions with the most profitable ones taken on by Fischl and other professionals, hardly a dependant job for a regular person. There’s also Church which we know very little about. Likely it's dependant on taxes and donations and it’s the one organization that cares about the orphans of the city (no, keeping Klee in solitary doesn’t count as caring, Knights of Favonius!). There’s Springvale for hunters, farmers and chefs, a difficult lifestyle to maintain when the hunting grounds are in one of the Four Winds’ domains with strangely intelligent wolves.  And then there’s the other more accessible and obvious option! You guessed it, it’s crime!!  And there it is, the reason why there's such a big problem with bandits and overworked people in Mondstadt :)  Honestly after writing all that down, if I were to RP a normal person in Mondstadt I’d try to get into the Treasure Hoarders guild at like 5 years old I think. Better than standing around watching random people kill my pigeons anyway. Tbh this is less of a 'makes you think huh!!' take and more of a commendation towards the writers of the game. They obviously have a more conservative outlook if they're so keen on condemning the thieves who have to steal in order to survive, but the world itself makes a lot of sense. It makes the game a lot of fun to explore.

[legionofpotatoes]

I love your art, it is very detailed in a neat way. Was wondering how you got started making it as a source of income? How did you get your first paid work, I'd love some advice on how to get started, if that's ok

Thank you. Of course it's okay, although I doubt I have enough work experience in art to really delve into this. I only went full freelance this year, and had been juggling art as a side hobby until then. If you're still interested in my somewhat narrow perspective, and are okay with my long-winded rambles, I'll give it a shot:

So to answer your question fully, I'll describe how I started and move into personal advice and learnings later on. As a disclaimer, I am a white cishet dude in my late twenties with a moderate cocktail of mental illnesses, but overall I can pass for a functioning adult so a lot I have to say may come laced with privilege I cannot fully identify.

So uhh I began drawing in around 2012? I think? Maybe halfway through 2011? And I mostly made fanart for things I enjoyed and tried to branch out in communities that felt nourishing to my style and interests (I caught a bug for alt posters and enjoyed mainstream movies so I spent a long time on posterspy early on). There were a handful of opportunities that came from there but I could only accept a couple because of primary workplace commitments. Still, it showed that networking in a focused community was definitely a good place to start; I myself have huge trouble committing to social networks and really staying socially active, but I knew it was an essential ingredient in succeeding so I tried to make myself be involved in challenges and art support trains etc. as much as I could.

In parallel to all that I also ran a few third party online stores (redbubble, teepublic) for disposable income and would sometimes, if rarely, hit around $100-150 a month from those sources combined. It is a sort of thing that requires helper accounts on other social media sites to promote it on, because the stores themselves have a huge volume of content that translates into low organic discoverability. Obviously it was never gonna be the way towards financial independence through art, and with community projects being few and far between, I opened private commissions in around uhhh 2017 I think, focusing on offering a few styles I knew I could do well, and sometimes operating in individual fandoms (it was mostly a bioware thing to be frank). But I had to close them back down after a year or so, again because of work-life conflict and how badly it was burning me out. The reason I kept trying to monetize this hobby is because I honestly hated what I did for my main job and wanted to see a way out in some shape or form in the future.

And then in 2020 I had to quit my main job altogether because of *gestures at pandemic* and deal with a mental breakdown from all the wonderful things it did to us and me specifically. I took a short break and decided to give art a shot full-time, and that was around May this year. I was planning on opening up commissions again (and I still am), but a few sudden opportunities that fell in my lap moved that timetable down and now I'm grateful to even be doing something I am getting adequately paid for.

So, with that somewhat limited perspective, here's what I've learned that I'd tell myself if I was just starting out:

1. Being a fan of something can be a shortcut towards effective networking kickoffs. Which are important evidently. If you love something and enjoy making content for it, join communities, settle into a combination of social media websites that feel right for those interests + your body of work + your inner rhythm, and try to play to content discovery as much as your mental health allows you to. Like I said, I know that I myself am incredibly bad at self-motivating to talk to people, so I found that synergizing common interests into fanart - which I enjoyed making anyway - could be a way to give myself a gentle nudge forward and build those bridges leading to community activities, which then net experience and coverage. Sometimes even freelance projects from official avenues. Again; picking the right spaces for what you're after is key. Companies roam twitter, concept art recruiters scour artstation or linkedin etc, instagram can land you private commissions and collab opportunities, so on and so forth. Find your niche and try to kick up dust. However...

2. I do not believe that any social profile can replace a good portfolio. The thing that made an immediate difference to me this year was building a coherent, simple website with my best work front and center and a contact form on top. Every single opportunity I got came from that form (maybe via twitter or instagram initially, but always sealing the decision after going through the website), so I firmly believe that showcasing your skills and portfolio in a visually arresting and user-friendly way is a big priority. I had some reservations about tackling that task but fortunately I had help from a savvy life partner and we slapped it together via wordpress in less than a day. Twitter/whatever social media is prevalent in your target groups is definitely important to get the right eyes on your shit, yes, but those eyes will then look for a second stop where your work and rates are more clear and concise. Simplicity is key imo, I cannot overstate this. So make a cute, simple portfolio!

3. Your skills and rates will grow and change as you do. Let them. Over the years I built several lasting professional relationships from my obsession over mass effect and kept getting opportunities both from bioware and their partner companies, some small and some a bit bigger. A one-off job earlier this year opened an unexpected door to another much larger commitment, and then the work I did there brought some attention from small businesses looking for commercial commissions. These were all incredibly different projects in terms of scope and budget, and I've been tackling them all on a case-by-case basis and slowly coming into my own irt my needs, rates, and SOW thresholds. It is still a work in progress (and a LOT of literal work as well), and very much a thing I struggle with in publicly marketing, which is why I felt a tad underqualified to answer your question in the first place (obviously I did not let that stop me). But what it means for me now is that I am rapidly developing into whatever my "version" of a functioning freelance artist is, and when the conditions for that guy are met, I need to be able to confidently plant myself and operate from that space despite past precedents. Do not let anyone bully you into downpricing what you yourself perceive as legitimate products of personal growth and development. Speaking of which...

4. The shitty challenge of turning envy into inspiration, and paddling outside your comfort zones in full riot gear. it is hard, but realizing that being a miserable, self-hating artist in my early days got me nothing but more misery back was the first real step I took and what truly blew the hinges off. I was just not pleasant to be around, I would badmouth my work all the time, and it all somehow made sense in my broken mind because the validation I sought was purely external and the way I sought it was through eliciting sympathy via self-victimization (even when I made something objectively nice). It all led fucking nowhere. Except perhaps to my own narcissism that I one day managed to identify and start managing. So I started looking at things that made me seethe with envy and calmly deconstruct and figure out their inner workings instead, do studies, and find nuggets of inspiration or discover new ways to approach rendering or building up specific elements. It was an application of analytical diligence to what I wanted to be a purely emotional, esoteric workflow, but that I deep down knew wasn't. Art is a discipline and a skill, and maybe it isn't a straight line, but you gotta find some line to thread nevertheless. Being self-hating was almost an identity I had to break out of, and despite it still being like, 4-5% there? I realize its cause and effect on me, my work, and those around me, so it is with a conscious choice that I gently set it aside when I work and especially when I learn. It won't always stay quiet, but the effort is the difference. Your doors towards accepting true growth and venturing into uncharted territories, art styles, and networking will really open from there. But there's a huge caveat...

5. Toolsets, accessibility, privilege, and all the good things that enable artistic expression and profitability are not given equal to all. you might do all the mental work I mentioned to be ready to rock and roll and learn and draw your way out of anything, but digital art is a fucking money pit that asks almost too much at times. I don't got a good case study here but identifying and ensuring accessibility to the tools you need to do your best work is, like, super important. The ergonomics can improve as you make money and settle into the job, but the basics have to be made available to you. And some of that might not even be under your direct control. That can be anything from pen tablets to software subscriptions to opportunities in hiring sullied by sexism or what have you. You gotta navigate all that through careful networking and money/time management. I don't do a good job of devoting specific slices of time to work/study, and my primary clutch is iPad software which went from a good deal to a nightmare scenario over the years. So all I can say here is do what I didn't; network, invest in a PC/tablet, and pick a software you'll learn that won't burn a hole in your pocket.

6. Be nice to work with? This one is hard to articulate and has landed my own ass in hot water in my early years because of how socially inept I am, but nothing is more worthwhile than being.. like. a good person to work with. That can be anything like meeting deadlines, or sometimes missing them but eloquently articulating why, being generous in early stages, being communicable and not too wordy in your emails, having a good grasp on abstract artistic concepts and how to describe them in simple terms, having a clear, laid out framework of your working rates in commercial and non-commercial projects and sticking to those guns with grace, understanding when you need to say no and saying it well, the works. Just being nice. Sometimes that might mean going headstrong with something you believe in, or simmering down and sucking up to the big man, all relative and adaptive. Part and parcel of the service provision dance that we all have to do in order to make bank. Know your lines here, obviously, and don't like. work for nazis. or uh.. *shudders* exposure. but be nice and empathetic and communicable and word will travel eventually. Skill may be in abundance these days, but good people are most certainly not, and capitalism has a way of bubbling up scarcity. Grim, but uh, them's the breaks.

I know I'm ultimately telling you to like. Have a body of work, make a portfolio, grow, and network. But that's really how I see it for now. And being nice can be a cherry on top that sets you apart, along with the inherent irreplaceable voice of your artwork. I think I rambled on enough, but if there is something specific you need my help with, even if you want to come off anon and talk in private, please feel free.