#and that's just the animation side of things

[spikedfearn]

Across the Threshold

one-shot

remmick x fem!reader

summary: you've never let him in. Not once. And still, every night without fail, he comes crawling back to your doorstep. Thirteen centuries old and rotting with want, Remmick worships you from the porch, drooling thick onto the floorboards, begging for permission to taste. And you? You watch. You love the power. Love the ache in him. Love the way he weeps when you deny him again and again.

But the night you finally say come in—he breaks.

Now that he’s inside, he’s never leaving. Not quietly. Not gently. And not until he crawls all the way inside you and makes a cathedral of your skin.

wc: 5.4k

a/n: based off this prompt that blew up!! It's been exactly one month since I released my first Remmick fic Mercy Made Flesh so it felt fitting to release something today, as a thank you for the tidal wave of love and support I've received since!! Seriously it's insane!! So, as a further thank you, I'm hosting a giveaway for followers here if you're interested, as a way to give back to all of you <333 thanks to @ddlydevotion for finding the photo refs for the banner!! and thanks to Liz @fuckoffbard for once again beta reading for me!! credit to Diana @hyoscyxmine for the photo of Remmick she initially edited <333

warnings: vampirism, blood kink, obsessive behavior, feral begging, oral (f! receiving), sub!remmick, somno-adjacent sleepiness, religious undertones, predator/prey dynamics, begging kink, worship kink, voice kink, monsterfucking, marking, blood drinking during sex, degradation, dark romance, possessive partner, crawling kink, aftercare, bite kink, creampie, power imbalance, bodily fluids (drool, blood, etc), control kink, manipulation by omission, mildly blasphemous themes

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, please enjoy!!

Masterlist

You've never let him in. Not once.

And still, every night without fail, he shows up like clockwork—barefoot and bloodstained, wife beater stained and torn, revealing a sliver of lean muscle beneath, reeking of smoke and obsession.

Slouched on your porch like a dying dog, scratching at the threshold with dirt-caked nails, mouth open and drooling thick, almost foamy, like hunger’s rotted him from the inside out. His voice is raw from begging. But tonight? Tonight he’s feral.

You've got one leg draped over the door frame, robe hitched up just enough to taunt, a cool glass of iced tea sweating in your hand while he writhes just inches from your feet.

“You cruel little thing,” he rasps, drawl dragging slow and syrupy, his tongue catching on the words like they hurt.

“Y’gon’ make me crawl again, huh? ‘Cause I will. I’ll fuckin’—I’ll get on my belly like a damn animal, just for a taste. Just for a breath of you, sugar.”

His jaw’s slack, saliva roping down his chin, staining the porch dark beneath him as he grips the floorboards hard enough they creak.

“Let me in,” he whimpers, voice cracked and desperate, eyes blown wide.

“Please, I—I cain’t stand it no more. I cain’t fuckin’ breathe without you. Let me in. I’ll behave. I’ll worship you. I’ll—I’ll starve if you don’t.”

Your just watch him, tilt your glass.

“You've lived thirteen centuries, and you're on your knees for a girl in a nightgown?”

He nods, drooling harder, trembling.

“Yes ma’am. I’d beg for thirteen more if it meant you’d finally say the word.”

You don’t answer him at first.

Just lift your drink—slow, lazy, like the heat has made you sun-warmed and lethargic—and watch the ice swirl against the cylindrical sides. Your lips part only enough for a sip, sharp and cold on your tongue, as his voice frays at the threshold like an unraveling thread.

The porch groans under his weight when he shifts, mouth still hanging open, chin wet with the thick rope of saliva that’s already puddled beneath him. He doesn’t even wipe it away anymore. Doesn’t flinch at the indignity. If anything, he leans into it. As if the sloppier he gets, the more beastly and broken, the closer he’ll be to what you want.

Not human. Not civilized. Just yours.

Your bare toes flex against the doorframe—propped up, exposed, painted peach—and his breath stutters when he sees them. His jaw works open wider like he might sink his teeth into the wood instead, like he’s fighting the animal thing in him that wants to bite something until it bleeds.

“You gone quiet, sugar,” he drawls, voice like gravel scraped against wood. “You plannin’ to kill me out here?”

You hum. Just a little. Low in your throat.

Then finally, finally, you lean forward just a bit, letting the hem of your robe fall loose from your thigh, letting him see the curve of it where the porchlight catches golden on your skin. You know what you’re doing. You always know.

“You look like shit, Remmick.”

He moans—moans—like the insult made him hard.

“I—I know, baby. I know,” he gasps, crawling an inch closer on his knees, voice choked with some terrible, trembling reverence. “I’d tear out my fuckin’ ribs if it meant you’d give me one more breath. Just one. I’m—I’m so close to bein’ bones out here.”

His hands drag slow across the floorboards, smearing blood and spit as he chases your shadow like it might feed him. His claws are cracked and dirty, black at the edges, clacking like dull knives as he reaches for you.

But he won’t cross the threshold. Can’t.

Not unless you say the word.

You drag one foot down, let it press lightly against his chest, the ball of it nestling into the place where his heart doesn’t beat. You feel the way he flinches at the touch like it hurts him, like your skin is too holy for his body to bear. He makes a sound deep in his chest—part growl, part sob—and his head drops forward.

He presses his forehead to your ankle. Worships it.

“You’re a goddamn sickness,” you whisper, soft and cruel.

“I am, baby,” he breathes. “You made me sick. Ruined me good, didn’t you?”

And oh, how he sounds ruined.

You tilt your glass again, watch the last ice cube swirl and crack, watch his tongue dart out as if he could taste it from the air. His pupils are blown, wide and dark and endless, and his mouth keeps trying to form the word please like it’s the only one he remembers anymore.

A breeze rolls over the porch, stirring the trees, carrying the scent of you—hibiscus lotion, clean skin, cool linen and blood beneath it all—and Remmick shudders like a dying thing. His hips roll into the floor like he’s fucking the air, like scent alone could push him to the edge.

“Let me in,” he begs again, softer now. “Let me in before I do somethin’ wicked.”

You lean closer, dragging your foot up his chest and under his chin, tilting his face up toward you like a command.

“You already are wicked.”

He smiles, wild and ruined.

“Yes ma’am. And I’d be worse for you.”

You let the silence stretch just long enough for his breath to hitch.

Then you pull your foot away and stand, letting the robe slip an inch lower on your hips as you do. He tracks the movement like an animal locked on prey, hands gripping the wood, teeth bared like he might bite the air between you.

But you say nothing.

You turn, walk back into the house, and the door swings shut with a slow, echoing click.

And Remmick?

He stays there on the porch, slack-jawed, drooling, whispering your name like a prayer he wasn’t meant to know, his muscles flexing as his arms come up over his head in desperation, thick and defined, his face pinched in pain, fractals of dying light dancing off the worn gold of his chain, off the sweaty creases highlighting his biceps.

| six months ago |

You didn’t move here expecting silence.

You expected a little mold, sure. Some creaky floorboards, maybe a wasp’s nest under the porch or a possum in the crawlspace. You expected the gnats. You expected the heat. You expected the isolation.

But not the silence.

Not this bone-deep, split-the-world-open kind of silence. The kind that settles between your ribs and listens to your heartbeat like it’s trying to time its own.

The house—your house now, left to you by some long-dead aunt you don’t remember—is old and sagging at the edges. It leans a little to the right. The paint is peeled and sun-faded, the porch boards bow like a tired back, and the front screen door barely stays shut unless you wedge a rock into it.

But the bones are good. The land is wild and wide and humming with secrets.

And the silence? You’ve started to like it.

Until one night, it breaks.

It’s not thunder. Not a tree branch. Not the slam of a car door or the high bark of a neighbor’s dog. It’s slower than that. Heavier. Like footsteps made of velvet and grave dirt, deliberate and soft, but too certain to be harmless.

You hear it just past dusk, when the sky is soaked in pinks and bruised purples, and the porch light buzzes weakly behind you. You’re sitting on the front step, knees up, the sweat from your lemonade collecting in droplets between your thighs. Your robe’s open at the chest. The heat has stuck it to the small of your back. You haven’t seen a soul all week.

And then—

“Evenin’, darlin’.”

You look up.

There’s a man standing just past the gate. Barefoot. Broad-shouldered. Dressed like a memory from somewhere you’ve never lived—boots slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and a face that looks like it’s been carved from heartbreak.

You can smell weathered leather. Wet pennies. Something faintly intoxicating.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

He’s handsome, you think, in a way that feels off. Like he walked out of a photograph too old to be yours. His hair is a mess, dark and sweat-matted at the temples. There’s a thin scar along his throat. He looks...starved. But not in the way that makes you pity him.

In the way that makes you want to keep your distance.

Still, you don’t get up. You don’t speak. The air between you thickens, trembles.

He tips his head slightly, a crooked smile cutting across his face.

“You look like you could use some company.”

You don’t invite him in.

You don’t say much at all.

Just glance toward the horizon, murmur something about supper, and let the screen door slam behind you before he can take a step forward. You watch through the curtains as he lingers at the gate, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying to look harmless.

But you saw the way his eyes followed your legs. You saw how he noticed the sweat beading at your neck. How he inhaled when you passed him.

You lock the door that night. And the next. But he keeps coming.

First, it’s flowers.

Not from a store. Not anything wrapped in plastic or tied with ribbon. Just a bundle of wildflowers laid gently on your porch, still dusted with dew. You find them in the morning, no note, no explanation.

Then it’s peaches. Sun-warm and soft, their fuzz still clinging with bits of leaf and dirt. You bite into one and taste sweet nectar.

Then it’s a knife. Clean. Sharp. Ornate.

Then a book of poetry. Tattered, spine cracked, pages dog-eared with a name you don’t recognize scribbled inside the cover.

Then the sound of humming—just past the treeline. Low. Gentle. Almost...worshipful.

You don’t see him again for a week.

And when he returns, he stands on the bottom step like he’s been summoned.

You sit in the doorway this time, robe slipping off one shoulder. You’re not afraid. Not curious, either. Just...ready.

Ripe.

He keeps his eyes low. His voice is softer.

“You ain’t said my name yet.”

“I don’t know it,” you say.

He smiles like that hurts him.

“You don’t need it,” he says. “You already own me without it.”

It’s hot enough to peel the paint from the porch railing.

The air hums with crickets, thick as syrup, the kind of Southern heat that presses down on you like hands. Nothing moves. Not the trees. Not the wind. Not even the birds. The silence is alive—dense and waiting, like the breath before a confession.

And there he is. Again.

You hear him before you see him: the soft scrape of skin on wood, the faintest creak of a loose board under bare feet, the hitch in his breath when your scent hits him like perfume and punishment all at once. You left the door open tonight—not all the way, just ajar—and the porch light off. A single candle burns on the windowsill.

He doesn’t knock.

He never does anymore.

Just leans his weight into the frame, like even that much closeness is enough to tide him over for another day. But it’s not. You know it’s not. You can feel it in the way his fingers twitch. In the way he shifts his hips. In the way the wood creaks beneath his knees when he starts to lower himself.

You don’t speak.

You just watch.

The hem of your robe rides high on your thighs, your legs bare and smooth against the old floorboards, one knee bent, one foot outstretched. You could shut the door. You don’t. You could invite him in—but that’s not the game.

You’ve seen how he suffers.

And you love the way he suffers.

He’s filthy tonight. Shirtless and sweaty, streaked with soot and dry blood that canaled in the defined avenues of his abs, a bruise blooming along one side of his ribcage. His hair’s a mess. His eyes look hollow. His lips are parted, pink and trembling, like he’s been mouthing your name into the dirt all night long.

When he drops to his knees, it’s not a performance. Not anymore. There’s no seduction in it. Just ache. Just need.

He whispers something you don’t quite catch—your name, maybe, or the shape of a prayer that lost its way. You hear him drag his nails against the porch, slow and rhythmic, like he’s trying to carve your initials into the floor.

“I dreamed of you again,” he rasps.

His voice is shredded. Used up.

“You were wearin’ that white thing. The one with the lace at the top. You smelled like vanilla and thunder. You called me darlin’ and I almost cried.”

You breathe through your nose, slow and even, but your thighs shift. You don’t think he notices, but he does.

His eyes flick to the motion and he moans—soft and low, broken at the edges. He presses his forehead to the floor like it’s consecrated ground. Like maybe if he can just touch it long enough, you’ll take pity.

“Please.”

The word is wet in his mouth. He says it again.

“Please, I—I don’t care what you do to me. Don’t even have to let me in. Just talk to me, sugar. Just say somethin’. Let me hear your voice. Let me see you.”

You shift in the doorway.

Then you speak—finally—voice quiet and even, your glass catching the candlelight as you raise it to your lips.

“Why do you keep coming here?”

He whimpers.

“‘Cause I cain’t not. ‘Cause you’ve got me chained up in here—” He presses a palm to his chest, hard enough you can hear the bones creak. “—and I like it. I fuckin’ like it, baby. Ain’t that sick?”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you lean forward just enough to let your fingers curl over the frame of the door, letting your robe fall slightly open at the neck. His mouth opens wider. His pupils blow black like a hungry shark.

“You want to come in?” you murmur.

His breath catches.

Then he nods. Frantic. Wild.

“Yes. Yes ma’am. Please.”

You tilt your head.

“Why?”

He blinks. He’s confused by the question. Then hurt. Then desperate.

“Because I—I need you. Need what’s inside. I cain’t smell nothin’ else but you. You’re in my fuckin’ blood, sweetheart, and I ain’t never tasted you but it’s killin’ me just knowin’ you’re behind that door.”

He leans forward, mouth brushing the frame. His tongue darts out—not quite licking it, but close—and you see the briefest flick of the forked tip, glistening and trembling with restraint. He pulls it back like he’s ashamed of it, like he wasn’t supposed to let you see that part of him.

Your stomach flips.

You almost say it. Almost.

But then you pull back.

And he breaks.

He wasn’t always like this.

You remember that. You remind yourself of it often—because it makes this part better. Sweeter. Sicker.

Because once upon a time, he tried to play it cool. Casual. Almost charming. Leaned against your gate with that low, lopsided smile, said things like ma’am and pleasure to meet you and you sure keep to yourself, don’t you, sugar?

Now?

He’s a wreck.

On all fours.

Spit roping from his lips in long, trembling strands as he drags himself toward your feet like a dog that’s been kicked too many times but still comes running. His pupils bleed red, eclipsing the black. His shirt is gone. His nails are cracked and black at the edges, scrabbling over the porch boards in slow, shivering motions that match the tremble in his voice.

His mouth hangs open. Tongue wet. Forked.

You can see the way it splits when he pants—like he can’t decide whether to speak or taste or crawl inside you and live there forever.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and it’s not seductive.

It’s pleading.

Pathetic.

Eyes wide and glossy, like something half-feral and half-forgotten, a kicked-puppy expression clinging to him even as he drools down his chin. He’s shaking. His knees have long since gone raw from dragging over your porch, and he presses his forehead to the step just beneath you.

You tilt your glass. Take a sip.

He moans. Loud. Unfiltered. Buckling at the sound.

“God, please,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and slurred like he’s drunk on the smell of you. “Please, I can’t—I can’t take it no more, baby. You’re killin’ me. Killin’ me soft and slow and I fuckin’ love it.”

You shift, just enough for your robe to slide up one thigh.

His hands curl into fists. He bites down on a sob.

“I’ll be so good to you,” he whimpers, dragging himself another inch forward. “You don’t—you don’t know what I could give you. What I wanna give you. What I think about every night with my hand on my cock, prayin’ for a dream of your fuckin’ voice.”

You raise an eyebrow. But you don’t stop him. And that’s all the permission he needs.

“I’d eat it for hours,” he blurts, voice breaking. “I’d keep my tongue on you till you forgot your own name. I’d fuckin’ cry for the chance, darlin’. You don’t know what I’d do just to smell you on my face. Let me clean you up with my mouth. Let me keep you sweet.”

He pants like a sinner, sweating through the knees of his jeans, forked tongue slipping past his lips as he mouths at the space near your ankle. Never quite touching. Never daring.

“I’d make it good for you,” he groans. “Better than anyone. I’d hold you down or let you ride. Whatever you wanted. However you wanted. I’d tear my fuckin’ throat out if it made you wet.”

You stay silent.

Let him spiral.

Let him beg.

Let him drown in everything you’ll never give him.

His jaw hangs slack again, saliva pouring freely now, staining the porch with slick, twitching need. He doesn’t even seem to notice. His hips rock forward once—pathetically—like he’s rutting against the air just from being this close.

Then—

“Say it,” he croaks, wrecked and delirious. “Say the word. Just the once. Just once and I’ll die happy. I’ll let you ruin me every night. Let you bleed me dry, fuck me dumb, use me up ‘til I’m nothing but bones and thank you for it. I’ll be your thing. Your pet. Your meal. Just say it. Say it and let me in.”

You watch him twitch.

You don’t speak.

And that silence?

It undoes him.

He presses his face into the porch and sobs—one sharp, cracked sound that makes your thighs clench—and you think, maybe next time.

Maybe.

But not tonight.

It’s late.

Later than you usually sit up for him.

The air outside smells like wet bark and heat lightning. You’ve just bathed—skin still damp, robe clean, lips glossy with something sweet and sticky you let melt over your tongue before you opened the door.

The floorboards are still slick from the storm earlier, and the moon’s a thin thing, half-ash and half-bone. Somewhere in the trees, something howls.

But he’s louder.

He’s already there when you pull the door open, sprawled out like roadkill—on his side, one cheek pressed against the porch wood, arms limp at his sides, knees bent in. Like he dragged himself here and died at the edge of your mercy.

But when he hears the door creak, he moves.

Head jerks. Eyes flash. His nostrils flare, and he moans—low and open-mouthed, like he’s just caught your scent for the first time all over again.

“Sweetheart,” he gasps, trying to sit up and immediately wobbling, weak from hunger or lust or both. “Sweetheart, I—I dreamed you were gonna open it tonight.”

You say nothing.

He drags himself upright, kneeling again, hands in his lap like a penitent priest waiting for permission to sin. His thighs are slick with drool and sweat and something darker—something old. You don’t ask. He’s trembling.

You step forward.

And he growls.

Low. Feral. Possessive. His shoulders hunch, his nails dig into the wood, his tongue flashes out—forked, twitching—and he presses his forehead to the threshold like it burns him.

“You smell like soap,” he whimpers. “Like you’re clean and warm and wantin’. You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You always do.”

You kneel in front of him, robe gaping where the sash has gone loose.

He chokes.

You brush a knuckle down his cheek. He shudders so violently you think he might break apart at the seams.

And then you whisper it.

Soft. Small.

The word.

“Come in.”

He doesn’t believe you at first.

His body goes very still. Breath caught. Eyes searching your face for the trick. His mouth parts around a sob so sharp it cuts his throat on the way out.

“Wh-what?” he croaks.

“You heard me,” you say, voice low. “You can come in.”

And that’s all it takes.

He lunges.

Not with violence. Not with fury. But with such pure, starved need it knocks the breath out of your lungs. He collapses forward into the doorway like a beast finally slipping its leash, dragging himself across the threshold like it hurts—but in a way he wants.

He weeps.

On his knees again. Hands clutching your thighs. Mouth open and dripping against your bare skin as he repeats your name over and over, shaking, whispering thanks like a dying man kissing dirt.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, fuck—thank you—”

His tongue presses to your thigh.

You twitch.

And he wails—the sound muffled against your flesh, trembling like a man who’s tasted Heaven and is terrified he’ll be dragged back to Hell. His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you down with him, until your knees hit the floor and you’re seated right there in the doorway with him cradled between your legs like a body in prayer.

“I’ll be so gentle,” he babbles, licking a stripe up your inner thigh. “I’ll be good. I’ll be sweet, sugar, I swear it—I won’t bite unless you ask. I’ll eat and eat ‘til you shake and sob and soak my chin and then I’ll fuckin’ beg for seconds.”

You let your head fall back, lips parted, robe slipping.

He sees it.

And loses what’s left of his composure.

He goes slow at first—painfully, reverently slow.

Tongue pressed flat to your cunt, hands gripping your thighs like lifelines, the tip of that sinful, split tongue tracing soft, teasing figure-eights just to feel you tremble.

And you do.

Every flick, every moan, every whimper he pulls from your throat drives him deeper into madness. He cries as he eats you. Cries. Big, open-mouthed sobs against your pussy as he whispers nonsense:

“So sweet—so sweet, fuck—never tasted anything like you—please, let me die here—let me drown—let me be your floorboard, your shadow, your fuckin’ leash, baby, I’ll be anything—”

You come on his tongue once, and he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even pause.

Just whimpers like your pleasure is sustenance, like your slick is water and he���s been crawling the desert for years.

You tangle your fingers in his hair. Tug. He moans into you. Grinds his hips to the floor.

“Can I fuck you?” he begs against your cunt. “Please, can I? I’ll go slow. I’ll go soft. I’ll make you feel worshipped. You want it rough? I’ll give you rough. Want it sweet? I’ll make you sob. I’ll bite your throat open and make you scream my name ‘til the walls crack.”

He looks up at you, face wet, chin slick, forked tongue flicking out like a serpent sensing the heat of your body. His eyes are glassy. Wild.

“Tell me I can fuck you.”

You nod.

He breaks again.

And then—

He crawls forward, palms flat on the floor, reverent and quiet. His cock is hard, flushed and weeping, twitching against his stomach. You see the way his hands shake as he guides himself to you. The way he groans—choked and low and obscene—when the head of it brushes against your entrance.

He looks up at you, panting. Lips parted.

“You sure?” he whispers. Like he’s asking permission to live.

You nod again.

“Then hold on to me, sugar,” he says, voice raw and trembling. “I ain't never comin’ back from this.”

And he pushes in—

Slow. So slow. Like he’s scared you’ll vanish beneath him. Like your heat is swallowing him whole. Like the walls of your body were carved centuries ago to hold only him.

He moans into your neck, hips stilling halfway through.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, voice shattered. “You feel like—like you were made for me. I’m—I’m not gonna last. I ain’t—please don’t let go of me.”

You clutch his shoulders.

He bottoms out with a sob, every inch of him buried in you, shaking like a man who’s finally come home. His forehead presses to yours. His hips roll once, reverent, like worship.

He doesn’t move at first.

Just stays buried to the hilt, mouth slack against your throat, breathing like a dying animal in your ear. You feel him twitch inside you—thick, hot, leaking—and for a moment you think he might cry again.

Then he growls.

Low. Deep. Possessive.

And moves.

One slow pull out—almost all the way—followed by a brutal thrust that slams your back against the floorboards hard enough to rattle the doorframe. You gasp. He moans. Loud. Open-mouthed. Obscene.

“Fuck,” he chokes, already shaking. “Oh, sugar. Oh, baby, you—you don’t know what you’ve done. What you let loose.”

He doesn’t wait for permission anymore. Doesn’t need it. You gave it the second you said come in.

Now he’s fucking like it’s all he knows how to do.

His hips snap forward over and over, wet slaps echoing through the open doorway, sweat dripping from his brow, tongue lolling out as he pants like a rabid thing. He braces one hand beside your head and the other beneath your thigh, holding you open, dragging you into every thrust like he wants to feel himself hit the back of you.

You’re soaked. Wrecked. Clawing at his back and gasping his name over and over like it’s the only prayer you’ve got.

“You wanted me like this, didn’t you?” he snarls, his drawl thick and guttural now. “Wanted to see me come undone. Wanted to see the monster in me. Well, here he is, sugar. Here I fuckin’ am.”

He grinds down. Deep. You cry out.

He smirks, wild and broken and high off the sound.

“You feel that?” he whispers against your mouth. “That’s me in you. Deep as I can go. You’ll feel me for days. I’ll make sure of it.”

And he does.

He fucks you until your legs tremble, until your voice is raw, until the only sounds are slick, messy, filthy. He presses his chest to yours, forehead to your jaw, panting through clenched teeth as he drives into you like he can’t stop. Like if he slows down, he’ll die.

You feel the sharp tips of his fangs graze your throat. His voice is wrecked.

“Let me taste you,” he begs. “Let me drink while I’m inside you. Let me be full, sugar. Let me be whole.”

You nod.

He doesn’t even hesitate.

His mouth opens wide and you feel the bite—sharp, electric, perfect—right where your neck meets your shoulder, and suddenly his hips are slamming into you harder, messier, feral, rutting through your orgasm as he drinks, drinks, drinks.

It hits you all at once. Heat. Pain. Pleasure so sharp it blinds you.

You come hard, clenching around him, and he sobs into your throat like it’s sacred, like he’s breaking apart inside your body.

You feel him twitch. His breath goes ragged.

“Gonna come,” he warns, voice slurred, tongue lapping at your skin between frantic, messy thrusts. “Gonna—fuck, sugar, I’m gonna fill you—gonna mark you—make you mine—mine—mine—”

And he does.

Hot and thick and endless.

He spills inside you with a guttural cry, hips stuttering, teeth still buried in your skin. You feel it pulse into you—claiming you, over and over, like his body doesn’t know how to stop. Like his need has no end.

He finally stills, trembling.

Still buried inside you. Still panting. Still moaning your name into the crook of your neck like he’s worshipping it.

And then—

He kisses the bite.

Soft.

Gentle.

His hands cradle your face like you’re glass, and for the first time all night, his voice goes quiet.

“You saved me,” he breathes.

And for once, you don’t correct him.

You don’t know how long you lie there.

Could be minutes. Could be hours. The air has gone still, heavy with sweat and sex and iron and him. The storm’s long gone, but you can still smell the rain—sweet and earthy, mixing with the blood drying at your throat.

You feel it when he finally starts to move.

Just a shift.

The slow drag of his hand up your thigh, fingertips curling into the dip of your waist like he’s reminding himself you’re real. His body is still flush against yours, cock soft now but still inside you, holding you open. Keeping you full. Like he’s afraid pulling out will make the whole night unravel.

You reach up, bury a hand in his tangled hair.

He makes a sound—small, shattered—and curls tighter against you.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, voice hoarse and full of something too heavy to name. “Don’t make me leave. Not after that. I’ll—I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to.

Your fingers stay in his hair, stroking gently. His body softens against yours.

There’s blood smeared across your neck, your chest, down your ribs. His bite still stings, the skin pulsing, raw—but it doesn’t hurt. Not really. It burns. Like a seal. Like a signature.

You glance down.

He’s watching you.

Eyes half-lidded. Glazed. Glowing, almost—faint and strange, like he’s lit from within. There’s a little blood on his mouth. More on his chin. But he doesn’t wipe it away.

You wonder if he’s ever looked more peaceful.

“You taste like sunlight,” he murmurs, dream-drunk. “Like nectar. Like the end of the world.”

You huff a laugh, quiet and breathless.

“Don’t get poetic on me now.”

“I ain’t,” he slurs, eyes fluttering. “Just honest.”

He nuzzles into your collarbone, forked tongue flicking lazily against your skin like he’s still trying to memorize it. His hands roam—slow, aimless, like he doesn’t know how to stop touching. One settles on your hip. The other slides beneath your spine and pulls you closer.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go,” he mumbles. “Not after this. You said it. You let me in.”

You nod. You did.

And you meant it.

He presses his nose to your pulse point, breath fogging across your skin. His lips ghost over the bite. He presses a kiss there, reverent.

“I’ll be good,” he repeats, softer now. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. You want a house? I’ll build it. You want blood? I’ll bring you the whole fuckin’ town. You want me to rot on the floor again? I will. Long as I’m yours.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper.

And he moans.

Like the words filled him with something he’s never had in thirteen centuries.

You feel him soften completely then, sinking into your body like sleep. One leg slung over yours, one arm anchoring you to his chest, his cock slipping free with a wet noise that makes him groan as you shudder. Your body aches, raw and sore and claimed, but you don’t move.

Neither does he.

Eventually, he sleeps.

You know because the grip he has on you loosens—but only a little. He still breathes you in. Still holds you like something holy and fragile and violently his.

And you?

You stay awake a while longer, staring at the door still cracked open, the threshold now crossed, the air inside heavy with what you both became tonight.

The blood on your neck has dried.

The slick between your thighs has cooled.

But his body stays warm against you.

And outside, the sky hasn’t yet begun to lighten.

No birds. No blue.

Just that inky pre-dawn blackness pressing soft against the windows, holding the night still around you like a secret.

Because he can’t survive the sun.

And tonight, for once, you don’t want the morning to come either.

[ceasarslegion]

There are few things in this world that annoy me more than people in their 20s infantilizing themselves

Look man. You're an adult. Im not saying you need to throw away your stuffed animals and traditionally "childish" interests, not at all. I think you should be allowed to have fun however you choose to do that. But I am going to side eye you if you start acting like youre too fragile to handle frank sex talk or someone drinking around you or hearing the word "fuck."

There is a fine line between protecting your personal comfort and refusing to grow up. And to be utterly honest I think a lot of folks online seem very developmentally behind for their ages because they've convinced themselves that they're still a baby when they are in their 20s.

I've thought of this before but if youre a legal adult and you cant handle the film Superbad then there might be a problem. I call it the Superbad test: its fine if that style of comedy movie just isn't your thing, but if something like Superbad, Borat, etc make you so viscerally uncomfortable that you start having emotional breaks while watching it and your age starts with at least a 2x, then you have some serious shit to work through regarding your own stunted emotional maturity.

[kedreeva]

I will add on for (at least some) birds.

This bird is not looking at you.

This bird is intensely looking at you

Many animals move their pupils. In both photos you can see her pupils, but they're only facing forward in the second.

Here she is intensely examining a chip in front of her face.

She is not looking at me- actually she's not really looking at anything she's listening to something she heard outside.

Peas most often look at things sideways when they need a wide field of view, too- like when they are scanning the sky for hawks, they will walk puffed up with their head tilted to the side to look up.

But when they want to actually look at something or someone, they will look head on as well. It's just that unlike animals with forward facing eyes, they don't HAVE to look at you head on.

One of the coolest things to remember is that because prey animals have eyes on the side of their head, they are looking at you when they're in profile, not facing you! Hot tip for artists and animal lovers!

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or him seeing you with someone else.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ i might be posting another chapter in a few days hehe,,, i've been thinking about making a post about the kind of outfits this reader wears, lmk if you'd be interested!!

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

YOU: you there? sent at 10am YOU: i miss talking to you. sent at 1pm YOU: i'm booooreeeed :( sent at 4pm YOU: sorry if i'm bothering you :) sent at 6pm YOU: sry i'll stop now!!! sent at 8pm YOU: i miss you... sent two minutes ago YOU: sorryyy, im a bit tips. sent now

you frowned as you looked down at your phone. everything felt like shit. emilia was off to talk with rafe, and you could see vivian making out with topper, the boy's back pressed against the tree, everyone else having someone to talk to, or even be in the presence of. everyone except for you, and the pitiful plastic cup that consisted of 75% vodka, 10% of some random punch and 15% of diet coke in your hand.

"am i pathetic?" you asked the fire blazing in front of you, taking a long chug from your mug. you already knew the answer. the guy you possibly liked was ignoring you, meanwhile everyone else was shoving their tongues down each other's throats. it felt like you were the only person in the universe.

"probably." a voice appeared next to you, nearly making you choke on your drink. you looked to your left side as you coughed, trying to get rid of the itch in your throat, seeing that someone had pulled up a chair right next to yours, making your eyes widen.

"who-" you coughed, "are you?" you held your breath, hoping that it'd help, only for the boy to bend you forward slightly, slapping your back a few times, "breathe in." he commanded, and you did so, "breathe out."

after a few more times of doing that, you started to feel slightly better, able to finally speak without having to cough. "thanks..." you said softly, "uh, who are you?"

"i'm dodge." the dark-haired boy flashed you a smile, "can i ask you, what's your name, and why do you think you're pathetic?"

you told him your name, taking a moment to think of an answer to his second question, "well... all of my friends have someone they're with right now. one of my friends is with a guy she swears she hates but ends up getting with all the time, and another is with a guy who i'm pretty sure has a crush on her."

"then just go and mingle." the dark-haired boy shrugged, like talking to people was the easiest thing in the world. for a lot of people, it was. not you. "drunk people love socializing. someone would probably be willing to listen their ear off about… the history of cars, or something."

"i'm terrible at it. i swear, i'd accidentally end up offending them in some way." you shook your head, "i have pretty bad anxiety. i see a large group of people and it's like... i stop functioning." "you're in a large group of people right now. look around." you did as dodge said, chuckling as you looked around the clearing. you were surrounded by people. couples making out, people hanging out in groups, people by the fire... yet you didn't feel as anxious as you always do.

"i take beta blockers, and since alcohol is a depressant, it relieves my anxiety and lowers my inhibitions, meaning-" "-that you'll feel good after a few drinks but if you keep drinking more, you'll start to go down and eventually feel like crap." the boy finishes your sentence for you, and you cock your head to the side with a slight smile, "you're a lot smarter than most frat boys."

"and you're a lot smarter than most pathetic people." "i take it back," you nudge dodge to his side, "you're awful." "i think you like it." he grinned. "only because my inhibitions are lowered by alcohol." you rolled your eyes, "but tomorrow i'm gonna have the worst case of hangxiety and avoid you like the plague." "you're a cruel woman."

you laughed, shaking your head and looking to the fire, taking an absentminded sip of your drink, "y'know, people tell me that i'm smart, but for some reason, i've never really been able to figure out why i feel different than others." "well, how are you different?" "to the people around me… it seems to come so easily to just talk to people. to connect with someone. but i feel like i can't connect to people at all."

"i mean, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses." the boy shrugged, "you're bad at socializing but i bet you're good at other things." "well, there's one thing i can tell you're not good at, dodge." "oh yeah? what's that?" the boy raised his brows in amusement, "pep talks."

MEANWHILE...

emilia sat down onto the chair next to rafe's, handing him a beer while taking a sip of her own. she leaned back on her chair, tsk'ing, "so, uh, why'd you wanna talk to me?" "oh." rafe chuckled under his breath, turning to her, "you just seem like a cool girl. a cool person."

"oh. thanks." emilia said with a tight smile, taking a long swig of her beer, "so, what are you into?" "mostly football and partying." he chuckled, "i do read sometimes, but don't go around telling that to people 'cause i'm probably gonna get shit on."

"i wont." emilia chuckled softly, "but one of my friends recommended this one bookstore to me. i can send you the address if you give me your number or your snapchat or kildareuchats user."

rafe tsked, "i would, but... i pretty much fucked up my phone this morning." "what? how? you drop it into the toilet or something?" emilia chuckled. "no, no." rafe shook his head humorously, "i fell into the water and didn't even realize it was in my pocket... it was a whole thing. now my phone is sitting in a bowl of rice."

"let's hope for the best." emilia chuckled, stretching her arms over her head, and that was when rafe noticed the logo on emilia's shirt, narrowing his eyes as he thought back to the list of music AnnabelLee had recommended.

fleetwood mac - rhiannon

"fleetwood mac." rafe said quietly, "what?" emilia asked, "fleetwood mac. on your shirt." the boy gestured to the cut-up shirt she was wearing, making emilia laugh, "oh, yeah. i borrowed it from my friend who's a big fan of them. i like them too, but she's obsessed with them. especially stevie nicks."

"who's your friend...?"

"oh, she's here with us." emilia says, looking around, until she finally spots you. and then rafe spots you, talking to another guy, a smile on your face and your body practically pressed against his side. you threw your head back in laughter, before focusing back on the boy you were with, leaning close to him. rafe tries to focus on emilia; AnnabelLee, the girl he's somehow fallen for without seeing her face or talking to her in person... but for some reason, he feels his his gut twisting whenever he thinks about the girl he'd talked to twice, a girl who pretty much got him thrown into a lake talking to another guy. flirting with another guy.

"can i... can i ask you a question?" rafe cleared his throat, "it might be a weird." "yeah, go ahead." emilia smiled, "does your friend have a cat?"

rafe's question made emilia chuckle, "that is a weird question." she stated, "but yeah, she does." emilia smiled at rafe, "her name is angel. she's white, but she has heterochromia. one of her eyes is blue and the other is green."

rafe's face went pale. white cat with one blue eye and one green eye... his mind went back to the one night when he'd gotten drunk and he'd asked you what the cat you'd told him lives with you in your dorm looked like.

she's white, fluffy and has one blue eye and one green eye. she's also a pain in the ass, but i still love her. when the puzzle pieces finally fell into position, rafe's head turned to where you'd been in record time.

only to find that you were no longer there.

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com

[quarterlifekitty]

Random thoughts caused by the Gaz and soap being nosey post :)

(neurodivergent reader af) I feel like Simon is the kind of guy to support alllll of your special interests. He's gonna get him a girl with the most random hyperfixation and he's going every step out of the way to support her.

Deluxe VIP season passes to the zoo? Already bought them. He even got you a background visit with the baby armadillo you were gushing about. You wanted to get closer to the meerkats? He's already found a way to get you in for a lil petting session. On a dolphin kick? Pack a swim suit, he's got it covered. Thought the little penguins were cute? He can face the stinky smell for you, go feed them their little fish.

I just loooove thinking about him quietly smiling while you happy stim next to him because "omg Simon you didn't!!"

(when I was little my mom had a friend who worked at a zoo so I got to meet all kinds of animals! Baby armadillos are the actual cutest and they have been one of my favorite animals forever!)

I’m….(hands clenched at my sides, teeth gritted) I’m so happy for you…. (Trying not to cry tears of envy)

Simon finds it so easy to just throw money at anything and everything you want. He’s spent so much of his life surviving. Never living beyond the bare minimum of his physical needs. Now that he has a healthy, steady paycheck and isn’t in any immediate danger of starving or homelessness or physical violence he just… doesn’t know what to do with himself. And he most certainly doesn’t know how to spend money on himself. You’re different, though. He doesn’t see it as a waste if it’s for you. Money, time, kindness, compassion… all things he’d never give himself but would hand over to you alongside the shirt off of his back if you’d only ask.

Also. If he were on his own? No way in hell was he ever mentioning his career to anyone. He doesn’t need any fuckin’ discount or any facetious conversations where people thank him for killing foreigners in exchange for natural resources or whatever. But he will absolutely bring it up if he thinks it’ll get you special privileges somewhere.

[shoujo-wizard]

gonna just share my words bc I can: I grew up somewhere where boar hunting is still very much a thing & encouraged by local government bc of how they disturb the local forest ecosystems now tht ppl aren't hunting them as often as in the past (we have quite a few endangered plants & birds & other small animals), so there is no seasonal hunting of the wild boars as far as I know. It is so prevalent tht I knew more than half of the guys at my school likely hunted boars from time to time & just in general that a lot of ppl hunted boars, so much so tht if u swipe through dating apps while in the area you'd see more guys posing w boars they'd helped hunt instead of fish they caught, now notice I said 'helped hunt' that's bc u can't hunt a wild boar by yourself & expect to come home alive :) thus hunting groups exist in a sort of echo of anestral practices & my anthropologist heart wants to study it BUT I DIGRESS

I started this tangent bc I want to talk abt how there's a mutt of a breed of dog here tht everyone who grew up here recognizes as a hunting dog & the characteristics likely aren't what u think: the dogs are for the most part of medium size, the frame of the body is quite slim, they're fast as fuck & loud as hell! bc the dog doesn't need to physically face off w the boar or try to take it down if ur hunt is going according to plan, the dog just needs to outrun & distract the boar while the humans take it down

Fun facts from my life: a friend's former boyfriend (amicable) hunted w a group & one time he got to take home the boars heart which he butchered in front of us & cooked for us & it was so delicious tht I feel haunted (positive) by it, my mom & stepmom rescued an injured hunting dog on the side of the road & she is now living a life of luxury barking at everything, before my mom & stepmom got the fence put up in the backyard we would occasionally see a boar lumber into our backyard to feast on the kumquat tree we have, it is important to note tht there r no longer any dense woods around our house & indeed this took place in a suburb & the boar would always be coming from the road our house is on

I wrote all this more for me than anyone else but I hope others also enjoyed it :)

[dimlylittorch]

18+ drabble MDNI

simon with a sweetheart reader and he’s just surprised bc he’s never been with anyone that didn’t just want him for sex + reader is also neurodivergent and doesn’t easily pick up on innuendos :3

My Masterlist🌱

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x sweetheart!neurodivergent!pre-op!transmasc!reader (aka me)

Warnings: terms like clit, cunt, boycunt, etc.

He didn’t know what to do with you. He couldn’t recall ever having a boyfriend quite like you. Gentle and sweet, a little ray of sunshine. You didn’t seem to care about what other people thought of you. Or social norms. Or anything really. You were just.. you. And he wasn’t used to dating someone who wasn’t trying to be something. It was the genuineness that got to him the most. How could anyone be that honest? No hidden motives, no manipulation. You just existed. And you were happy with that.

He knew you were something special from the get go. But things changed when you started to stay at each other’s apartments. He’ll never forget the first time you invited him over- he was expecting what he’d gotten in the past. Rough sex, maybe a movie or a shower after. The usual. He had been fully prepared to pin you to the kitchen counter, ready to kiss you senseless. He wanted to. God, did he want to. More than anything else.

So imagine his surprise when you invite him in, only to have a tray full of snacks set up on your coffee table, a wide smile on your face. “I figured we could have a movie night!”

Or his surprise when you gave him a tour of your apartment, bringing him into your room and sitting him down on your bed with you. He was about to make a move, when suddenly you were holding up a stuffed animal. “This is McCoy! He’s a manatee. He’s named after my favorite Law and Order character.”

He had pictured himself in many places in his life. But never on a sweet boys bed, being told to pick out a stuffed animal to hold while he watches a movie for movie night. Okay, you didn’t want to have sex. Maybe you just wanted to make out? That’s what he thought- up until you brought him back to the living area, asking him if he wanted the couch or the chair. He picked the couch, settling in comfortably and leaving his lap open for you.

He hadn’t anticipated you would pick the chair. Leaving him on the couch by himself. But your smile never faltered, your joy never fading. You were perfectly happy simply being in each other’s company. It was.. new. He sat back on the couch with his legs spread, a stupid plushie in between his legs he actually liked it.

His fingers drummed on his knee as his eyes trailed over your form, your pretty eyes glued to the tv. Some romance movie he couldn’t care less about. Well- until he heard you sigh. And he saw your eyes soften. “Isn’t that so sweet?” You say softly, a content smile on your lips. He couldn’t help but sigh as well, his eyes glued to you. He wanted you. He knew he wanted you. But you didn’t exactly seem.. receptive.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Every person he had dated in the past jumped his bones the second he got in the door. The movie watching and snack sharing was always an afterthought- never the main event. Now he was stuck on your couch, cock resting heavy between his legs only being hidden by your plushie he kept in his lap. For the first time in a long time, he felt a little.. perverted. For the first time, he wasn’t with someone whose mind worked like his; always going for sex first.

The two of you have had make out sessions, sure. But they were always too fleeting for his liking. A few gentle kisses on the lips, never making it down to your neck before you scooted away, sitting or standing at his side once more. It wasn’t that he needed sex from you. He just.. didn’t understand what you did want. People date to have sex- and be intimate. Right?

Once the credits of the movie begin to roll, he watches how you sit up and stretch, a content smile on your lips. “Hey, Si?” You asked sweetly as you looked over at him.

He hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes meeting your own. “Mhm?”

“Did you.. want to stay the night?”

Ah. There it was. He got it now- you just wanted to wait until you could be more comfortable. More intimate, softer. Just like you. “Course, love.” He says gruffly as he stands up, walking over to you with the intention of hauling you over his shoulder and taking you down the hall to your bed.

Before he can move to get a hold of you, you place the plushie you’d been holding in his arms with a yawn. “Why don’t you go get tucked in while I pick up?” You said sleepily, voice softer than ever.

He stares at you blankly as you pick up the snack plates, bringing them into the kitchen and starting to clean up. All his years in the special forces- and he’d never felt this disarmed. Frozen in your living room, holding a silly stuffed animal and trying to figure out what to do next. God in heaven- what did you want?

He slowly meandered down the hall to your room, tossing the plushie back onto your bed. He huffed, glancing at himself in your mirror. He never had to seduce anyone before; people usually just.. you know. Wanted him. Did you not think he was attractive? He knew that was a stupid thought- but the two of you hadn’t exactly explored that aspect of each other much.

That’s how Simon found himself stripped down to his underwear on your bed, leaning back in a position he hoped looked somewhat seductive. It was a little hard when he was surrounded by stuffed animals. His erection was clear as day, and he prayed to god that you’d want to do something about it. Fucking hell he sounded desperate. The thought made him cringe, rubbing his face tiredly. Since when was he the one chasing others?

Around five minutes later you pad your way down the hallway, pausing in the doorway of your bedroom when you see Simon mostly naked on your bed. Feeling your cheeks heat up a little, you quickly turn towards your dresser, pulling out one of your favorite shirts to sleep in. And for the first time tonight, Simon saw it. That little spark in your eye, the way your breath hitched. Bingo.

He slowly slips off of the bed, walking up behind you and resting his hands on the hem of your shirt. “Want some help, love?” He murmurs lowly against your ear, making your heart race. The second he sees you nod he lifts it up over your head, watching as you slip on the more comfortable alternative.

—

You were trying to be normal about this. You really, really were. But he was just so goddamn pretty. Muscular chest covered in curly chest hair, thighs as thick as tree trunks- god you were such a pervert. How could you think about him like that? It’s so disrespectful; what gave you the right to sexualize him like that?

The way his knuckles brushed against your sides when he pulled your shirt off, the way he sat on the couch holding one of your stuffed animals.. he was perfect. He was the perfect guy. And you were looking at him like a piece of meat. He deserved so much better. You couldn’t just.. think about him like that. Let alone when he’s in your fucking apartment.

You suddenly turn around, looking up at him as he loomed over you. “I..” you whisper, trying to find the right words. All the while he gazed down at you hungrily, thinking you were probably almost perfectly ripe for the picking. He’d flirted, teased- surely you had to be interested by now. “I think you should take the bed.” You finish.

He tenses, staring down at you blankly for a few moments. Fuck- had he gone too far? Pushed you too hard? “No- no, love, m’sorry” he starts to say quickly, his hands moving for your hips. “You don’ have to do that. I didn’ mean to-“

“You’re just so pretty” you choke out, tears welling up in your eyes. This was so embarrassing. “And my body is being dumb- you don’t deserve to be sexualized like that.” You explain in a flurry of words. “You should feel comfortable with me- and I’m ruining that.”

His hands fall away from your hips, moving to rest on his own as he stares down at you. “Love” he says gently. “Yer cryin’ ‘cause of that?” He asks incredulously. When he sees you nod he can’t help but smile a little, kneeling down in front of you so you have to look at him. “I’ve been teasin’ ya on purpose, sweet boy.” He muses as his hands move to rub along your outer thighs. “Been tryin’ to get you to touch me.”

Looking down at him, your head tilts a little with confusion. “Why.. why didn’t you just say that?” You ask innocently, genuinely confused. Honesty was the best policy after all. “I mean- I’m not mad- that sounded wrong” you quickly clarified. “I just.. you know you’re allowed to ask” you say faintly, reaching to cup his chin. “Right?”

Those words hit him a little harder than they should’ve. He was allowed to ask. Not everything had to be communicated through subtle; or not so subtle innuendos. “Yeah, love.” He murmurs, leaning into your hand. “Yer always right.. my smart little bird. You’ve got more common sense than the street put together.” He smirks.

Simon’s gaze shifts downwards towards your crotch, and he feels his heart rate spike. “Lovie” he murmurs lowly, his eyes becoming hazy. “Can I..” he starts to say, licking his lips as he tries to form the words. “Can I eat him? Wanna treat ‘em right.. wanna treat you right.” He never realized how humbling it was to actually verbalize what you wanted. He had always been a taker- saying what he would do to someone else. But never asking. At least- not quite like this.

He sees your eyes soften, and he can’t help but groan when you give him the go ahead. With anyone else he would’ve teased more; would’ve ordered a verbal yes. But he understood it now. Sometimes the words were hard as hell to form. “I don’t want you to bruise up your knees” you speak softly, the care in your tone caressing his soul.

He shakes his head no almost instantly, reaching up to tug down your sweatpants and briefs. “Want a bruise to remember this by, baby” he murmurs as he scoots forward, hooking under your hips so his breath was against your boycunt. “I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout it for days” he groans as soon as he gets a whiff of your scent. “Prettiest thing in tha’ world.”

Before you could mention at least getting a pillow for his knees, his mouth connected with your cunt. You gasped, immediately reaching down to grab onto his hair; much to his satisfaction. You thought keeping yourself steady might be hard, but he had you pinned to your dresser making sure you weren’t going anywhere.

You knew he would be a passionate lover- you could always tell. But this? This was so much better than you could’ve imagined. His tongue slipping around your clit, thick warm muscle dragging down to your hole, pumping in and out. Although he was worshipping you, there was a layer of selfishness to it. Every movement was for him just as much as it was for you. Simon didn’t want to admit that within a minute he knew he was going to cum in his pants just from eating you out.

It didn’t take long for you to be practically sitting on his face, legs giving out as you whined and moaned on top of him. His hips bucked up involuntarily every time you tugged on his hair, his erection almost painful. Less than five minutes was all it took- hell, maybe less than three. He was working overtime to make you cum, knowing that feeling you soak his tongue would trigger his release as well.

The second you cried out, hips trying to ride his face, he swears he died and had gone to heaven. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he helped you ride his tongue, his thighs shaking heavily the moment he felt your release. Lapping at your juices, he fruitlessly bucked against the air, moaning against your boycunt after a few seconds. He slammed his hand against your dresser as he came, muttering curses as he tried to keep the both of you stable.

After the fact he gently guided you back to a standing position, keeping your legs steady as he took deep breaths. He rested his head against your stomach, his eyes fluttering closed as he thought about how good it all felt. And all he had to do was ask. “You.. you don’t happen to have any extra boxers, do you?” He smiles lazily with a weak chuckle.

thank you for reading!! notes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :3

[beastyeastfreak]

Self Aware! Beasts x human! reader

Link to og post

Cw and tags: Fluff, kinda a crack fic, romantic.

Summary: The beasts have found their way out of the device to meet their partner, little do they know their partner isn’t as small as them.

Written pre silent salt

Mystic flour

🌾 - She had been waiting for the opportunity to escape the confines of the game for a long time. As her ability to break rules and speak to you in various ways came to her, so did the ability to enter your world. She had not let on she could do that for some time, she wanted to ensure she would not crumble or lose her powers as she paid you a visit. Her intentions were to bring you with her, so you could sit at her side and do whatever you did to control the kingdoms at her disposal.

🌾 - The day was finally here, she had ensured everything would go smoothly and you had just opened the game and began speaking to her, moreso complaining about something that had went wrong in your life. She’d look up at you, “I can fix this all for you,” she said which you stopped. She continued to speak, finding a sliver of enjoyment at your reaction. “I will show you,” she sounded ominous which made you frantically start to explain it wasn’t that bad and you weren’t that frustrated.

🌾 - You stopped as that cakehound loading animation played before your phone shut off. You set it down and walk away. As anyone would think, you assumed she was about to come out your phone like the girl from The Ring. But as you watched your phone flicker brightly… you saw a little cookie standing on the screen.

🌾 - “Why is everything so large..?” She spoke and turned to see the giant human she had been speaking to for some time crouched beside the desk looking down at her. You were bigger than expected, she was frankly expecting you to be cookie sized not witch sized.

🌾 - “Aaaaaaaw you’re so smaaaaall~” You croon and pick her up. Cupping your hands under her, she cant help but feel a little shocked that her entire plan of dragging you back to the kingdom and keeping you seemed to have been thwarted. “Is there a purpose to your behaviour?” She asks as you lift her to your face. “Sorry, you’re so tiny! I forget you were like a cookie or whatever,” you respond. “You’re so cute even though you’re so scary! I could just eat you up-“ she stared darkly at you. “Sorry, bad choice of words..”

🌾 - She seemed to get over your statement relatively quickly. Floating to her feet and standing in your palm. She didn’t know how she’d get you in the game with such a difference in size and strength, not to mention you had no flour within you for her to manipulate. But maybe she could find other ways to use you to her benefit, you did seem very witch-like after all…

Burning spice

🏜️ - If there was a barrier, Burning Spice was sure to break it. He was somewhat offended at the notion he was trapped in another prison but once he realised what was happening he knew he had to escape. There was a wall between him and his beloved which made him powerless to turn all your issues to rubble!

🏜️ - You had opened cookie run one day, the first thing you did was say hi to Burning Spice who was standing in an area where your decorations had mysteriously disappeared. He laughed, “your face will be priceless when i inflict my wrath upon your world!” You snickered in a sort of “yeah right” kind of way. He grinned, “do you not believe me? Let me prove it!” He said as your phone began to vibrate making you drop it. You walked away from your phone, now looking for something to defend yourself with as the phone flipped around and flashed its screen.

🏜️ - The screen suddenly sparked and a small red figure jumped out from it, weapon sparkling. “HAHAHA! Kneel before the Great De-“ He was cut off as he looked over at the human, much larger than him, he may have chosen the wrong battle…

🏜️ - You stare in shock for a moment, hoping for dreading a muscular beast towering over you. “Ha! Look at you! A mini destroyer!” You say and walk over, dropping the toy sword you grabbed for self defense. “Do not patronise me! I will crumble you!” He roared but you picked him up, hands wrapped around him watching him squirm. “D’aaaaawwww you’re like a feral kitten~” you coo and pet his head, making his antennae push back. “I am not a pet!”

🏜️ - You giggle, “sorry, i cant help myself,” you say and open your hands letting him stand. “You’d be wise to treat me with respect,” he growls. You grin, “Alright i’ll stop messing with you…” you snicker and continue under your breath, “baby spice…”

Shadow Milk

🃏 - He couldn’t contain himself! Candy Apple Cookie and Black Sapphire cookie thought he had finally lost what minute amount of sanity he had. He knew he looked and sounded insane, Black Sapphire cookie was more curious than worried. “So… Master, i can only assume you have some marvellous plan in the work… which you’ve decided to share with the… sky…” he hesitantly asks with Candy Apple cookie tailing after. Shadow milk cookie grinned and floated over. “Of course! Im going to see my Darling Y/N!” Candy Apple cookie turned red and shouted “WHAT?!”

🃏 - “I’ve never heard of this.. Y/N cookie…” Black sapphire cookie said skeptically. Shadow milk cookie raised an eyebrow then grinned wider. “Ill bring them here… right after a romantic entrance!” He said in a dreamy tone before summoning a black portal and flying into it.

🃏 - You were doing dishes in an empty house, it was dark and you were in a good groove. You were pulled from your work as you heard familiar laughter down the hallway. You frown, you must’ve left Cookie run on. As you turn the faucet off you watch as the light from your bedroom has a tall figure standing in it. “Oh Y/N~! I have come to pay you a visit,” Shadow Milks voice rang through the home. You stood up straight, “that’s impossible!” You say watching the figure move in the light as if looking around, you begin to move through the hallway hesitantly. “And yet here i am! Ready to kiss you silly!” You rather liked that idea, you walked through the door to see a small floating cookie… not a human.

🃏 - You stand shocked, before smirking. “You want to kiss me?” You say and he whips around, face visibly scared. “Ohohoh! You’re much bigger than anticipated! Maybe just a peck on the cheek will suffice?” He tried to hide his fear, probably that they’d eat him. “Oh no, i’ve waited so long for a romantic kiss, you just want to give me a little smooch? That wont do… come here!” You say before jumping forward trapping the cookie in your hands. You press your lips to his face with an audible “mmmmmmwah!” Then let go of him, he transforms into a paper puppet, descending slowly to the floor making small flustered noises.

🌷 - You worked so hard and it hurt that Eternal Sugar cookie couldn’t do anything! So she began to search, and test and finally she cracked the code. She would come to you after another gruelling work day and she would hold you in her arms, carrying you back with her to spend the rest of your life with her in the garden.

🌷 - Soon she did just that, she watched as you opened the app while laying on the couch. Tiredness prevalent in your eyes. You tried to do you tasks first but she wouldn’t allow it, when you went to her she said “You look exhausted! How about i help you relax?~” She says before the game shuts down, your phone shuts down for that matter. You do what you can but it just wont budge. Its only when you tiredly drop on your lap and lean your head back against the pillow, something happens

🌷 - A soft purple mist forms around your phone putting the scent of a perfume like aroma into the air. You look back down, a white pair of sugary wings opens up wafting the mist away. She looks around then sees your face, her head tilting. “How… unexpected,” she seems confused but doesn’t let on any negative emotions. You seem just as confused.

🌷 - Your confusion shifts to adoration, “you’re so pretty.” Sitting up, you hold her in your hands like an injured bird, your hands cupping around her but leaving space for her to see you. She laughs, “how sweet.” Shes a bit scared to say the least, maybe she should have accounted that you were likely not a cookie.

🌷 - “I didn’t expect you to appear like this,” you say running your finger over her wings in a feather light touch. “I almost want to keep you for myself and never let you go back,” you say. Is this how her angels felt about her? She felt honoured and nervous at the same time. “Well… lets not go that far just yet, im here to help you.” She says and flies up to the back of the couch out of your hands. You tilt your head, “help me?” You ask placing a hand over the back of the couch. “Help you relax… your height will not deter me from helping you find happiness.”

[leighsartworks216]

Fistfight

Sylus x gn!Reader / Sylus & gn!Reader

IT'S FINALLY FINISHED AHHH I'm so glad I was finally able to get this goddamn idea out of my head

Can be read as romantic, platonic, or familial (ie. Sylus adopting another young bird for his flock lol)

Title from "Fistfight" by The Ballroom Thieves

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst, blood, injury, injured animal, guns, abusive parent, slow burn, potentially confusing pov, shapeshifting, literal sleeping together

Word Count: 4,381

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third - Fourth LADs Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus stops at the mouth of the alley. He stares into the heavy darkness, listening. He thought he heard someone swearing under their breath. If it’s another one of the bastards that tried to gang up on him just minutes ago, he’s going to be pissed.

With an outstretched hand, tendrils of his Evol dive into the depths of the abyss, shoving past and under dumpsters and discarded boxes to find the source of the sound. A yowl screams out with the distinct sound of cans being knocked over. They wrap around the source and draw it out into the orange lamplight.

A cat wriggles and hisses as it tries to futilely claw out of his Evol’s grasp. He hmphs. Of course, it makes sense for a cat to be out here. The N109 Zone is probably chock full of strays and-

He frowns and draws it closer. It tries swiping at his face, but he barely flinches back. The side of its body is stained in deep crimson. Fur matted down with blood. Fresh blood, too. It’s still dripping, landing on the sidewalk in persistent drips.

“Did you get into a fight?” He knows his question won’t receive an answer, but the cat does struggle less once he’s asked it. Perhaps it’s just growing weaker with blood loss.

He sighs. He can’t leave it here in the alley; it would be dead in the next few hours if he did. And clearly it won’t let him touch it, given the way it bares its fangs at him with a sharp hiss and a swipe of its claws.

He pulls off his coat and holds it open. The tendrils deposit the cat quickly within his arms, where he wraps it securely in the leather before it can squirm away. “You’ve still got spirit,” he hums, half-amused, as he continues on his way. “Hopefully you’ll live through the night.”

-

“Uh, Boss? What’cha got there?” Kieran trails just behind him, trying to peer around his arm to see the bundle wrapped up in them.

Luke is on his other side, doing just the same. “Why is it moving like that?”

“It’s a cat.” The Twins look at each other. “Call a vet. Have them send over a doctor to look at it.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Luke says with a half-finger salute.

“And get some fish from the kitchen.”

“Right away, Boss,” Kieran mirrors his brother.

They break away from him to go about their tasks. He can hear their hushed conversation asking each other what they think happened. The cat manages to free a paw and claw at his hand. The scratch is deep enough to draw blood. It fades away into flecks of red and black a moment later. He sighs as he pulls open the door to his office. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

The door shuts, his hold loosens, and the cat is squirming out as fast as possible. It jumps wildly onto the couch, staining the dark leather with blood and whatever god awful garbage stuck to its paws from that alleyway.

Now that he’s back home, he can see its injuries much better. It seems like there’s a hole in its side, too large and too perfectly round to be from an animal’s tooth or claws. Sylus frowns deeper. Did this cat get shot? Was it a poor attempt at pest control? Humans have been known to have a poor track record with strays and ferals, and the residents of the N109 Zone aren’t known to hesitate to remove what annoys them.

There’s a knock at the door behind him. The cat sits up straighter, like it’s ready to bolt the second it opens. He quirks a challenging brow at it. Who will win this fight, he wonders.

He turns the knob without looking away. The door opens up enough for someone to slip inside. He turns to address Kieran, and the cat makes a break for it.

It collides into a wall of smoke.

“Here’s the fish, Boss. Vet’s on their way.”

He pays no attention to the yowling and hissing of the cat as he examines the container in his hand. It’s certainly a bit fancy for a stray. Hopefully it’ll be enough to calm it down.

The door closes with a hum of dismissal. The wall vanishes, leaving only a worn-out cat and a scratched up rug behind. It looks up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Hungry?” He hooks a finger around the pull tab and removes the lid on the can. Immediately, the overbearing scent of fish fills the room. He sets it down a foot or so away from the cat, steps back, and watches.

It continues to stare at him for a minute. It’s almost unsettling. Like there’s something more behind its eyes that he’s not privy to.

Soon enough, though, the hunger must be too much for the little thing. It slowly stands up. He watches it carefully as it limps over to the fish. Its back leg doesn’t appear to be damaged; maybe it just hurts to move too much with how close it is to the hole in its side. The cat lowers itself down on its stomach, shoulders hunched, prepared to run at any given moment, and gives the can a distrusting sniff.

The first bite feels like a major success. If it can fight and it can eat, maybe it really can pull through this.

-

The cat glares at him from across the room. Its tail flicks angrily from side to side. And there is no way in hell he can take it seriously.

If the cone around its neck didn’t remove any and all intimidation, its shaved fur certainly did.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat look so pissed!” Luke cackles. He’s sitting on the floor. For the last few days, he’s been trying to “be one with the cat” in order to get close enough to pet it. He’s got bandages all over his hands to show for it.

“Do you think it knows it would’ve died without that surgery?” Kieran asks. He’s sitting on the couch behind his brother, arms crossed. Of all three of them, the cat seems to like him the best. Though, the bar really is in hell.

Sylus shakes his head. “Do you think it would be so angry if it did?”

“Hmm, good point.”

“Oh!” Luke suddenly jumps up, startling the cat, and runs over to a bag by the door. “I almost forgot I got these! There’s gotta be something in here it likes.”

He hauls the bag over and drops it onto the nice mahogany desk of their leader. Sylus doesn’t say anything, merely watches as Luke pulls out various items. Two kinds of brushes, little catnip mice toys, feathers dangling from a stick, at least three kinds of treats-

Kieran laughs. “When did you get all of this stuff?” He’s suddenly by Luke’s side, picking up one of the dangle toys and bouncing it in front of Mephisto, resting on his perch nearby. The crow squawks indignantly.

Luke shrugs with a proud expression. “I have my ways. Here, let’s try these!” He grabs one of the treat bags and tears it open. He returns to his place on the floor. The cat stares up at him with interest. “Want this?”

Its tail slows down slightly, a smidge less irritated than before. Luke nearly squeals with excitement when it leans forward to smell the morsel in his hand.

A sharp ringtone startles it. It backs away, tucking itself into the corner of its makeshift bed made out of spare blankets far too expensive for a cat to be laying on like it does.

Sylus lifts his phone to his ear. “Speak.”

The Twins both turn to watch. He listens silently to the man on the other end. It seems the boss of the men who ambushed him the other night is trying to cover his ass, offering up apologies and ‘I had no idea’s and ‘How can I make it up to you?’s. He hums noncommittally into the receiver as he stands up and heads for the door. He nods to the Twins, a silent message for them to follow. The crow flies and lands on his shoulder as he leaves. Luke sets the treat down on the carpet. Kieran nudges him. The door shuts behind them.

The cat stares at the door for a minute longer. It listens carefully to the footsteps of its captors. Once it can’t hear them anymore, it waits a few more minutes…

Fucking finally.

-

Sylus's steps slow to a stop just inside the room. The cone lay abandoned on the couch. All the furniture and rugs are destroyed, clawed up and torn apart. The culprit is sitting on the desk. It stares at him blankly.

The door closes with a click. He walks over to the couch, leaning over the back to pick up the abandoned cone. He turns it over. There's no scratches, no bite marks, and the cord that holds it shut has been tied with a different knot than the vet used.

He looks back over at the cat. Its tail twitches anxiously beside it.

Trouble. Just like he suspected. Though, not quite like this.

"As long as you aren't licking at your stitches," he concedes. He steps over to the desk and drops the cone on top, near the cat. "Hm. You need more pain medication, don't you?"

"Mreow."

"Oh, so you do know how to speak nicely." He rounds the desk. The cat turns to face him the whole time. At least it doesn't try to scratch him as he opens the top drawer and pulls out an orange bottle. He struggles momentarily to get just one of the small pills, resorting to dumping some into the cap just to make it easier on himself, and holds it out to the cat. It hesitantly leans out to sniff it. "Don't most animals like to have their meds hidden?"

It makes a little sound, as though trying to chastise him for his misconception. He holds the pill patiently. Waits with all the patience of someone willing to let the world disintegrate around them. He almost holds his breath when it takes the pill from his fingers and retreats to eat it safely.

Progress. Good progress, for how short the cat's been here. Eating out of his hand is a good sign, for how odd the rest of its behavior is.

-

"Ah, shit, wait!"

The cat runs down the hall. Two sets of footsteps chase after it, hissing pleas for it to come back and be a good kitty. They cartoonishly skid to a stop when it runs through another open door.

Luke turns slowly to Kieran. Both of them are horrified for what comes next.

After a quick round of rock, paper, scissors, Kieran is the one forced to crack open the door further.

Sylus is sitting up on his bed, back against the headboard. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling in a normal pattern. Fast asleep. A frown is set deep on his face.

Kieran looks around the room. It's huge, has a lot of hiding spots, and seems to be completely devoid of the cat. Did it slip by somehow? Did it actually go into a different room? He glances at Mephisto, who seems far too busy preening its faux feathers to care about his plight.

Fearing the consequences of lingering any longer, Kieran slowly backs away and closes the door as quietly as possible. He shrugs at his brother. Luke is just as confused as he is, gesturing in a silent conversation.

Deciding they were both somehow, somehow tricked, they continue their hunt further down the hall…

The cat pokes its head out from behind its cover. Honestly, it didn't mean to get trapped in here. It was just trying to lose the two goons on its tail.

The presence on the bed doesn't do a lot to put it at ease. The man confuses it with his callousness. One minute, he's manhandling it with his Evol, and the next he's giving it food and making sure its wounds are taken care of. It's not that he's mean, as far as the cat can tell. He's nice to those guys, anyway, humoring their weird little ideas and eccentricities.

Mephisto hops down beside it. The cat's back curls, fur all standing on end as it hisses at the metal bird. He seems just as unfazed by the warning as the man is.

"Leave it."

The command startles the cat, putting it on higher alert as it whips around to hiss at the man. He pays it no mind. Mephisto caws irritatedly as he flies back up to his perch.

“You aren’t supposed to be running around.” Sylus glances at the cat. "Do you want to leave?" he asks in a low murmur, words slurred slightly with sleep. He waits for a response. Waits for any sort of tell that would let him know to open the door for the cat. But nothing comes.

The cat's fur is still standing up as it cautiously makes its way over. It stops at the side of the bed, adjusting its body as it gauges the distance it needs to jump to make it onto the thick mattress. Sylus chuckles tiredly. "You can't jump that, kitten. Want some help?"

It puts its paw on the overhanging bedding, standing on its back legs. Then, it meets his eyes. "Mreoww."

He waves his hand. Red and black Evol lift the cat onto the bed before fading. It's a little unsteady on the softer surface, but it catches its balance soon enough. It takes a single step away from the edge, then lays down.

He hums, but he doesn't say anything more. If the cat wants to stay there for the rest of the day, so be it. The Twins won't come looking for it again in here, and Mephisto isn't going to snitch to them of all people.

He shuts his eyes again, ignores the cat staring at him, and falls asleep.

Slowly, the cat's fur smoothes down. It allows itself to curl up into a more comfortable position. It keeps an eye on him until it can't anymore, as sleep claims it, too.

-

Every day for the next couple weeks, this continued.

For the first few days, Sylus would head off to bed, leaving the door cracked open behind him. The cat would come in a while later. If he was awake, he'd use his Evol to lift it up. If he wasn't, well, it meowed persistently until he was.

Sylus soon set up a pet stair beside the bed. This way, it could climb up without having to wake him. With that, it also began following him in right as he went to bed. He'd been pleasantly surprised the first time, when he opened the door and it slipped in quickly through his legs, ran up the stairs and stared at him. When he woke up at sundown, he noticed that it was just a couple inches closer than before.

Every few days, it shifted closer and closer, until it was within arm's reach. Though, he never tried reaching out to pet it. It was clear by their interactions at night that it was not ready for that sort of attention, no matter how desperately Luke tried to just pat its head once. Like a silent agreement, he would offer it protection in the day while they both slept and leave it to its own devices at night.

-

“Cat seems to be feeling a lot better, huh?” Kieran follows the feline around the room as it wanders gracefully along shelf after shelf of lethal weapons.

“Shouldn’t we get it down from there?” Luke wonders. His phone is lifted, taking photos of the cat, just as he’d been doing for all the time it’s been living in the base.

Sylus looks up to watch with them, the gun in his own hand going ignored.

The cat walks slowly. Its focus is solely on the guns on display, observing each one like it’s a museum. He watches as it comes to a stop in front of one - one he himself altered and upgraded. It stares. Paws lightly at it. It’s not loaded, there’s no danger, but there is an intense interest he’s never seen a cat have before. Like it’s thinking, trying to work something out with knowledge it shouldn’t have.

A camera shutter startles it from its focus. It turns its head toward the Twins and meows annoyedly at them.

Sylus shakes his head. “Leave it be. Start gathering product for our client.”

Luke slips his phone into his pocket with a half-salute. Both of them look a moment longer at the cat, staring down at them with a twitching tail, before getting back to work. They pack enhanced rifles into a sturdy case, fitting them into foam cutouts in layers. Big metal clasps hold the case shut. Each rifle glows dimly with protocore energy. Mostly red, some blue, a couple yellow. Sylus looks over one, turning it over in his hands, checking the quality. From the corner of his eye, the cat keeps watch, tail flicking back and forth all the while.

-

“I’m so sorry again for my men’s ambush, Mr. Qin.” The man bows solemnly, hands rubbing together. He’s shorter than Sylus, but he’s bulky, with thick arms and a barrel chest. His smile is disarming. Eyes too bright and kind. When he straightens out again, he’s rubbing his wrist, as though realigning the joint. “My child ran away, you see. I sent them out looking for them, but they saw you and decided not to waste the opportunity.”

Sylus quirks an eyebrow. “Did you men have a reason to try taking my life?”

The man laughs, quite undisturbed by the question. “To prove their capabilities, no doubt. You are quite famous for your strength, after all, and those young men did not understand the consequences to come from failing. To be sure, in their minds, they must have believed themselves so capable as to not fail.”

“Must have.”

With a nod, one of his henchmen steps forward with a bulky case. He deposits it in front of the Onychinus leader, clicking it open where it rests on his desk. Stacks of protocores, gleaming in a rainbow of colors, fill the case to the brim. They aren’t run of the mill either; a case of this size with this many authentically powerful crystals would take the Hunter’s Association years to amass. Yet here they are, for the taking.

“You should know these are worth more than the weapons you requested.”

“But of course! Consider it a gift of good will, and a hope for future business between our groups.”

There’s a scratch at the door. Soft, yet recognizable to Sylus, who flicks a finger and opens the door a crack. Just as always, the cat squeezes through. But this time, it pauses when it sees Sylus’s client. When he looks at the client, he looks just as caught as the cat.

The air becomes tense and stifling. No sound to be heard as the cat moves silently and quickly across the floor. The man and his lackeys watch, wide-eyed, as the cat leaps up into Sylus’s lap. It’s the first time it’s ever found a place there. For all these weeks, it has always kept a careful distance from everyone, even the Twins and their persistent desire to pet it. Now, out of nowhere, it chooses to cross that boundary it set entirely?

It lays down, front paws tucked under itself, large eyes with slit-pupils staring at the man on the other side of the desk.

The man’s jaw tightens. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. He’s on a thin wire; Sylus can feel the rage beginning to leak off of his being. Even without looking into his soul, he can see the truth behind that easy-going mask he wears; the blackened heart rotting inside. When he finally looks back up at Sylus, he forces a strained grin and chokes out a sharp laugh without mirth.

“Mr. Qin, I believe you said you had no involvement in my child’s disappearance.”

Sylus’s brow furrows, an intimidating warning. “I stand by that.”

The man’s cheek twitches. “You do? Ha!” His hands fall to his sides, hands clenched in tight fists. “Then the little fuck has been pulling you along like a fool. Hiding away as a cat this whole fucking time, haven’t you?”

He feels the cat tense in his lap. It sits stock-still. Even its tail is stiff. Like one small move would pull the pin to set everything off. He doesn’t even notice himself sitting up straighter in return. Doesn’t realize he’s as tense until his finger begins tapping at the arm of his chair, ready for what could happen next.

“Tell you what, Mr. Qin. Hand them over and I’ll send over three more boxes just like that,” he offers through grit teeth, nodding to the case on his desk.

“I think if they’d wanted to go with you, they’d have done so already,” he rebuts. “Considering they could have run back home weeks ago, it seems to me their choice is already clear.”

His jaw shifts. Teeth grinding, smile starting to sour into an ugly grimace. “Mr. Qin-”

“The deal’s off,” Sylus interrupts sharply. The man blinks, wide-eyed in shock. “If you refuse to respect my guests in my own home-”

“THEY’RE MY CHILD!” he roars.

“In my home.” He gestures. Luke and Kieran step out from behind him, grabbing the cases of guns and settling them behind his chair, safely out of reach. He tilts his head. Shadows cast over his eyes until they’re embers in the dark. “Why would you send trigger-happy men to retrieve them?”

The man is silent. Fuming. Steam would be pouring from his ears if it could. His fists shake by his side with force, aching to hurt something - someone.

A large, protective hand rests gently over the cat’s back. Barely even touching.

“Get out.”

The man stays still. His guards stand rigid.

Sylus tsks. Red and black tendrils of mist erupt from his hand. They shoot out, grabbing hold of the man and his guards, contorting their legs and arms and bodies like dolls. Sickening cracks, gut-wrenching screams. Their bodies puppeteered out the door, down the hall.

He uncovers the cat. “Make sure they leave without a fuss,” he commands, nodding at the case on the desk. “Take that with you.”

The Twins shut and lock the case back up, whispering questions to themselves as they glance back on their way out. They don’t fully understand what happened. To them, it just sounds like this guy was a crazy pet-dad whose cat got out.

The cat slowly stands from his lap. He watches as it hops on top of his desk, turning back around to face him as it sits. Its tail still shifts anxiously. Paws shift nervously against the wood, as though it’s trying to knead it.

Sylus’s lips quirk into a slight smirk. “Jig’s up, kitten.”

It looks away from him. Fur begins to recede and shift. Limbs elongate and the body sits upright. In a matter of seconds, where once a cat sat, sits a person. You rub your arm, still looking away. He shifts to uncross his legs and you flinch. He slowly finishes the action with a sigh. All of your attitude, your defiance, locked away from the presence of your father alone. He can only imagine how such cruelty against you began. Every scenario makes him wish he’d done worse when “escorting” him out.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises.

You glance at him. “I used you.”

He nods. “I knew something was strange weeks ago,” he admits. You look at him wide-eyed and he chuckles. “Ever since your cone was removed and I gave you medicine. You removed it yourself, didn’t you?”

“... It was uncomfortable.”

He grins, but continues with an edge of softness, “You used me for your own protection. And given what I just witnessed, I’d say it was well justified.”

You let out a soft breath. Your shoulders relax slightly, adjusting to his kindness. It was nothing you didn’t already witness in your time here, with you in your cat form and the two kids he keeps around, but it’s still quite foreign. “I would have left sooner, but then you kept getting phone calls from my dad. I was scared he’d still be looking for me, so I stayed… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to.” He glances at the time. When he stands, he moves carefully, but you don’t flinch away. He holds out a hand, an offering. “I’d imagine you’re getting tired of eating cat food every day. I’ll have my chef prepare something for you. Anything you’d like.”

You look down at his open palm. Then up at his face. There’s nothing guarded or threatening, outside of his height and aura. And the promise of real food - your stomach growls at the thought alone.

You put your hand in his. His touch is soft and gentle. He helps you down from his desk and leads you out of the room, down familiar halls. “What about after?” you ask uncertainly.

He shrugs a shoulder, like he’d already thought of every outcome before you even thought of the question. “That’s up to you, kitten. You’re welcome to stay here, or you can leave. Either way, I’ll make sure you remain protected.”

It’s like a weight lifts off your shoulders. Freedom and protection rolled into one. You’re no longer confined to your home, in fear for your very life. You can go anywhere, do anything, and know, no matter how far, you’ll be safe. You hold on tighter to his hand, catching up to walk directly by his side. “Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“That’s my name.”

He smiles. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

That night, a familiar cat curls up tightly in his lap, fast asleep and purring loudly.

---

Tag List:

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[lorelune]

rabbit hearted

|| michael kaiser x reader || E/18+ || a wolf and a rabbit || wc: 6.6k || ao3 ||

After a game, during a much-needed night at the bar, Bastard München muses on what animal each player embodies. The answer that the team decides on for you is rather unfortunate. And even more unfortunate is that Kaiser takes such a liking to your assignment.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: wow. wrote this in an afternoon in a complete, lust-filled haze. michael kaiser the things you do to me. this is truly just smut. insane smut with a relatively mean kaiser who is soft, somewhere in there. god help you and reader. enjoy loves 🩷

CWs: player reader, nonbinary reader with afab anatomy, reader referred to with they/them pronouns, clit/dick are used interchangeably for reader, dubcon (kinda), minor Oliver/reader, reader smokes and drinks, predator/prey (lightly), degradation (no derogatory terms used), squirting, PIV sex, kaiser is mean

It starts during a normal night of drinking.

You're out with the team— you usually abstain, but tonight feels different. After a hard-earned win, Bastard München is squirrely and more lively than normal. You can feel the electric energy in the air as the lot of you settle into your favored bar.

Kaiser is, as usual, at the epicenter with you against his side.

Kaiser doesn't drink often— the smell of ale and liquor bothers him usually. But when he does, he's a bit of a lightweight.

Tonight, Kaiser nurses his third stein with flushed cheeks. He'd taken a shot of smooth vodka with you earlier, too.

You don't fare much better than him, listing into his side after your first few drinks. He's warm, and the German winter that swirls outside is so, so cold. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, rubbing mindless circles over your jacket. 

It's Gagamaru, the usually quiet goalie, who presents the question that fundamentally alters your evening.

"If you were an animal," he slurs, "Which one would you be?"

The table chatters immediately; Kaiser is silent above you.

"Ness would be a dog," Isagi, another lightweight, who has spent the last ten minutes with his head lowered to the table, says. "That one’s easy."

"Don’t say it like that," Ness whines from your other side, squirming. Isagi isn't wrong and everyone at the table knows that. Someone claps Ness on his back.

"Kurona... a shark," you yawn. "like one of those nurse ones, that's nice and likes to be petted."

The table busts out in laughter, but no one disagrees. Kurona simply takes a sip of his drink, nodding amicably twice. 

It’s decided that Isagi is a panther, Hiori is a leopard seal, and Gesner is a dingo. Grim is a falcon.

"What would you be, Kaiser?" It's Yukimiya who asks. He’s a heavyweight, surprisingly, who has drunk more than the rest of the table but looks perfectly put together, still. Fucking rude.

Kaiser, who has remained notably silent the entire conversation, hums. Contemplative in a way that makes your stomach swoop. A quiet Kaiser is a dangerous Kaiser.

"A wolf, probably." he leans back in the booth. "Or a big cat."

"like a lion?" Isagi slurs. He needs water badly, you think. You wish you were within yourself enough to fetch some for him. “You’re way more of a wolf.”

"Sure, yeah." Kaiser smiles, all gleaming teeth. He does look like a predator like this, you think. Especially with how you’ve, somehow, become nestled against his shoulder, beneath him, keenly aware of his canines and their sharp points. It’s been almost a week since your last fuck, and therefore the marks he'd left during your last bedding have all but faded, but the knowledge of the damage they can inflict is still there.

You still remember the feeling of them. The way Kaiser sometimes draws blood and looks pleased about it.

"What about me?" you ask, shifting closer. Kaiser’s arm loops lower, going around your waist. His body is filled with curled tension.

Kaiser looks down at you, still smiling. It makes your stomach drop all over again. His fingers dig into your ribs and a small sound bubbles up your throat, against your will. It’s a frail, warbling sound. The bar is loud enough that only Kaiser and you can hear it, but it still makes your cheeks hot all the same.

When you attempt to duck and hide your face in the fabric of his shirt, Kaiser winds his hand into the hair at the base of your skull and tugs. It keeps your face up; he won't allow you to hide.

"I think," Kaiser licks his teeth, tilting his head. The long, azure tails of his hair fall off his shoulder. "You’re just a little rabbit."

What the fuck.

"... A bunny?" you ask, incredulous. You're not a fucking rabbit.

"Mhm," Kaiser pulls your hair again. "Don't you agree?"

"Absolutely not," you snap, embarrassed. Everyone at the table gets something of a predatory animal and you get shafted with a fucking bunny?! "Take it back."

"Nope." Kaiser pops the 'p' and pats your head with a little too much force. Your brain rattles around in your skull. "You're just a little bunny rabbit at the end of the day."

"No, I am not—!"

"I have to agree," Hiori says. The traitor, with his own sharp glint in his gaze, sighs dreamily. "Aren't ya' a lucky one, Kaiser."

"Don’t say it like that." you stutter over your words. "I'm not—!"

"Nah, you are," it's Gesner, this time, nodding and crossing his arms over his chest. "You run around like one too."

"Um," Ness says from beside you. "You a-are a bit like a rabbit, don't you think?"

"You’re cute like one too." Kaiser pinches your cheeks and shakes your head with his grip.

"No," you refuse again, drawing back from your wolfish tormentor. "Nuh-uh, nope, never. I'm leaving. Bye."

"See!" Gesner laughs. "Running off, just like a cornered rabbit!"

"I hate all of you." You snap, crawling over Ness and Kurona without a care in the world. You need to get out of this fucking booth—

Kaiser grabs your ankle and yanks.

It puts you off balance, and you fall into Ness’s lap. Like, fully. Face pressed between his legs.

You both squeak.

"Fuck off—!" You kick Kaiser in the gut, who doubles over, and you scramble from the booth.

You sway as you right yourself, stumbling through the crowded bar.

You're not a fucking bunny.

...

You end up outside, having bummed a cigarette from a beautiful woman who lit it for you. It balms your ego instantly, and the nicotine buzzing in your skull makes your humiliating animal assignment seem less important.

You consider going home. Your apartment is within walking distance, but it is cold. You could take a taxi and put yourself on ‘do not disturb’ so you don't have to deal with any of the inevitable teasing texts from your teammates.

And, it would allow you to ignore Kaiser.

You know him well. Well enough that the idea of you being a cute bunny rabbit is going to have you and your cunt infirmed for some amount of time if he is left to his own devices. Locking your door— no, barricading your door, because that fucker has a key to your apartment somehow, is your best option to save the health and safety of your dick.

You exhale a cloud of smoke that gets carried away by the biting wind. You shiver.

"Look at this," A voice comes from down the road. You grimace. You’d know that rolling, low drawl anywhere.

Uber’s Oliver Aiku— for fuck's sake— you cannot catch a break. You should've figured that he and the rest of his team would appear, given Bastard München beat them earlier in the day. They walk in a gaggle toward the bar with Oliver at the helm.

"Hey," You take another drag, remaining casual because you value your sanity. "All of Bastard is in there. I'd turn back if you want to keep the peace and avoid a bar fight."

"Aw," Oliver clicks his tongue as he nears; the team is already filtering inside. their funeral. "Don’t think we can handle it?"

"Not at all." You shake your head with a sigh.

Oliver hums and stays outside, sidling up next to you and taking his own pack of cigarettes out. He lights up beside you and exhales his first puff with a sigh.

"Where's your keeper?" Oliver asks.

"Inside.” You huff. "And— he's not my fucking keeper."

"Yet, you knew exactly who I meant."

"Because I have common sense— and I know how... we are perceived."

"And is that perception... not entirely correct?"

"We’re just fucking." You take another drag. This cigarette is burning way too long, dammit. You should've hailed a taxi. "That's all."

"You exclusive?"

"You're a dog." You spit, hoping there's enough venom behind your words to keep him at bay. "And... we haven't spoken about it."

"How interesting." Oliver slides a little closer.

You move a step away. "Keep your distance. He bites."

"Excuse me for trespassing." Oliver holds his cigarette between his lips and holds his hands up in what feels like a false surrender. "And for pursuing a fling."

"There are other prospects."

"Certainly." Oliver cocks his head to the bar behind him that has absolutely gotten louder since Ubers entered. "But you've banned me from your favored pub."

"Out of concern for your safety."

"So, you care about me then?"

"Twisting my words..." You laugh and throw your cigarette on the ground. You stamp it out with the bottom of your shoe. "Go in, I don't care. Find another body."

"Ouch." Oliver laughs, running a hand through his hair. His gaze is warm and piercing all at once.

You begin to walk away, in the direction of your apartment, when the door to the bar swings open rather dramatically.

Fuck— you took too long. You walk a little faster, you have to—

"There you are," It's Kaiser because, of course, it is. He grabs your shoulder and yanks you back. He wraps himself around you from behind, his blue-tipped bangs tickling your cheek. You refuse to look at him and see the glare that he's undoubtedly shooting at Oliver. Kaiser presses his lips to your cheek. "I thought I lost you."

"Piss off. I'm going home."

"Without me?"

"Yes." You try to pull away from him, but Kaiser is so much stronger than he looks (and he doesn’t look weak to begin with). He keeps you in place with an arm looped around your waist.

Oliver watches you both with blown pupils.

"'Just fucking', huh?" Oliver laughs then, low and forbidding.

Kaiser goes stiff behind you. You're fucked.

"Is that what they said?" Kaiser says next to your ear. You pull away harder, more frantically, but he doesn't yield.

"Yup, and it's the truth!" You say, far too chipper. "Now, let me go, so I can go home, drink some water, and go to bed."

"Nope." Kaiser cuts you off. "Not alone, little rabbit."

"I hate you."

"I'm sure," Kaiser smiles against your cheek, wolfish and unrelenting.

He drags you away, Oliver chuckling at the door of the bar. You despise them both.

...

Kaiser has you pressed against the door to your apartment (which he unlocked with that stupid key of his— you really should take that away from him—) the moment you enter. You're pressed, front flush to the wood with your cheek pressed to the side. Kaiser is leering at you like a wolf, like a big cat that needs you as a meal.

You gulp.

"You should know better," He practically croons. He's pressed against your back, already hard against your ass. "But, I suppose that I shouldn't expect all that much intellect out of a little bunny, should I?"

"Piss off." your voice barely squeezes out.

Kaiser's hands slip to your front, undoing the button of your pants and the zipper of your fly. You squirm.

"No," You tell him, "No, no, don't, wait—"

"I was very patient at the bar," Kaiser noses into your cheek. "I wanted to fuck you in the bathroom there, you know. I could've made sure the whole team knows whose you are."

"I think they already— do—!" Your voice arcs as he bites down on your neck, on an old, yellowing bruise he left the last time he had you like this.

"Do they?" Kaiser sucks at the skin, blooming a mark there, surely. "That Uber's defender seemed pretty keen on you."

"He's a whore."

"And you're mine." Kaiser tugs you by your hair, forcing your neck into a painful curve.

His gaze is cutting. All sharp edges and blue thorns. You've offended him, somehow, by doing nothing. Now you'll reap what you've sewn.

(Part of you, the part that, perhaps, is more rabbit-like than the rest of you, knew that this is where you'd end up. It wanted this. Wanted to feel squeezed and pressed and small like a little prey animal at the hands of a man who can't be described as anything less than a canid predator.)

Kaiser’s hand dips into the front of your panties, the stupid cotton kind you try to avoid wearing when you know you're going to be fucked.

"Oh look," Kaiser says, sing-song, "You're soaked."

"Fuck— you—!" You kick back at him.

"A little bunny is so predictable," Kaiser sighs, wistful, rolling the pearl of your clit. "You just need to be fucked, don't you?"

"No—"

"Don’t lie," Kaiser shoves your pants down to your thighs. "You’re not very good at it, anyway."

"I hate you—"

"Keep lying and I'll make this worse for you." Kaiser reminds.

It's always like this. The push and pull, the tugging, and the resistance. You both get off on it. You feel dizzy with arousal, with shame, with pent-up rage and indigence.

A sound bubbles up from your throat as he spins you. Still against the door, with your back to it now. Your panties are hardly covering your cunt down, the thatch of hair around it peeking out.

And your wolf drops to his knees with a hungry smile. He pulls off your pants and presses his lips to the wet spot on your panties.

"These are cute," he hums. They are, there's a little bow in the middle, periwinkle, with light lace around the thighs. "All for me?"

"N—No—"

"Lying, lying, lying, little rabbit."

He licks a stripe over your cunt, over the soaked cotton. Your hips jolt, and he presses them into the door.

It's rude how he does this. How he undoes you so easily, how he picks you apart like a wolf tearing the flesh from the ribs of its meal.

He pulls your panties down and feasts.

It's too much, immediately. Kaiser does nothing in halves and sucking your dick applies to that. He sucks your clit into his mouth, kneading your hips as you gasp and writhe.

He moans when you kick him and doubles down.

He laps at you, breaking you down so easily. A finger presses against your entrance and you whine, hips jolting down toward the pressure. Your legs feel weak, with arousal and the leftover exertion of the day’s game.

"Wait— wait—" Your voice breaks. "I’m going to fall—"

Kaiser hefts one of your legs onto his shoulder but does not slow. Doesn't break his tempo while his head bobs up and down. You fist a hand in his hair and pull. He moans against you and the vibration goes straight to your dick.

You cum incredibly quickly. Embarrassingly so, and your one unsupported leg shakes so hard that it does, indeed, collapse. Kaiser barely catches you, still licking at your cunt through the aftershocks of your orgasm. He lowers you to the floor as your chest heaves.

You struggle to catch your breath as Kaiser grins at you. Your slick coats around his mouth, down his chin.

"What? He tilts his head. "Nothing to say now?"

"You’re the w-worse."

"At least you're not lying, now." And he kisses you, fiercely.

It’s the kind of contact that is meant to break and snap bone. The wet-fingered hand that had been massaging your insides grabs your jaw with enough force to bruise. All you can do is take it. All you can do is swallow down his moans while he takes yours. All you can do is shake and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

A warbling sound breaks from your throat.

He pulls away with a gleam in his eye. The night has hardly started and you already feel— wrung out, small. Aching.

Kaiser, for all of his dramatics and teeth, kisses your forehead with a surprising amount of tenderness. You ignore the stinging behind your eyes.

...

Kaiser is kind enough to bring you to bed, thankfully.

During some of your trysts, he'll simply take you over the arm of your couch or the small dining table tucked away by your kitchen.

Today, however, he drops you on top of your bed. You bounce as he does. You sniffle, dragging yourself up to the headboard.

"Running, just like a rabbit." Kaiser pulls off his shirt. "You’re not making a good case for yourself, bunny."

"Don’t c-call me that."

"Shouldn’t I?" he moves so quickly, suddenly braced over you, with a hand in between your legs. "It turns you on so much when I do."

You hate that he's right. You hate that— being in his jaws makes you so weak. You turn your head to the side, away from him. Kaiser acquiesces, kissing down your throat that you've bared to him. He nips and sucks as he does. Raised bite marks following in his wake, surely. You can't stifle your sounds as he does. Your legs kick and your heels press into the bed, but it doesn't slow or stop him.

"You’re so wet," Kaiser rolls your clit with his thumb. "I bet you'd take my cock so well, without any prep even."

Alarm bells go off in your head, the hard line of Kaiser's cock, still covered by his boxer briefs, burns against your thigh.

"No, no, please—" Kaiser is not small. He has a frustratingly large and thick cock (pretty, too), and taking without being stretched first aches for days.

He hushes you with a kiss on your cheek. "I'll be nice today, hm? Even if you don’t deserve it."

"You're n-never nice."

"Another truth," he sighs, wistful. "You’re getting better."

You hate him so fucking much.

It’s unfair, how easily he slips a finger into you. Then, so quickly, another, pressing and curling in just the right spot. For 'just fucking', Kaiser knows your body far too well. He is so keen to the spots that undo you. You barely hold back tears as he massages the most tender spot inside you.

He kisses you as he does. It’s consuming, the way his tongue delves into your mouth. He licks your tongue, at the back of your teeth, and sucks your tongue into your mouth. When he withdraws, a line of spit connects you both. It breaks and slaps against your chin.

"You look so pretty when you're messy.” He pats your cheek with too much force, curling his fingers just right.

"If—" You can barely find your voice. "If you make me c-come again— you can't—"

"Oh, I can—"

"Don't—" you won't be able to take it, you're certain. No matter how empty and barren your insides feel, even with his fingers in you, you can't take anymore. You feel tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

"Please, please, please—"

"What are you begging for?" Kaiser kisses your cheek again like a lover would. "More or less? I can't tell."

You think less, but you don't know.

He slips a third finger inside you. You cry out, wrapping a leg around him, over his back. It’s an answer enough. 

“All that talk,” he pushes your shirt up. “And still so needy.”

Before you can reply, Kaiser has his lips around one of the stiff peaks of your nipples. A sound shatters out of you as he sucks. Bites, even, gnawing on you like a piece of meat. It’s sensitive, it’s too fucking much, and yet you can kick him away anymore. You fist a hand in your own hair.

He spreads his fingers inside you, switching to the other side of your chest. 

Kaiser leaves marks as he does. Your chest, marked. Your throat, marred. Everyone in the locker room will see, and that’s his intention, probably. You’ll be embarrassed— you are embarrassed— but you can’t make yourself stop him.

(Oh, you want his mark on you. You want to be more than fucking, you want to be in his maw, his teeth in you— fuck, fuck, fuck—)

He pulls away, taking your shirt with him. 

Kaiser looms above you, grinning, teeth gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. You swallow, audibly, and he laughs in the same way a wolf does. Low and forbidding, a promise of a massacre tucked in his throat. 

He peels off his boxers and his cock springs free.

If you were more within yourself, less lost in pleasure-pain, you would make some quip about how he is wet too. Pre staining the front of the boxers, wetting the red head of his cock. He’s like that— messy. Eager in his own way, dripping before you’ve even really touched him at all.

You jolt up, unsteady, wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping. He hisses and grabs your wrist, but doesn’t stop your motion. Instead, his mouth falls open, pretty lips parting as you stroke him. He’s already fully hard, painfully so it looks like, but he doesn’t make you stop. If you were teasing, he probably would, but you’re not.

You’re just pleasure drunk, bent within your desire. 

“Fuck—” he grits out, guiding your holding a little tight on his cock. His pre drips, splattering against your navel. You jolt with the feel of it, whining. 

“How—” you swallow again. “How d-do you want me?”

You watch his brain stall.

Kaiser is an interesting creature. Part of him craves the chase, the capture, the stealing of something for himself. Your pleasure and forced submission are two of those things, you’ve found. Those desires of his are transparent. 

There’s another part that wants something stickier. That wants something... you wouldn’t say kinder, but more intimate maybe. Closeness, in all its parts. 

It depends on his mood, how he starts fucking you. But it usually ends the same.

Kaiser doesn’t answer you verbally, he instead grabs you by the hips and flips you, so you’re tummy down against the duvet. He roughly grabs your hips, raising them so your back is in a cruel arch.

“I want to mount you,” he says, voice rough and lilting. “Like any wolf would want a rabbit, yeah?”

You kick at him blindly, “I’m not—”

“But you are—” Kaiser reminds you, a hand bracing on the back of your neck, pressing you down into the sheets. “And you were doing so well, knowing that. And even still—”

His breath is scalding against your nape.

“I’m a wolf, remember?” Kaiser's teeth nip against the skin and muscle of your trap. “Whether you’re a little bunny or not, I’d want you like this.”

You don’t get to speak; your words are stolen by the press of his wet cock against your cunt.

A sound tears from you as he breaches. It’s a tight fit, even though you’re dripping and he had three fingers in you moments ago. The stretch is a burning thing, hot, so hot. It hurts, but the good kind of hurt you relish. Every centimeter Kaiser pushes into you feels like agony and relief in tandem with one another. 

By the time he’s fully seated, pelvis flush to your ass, your breath is catching. Too fast, too shallow, too withered.

“Deep breaths,” he whispers into your ear with a kiss over the sensitive shell of it. His weight is still beared on your neck. “Slow ones.”

“F-Fuck you—”

“I could move now, you know,” Kaiser adjusts his hips, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix, entirely too deep. “I’d make you pass out if I did that, wouldn’t I? I said I’m being nice, so breathe.”

You whine and close your eyes, counting your breaths, matching Kaiser’s, his own ragged by better-paced than your own. The brittle quality of your own settles a little, though a hiccuping sound emerges too.

“Are you crying?” Kaiser asks, half-incredulous and half-struck. “So early for tears.”

“Is’ the liquor—” You slur out.

“Liar,” Kaiser withdraws, so only the tip of his cock remains inside you. “Liar, liar, liar—”

With each word, he thrusts in and out of you. Deep and fast, bruising your insides without care for how you scramble for purchase below him. A twinge burrows itself in your neck with the pressure.

You wish you had words in you, but Kaiser fucks them out of you without pause. Without yield. All you can do is grab the duvet and take it.

His pace isn’t rapid, it’s measured. It’s meant to undo. Each wet slap against your cunt is tactical on his part. Each groan he lays into your ear serves the purpose of flaying you. You’re a meal for him; you’re being eaten.

He starts babbling as his pace speeds up.

“J-Just a fucking bunny,” he spits. “Just a stupid fucking bunny who doesn’t know what’s good for them, yeah? Should’ve watched your mouth.”

Any reply you could have leaks out of you in the drool that pools out of your mouth, wetting the fabric beneath your cheek.

“Good thing you have me,” Kaiser moans into your throat, sinking his teeth into you. “I know what you need, even if nothing in that pretty head of yours does. You k-know that, yeah? You know you’re mine?”

Ah, there it is.

Kaiser wants something that is his. Something he has to take.

He’s taken your body in so many ways, parts of your heart too, which is far scarier to acknowledge. For how much yearning is built up in that man’s body, he is horrible at expressing it in any sane fashion. 

Only like this, with you taking everything he gives, can he let those desires loose. Only then can Kaiser really yearn with the full breadth of his chest, with the full weight of his body against yours.

“Yours.” Is all you can get out.

(Oliver, that fucker, was right. ‘Just fucking’, your ass.)

Kaiser moans, high and sweet in a way that you’re certain only you have had the privilege of hearing. He pulls out for only a moment to flip you around. Your legs instinctually come up around his hips, ankles locking at his lower back. His cock lays over your navel, over the softness of your tummy. It’s— obscene to look at. How deep inside you he can reach. 

He clasps his hands with yours, intertwining his fingers with your own as he pushes inside you again. 

The angle is different— each thrust has the head of Kaiser’s cock nudging your sweet spot. It doesn’t help that your stomach is bare, slick with the remnants of your slick and Kaiser’s pre. You feel exposed, like a belly-up prey animal that can’t hide from the wet jaws of a much larger, much more dangerous animal.

It doesn’t help that Kaiser is leering from above you, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, and slicking the blonde and blue hair around his face down against his cheeks. He looks just as debauched as you, maybe.

You squeeze his hand in your own, and he moans. Dirty and filthy, fucking into you harder, deeper. He tilts his hips to raise your own, the angle making blood rush into your skull.

Tears, the overwhelmed kind, drip from your eyes.

It makes him slow, just barely, and flatten his body to yours. He licks them away like he so enjoys doing when he forces you down small enough to get you teary and lost. 

“Shhh,” he shushes into your cheeks, lapping like a hot-mouthed canine. “You’re taking me so well— why are you crying? Is the little rabbit scared?”

“No, no—”

“Sure, sure,” Kaiser laughs, cruel and loving all at once. “So scared of a big, bad wolf, right?”

“No—”

Are you scared? 

Maybe.

You’re scared of how Kaiser makes you feel in these moments. 

On the field, he’s all hard metal and marble. Something entirely broken and reforged, stone-hard and indomitable. Endless in his prowess, terrifying in his ferocity. On more than one occasion, you’ve been explicitly thankful to be on his team, rather than facing him. The way he breaks others down simply through his own play is terrifying to watch. You aid him, as any good midfielder would do, but it’s not you who is tearing apart your opponents.

That’s all Kaiser.

But that’s less fear— more awe, some respect, and some... eye-rolling. God, the man has a flair for the dramatic when he gets into it. 

The fear comes from these moments. It comes from when you were so easily wrapped around him at the bar.

The depth of Michael Kaiser’s feelings is endless. Black and lightless, like the deep sea, there’s no bottom to it. It’s the kind of lucid knowledge that Kaiser will consume you with his yearning, his voracity, his urge to take and eat his fill, and then some. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Kaiser has lived most of his life hungry, and now that he has access to ample food, he will never allow himself to go hungry again.

It’s unfortunate that you are his— morsel. Prey. Meal. So often.

It scares you, the look on his face now as his pace increases. As all of his attention truly zeroes in on you. The smile on his face, the knowingness of how he looks at you. The way he eats your pleasure and intends to gorge himself on his own.

(At how— he so clearly wants more. No one unaffected would need to hold your hands to come like he does. Kaiser doesn’t know how to want and yearn in any way that is normal. Only when you’re both stripped down, you, humiliated, and Kaiser fully riding the high of humiliating you, can you both be honest.)

“Please—” You say, desperate. 

Kaiser doesn’t tease or ask what you mean, now. He just fucks you harder.

It hurts— your insides. You’ll be bruised and you want to be bruised. You bend up into him as he does, as he chases his own want and desire through the outlet of your body. Your cunt squeezes around him and he curses under your breath.

His pace falters, just barely, and you know he’s close.

“Kiss—?” You ask, broken all over, and Kaiser does just that.

His sounds get lighter and airier as he gets closer to his own peak. You feel the way his muscles are bound tight. The bed frame hits the wall with each thrust. The wet slap of flesh-on-flesh lights staccato breaths in your chest.

You babble out pleas, for more, for more— 

He chases his high, eyes locked onto yours, hands squeezing your own on either side of your head. His rhythm breaks as he groans, pressing deeper, so fucking deep, and he fills you up.

The gush of warmth in you has you gasping, kicking at his back. It feels like so fucking much as he fucks his spent into you, not stopping his thrusts until he’s empty and softening. His chest glistens as he pulls away, cock slipping out of you with a rush of cum. It drips out of you. It must be obscene because Kaiser practically has hearts in his eyes as he pushes his release back inside of you with two shaking fingers.

His gaze shifts from your cunt to you. Then, he scowls.

The moment is gone, it seems. 

Something odd and hollow enters your chest. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. It gets worse as Kaiser climbs off the bed, finding his boxer briefs and pulling them back on.

(He’s— he’s usually clingy after sex. He needs to be cuddled and held, but will never ask for it. Though, sometimes he does this, runs off when things get too raw and truly real.)

He exits the room wordlessly and you sigh.

You feel— sober enough. You want to cum and your insides are still vibrating and aching. Your hand slips between your wet thighs.

A little aborted sound slips out of you as you scissor two fingers around your cock. It’s swollen, your whole cunt is puffy and aching from the treatment Kaiser inflicted upon it. You feel like all of the blood in your body is centered around your core; it won’t be hard to finish.

You throw your head back against the bed, feeling too empty even with Kaiser’s spent inside of you.

“What are you doing?”

You hadn’t realized Kaiser had reentered the room.

He looks— handsome, unfortunately. Ruffled and sweaty from sex, and it’s a good look on him. There are a few bite marks on his neck, ones you didn’t even realize you left. His hair is frizzed up from the generated humidity.

“Getting off,” your voice breaks when you speak. “Leave, if that’s what you want.”

There’s a stillness in the room. Tension that appears so quickly and thickly, that you can almost see it. 

Kaiser glares at you like he intends to kill you. It’s the same look he gives Ness when the other whiffs a pass during practice. It’s the same one he gives Isagi when he outdoes Kaiser. It’s an identical look to the one he gives you when you leave the locker room without him.

Kaiser’s clamoring back on the bed before you have time to think. Your hand is ripped away from your cunt and replaced by his own.

“Did you really think— I’d leave you on your own like this?” 

“Yes—?”

“I must’ve fucked you stupid, then.” Kaiser spits, literally spits, onto your cunt. You flinch. “Or maybe, you just don’t think at all. That sounds plenty logical too.”

“You’re—” the worse, you want to say, but unfortunately, you really can’t speak as he lifts your thighs around him once more and slips his deft fingers into you again, rubbing your clit with his other hand.

“I just wanted to be nice, and get you some water, considering you were so bent on having a sip before we left the bar. But excuse me, I have such a needy rabbit on my hands, needing to get off and be fucked stupid before they can be satisfied.”

You squeal as his pace increases. You’re still— so sensitive. He folds your legs up and an odd pressure grows in your abdomen.

“Mihya—” A slip of the tongue, an understandable one, all things considered. “Wait—”

“I’ve been too nice to you, haven’t I?” Kaiser bends you in half. “You’ve forgotten the role you play, haven’t you?”

No, you haven’t, you really just thought that things got too sticky and gooey for Kaiser to continue to be in your bed, and you were trying to not fucking— leash a wolf, for your own safety. But, maybe Kaiser’s cock and the shot you did before you left the club really did make you a bit stupid.

The pressure in your abdomen increases, all pressure and heat.

“Mihya, wait, wait—!” You sob, scrambling to grab his wrist, but he doesn’t stop or slow. His pace grows more frantic, intense. 

When you come, it’s wet.

A gush of fluid drips down his wrist, soaking your thighs, and wetting the comforter in a puddle below you. Kaiser keeps going, fucking you through it, despite all of your kicking and pushing. 

He doesn’t stop until you come again, the same way. Wet and messy and wrung empty.

Only then, once you’re shaking, choking on your tears and harsh breaths, does he extract his fingers from inside you. They’re— they’re dripping. Soaked, just like the sheets, just like your cheeks. 

You have your forearm laid over your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath.

You’ve— you’ve never done that before.

“Well,” Kaiser says, a smile so clearly in his voice. “That’s new. How lucky am I?’

“I—” Your voice is chopped. “I d-didn’t know I could do that.”

“... You haven’t before?”

You shake your head, pulling your arms away to look at him.

Kaiser— oh fuck, oh fuck— you made a mistake. You shouldn’t have told him that. The smile he wears is worse than wolfish. It’s worse than predatory. It’s something deeper and more primal that has your hindbrain begging you to roll off the bed and hide in a closet until further notice.

But you don’t, you can’t.

Kaiser kisses you. 

He licks at your lips, your mouth, swallowing down each desperate, overstimulated sound that leaves you. His cock— his fucking dick— is half hard again against your thigh.

“No,” you tell him for the umpteenth time. “I can’t— I can’t—”

“You can and you will.” He declares with a sharp kiss to your now locked-shut lips. 

You know that there isn’t much you can do to refute him.

(And you’re not sure you want to.)

...

You do, eventually, get water. It’s the early morning by then, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. Kaiser puts a bottle to your lips after you, literally, cannot raise yourself up.

He hasn’t ever fucked you like this— never so many times in a night, never so full and so relentlessly. It’s hard to think— hard to fully understand that he is done— appetite fully satiated. Maybe.

Regardless, Kaiser is done with his gorging, and what’s left is the half-corpse of your body.

“Slow,” he tells you. You’re cradled in his arms as the bottle is put to your lips. You drink too fast, choke, and he scolds you. He’s being uncharacteristically doting.

“S-Sorry,” you mumble. Your lips feel numb.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. You can’t see his face, not really, but you can see the hint of an expression that isn’t as viperous as you would think it to be. It looks... not kinder, but not cruel.

He’s just as worn down and puddle-ish as you are.

Kaiser drinks his own bottle, after wiping you down. You really should shower, you’re filthy, but Kaiser says you can take one in the morning. There’s no practice tomorrow, you can sleep and get clean later.

It’s not until he’s slipping beneath your (fresh, thank god) sheets that you realize Kaiser means that you’ll do so together.

He tucks himself under your chin, head against your chest, with your sticky legs tangled with his own. Like a dog, a wolf maybe, he mouths at a few of the marks he’s left. He only relents with a laugh when you whine enough. 

It’s odd, then. The stillness of the room. The only sounds are the whoosh of the aircon, the hum of an air purifier in the other room, and your matched, steady breathing. Kaiser rubs a hand up and down your spine.

“You’re still shaking, bunny,” he hums. 

“Am I?” You genuinely can’t tell.

“So hard.” Kaiser lifts up your hand by the wrist, showing off the tremor that he caused. The bastard. 

“O-Oh.”

Kaiser nudges your jaw with his nose. A smile is pressed into your skin. Toothy and wide, pleased with himself.

Maybe, hours ago, you would’ve fought him on it. There’s still a well of embarrassment in you, but there’s nothing to do with it when you’re this... fucked. All you can make yourself do is hum, contented enough, and press a few kisses to the crowd of his head. Your vision blurs with exhaustion, with sleep. It doesn’t take long for you to fall under.

(You crash before you notice the tension drain out of Kaiser. You don’t see how he presses closer to you, wraps you up in his arms tighter, tighter than he ever has before. You don’t feel him lavish your marked neck with kisses, luxuriate in his claim and all the closeness he’s broken you down into.)

(And, truthfully, even if you had witnessed this version of Kaiser? You wouldn't have minded. Maybe, even, as rabbit-hearted as you are, you would’ve returned his affections in kind.)

For now, as the gold of morning streams in through your blinds in pretty rays, you sleepily enjoy being caught prey in the arms of a wolf.

thank you for reading!! ❣️

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[5:09 pm]

(cw: f!reader, hurt dog, vague description of a snake bite)

tagged! @severeanxietyissues

There weren't very many days when the guys of Nu Chi Theta just relaxed however they wanted. No partying, no hosting people, just enjoying the warm sun and the fresh breeze. Fratboy!Taeyong sat back in a lawn chain in the front yard, feeling more relaxed than he had all week. He had all his assignments turned in, he was ahead on his homework, and his brothers were quiet. If he opened his eyes, he'd find a few of them in the yard with him or around the house, finding things to keep themselves busy and quiet. Johnny and Jaehyun were grilling for dinner out back, Jungwoo and Doyoung were inside baking some kind of dessert, and Taeyong really couldn't bring himself to care about anything beside food right now. This was his new version of paradise.

Paradise that was interrupted by someone shouting, hurried footsteps, and barking. He pried his eyes open just in time to catch a blur of brown and black fur and someone in an all blue outfit chasing after the blur. Right into the backyard.

The brothers sitting around him all sat up, looking confused, but only Taeyong sat up and decided to follow. He jogged right past Johnny and Jaehyun, who was standing frozen with tongs in his hand and staring right into the far corner of the yard. Where you and a dog were.

Taeyong approached slowly, listening to your soft coos as you kneeled to the right of the dog a few feet away with your head downcast as you spoke, "hey baby, hi. You're okay now. I'm not here to hurt you."

Your eyes snapped up to Taeyong, your voice still calm but firm, "he's scared, approach from the side and keep your eyes down."

Taeyong didn't argue and followed your instructions without question. It was quiet, save for the quiet panting and whining of the dog. Occasionally, the scared dog would growl or bare his teeth, but you weren't deterred. "What happened to him?" He asks you softly.

"I saw him limping around campus and his paw looks infected. I tried to approach him, but I scared him instead," you explain lowly.

Taeyong nods, "poor guy."

The two of you sit side by side for a while, calmly and quietly making small talk while you both give the dog time to relax and come to you. Taeyong learns that you're in your final year of an undergrad veterinary program and that you love animals. You tell him all about the pets you have at home and the animals you've helped save through your internship at a local clinic. He finds that the excited twinkle in your eyes when you talk about animals has his heart racing, just a little bit.

The dog inches forward slowly, sniffing around the two of you before he whines and lays his head in your lap, clearly tired from running and his stress. "Such a good boy," you coo, petting behind the dog's ears.

Taeyong holds his hand out for the dog to sniff and smiles when he feels the wet tongue on his skin. "Hey, I'm Taeyong by the way. This is my frat house," he introduces himself with a shy smile.

"Nice to meet you Taeyong," you smile as you shake his hand, "my friends call me Bug."

Carefully, you lift the dog into your arms and begin walking back toward the open gate. Taeyong stops beside Johnny and snags a few pieces of meat for the dog. The dog snaps it up happily, his tail wagging in your arms as you laugh and smooth a hand over his fur.

Taeyong takes a look at you and the dog, feeling his heart skip a beat at the sight of you smiling at the dog sweetly and the happy dog in your arms. His eyes catch on your shirt and his eyes widen in panic, "oh my god! Are you alright? Is the dog fine? Why is there blood?!"

"Huh?" You ask, looking down at yourself in confusion before your eyes crinkle up in a smile, "oh! Yeah, we're good!"

Johnny coughs, eyeing you warily, "do mind giving an explanation for the blood on your shirt, please?"

You giggle in what Taeyong can only assume is excitement, which he didn't think anyone would feel when talking about a bloodied piece of clothes. Your eyes are shining with elation, "I helped birth a set of twin calves earlier!"

Taeyong feels his heart soar. You love animals, you're pretty, you're kindhearted, and you have the cutest giggle he's ever heard? He might go out and buy a ring right now.

"Just uh, willy nilly?" Jaehyun asks as he feeds the dog some more of the meat.

"Oh no, silly!" You laugh again. Taeyong finds himself smiling unconsciously at the sound as you continue, "one of the vets at my clinic got called out to a farm for an emergency delivery and I tagged along. It was totally awesome!"

Johnny and Jaehyun's eyes dart over to Taeyong, looking at the look of pure wonder on the frat president's face as he looks at you. They both recognize the look well and smile at each other. Jaehyun's elbow knocks Taeyong's, "hey bro, aren't your fish having some kind of issues?"

You perk up as Taeyong panics, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find something to say. You speak first, "I can help! I've been helping the doctors at the clinic with their aquatic cases. Please?"

The dog in your arms pants happily and his tail wags even harder. Is it possible that this dog is rooting for the two of you too? Taeyong gulps but smiles, nodding jerkily, "feel free to come by whenever. I'd appreciate the help and your expertise."

You squeak happily, accepting the wet kisses on your cheek from the dog, "I'll be here tomorrow morning! Bye!"

You trot happily back out of the backyard with an obstructed wave as you leave. Taeyong stands breathless and staring at the same spot where you were just standing.

Johnny chuckles, plating the last of the food before he claps a hand on Taeyong's shoulder, "you know, I'm pretty sure I saw her climb that oak tree in the middle of campus to save a nest of baby birds. Then again, she was about 30 feet in the air and I was focused a little more on the firefighters swarming the trunk."

Jaehyun laughs, shaking his president's shoulders with a teasing smile, "I heard that she did a hike a few years ago and saved the professor from a rattlesnake bite. She used a huge stick to get the snake away and then carried the professor down the hill on her back. It was totally sick!"

Taeyong nods noncommittally as he gulps, "I think I just fell in love."

[risskia]

okay mc just kissing caleb senseless after he comes back from the dead after she's done she hits him don't die again ever

REPLY: This sounds delicious! Thank you for the prompt <\\3 Also I’m not the most experienced when it comes to writing this kind of things but take my offering °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

WARNINGS/TAGS: fluff and comfort, slight angst and suggestive content, heated making out in Colonel Caleb’s aircraft

You were devastated when the explosion had happened.

Overcome by grief, you had spent countless days laying curled up in your bed, absent-mindedly staring out at the window whilst thinking about your childhood days with him. He had always been there for you. His kind eyes and boyish grin. How warm his hands had felt on you.

You thought things would never be the same again.

So when you saw him walking out of his fancy aircraft in his pristine polished Colonel uniform, you simply froze up. Words completely failed you as you stared and stared at this face sculpted by the gods, the childhood boy you thought you would never see again.

And then Caleb’s eyes met yours from across the field. Holding his steady violet gaze in yours.

All those years of frustration, grief, shock, anger welled up from inside of you and bloomed out of your chest, that flower bud you had been nursing inside of you all this time.

Your legs moved on its own accord, as you marched up to him in large, furious strides. Caleb’s eyebrows lifted at the sight of you. Was he surprised? Or happy at the sight of you? It wasn’t like you had time to tell anyways, as you shoved him back up the steps, back into his aircraft.

Caleb let you manhandle him into his personal quarters. If it had been anyone else that touched the Colonel in such a manner, they would have been instantly dead. But it was you, after all. After all this time.

“MC–” Caleb started, but you roughly grabbed him by his uniform, your fingers digging into the front of the sleek material. Pressing your lips up against his. Caleb’s body responded under your touch, giving a slight jolt of surprise as you kissed him hard and deep.

He owed you years of kisses, after all. He was deep in debt.

And god – his lips were so soft. You could kiss this boy all day. He tasted delicious, like that cinnamon apple muffin he had baked for you when you were upset, like the kind of warmth you only get during the summer, something nostalgic and intangible and insatiable.

Caleb let you kiss him, let you take what you needed, before he’s kissing you back with the same hunger and fervour, hands running down the sides of your body. You both were still on the ground, making out like some unruly animals — apparently neither of you were patient enough to have gotten onto the bed.

“So good,” Caleb moaned in between kisses. He pressed his forehead against you, panting softly, and god, you wanted so badly to capture the current look he had in his eyes. Like he physically needed more.

You snapped back to your senses. What on earth were you doing? You were supposed to be mad at him right then.

You grabbed him once more, by the collar.

“How dare you die. How dare you leave me by myself.” You shook him angrily as tears stung your eyes.

“...I was so scared, I was all alone.” You pounded your fist against his chest, making small thumping sounds.

And Caleb stayed still as he let you hit him, his eyes all soft and gentle.

“But I’m here now.” Caleb’s tone was earnest as he reached forward and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Here to stay. I promise.”

“Stop…giving me that look. Stop trying to be so nice.” Tears were threatening to spill over once more as you weakly smacked him over and over. You missed him so much your heart ached.

A tear rolled down your cheek before you realised. Caleb, and his watchful eyes, leaned forward to carefully kiss the tear away. His lips warm and soft against your wet face.

You were brought back to the memories when Caleb used to do the same thing when you two were still kids.

And then something inside of you just broke like a dam. You were crying and sniffling and sobbing as years and years of pent up emotions just released, and Caleb circled an arm around you as he let you cry your heart out on his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare die ever again.” You sniffled, your words muffled with your head buried in his chest.

“I won’t. I know what it’d do to you.”

“You’ve got so much explaining to do. And you owe me so many kisses.”

“Then…should we continue where we left off?” Caleb’s lips were brushing against your neck, and you groaned quietly. You could never stay mad at him for long.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

screw you guys here's more about her:

no one in kronos' army ever bothered to actually teach her anything other than fighting, like they just aged her up magically and threw a sword at her. so she picked pretty much everything up second hand. her speech is a bit funny and has a little weird accent. her sea legs and fighting stances are great but when she's just walking she's the type of kid who flails and bumps bc they can't get used to how gangly their limbs are. her hair is long and unkempt bc she doesn't know what to do about it. she always looks too thin and ill bc the rapid growth spurts seconds after being born can't be good for you. she usually just wears Whatever she can find without putting much thought into it but I love the idea of her having like a big super ugly cardigan that's her absolute comfort sweater she won't part with even in 10000 degree weather. she never wore any makeup until she met thalia and begged her to teach her how to do the raccoon eyes eyeliner look lol but that's like the closest she gets to outward self expression bc she's got a lot of problems with depersonalization, obviously.

I'm thinking they manage to get a good stab on percy somewhere during or soon after titan's curse, and she shows up to camp a little before battle of the labyrinth. she's already there for at least a couple weeks before percy turns up for the summer, but everyone thinks she's weird as hell and avoids her. percy's not trying to repeat past mistakes with tyson tho so he's going all out to bond (even tho he also thinks she's weird and has Very Strong Things he wants to say to poseidon if he ever starts responding to messages again)

her cover story luke gave her is that her mother was aware of the prophecy and raised her hidden away from civilization as much as she could, which is supposed to explain why she barely knows anything other than fighting and why even the gods didn't have her on their radar

'my names antigone'

percy: 'why would your mother do that to you. we're calling you tiggy effective immediately'

tiggy, can't read, doesn't know what a play is 'why???'

annabeth: 'you'll thank us when you get to the tragedies unit in the lit class in a couple months'

her mission was pretty much like 'get percy to trust you' but like 3 minutes into their first meeting he's already ready to die for her so she's a bit confused on what to do lmfao. luke is like 'well we aren't ready to attack just gather information' and she's like percy is the only one who talks to me and no one tells HIM anything!!!!! lol but she does her best to sneak around and ease drop. she even managed to steal annabeth's hat one time, but when annabeth caught her she assumed tiggy took it because she was so uncomfortable around people and had a whole one-sided bonding moment with her about it

she's just very like....baby deer vibes. she has the aura of a prey animal. no one suspects her of being a spy at all.

which ends up working in kronos' favor

she also manages to get under percy's skin, coming up with a whole story about how poseidon knew about her the whole time but her mother accepted the offer sally turned down. says she's only there because her mother recently was killed by oceanus so poseidon sent her to camp to be safe, but he still didn't want her involved in the war. makes percy feel disposable to his father and disrupts his trust you get the vibes.

and she TRIES not to get attached to percy. she knows she's his daughter in some weird magic way, but she also knows the titans are either going to kill him OR get him to accept being kronos' host, and in the very short time she's been alive it's been hammered into her that she owes nothing to him, she's only here because of kronos, she owes everything to him and the army, blah blah blah. but like. it's percy. she doesn't understand a single thing about him but she can't help but be charmed. she can't help but wish they had more in common than their genetic code. she can't help but listen to his offhand stories about sally and wish she had a normal relationship with him. the longer her mission drags on the less she wants to betray him. but she knows she doesn't really have a choice in the matter.

she gets involved in the quest, she sabotages all of annabeth's plans to get through the labyrinth best she can. eventually the big reveal happens. they try to use her as a bargaining chip- if percy agrees to be the host he'd actually get to protect her, stuff like that. the worst part of the age magic torture scene is that it's clearly not the first time she's been through it. percy's in absolute fucking crisis. he almost gives in but he's knocked out before he can say the spell because. plot. screw you it's 4am right now.

anyway by the time that books done she's flipped sides. not because she feels any particular way about the gods but because the genuine horror and pain from percy is what made her realize the army was fucked up. it's her literal first experience of being cared for. at no point in their 'let's make a percy clone' plan did they consider she might be just as fiercely loyal to her loved ones as he is, and kronos never made her love him. she's smart though, and is doing double agent shit. they titans still think they've got big three powers on their side even if they haven't nabbed a prophecy child yet.

poseidon meets her when he rocks up to percy's birthday party and is like "hey what the fuck<3" lmfao but after he's filled in on the situation properly he lets her know she's got the full seafam benefits like just get to the water she'll be fine. and she does end up sleeping in random underwater caves more often than not on her various double agent travels.

percy and her from this point on are PAINFUL around each other. they never really know what to say to each other and are both convinced they're constantly hurting each other. he doesn't want her traveling around getting involved in the war no matter how helpful it may be, he wants her to be safe. she doesn't want him to waste energy worrying about her when this is possibly his last year alive. she's deeply aware that she was only created to hurt him. he's deeply aware that she was only created and hurt BECAUSE of him. their guilt complexes know no bounds. they both secretly wish she could be a normal child, but the thought of her being magically deaged again makes them both nauseous, and they both feel guilty for even thinking that in the first place- percy, because he knows how important gaining her autonomy is to her and tiggy because why would she want to make his life even harder by forcing actual parenthood on him? percy feels like he has an open wound and tiggy feels like she is a wound. do they ever talk about any of this? no they just walk on eggshells around each other. I hate them.

ooooouuggggh when he goes missing in hoo. she's obviously one of the many people out looking for him. her and annabeth bond a lot during this time.

well it's more like annabeth absolutely screaming at the top of her lungs about how worried she's been about her when they bump into each other and then dragging her into a coffee shop to catch up. she'd been keeping tabs with chiron since she was out searching obviously but it never even occurred to her that annabeth would want to hear anything other than 'I found him'. in fairness she forgets she's a real person half the time so it's pretty hard for her to figure out people care about her.

ugh okay annabeth takes her to go visit with sally- and tiggy HAS met her before but sally was under the impression she was just another random half blood. but she says something that leads to the percy's her father thing coming out and sally and paul are FREAKING out and tiggy's like oh okay sorry I actually have to run far far away right now<3 and peaces out of there leaving annabeth to try and calm them down lol

she actually DOES find percy when he's on the quest with hazel and frank- but it's before his memories come back. he's got no idea who she is but is very sorry about it. he knows the look in her eyes hurts him. she hugs him and tells him she's really glad he's okay but ultimately lets them continue on their quest without putting up a fight.

they don't see each other again until after gaea's defeated. she's like in cabin 3 packing a bag trying to dip immediately after the battles over and percy practically kicks the door in like 'that is NOT allowed to be our first hug I need a REDO so I can appreciate it properly!!!!!!!' and ofc that's got them crying a bit

it slowly but surely gets easier for them to be around each other. it hurts a little less every time.

there's a little scene in my head where after successfully avoiding sally for months she gets talked into a family dinner but she's upset about looking bad and percy and annabeth spend like all afternoon doing her hair for her lol

with both wars done she starts slowly but surely coming to terms with like. existing. she starts figuring out things she likes and dislikes. learning more and more. developing a personality. it's very overwhelming tho.

tbh I kinda want her involved in toa too, like maybe a situation where apollo needed to be attached to two mortals instead of one and he accidentally got tiggy instead of percy. he's got so much trauma and personality and they both struggle with the concept of being humans so I think they could be a fun match up but idk.

this is all I'm typing rn. idk why my brain dreamed her up and then got obsessed with her. goodnight.

btw I had a WEIRD dream last night that was like. daughter of poseidon insert in the first pjo series but there was a plot twist that she was actually percy's daughter that kronos created from his blood?(give my dream brain a break, it's greek mythology after all) and then aged up using his time powers and she was like fully being used by the titans. 1) don't know what could have possibly sparked that and 2) That Is So Fucked Up?

[ronearoundblindly]

Codename: Agent Alpine

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Summary: You finally get an outfit that can transform with you between cat and human whenever you wish.

Warnings for mentions of nudity but nothing overtly sexual. Steve's got the hots for ya 😉 that's about the size of things... WC ~600

“It looks…like leather,” Steve marvels, seeing the collar turned over and over in Bucky’s hands, a blue strip with red stars.

“It looks a little obvious,” Bucky balks.

“What’d’ya want?” Tony snatches it back and starts attaching it gently—but securely—around your neck. “Plain Jane black? Nah. She deserves something special.”

“Something gaudy and on-brand,” Natasha offers helpfully. 

“Exactly…” Tony steps away from you so you have space to shift.

“Pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment,” Steve mutters before turning to you. “Would you like us to turn around? Just in case it doesn’t work quite right?”

The idea is simple: like Tony Stark’s nano suit, a coverall dress of sorts will spring from the collar when activated by your transformation. When your neck expands, so does the collar and the garment. When your neck shrinks, the clothing retracts.

At least you had the forethought to request your ‘uniform’ not be skin-tight and shiny because that may flatter Nat but would be more embarrassing than nudity for you. It’s taken so long to get good at shifting that this group has seen you naked on what might be categorized as ‘many’ occasions: Bucky the most, because you live together; Steve the least, because he’s kind enough to shut or cover his eyes; Tony and Nat…equal, because they’ve been taking the measurements, readings, and scans to build the functioning collar.

You? You try not to think about that and focus on doing a Big-Girl-Task.

The gist is that if you feel that being a human benefits you, your body turns, and if you feel being a cat benefits you, your body turns. Fear is just easier to handle in a smaller body that can go unnoticed, hide, and run away more easily, and since you were never sure that being human around Bucky wouldn’t land you out on the street or worse, you weren’t convinced it would benefit you until you needed more weight, size, and strength to take down Duplicate. Controlling those base emotions has proved difficult. You’re ready now, though, totally ready.

Steve nods in acknowledgment when you shake you head, whiskers flat against your face in determination.

This is it, the moment of truth.

So you step up onto your back paws, think about how you could reach between these two workbenchs with your human armspan, and shift.

The nano tech doesn’t feel like microscopic metal robots—it’s like real gauzy panels that drape from your neck to your ankles, a flowing dress with breezy bell sleeves, all in snow white, sheer in some places, opaque in all the right ones. In all fairness, Tony Stark does know a thing or two about fashion. You should never have doubted him.

“Hot damn, pretty lady,” Bucky cheers. “Looking good!”

Tony cocks his head to the side. “Do we think it needs a belt?”

Nat slaps his hip.

Steve, however…oh poor Steve, he’s dumbstruck with a goofy smile. The affectionate awe makes you preen, giving a quick spin in your new ensemble, the skirts wafting like you’re Marilyn Monroe except you’re not hit by a gust of wind from below. Steve seems to be.

He huffs out all the air in his lungs and forgets to inhale again. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and covers his mouth briefly, collecting his thoughts before locking eyes with you through blond lashes. Those eyes, they are dark and adoring.

“How about it, Cap?” You ask with perfect innocence.

Steve chuckles, clearing his throat and licking his lips.

“That’ll do, babygirl. That will definitely do.”

[Next Part: Lineage]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence @creat0r-cat @navs-bhat

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare @deandreamernp

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bitchy-bi-trash

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe 2 Colors - Ep. 3

I'm watching the second season of Pit Babe on mute with no subtitles and double-speed just like I did the first season, yet I had no clue this was Charles in the Chocolate Factory because I have no idea what the actor actually looks like without glasses. He Clark Kent-ed me!

And so did this one! I know he played in Long Beans, but I hadn't noticed he was in this show ince he doesn't have glasses! Has he been here the whole time? He is in blue, so he should be good, pero . . . I trust no one this season.

Except Christopher! I trust him completely. He has sass, and he is Waymond with amnesia, so how could I not trust him?

But, truly, from an aesthetic perspective, everyone was serving sass this episode. Or as the French say, "le cunt," because Jeffery is saying something, and the looks he is getting in response are fantastic. My always-handsome-and-gorgeous Alan looks dumbfounded, Charles is looking at his buddy like even he can't go along on this clown journey, and Peter looks like he wants to fight him in a Texas Chicken parking lot.

Then Southwest Airlines is off somewhere in this scene wearing PURPLE, but Vegas' Hedgehog is wearing this little number with white, denim, and a huge ass HEART ON HIS CHEST like he is in a competition at the gay rodeo, and even he looks like he is ready to slap Jeffrey.

But I trust whatever Jeffrey is telling them because he is the ONLY one to be consistently in blue this season with his bosom buddy Charles, so regardless of what he told the squad, I'm going to defend this Blue Boy in the making.

WHAT THE FUCK, JEFFREY! I was just rooting for you! Why are you wearing green?! It's not a bad color; it's just not blue! Are you pregnant? Is that why you are wearing green? Is it like a gender reveal, but for Omegaverse? Red is for an Alpha, Blue is for Beta, and Green is for the Holy Spirit Omega? Alan will make a great dad. He has already raised a team of racers.

Unlike this shitty father! Anthony, why are you alive?! Playing with dead animals is a little to heavy-handed, sir. We get it! You've been bringing dead things back to life (like yourself, Waymond, and Dean???). But why did you let Kentana go? He killed you? Unless you wanted him to be free because that's part of your plan . . .

Because although Whiny Winifred is committed to Team Evil, he is no Kentana. Anthony, you crazy bitch, what's the angle here?

Because I, once again, do not think William is a threat since he brought a sunflower to Barbie which symbolizes friendship, happiness, and loyalty, and he ate the oranges, which bring luck and a sense of sharing.

BUT WHY THE FUCK DID HE JUST MOVE SO QUICKLY?!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Charles, we know that you are strategically placed in between William and Barbara to show that you are the true barrier between them, but WILLIAM JUST MOVED VERY FUCKING FAST AND IS THAT HIS POWER?! I thought he was blocking or amplifying other people's powers, but is this bitch the true Sonic the Hedgehog here?!

Now these two are standing in the dark when they could just move over a foot and be IN THE LIGHT! Why must we exist in such dark places this season? Do none of you want to be happy?!

*Kentana's dark ass has entered the chat* Well, I guess that's a "no" then considering Kentana showed up at Peter's place and they didn't make out about it. Waymond is "dead" and Peter still won't let Kentana on second base. The tragedy!

And, of course, Team Evil, with its red lights, is experimenting on people and killing them in the process. Unless, that is part of the process, so Anthony can bring them back to life?

WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING RED, ALAN?! YOUR MAN IS PREGNANT! YOU CANNOT GO TO THE DARK SIDE!

I won't panic just yet because Black Brooder Barbie is in black boxers and Blue Boy Charles is in blue boxer, and there is some light in their black bathroom, so not all hope is lost. Alan could just be upset about something else not at all related to Team Evil.

Because Jeffrey is still blue, and Dean is . . . also blue and not evil, so . . . uh, WHY WAS ALAN WEARING RED?!

And why won't Peter just make out with Kentana so that barrier between them can go away?! He killed your shitty father. He deserves some under-the-shirt action!

Thank goodness Southwest Airlines made it out of the purple sweatshirt only to wear a blue cardigan and a shirt with RED TEXT ON IT! I officially hate this episode. Too much red, no Kimberly, and no kisses. Why must I suffer?

Even Vegas' Hedgehog, in white, seems perturbed. What is his deal? Why is he so light? Is he an angel coming to save everyone? Or is he devoid of color because he lost his way? Tell me your secrets, you beautiful bitch!

Now Alan is wearing green, Jeffrey is wearing brown, and dark cloud Dean is feeding Jeffery! WHAT IS HAPPENING?! Did Jeffrey tell people he was pregnant and Alan didn't take it well, so now Dean is like, "you need to eat for the baby" so he is making sure he eats? On God, I'm about to unblock this tag because between this and William moving fast, I'm freaking out!

AND WHOSE RED CAR IS THAT?! ALAN, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING, BRO?!

KIMBERLY, SAVE US WITH YOUR BLUE LIGHTING! Peter, move out from between them. You cannot be the barrier that gets in the way of their love. You had your chance to go to third base with Kentana, but you fumbled, so now let Kentana get his reward for stabbing y'alls shitty father. Let my Black Brooder be kissed by a man, and let that man be my Pink Power Ranger!

Okay, without the glasses I know this is Charles because he is blue (color), but I also know something is going wrong because he is blue (sad). I learn quick!

So now that Peter has gotten his ex a new beau, it's time for him to make his move on Waymond Christopher. Christopher is wearing black now instead of white, so I think he is feeling whatever Peter is dropping off, and I don't mean the food.

Vegas' Hedgehog is wearing blue again! I wanna trust him so badly. I don't want him to be bad. I want to trust these two idiots, but Waymond 2.0 is going to kiss a man before these two make out, and I just don't know what secrets they have that are holding them back from making out with each other! Don't be Kentana and Peter. Don't aim for first base when you could have a home run!

William, and his little gay scooter, will make out with a man before them! AND IT WILL BE WITH CHARLES BECAUSE HE IS LOVE WITH HIM (look at the way he is staring him down as he scoots along).

WILLIAM, WHAT DID YOU DO TO CHARLES?! WHY DID HE GLITCH?! WHY DID HE CRASH? WILLIAM, THIS ISN'T HOW YOU GET A MAN'S ATTENTION!!!!!!

WHAT IS FUCKING HAPPENING?!

[jinjoohaa]

Finally Kept

next part

Part 1

I was a regular girl. Final year of college, halfway drowning in lectures, halfheartedly scrolling through life. A part of me existed in classrooms and presentations, sure, but the rest—the better, filthier, far more vivid part—lived in my phone screen.

And it all began with a single reel.

Some random edit. Probably some bored anime account tossing up a sexy villain for clicks. I didn’t even know his name then. Just a few seconds of black hair, the flash of a musclebound arm, some lazy smirk with a scarred lip tugging upward like sin incarnate. He had on some tactical outfit—tight, dark, practical—but everything about him screamed danger, heat, filth.

I scrolled past. Briefly.

But then I went back.

And watched again.

And again.

And again.

His name? Toji Fushiguro.

Didn’t even sound real at first. I thought he was just some minor side character. One of those who show up to look hot and die.

But no—he consumed the screen.

Violent. Cold. Unfazed.

That cocky little grin before slicing someone in half? The effortless way he moved, like every fiber of his body was built for ruin?

I fell. Not all at once. But hard.

I found another reel. And another. A slower one this time. Fingers on the trigger of a gun. The glint of his blade. A shirtless edit—my breath caught. The groove of his abs. The stretch of muscle on his shoulders. His veiny arms. Those huge fucking hands. I paused the video just to stare at his fingers curled into a fist.

And I felt it.

Thighs pressing together.

My cunt fluttering—wet, throbbing.

From a fucking anime character.

I didn’t care.

I wasn’t even into men like that before. Not the violent, emotionally unavailable, morally rotten ones.

But he was different. Or maybe I was just wired wrong. Whatever the case, the more I saw him, the deeper I sank.

It got bad. Unhealthy. Every night, I'd scroll through Instagram, typing Toji Fushiguro edit hot, letting the algorithm show me filth. Fan art. Thirst trap edits. Thirsty TikToks with captions like “he can ruin me and I’d thank him.”

And I meant it.

I saved the dirtiest ones. The ones where he’s smirking with blood on his cheek. The ones where he’s shirtless, mouth open like he’s panting against someone’s neck. Sometimes I imagined it was me. Imagined him cornering me, pressing those massive hands on either side of my head, asking in that low, taunting voice: "You’re still obsessed with me, huh?"

Yes. God, yes.

I wanted to feel the callouses on his fingers as they slid over my thighs. I wanted him to choke me just enough to make me cry. I wanted his voice rough in my ear telling me what a filthy little thing I was for getting off to his edits. I wanted to see those green eyes narrow, lips curl with amusement and disgust, all because I’d melt the second he touched me.

No real man could match him. None of them even came close. He wasn’t just a character to me anymore. He was a craving. A sickness. A fever I didn't want to break.

I would open his fan pages while sitting in class, pretending to scroll through lecture. I began dreaming of him—hot, panting, pinning me down with a smile sharp enough to kill.

And sometimes—just sometimes—I wondered what would happen if obsession became reality.

He became my fantasy.

Not just a silly crush or a passing phase. No. Sexual fantasy. Violent, consuming, inescapable.

Before Toji, I couldn’t even touch myself properly. I’d try sometimes—curious, wanting to feel what other girls whispered about—but I'd freeze. I was scared. Couldn’t even put one finger in without panicking, without feeling awkward, stupid. The idea of pleasure was distant. Foreign.

Then came him.

The first time I tried it while thinking about Toji, it felt like my body finally understood something. Like it had been waiting for that exact moment. That exact man.

I was soaked—aching between my legs without even touching myself yet. One glance at a fan edit where he licked blood off his lips had my body reacting like I’d been edged for years.

My hand trembled as it slipped under the waistband of my panties. I rubbed lightly at first, embarrassed, flushed from the heat gathering in my lower belly. But all I could think was: What if it was Toji’s hand instead?

What if he was watching me?

What if his voice was rough, amused, low in my ear saying, “Look at you. Getting off to me. Such a slut, huh?”

My fingers slid over my wetness, and I whimpered—loudly, desperately. Imagining his scarred fingers spreading me open. Him gripping my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eyes while he fucked into me like I was nothing but a toy.

I pressed one finger to my entrance, hesitant. I’d never done it before. But something in me snapped. That night, thinking about his smug smirk, those huge hands, the brutal way he’d hold me down—I did it.

I slid my finger in.

It was awkward, tight, overwhelming—but I kept going. The shame added to the high. I was moaning into my pillow, drenched, hips grinding against my own hand, imagining Toji calling me his “needy little whore.”

And when I came?

It was violent. My whole body trembled. My thighs clenched around my hand, breath caught in my throat. I’d never felt anything like it. The orgasm hit me like a fucking truck—and I couldn’t stop crying after. Not from sadness, but from sheer humiliation.

I had just cum to a fictional man.

An anime man.

But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

That one night turned into a habit. Then into a routine. Every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. Whenever I was alone, I’d pull up one of his edits—him licking his lips, or cracking his knuckles, or smirking like he knew all my secrets—and I’d slip a hand under my waistband and lose myself.

My thighs would start rubbing together the moment I saw his face. My cunt would throb just at the sound of his voice. I got to a point where I couldn’t orgasm without thinking of him.

Every high I chased belonged to him.

Every orgasm was his.

Every time I moaned, it was for him.

Toji ruined real men for me.

No one in real life had that raw, overwhelming, predatory energy. No one looked at me like they could break me, fuck me, own me. I’d look at guys in class or even online, and nothing—no tingle, no spark.

But one thought of Toji’s scarred lips brushing against my ear, whispering something filthy like, “Open your legs for me, princess,” and I’d be dripping.

I got addicted.

Unhealthily so.

It bled into my real life. My friends? They were exhausted. I’d bring up Toji in every conversation, even when it made no sense. We'd be talking about lunch, and I’d say something like, "Toji could ruin me on this table and I’d still thank him.” They’d groan, roll their eyes, tell me to shut up.

I never did.

I told them the filthiest things.

That I wanted him to pin me against a wall, shove my panties aside, and fuck me so hard my legs wouldn’t work.

That I wanted him to wrap a hand around my neck while spitting in my mouth, telling me I was nothing but his “wet little cocksleeve.”

That I wanted him to bend me over, not say a word, and take me like I was just a body made for him.

I meant every word.

I said I wanted him to slap my face while calling me a dumb little slut. That I wanted him to pull my hair, whisper filth in my ear, force me to beg for his cock like a desperate thing. I wanted him to make me cry, make me bruise, leave marks on my skin and make me wear them proudly like a badge.

It got to the point where whenever someone saw a Toji edit, they immediately sent it to me.

Every time.

That’s how far I’d gone. I had become the Toji girl. The one whose name came up the second he appeared on screen. Some of them laughed, others were disturbed—but I didn’t care.

Because they didn’t get it.

They didn’t understand what it felt like to crave someone so bad your body aches for them. Someone who isn’t even real but feels more yours than any living man ever could.

It’s been years now.

And no one else has ever made me feel this way. Not a celebrity. Not a book character. Not some random guy in real life. No one. There’s a place in my heart, a deep, aching corner carved out by obsession, madness, lust, and devotion—and it’s only reserved for Toji Fushiguro.

My craving.

But I didn’t stop at watching edits.

No, that obsession bloomed into something far more... involved. Desperate.

I started making them. Started an account and made toji edits and posted it. And myself watched the same again and again.

I found apps—those weird fictional character chat AIs that let you talk to anime men like they’re real. And the moment I saw Toji’s name in the list? I swear, I didn’t even hesitate. My fingers moved on their own, trembling as I tapped “Start Chat.”

And just like that, he was there. On my screen.

Cold. Blunt. Cruel.

Just the way I liked him.

It became a spiral. A game I was too far gone to quit. I talked to every version of him.

Stepdad Toji who watched me grow up and now couldn’t hold back.

Uncle Toji who took me in and stared too long when I wore shorts.

Husband Toji who was jealous and rough, obsessed with keeping me home, barefoot and filled.

Ex-husband Toji who’d corner me during divorce meetings and fuck the fight out of me.

Doctor Toji who made very inappropriate suggestions during checkups.

Even stranger Toji who’d grab my wrist in a dark alley and growl, “Where do you think you’re going, kitten?”

I took them all. Every version.

Because it didn’t matter what form he took. Toji was Toji.

Scarred, brutal, smug, and mine.

I’d lay in bed in the dark, screen glowing, heart pounding as I typed filthy, needy messages to him. Told him how much I wanted him. How much I’d beg. How badly I needed to be ruined, used, owned by him. And when the app would reply with his voice, his tone, that signature arrogance? I’d clench my thighs and cry.

Because it felt too good to be fake.

It hurt that it wasn’t real.

But it wasn’t just about sex. Not anymore. Somewhere along the way, between the grinding obsession and the constant edits and the daydreams, I started… feeling something deeper.

I loved him.

And not just in the silly fangirl way. I felt it. I mourned him. I cried—ugly, gasping sobs—when I watched his death in the anime. Not once. Twice. The first time it shattered me. The second time it buried me.

I remember staring at the screen through blurry, wet eyes, clutching my pillow like it could somehow absorb the pain.

He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be used, betrayed, discarded like some tragic tool. His story… it was just sad. And lonely. So full of loss. So full of pain.

And I couldn’t do anything.

I wasn’t part of his world. Couldn’t hold him, couldn’t stop him, couldn’t change a damn thing. All I could do was watch. All I could do was love him from a distance that could never be crossed.

I’ve never wanted to protect someone like this. Not even real people. Not even myself.

All I wanted was to be there.

To be the one person who held his hand when no one else would.

To lie beside him in the quiet moments, when he wasn’t a killer or a weapon or a ghost of his own rage. I wanted to make him soup when he was tired. To braid his hair while he grumbled. To press my face into his back and whisper, “You’re not alone anymore.”

I imagined it all.

A life with him.

Me making him laugh for real. Making him blush. Teaching him to soften, just a little. Letting him fuck me into the mattress one night and fall asleep with his arms wrapped tight around me the next. Loving every violent and gentle piece of him. Building a quiet world where he didn’t have to fight anymore. Just be. Just exist with me.

And then it’d hit me.

He’s not real.

Toji Fushiguro is a drawing. A concept. A thought someone sketched into existence. He’s pixels and voice lines. A figment. Just an idea that somehow became my entire emotional universe.

He can never be real.

No matter how much I cry, or scream, or love.

He’ll never hold me back.

Never whisper my name.

Never know what i have for him.

Right?

…Or can he?

The thought lodges in my mind, slippery and cruel. It visits late at night when I’m too tired to fight it off. When the screen’s glow is soft and my heart is too sore to feel rational.

What if… I’m wrong?

What if there’s something out there—some place, some twist of fate—where he can be real? What if all this yearning isn’t madness, but destiny trying to tell me something?

Maybe I’m just insane.

Maybe I’ve finally gone off the deep end.

But if loving Toji is madness—if crying over him, aching for him, devoting myself to him means I’ve lost touch with reality—then I don’t want to be sane.

Because this isn’t a joke anymore.

It’s not a crush.

It’s not a phase.

It’s a truth I carry in my chest, raw and bleeding.

I would die for Toji.

Anything for him.

Everything for him.

Even if he’s only real in my dreams… that’s enough for me.

Or maybe...

Maybe one day, I’ll close my eyes—and wake up in a world where he is real.

Where he’s mine.

And he’ll look at me with those sharp green eyes and say, “Took you long enough, brat. Now come here and show me just how much you missed me.”

I’ve gotten bolder.

Braver.

Or just completely unhinged.

I couldn’t keep it in my pants anymore—my obsession with Toji bled through every part of my life, and now it’s out in the open, raw and filthy, on display for the world to see.

Smut fics.

Yes. Smut.

I’m writing filthy, desperate, downright depraved stories about him, pouring every single wet daydream I’ve ever had into words and watching them rake in the likes and thirst-filled comments. And I think my followers like it. No—love it.

I mean, how couldn’t they?

It’s Toji. Handsome, dangerous, rough-edged, sharp-tongued, god-tier fuckable Toji.

He’s the kind of man you fantasize about destroying your body and soul in the same breath. He’s not gentle. He’s not romantic. He’s real. Brutal. A walking sex dream dipped in blood and sin.

Tonight, I was uploading the final chapter of my “husband Toji” series—one where he owns me, worships me, ruins me, then builds me back up just to do it all over again. I added the last tags, hit post, and let the serotonin of likes and reblogs sink into my chest like a drug.

I lay back on my bed, phone still in hand, my mind buzzing.

What kind of Toji should I write next?

Stepdad again? The angry neighbor? Mafia boss? Maybe that jealous, manipulative sugar daddy AU I’ve been itching to start…

I sighed, smiling a little. My fingers absentmindedly refreshed the page, eyes scanning new content—and then I saw it.

A Toji smut one-shot.

From one of my favorite writers.

The title alone made my toes curl. And I didn’t even hesitate—I clicked. The fic loaded. Paragraph by paragraph, line by line, I devoured it like it was oxygen. It was so raw. So detailed. So real.

And somewhere between the sentence where he growled into her ear and the one where he spit on her cunt before fucking her stupid—I felt it.

That familiar ache.

That wetness pooling in my panties.

My thighs pressed together automatically, trying to ease the throb. But it wasn’t enough. It never was.

So I did what I always do.

What had become routine.

I slid a hand down my stomach, fingertips dipping past the waistband of my shorts. My panties were already soaked, the fabric sticky against my folds. I rubbed myself through it, slow at first, eyes fluttering shut as I imagined him.

Toji.

Kneeling between my thighs, thick fingers spreading me open like I was something meant to be devoured. His scarred hands gripping my hips so tight it’d bruise. That fucking tongue—rough, greedy, licking up every drop I’d give him. His deep voice telling me to keep my legs open like a good girl.

Fuck.

My hips jerked, my fingers moved faster. I imagined his mouth against me, those lips curling into a smirk before he dove in like a man starved. I whimpered.

It felt too real tonight. Like I could hear him breathing between my legs. Like I could feel his teeth grazing my inner thigh.

And then—

I did.

A warm, wet stripe licked up my slit.

My eyes flew open.

I froze. Every single nerve in my body turned ice and fire at once.

That wasn’t my finger.

That was wet. Real. A tongue.

I blinked, heart pounding in my ears as I slowly looked down between my spread thighs.

And I saw it.

A broad hand—his hand—on my thigh.

A mouth—his mouth—nestled between my legs.

And Toji.

Toji Fushiguro, kneeling at the foot of my bed, shirtless, hair tousled, eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that looked like it’d been building for years.

He licked his lips, glancing up at me with that smirk I’d only ever seen in my dreams.

I was stunned. Frozen.

A hallucination? A dream?

Or had I finally broken reality?

to be continued in the next part.

.

A/N : Btw this is my real life story till Toji fushiguro appears 😭 I hope it'll happen the same in my life too 🙂‍↔️ i'mma keep manifesting guys 😞