#haven’t devoured a book like that in a while

[alwaysthcarcrash]

can’t get colton price and delaney meyers-petrov out of my head… i’m obsessed with them being obsessed with eachother

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Permission Denied

Pairing: Dark Shouta "Eraserhead" Aizawa x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: You’re bored – stuck inside the house while it’s sunny and nice outside. Aizawa doesn’t care about that. 

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Captivity.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

--

From your spot on the couch, you steal a glance at the black-haired man that sits on the table, surrounded by piles of paper. Midterm exams, he said.  

It seems like a boring task, but Shouta doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike you, who’s getting restless by the minute. 

There’s nothing for you to do.

Your hobbies are fairly limited, only granted when Shouta is feeling generous enough to notice your boredom, which hasn’t been the case lately. 

He’s too busy between the Hero course class and patrols, which inevitably results in neglecting you. There are no new books for you to devour and the TV’s control remote is still “missing”. 

The kitchen is off limits, which means no cooking or baking.

There’s nothing to do!

Perhaps you’re not being as sneaky as you believe yourself to be because Shouta’s suddenly looks up to meet your gaze, catching you off guard. 

“If you have something to say, then spill it.” 

You look at him, eyes still round with surprise. 

“Well, I…” The words stammer when coming out and you tautly twist your hands. “I’m bored.” 

Shouta looks at you. 

“Yes, I have noticed.” 

It’s a bit disheartening when he goes back to marking papers, leaving you at that. 

“So…I don’t know. Maybe…I could go to the garden?” 

He pauses his scribbling, and you rush to add, “I wouldn’t be alone, of course! You’d be there too, you could grade the papers on the outside table, right?”

His eyes are sharp when he looks back at you, the neutral expression on his face making it harder for you to decipher his true thoughts. 

“I could.” 

Your heart positively jumps at that, and almost fool yourself into believing that you’ve successfully convinced Shouta to do something for you. You’re wrong.   

“But I won’t.” he denies your request just like that, barely batting an eye as he crushes down your hopes. 

Feeling so upset over it makes you feel stupid, but then again, you haven’t left the four walls of Shouta’s home in weeks.

You’re so tired of being here, trapped in the bland ugly house. Tired of him and his insensitivity. Tired of the obnoxious boring routine that has been forced upon you. Tired of everything.  

“Why not?” you burst, even if it comes out more as a demand. 

Shouta’s eyebrows raise at the intensity of your words, and you inhale a small breath, calming yourself down. 

“Why can’t I go outside?” 

“Because at this moment I have a task at hand. I’m sure you can see that.” 

"But I’ve been good. You said that yourself.” your nails leave half-moons in your palms, an attempt to keep your anger at bay. If there’s one thing you’ve learned over these past months is that Shouta doesn’t appreciate hysterical displays of frivolous emotions.

Useless and energy-consuming – that’s how he calls them. 

“You have.” he pauses for a moment, tone slightly softer as he sets the pen down. “I’m not denying that. You have been exemplary these past weeks.” 

Even when you don’t ask it, the question lingers in the tense air. Then why?

Aizawa answers it.

“It’s got nothing to do with your present behavior.” his reassurance does little to soothe your bubbling frustration. Aizawa seems to sense it, semblant turning somber and stern as he stares at you.

“However, my priority is your safety, not your happiness. Perhaps you still remember the last time you were allowed outside? Or of the … incident that occurred?”

He grimaces at that and so do you. 

The incident meant the one-single time Aizawa took you on a late evening walk, where you ended up bumping into one of his neighbours – an overly enthusiastic blonde man – and in the moment of heat, you ended up taking the poor decision to reveal your hostage situation, hoping for help.

Only for said neighbour to turn out to be Aizawa’s close friend, someone Shouta had asked to test you. 

Needless to say that you failed his loyalty test. Hence the house arrest. 

You glance away from him, opting to ignore his question. Aizawa sighs, taking his sweet time cracking his neck from side to side. 

“Like I was saying,” he resumes the conversation, “I’d prefer to reduce that sort of risk from the root. Perhaps one day, if your behavior remains ideal, we can have this discussion again – in a few months.”

Aizawa looks at you with red-streaked eyes, taking notice of your well-concealed frustration as well as blatantly ignoring it.

Picking up the pen, he continues to correct the papers, marking the end of your little discussion and leaving no space for argument. 

Leaving you back in the reign of boredom. 

[moonstruckme]

pls hear me out 🙏🙏 vampire!james is recently turned and doesn’t feed cause he’s such a sweetheart he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

reader notices how weak he is and finds out he hasn’t been feeding and basically offers herself to him and it’s just really comforting and cute

Babe I hear you !!! I hear you soooooo clear (the voices omg, I was so excited to write this). Thank you for requesting!

cw: blood mention

vampire!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

James never had a problem with eating animals before he became a vampire. You pointed this out to him, once, but he only said it’s different. You suppose it is. The chicken nuggets he used to devour came to him cooked, fried, and with sauces, utterly unrecognizable from what they’d once been. There’s no separating the live-ness from what James has to eat now. 

You spy on him over the top of your book. He’s sitting on the other end of the loveseat with your feet in his lap, massaging your arches through your thick socks while he watches a football match on the telly. His dusky skin paled after he was turned a few weeks back, but he looks even paler than that now. If he were still human you’d think he was anemic. It’s four in the afternoon, and your ball-of-energy boyfriend looks as tired as if he’s ready for bed. 

“Jamie,” you say, and he squeezes your heel to indicate he’s listening, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can, lovely, yeah.” 

“Have you been feeding?” 

James stiffens at the term. “Mm, why do you ask?” 

It’s as close as he thinks he can get to a non-answer, and it’s an answer for you anyways. James can never stand to lie to you. It’s terribly endearing. 

You turn your foot to poke his abdomen. “I can hear your stomach growling.” 

His lips curve. He glances at you. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.” 

“Really? How does it work?” 

“I don’t actually have a clue.” James smiles, which was your aim. He’s been far too downcast for your liking, his new condition entirely to blame. 

“Well, you’re looking pale.” 

“I’ve been pale.” 

“Paler than pale.” You set your book on the side table, moving closer to him. You sit with your feet folded under you. “Also, you haven’t been going out to feed like you used to.” 

James finally looks a bit sheepish. You smile and cup his face in your hand. Though he knows you know, James has still been a tad secretive about the vampire business around you. He sneaks out after he thinks you’re asleep. You’ll hear the front door open and shut when he leaves and then again when he comes back, the kitchen tap running as he cleans himself up. You wish he’d just use the shower. You don’t mind him walking through your bedroom with blood and dirt on him if it means he gets to feel clean when he slips back into bed with you. 

You rub your thumb over his cheek. “What’s keeping you?” 

He sighs. His face weighs a bit heavier in your palm. You think this must be progress, and you repeat your ministrations to his cheek to encourage it. 

“Everything’s hibernating,” says James, a quiet shame underlying his tone. “The…things I used to feed from are gone, and I’m not left with a lot of choices.” 

You hum. “Well, you’ve gotta eat, Jamie.” 

He hesitates, and you give him your sternest look. 

“You do. What about the deer?” 

“They’re harder to catch. And…I…I just feel bad, you know?”

You nod. Take his hand and press a kiss to his palm. Your poor sweetheart. You know James hasn’t killed anything he’s fed from, but even scaring them and potentially hurting them for the time it takes him to feed rattles him terribly. He’s too good, good and kind down to his core, but you know he’s going to have to find some way to cope other than starving himself. 

“What about people?” 

James’ eyes round behind his glasses. “Wha—no, I—”

“I wouldn’t mind you using me.” 

He seems to falter for a moment. His thick brows draw together in stages, from disbelief to confusion and back again. “Angel,” he says, “I couldn’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, it’s—it would be—” 

“Or maybe we could try someone else. Someone bad, like a corrupt politician or one of those people who siphons money away from charities.” 

“No.” 

“Then we’re back to me.” You smile at him, one part teasing and two parts genuine. “James, I want to. I don’t like seeing you like this, and I really don’t think I’d mind it.” 

James looks like he’s still having trouble processing. “You don’t think you’d mind?” 

“I don’t,” you repeat patiently. “I’m sort of curious, actually. It could be fun.” 

He looks, to your surprise, like he might actually be considering it. He’s gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know if it’d be fun, angel.” 

“That’s okay,” you promise him. “I want to do it for you. You’re hungry, yeah?” You try to make your voice serene and persuasive, your hand coasting up and down his arm. “Let me help.” 

James looks you in your eyes. You hold his gaze. After a while, the fight seems to go out of him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. 

“Oh, baby.” You kiss him on his cheek, your heart bulging. “You won’t. It’ll be fine. How do you want me? Hair up?” 

He shakes his head. “It’s good the way it is. I think, um, it might be easier if you were in my lap.” 

“Okay.” You grin, lifting your thigh over his so you’re straddling him. His hands settle on your hips. “Are you romancing me? Is this part of it?” 

James lifts the corners of his mouth, but you can see the trepidation lingering beneath his smile. You do your best to soothe it away with your hands on his shoulders. 

“I want to be gentle with you,” he says.

“I bet you say that to all your victims.” 

“Sweetheart…”

“Sorry, sorry.” You’re nervous. You kiss his nose in apology. 

“If I hurt you—if you don’t like it for any reason, I want you to squeeze my shoulder. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod, trying to look certain. “Does it usually hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” James admits. “With animals, they don’t usually…move much after I’ve bitten them. I’m not sure if it stuns them or what.” 

“I’ll report back,” you say seriously. You glance down at the couch cushions. “Will it be messy? Should we go to the bathroom or something?” 

“No, I’m—I’ve gotten better at it. We should be fine here.” 

You smile at him, your pride genuine. “Sounds good.” 

James is starting to look worried again, so you kiss him. On the lips, as sweet as you can muster, and imagine all your love pouring through it. Then, you pull your hair to one side and bear your neck. 

His pupils splay out.

“Remember to squeeze my shoulder.” He sounds hoarse. One of his hands slips up your back to steady you beneath your shoulder blades. 

“I will,” you vow. 

James looks dazed, almost reverent. He wets his lips, and when he opens his mouth you see his tongue skim over pointed teeth. Some prey animal’s instinct sends a shiver of fear through you. Your blood hums with anticipation. But just before James’ teeth skim your neck, he pauses. 

“Jamie.” It’s soft, a murmur, a plea. “It’s okay. Do whatever you want with me.” 

He makes a quiet sound, like a sigh or a whine, and closes the gap. 

At first, it’s only like he’s kissing you. He’s exceedingly sweet about it, lips opening warmly over your skin, his tongue pressing over your artery as though testing the waters. He splays his palm wide over your back in silent warning before his teeth sink into you. 

There’s a sting, but you were ready for it. You keep yourself from wincing, from doing anything that would make James move away, and after a second the pain dulls. Everything does, except for the extraordinary feel of James’ mouth on you. 

“Oh.” Your mouth opens of its own accord, head lolling further to the side to give him better access. You want more, more of this, more of him. Your brain fuzzes and your heart pounds, every nerve in your body narrowing its focus to where James is sucking at your neck, lapping you up. 

You wind your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, and his palm coasts up your back comfortingly. You feel molten, spectacularly, transcendently languid, like you could press your fingertips to his shoulders and they’d melt right in. You don’t, not wanting him to misinterpret it as your signal and stop, but after a while James’ arms are the only thing keeping you from tipping sideways onto the couch, and he stops anyway. 

He finishes with a few chaste kisses, and you think giddily that you weren’t too far off about the romancing. 

“Y’okay, lovie?” he mumbles into your skin. 

You hum in reply. 

James presses one more sweet kiss to your neck, almost a thank-you. He seals the wound with his tongue. A giggle bubbles out of you, one shoulder coming up to ward him off. 

“Sorry,” you say to James’ surprised look. Your head is starting to clear. “That part tickled.” 

His grin splits his face, one part tentative and two parts relieved. “Yeah? Are you really okay?” 

“Super okay,” you promise him. You can’t help grinning. “You were right, it didn’t hurt. That was nice.”

James’ expression eases, some mix of relief and interest in his gaze. “Was it actually?” 

“Mhm. I would be your blood donor any time, really.” 

James scoffs, but he’s clearly elated. He strokes from your hip to your ribs with a big hand, trailing tender kisses up to your cheek. You’re thrilled to see how much more energy he already has. 

“I don’t know about that,” he says in between kisses. “I’d still rather not make you my victim if I can help it.” 

“I didn’t feel like a victim, if that helps.” Your words go mushy as he reaches your lips, but you keep talking, wanting to make your point. “I just mean, I wouldn’t mind doing it again. Maybe when you’re lacking in other options.” 

“Mm, maybe. What was it like?” 

“Like a really good kiss.” 

James backs up from you to give you a dubious look. “Better than the ones I give you normally?” 

You grin. “Maybe a little.” 

His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth drops open, curving on one side. “Oh, yeah? Bold claims.” 

“I don’t know if you can compete with whatever vampire magic that was, Jamie.”

“My kisses are very magical. It seems like I may have to remind you how good they really are, though.” 

You shrug coyly. “If you think you can top that, you’re welcome to try. I mean, you’re really only competing with your—”

James is on you before you can finish.

[naburi]

YOU SAW US, DIDN’T YOU?

SANA X MINA X READER

THEME: GIRLXGIRL, WATCHER, MAKEOUT, SUBMISSIVE, TAG TEAM, BLOWJOB, EDGING, FACIAL

1.5K WORDS

It’s after class time, you went back to your school to get a book you have homework with. Chair creaking, soft inaudible sounds, coming from your classroom. You’re hesitant but curiosity led your hand to open the door. You saw “something” that you’re not supposed to see.

It’s Wednesday morning, you're sitting in your classroom still having flashbacks on what you saw yesterday. You take a glimpse of your class president, who is seated in the front row, she doesn’t seem affected by what transpired, then you take a look at Mina, who is seated in a row behind you. You look away as fast as possible as you see her looking straight at you. Sana and Mina are the most famous students on campus. Your class President, Sana, is the “Academic Darling” of the school. She’s represented the school in many school contests and won almost every time. Every girl wants to be friends with her, every girl wants to be like her, Every girl has a crush on her. While the class Vice president, Mina, is the “Campus crush,” you know Mina is near when you hear some students in awe of how beautiful she is, everyday some male student is confessing their love to her. Every male has their eyes locked onto her when she’s around. Every male wants Mina.

The week has passed and you still haven’t talked about it with anyone. You can’t even believe your eyes, you know no one will believe even if you tell them. It’s Sunday evening and you received a message from your class president, “let’s have a school meeting after class”. Your mind went blank as you didn't know what to do. It was Sana who saw you when you opened the door, and it was you who caught her on top of Mina.

It’s time for dismissal, Sana said to the whole class that the three of you volunteer to be classroom cleaners for today. No one questions it, nobody likes being cleaners. You were flabbergasted to see that the two are actually cleaning the classroom, like it became part of their daily routine. Sana instructs you to help them clean which you instantly did. Few minutes have passed, the room is clean and the three of you are seated in the front row.

“You saw us, didn’t you?” Sana said with a smirk. “How did it make you feel?” Sana adds. Mina is listening and waiting for your answer, smiling the whole time. You admit nervously that it made you feel hot, it keeps your boner up at night. It made you think hard every time you saw them in school. The two girls laugh with your honesty. Sana instructed them to sit at the teacher's seat which is in front of them. Sana and Mina take a long teasing look at you before they start to touch each other's face. Sana started to make out immediately with the pretty lips of Mina, and gave back the kiss like it’s a routine. Sana hands caressing the black hair of her in tune to their make out, slow and passionate like how her tongue moves inside of Mina’s mouth.

The thought of someone watching them turns Sana even more. She breaks up the kiss to sit on Mina’s lap and starts kissing the submissive girl again. This is the same position you caught them, Sana wants to own Mina’s body using her lips. Mina in return starts to grope the round boobs of Sana over her uniform. This turns on Sana more and she starts to pull the girls hair and start to attack Mina’s mouth using her tongue, Mina more than gives back the tongue work and starts sucking on Sana’s tongue which elicits a high pitch moan out of her. They didn’t care if someone could hear them, all they care about is how to devour one another in the name of pleasure. Mina starts to unbutton her revealing her tight round boobs, Mina immediately pinch her nipples which made her moan loud again. Sana answers back by sucking on Mina’s neck not caring if it leaves hickies. The black hair girl tried to hold her moan but her head moved back through pleasure. Mina starts to unbutton her own uniform, her one hand groping her small boobs and her other hand reaching down to her wet panties to play with her clit. Sana notices this and positions herself to sit on one of Mina’s legs and grind her clit over it. The two girls moan loudly as they reach climax.

Breathing heavily as the two girls look at you, Sana helps Mina to stand up and walk towards you. Under the teacher’s table, your cock is out masturbating it while watching over them. Sana laughs loudly with the thought that you can’t contain yourself. Sana grabs your cock and strokes it gently and says “don’t cum today and we will let you fuck one of us tomorrow.” You accept her offer without knowing what’s to come. Sana and Mina kneel down in front of you admiring your cock for a few seconds before they put their tongue in the head of your shaft. The two tongues slurping your head is too much to handle, it looks like they are still making out but with your cock in between them. Sana laughs when she hears you growl from too much pleasure. Sana gives Mina a look, and they start to slide their tongues up and down your shafts. Sana moves fast and erotic while Mina slowly slides her tongue through all of your cock like it’s trying to memorize every part of it. Sana stares at you with lustful intention while Mina looks like she wants you to remember how great her tongue is. Sana moves down to your balls giving it a few licks before putting it inside her mouth feeling her warm mouth, Mina follows along, having both of your balls in each of these Campus celebrities makes you feel like you’re in Heaven. Sana likes the reaction she saw from you at start to give you a rim job to add more pleasure. You moan as loud as them when Mina moves back in your head and starts to put your head in your mouth. Mina’s tight mouth is trying to push through till she reaches the end of your shaft. Sana noticed this held Mina’s hair to guide the other. Sana slowly pushes and pulls Mina’s head in your cock like it’s made to be used like this. Sana looks at you smirking while Mina’s eyes swell due to how deep your cock is in her mouth. Sana doesn’t need to push her head as she’s the one who's deepthroating your cock hungrily, she sucks your cock like she wants you to remember her mouth, she sucks you like you want her mouth to mold perfectly around your cock. Sana and you watch with amusement how your length disappears and reappears inside Mina’s mouth. Your shaft is getting wetter and Saliva starts pouring out of the girl's mouth the more she deepthroats you. Sana takes this as a que and guides Mina’s head to her lips to have a wet and sloppy make out session with her. Both girls kiss like they are addicted to one another. Mina pulled back from the kiss as she needed to take a breather.

It’s Sana’s turn to take your cock. Her mischievous smile made you nervous. You barely survive Mina, and you're about to get devoured by Sana herself. Sana touches your wet cock stroking it while her tongue slowly licking your head, she know it’s already sensitive after those deepthroats and she wants to torture you with pleasure. She wants to see how long you can hold it. Sana keeps up the pace of her stroking while she bobs her head swallowing the tip of your shaft. Her hand grip paired with her fast head movement made your cock twitch. Sana notices this like a shark smelling blood. She starts to weave her head along with her hand to take all of your cock. You tried to keep your moan but Sana still doing her tongue work while sucking your cock might be the end of you. Her pace keeps up which makes you moan for a long period due to how fast she’s making you get into your climax. Mina knows what’s about to happen, she starts sucking and licking your shaft while sana is focused on sucking your head, she tries to suck it like she wants you to drain your balls. Your cock twitches once more and Mina moves to suck your balls to give Sana the space to take all of your cock. She moves her head faster than Mina, she can take it better than Mina. You can’t hold it any longer, you tell them you're about to cum and the two position themselves to take all of your cum to their faces. You shoot loads of cum that also spurts in their hair and their uniform. Their two faces share the hot load of your cum.

Later that night you received a message from your class president “we will give you another chance tomorrow after class.”

[cece693]

YOU ARE FREE TO LEAVE, BUT KNOW THIS...

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader synopsis: You had enough—determined to end your relationship, you assumed Hannibal would react more to your confession, however, he merely nodded and let you walk through the door. He knows you'll come back; this was merely a lapse in judgement.

The knife rests on the cutting board like a third heartbeat—steady, inevitable, and glinting. Hannibal sets it down only when he hears your key hesitate in the lock, that fractional pause betraying nerves you’ve trained all day to hide. He smiles to himself and wipes his hands on a crisp linen towel, turning the music down until harpsichord and silence become indistinguishable.

You step inside smelling of cold air and decisions.

He knows at once.

Tonight’s cassoulet simmers on the stove, but the aroma doesn’t coax the usual softening around your eyes. Instead, you linger by the foyer, fingers tightening on the strap of a messenger bag you never bring to his house. An exit bag, he thinks—documents, wallet, charger, sweater for the bus ride you expect to take. You haven’t plotted every step yet; the lines in your forehead say you’re still rehearsing your speech.

Hannibal tilts his head in greeting. “You are late.”

“My phone died,” you lie with reflexive ease. “Work ran over.”

He notes the absence of flowers, the lack of a quick kiss, the way you keep your shoes on. Evidence enough. But this is not a courtroom; it is a dining room designed like a chapel, and he the only minister. He gestures toward the table where two crystal glasses wait.

“Sit. Eat while it is still hot.”

“I’m not hungry,” you answer, voice thin. A rehearsal line, spoken too early.

Hannibal’s smile is pale and precise. “How unfortunate. Desire is the seasoning of life; without it, meals—and people—go bland.”

You swallow. “Actually, that’s sort of why I need to talk to you.”

A flick of genuine curiosity warms his gaze. “Proceed.”

You set the bag down—as though placing an infant in a cradle—and fold your hands so tight your knuckles blanch. “I’m leaving, Hannibal. I love you, but I can’t keep living like this. The intensity. The things we see. The things I suspect.” Your throat clicks. “I booked a flight for tomorrow night.”

He watches, unreadable, yet the room seems to contract around your lungs. You expect rage or persuasion—perhaps the cold scalpel of logic—but Hannibal simply pours the wine. Ruby liquid swirls, catching chandelier light like arterial spray. “Merlot,” he murmurs. “Full-bodied. Loyal to the tongue once tasted.”

You flinch at the metaphor. He notices.

“May I ask,” he continues softly, “how long you have planned this?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only to measure my own blindness.”

That stings—he lets it. Silence grows carnivorous, devouring oxygen. Finally, you force the words: “I can’t sleep beside you without wondering if you’re dissecting the sound of my breathing, cataloguing my pulse like… like a specimen.”

Hannibal’s eyelids lower, savoring the accusation. “And you do not wish to be studied?”

“I want to be loved, not preserved.”

He sets his glass down untouched. “You do not leave a relationship like ours the way one leaves a café, closing the door with a polite bell. Love of this caliber is an ecosystem; uproot one vine and entire orchards die.” He steps forward, slow enough not to spook you. “Come here.”

“No.”

“Come.”

Your refusal quavers. He hears the hairline crack—fear, yes, but also history, trust, longing. He steps closer, enough for you to smell rosemary and bone marrow on his cuffs. “Look at me.” Two fingers tilt your chin with something gentler than force, crueler than kindness. “If you must leave, you will at least understand what you abandon.”

“I have shown you every layer of myself,” he says, voice husky with something perilously near pain. “Curated symphonies for your moods. Fed you truth in courses small enough to digest. I have tolerated your moral fevers—your nights of conscience when you fled my bed to retch over thoughts you could not bear.”

Your eyes brim. He brushes a tear away, studying it on his thumb like a jeweler inspecting flawed crystal. “And still you stayed.”

“I stayed because I believed—”

“Because you belong,” he finishes, tone silk-steel. “As surely as spleen belongs beneath the ribcage. Remove it, and the body suffers cascades of failure.”

You shake your head. “That’s not love, Hannibal. That’s possession.”

“Possession is merely the visible spectrum of love.” He smiles, sad and terrible. “The rest lies in wavelengths few can see.”

The room tilts; you step back until the wall stops you. He follows, not hunting—orbiting. “Tell me what future awaits you in whatever city you have chosen. A small apartment. Weeknight dinners of wilted takeout. You will google therapists who promise immunity from the extraordinary. And still, when it rains, you will taste saffron and wonder if I am cooking somewhere nearby.”

Your breath fractures. “Stop.”

“Say instead: continue. Honesty deserves encouragement.”

“I said stop!”

He does. The sudden obedience unsettles you more than pursuit. Hannibal folds his hands behind his back, posture of a surgeon waiting for anesthesia to take hold.

“If your fear is police,” he says, “know they cannot protect you from an ache that originates inside your own ribs. If your fear is me—” he inclines his head—“then you admit I live within you already, and distance is a theatrical illusion.”

You glare, wounded animal edging toward fight. “You think I’m too weak to leave.”

“I think,” he answers softly, “that you are strong enough to attempt it but too sentient to succeed.”

You retrieve the bag, slinging it over one shoulder like a life raft. “I’m going to a hotel tonight.”

Hannibal steps aside, courteous. He even opens the front door. Lamp-lit drizzle threads the street; taxi lights bloom like fireflies. You hesitate in the threshold, cold biting your cheeks. “May I offer you an umbrella?” he asks.

“No.”

“Very well.” He leans against the doorframe, half in shadow, half in amber glow. “You will return.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I have prepared the cassoulet precisely to your palate.” He gestures toward the dining room. Steam curls skyward like a prayer. “When hunger humbles you, my address will be the only one your body recalls.”

You almost laugh���a ragged, incredulous sound. “People move on, Hannibal.”

“Indeed,” he agrees. “But not from sacrament.”

The hotel bed is too white, too flat; your muscles remember the give of his mattress, the scent of bergamot on starched sheets. You dream of silverware glinting under low chandeliers, of a wine glass that never empties. You wake at 2:14 a.m. and realize you are starving.

Dawn paints Baltimore in bruise-purple shadow. You stand outside his townhouse—bag still clutched, pride bleeding from a thousand paper-cut doubts. Before you can knock, the door opens. He has been awake, of course, reading by the fire, hearing your shoes in the gravel. Hannibal says nothing, only lifts an eyebrow that asks, Hungry?

You nod, throat too raw for speech. He takes the bag, sets it gently inside the foyer—never once looking to see whether you intend to stay. Because he knows.

In the kitchen, cassoulet waits, kept warm through the night. You sit. He pours. The first spoonful is a benediction laced with surrender, and when you finally meet his eyes across the table, you expect triumph. Instead you find relief—vast and tidal—as though the world has balanced upon its axis again. “Welcome home.”

[kireilien]

something about big eyed men (heeseung and euijoo)....... i want them to eat me out as they look up at me with those big eyes..........

ANON GET OUT OF MY BRAIN HOLY FUCK. although nichomaki n jayki are my biases from their respective groups, something about those big eyed doe men do something to me… they’re not even “bias wreckers” they’re my affair partners i kid you not.

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing; softer dom!heeseung, softer dom!euijoo, sub!reader, fem!reader, race neutral reader, oral (f receiving), masturbation, cum play/cum eating, mild branding, mxm if you squint (this is not an excuse to send in mxm asks, i’ve had to delete a few alr guys pls read the guide book thank you), implied overstimulation, use of “doll”

korean men born in the early 2000s who are in their hyung lines, both traumatized by i-land, 6ft tall with huge eyes can have me in a sandwich between them and i would neva wanna leave! never ever ever!

heeseung and euijoo’s huge frames are making yourself press down into the mattress. your lower half is completely bare, allowing them to appreciate your cute, dripping cunt, aching to have something done by them. the two of them are unbuckling their jeans, palming their hard cocks behind their boxers just from the sight of you.

you’re so fucking giddy.

i mean who wouldn’t be?

you could cum from the sight alone.

“you’re so pretty for us doll,” euijoo would murmur as he lowers himself down to your pussy. licking a wet stripe up against your clit, gasping at the feeling. heeseung would delicately caress your stomach, “mhm, yeah. be good for us, doll. you can do that for us, right?” you’d sheepishly nod as euijoo keeps a steady pace on your cunt.

the little gasps and whimpers leaving your lips are driving the two men insane. euijoo is lapping at your cunt, watching how you’re writhing at his tongue while heeseung is stroking himself above his boxers. they’re both staring at you in awe with those big eyes— though their bambi-like eyes look so innocent, their desire and near carnal lust for you is beyond what they look like alone.

euijoo is rutting his cock into the side of your mattress, he could cum any moment by the pure taste of you; it was so addicting to him. heeseung though, is getting a little irritable. he hasn’t tasted you yet, just stupidly rubbing his cock as another man eats you out to his pleasure.

“fuck— move. you’re being greedy.” the older one grits as he pushes euijoo out the way. the younger one rolls eyes but to be fair, he was eating you a bit too feverishly.

heeseung gives in no time to start playing with your drooling hole, toying at it with his tongue. you could immediately feel the difference between the way they both eat you out. while euijoo took it slow, savoring your taste, making sure your sweetness sits nicely on his tongue, heeseung was like an animal, devouring your cunt as if it was his last meal.

you’re whining at them, the pleasure was oh-too-much, but the two of them were only getting started?

euijoo’s grunts while fisting his cock were getting strained, heeseung looks at him with this knowing glint in his eyes. he shifts over a bit so both of the men could be near your cunt. you mumble a little, “why’d you stop—?” before heeseung and euijoo cum on your cunt.

it takes awhile for you to process, the fact that heeseung and euijoo are cumming all over your pussy, making a usual load, double the amount. they were covering your cunt in globs of white, dribbling down, pooling on the sheets. euijoo and heeseung look at each other when they do, groaning at the same time of how your pussy looks delectable from the sight of their cum showering your cunt, getting it all messy. they honestly wish they could take a picture and frame it, i mean, it was really fucking hot. the way your cunt is being frosted over by the two of them. once in a life time experience that you can’t really duplicate.

by now, you still haven’t came once, which was funny. since yk, you had two men with you and they’ve yet to make you cum. but obviously, that fades away in your mind when euijoo and heeseung come back down, eye level with your cunt, and start littering bite marks and hickeys across the plush flesh of your inner thigh.

“hmm, we know you wanna cum, doll. just wait a little for us okay?” heeseung would murmur against your thigh, sending sensitive tingles in your veins. euijoo hums with him, “yeah, doll. we can make you feel good if you’re patient with us.”

and patient you were.

it doesn’t take long before the two men start working their tongues on your cunt at the exact same time. one would be on your clit, sucking the sensitive bud, while the other would use the cum that was still on your cunt to fuck into your sopping hole. you’re grinding on their faces, loving how the new feeling of two tongues feel on your sensitive cunt. because who knows how much time has already passed? it was one after the other where you’re looking down at those doe eyed men, keeping their tongues sloppy and messy on that cunt of yours!

back 2 catalog

[e-on-edge]

Defying Gravity

18+ MDNI

Tags: Evol use, oral, rough sex, encouragement, breed kink mention, squirting,

(Haven’t been able to get this idea out of my head so here ya go!)

Caleb tickled your foot in the air, making you twitch and whimper. He loved having you at his mercy like this.

Gravity held you over his face, hovering about a foot from his nose with your legs forced open as wide as they would go, knees bent, feet locked under your supple asscheeks. Your arms remained free of restraint. A mercy allowing you to brace against the headboard while he explored your folds with animalistic fascination.

“Ah! Caleb…” You tried and failed to writhe your hips as his thick, rough fingers danced along your seam, teasing the juices from your hole. His Evol kept you firmly in place.

He wanted you dripping into his mouth - onto his lips - before he fucked you raw and silly. Needed to study every wrinkle and dimple of your cunt so that he would never forget how to please you. Most of all, he wanted you to cry. Not from discomfort or pain, but from pleasure. So much pleasure you couldn’t physically take any more. So much pleasure that you’d never even think about leaving him. Not tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. No. He would immobilize you with sex, and you would be his alone, forever.

You lurch forward as he pushes two fingers up your canal. The slow, deliberate invasion sends a wave of ecstasy through your body. Your palms slam flat against the mahogany, the cool wood a contrast to the hot tension coiling in your belly. “Hnnn!” You moan. He strokes you with intention, exploring every curve of your inner walls as though committing them to memory. He’d been teasing you for too long. Your pussy was practically mouthing his name with how it fluttered in need. “Fuck.”

Caleb didn’t relent, how could he? Your labia was spread open before his eyes like the pages of his favorite book, and he wasn’t putting you down till he’d finished reading. His fingers slipped free of your hole, releasing your slick in a thick droplet that his Evol allowed to fall onto his waiting tongue. The taste of you was delicate and sweet, with a hint of tartness unmistakably yours.

You flushed, humiliated as his eyes flashed with hunger. Your palms slipped on the bedframe, gravity pulling you down onto his face. His tongue was a flame against your already throbbing heat, sliding up your slit before he sucked you weak. Your legs trembled, muscles failing as his mouth closed around you. He devoured you with fierce intensity, his tongue probing every inch of your flesh. His grip was suffocating, holding you in place as he feasted on you. Your pussy clenched around his tongue, need building to a brutal peak. You felt his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you closer as he slurped harder.

Caleb's eyes flashed with a fierce light as he growled, his voice vibrating your pelvis. His Evol surged, lifting you higher. You felt weightless, suspended as he spun you around, your body rotating in mid-air. Suddenly his tip pressed against your entrance, and you tensed in anticipation. His cock slid into you slowly, stretching you wide with every inch. His girth was agonizing, but electric, sending sparks through your body that made your eyes cross and your tongue loll out.

The feel of you around his cock was heaven. Every thrust drew a low groan from his throat. He wanted this - wanted you. His hips bucked against you, his pace quickening as his need consumed him. His strokes grew shorter, more brutal, claiming you with every thrust. "Mine," he growled, the word repeating in his mind like a mantra: Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Ah-hnn!” You cried out, your walls clenching and spasming as he yanked your hips back, spreading your ass and slamming you against the tightness of his abs. Your bodies slick with sweat, he pounded your pussy, his cock colliding with your g-spot in a relentless rhythm.

Your body arched back against his Evol, your walls convulsing around him as he fucked you. Your vision blurred, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity. You felt yourself shattering, your orgasm ripping through you. Tears streamed down your face as your body released a torrent of emotions along with the physical tension.

"Cal-eb!" you wailed, your voice hoarse and barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Oh fuck!"

He growled, his eyes flashing with excitement as he felt your body tense around him. "Come on, baby," he mumbled, his voice low and menacing. "Let it all out. Give it to me.”

As you came, a hot, liquid rush burst from your body, squirting out between his cock and your walls. Caleb's growls grew louder, more insistent, as he felt the warm fluid gush over his skin. "Yes, yes, yes," he chanted, his voice rising triumphantly. "You're coming so hard, baby. That's my good girl.”

You felt yourself collapse, though his Evol held you firm, your body going limp as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you. But Caleb didn't let up, his hips still pumping as he rode out the last waves of his own release. "Caleb," you sobbed, your voice cracking. "Oh Caleb, please..."

As he came, he doubled over you, his Evol dissipating as you both collapsed onto the covers with a sudden rush of air from your lungs. His body twitched, his cock pulsing deep inside as he released wave after wave of hot, sticky cum into your womb. The thought of his child taking root in you sent a surge of emotion through him, he tried to push the feeling aside - though he couldn't quite shake it.

Caleb's arms closed around you, his grip tight and possessive as he held you against his chest. His cock still throbbed inside you, his cum seeping out of your cunt as he pulled your face around and crushed his lips to yours. You felt his tongue invade your mouth, his kiss fierce and dominating as he claimed you all over again.

“You’re falling for me, aren’t you?” He said through a grin, wiping the tears of pleasure from your cheeks.

You roll your eyes. “I should never have agreed to using Evol’s in bed.”

Caleb chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Too late for regrets now," he says, his voice low and husky.

You can't help but laugh, and Caleb takes advantage of the moment to lean in and kiss you. His lips are warm and gentle, and you feel yourself melting into his touch.

As you break apart for air, Caleb's eyes lock onto yours, his gaze burning with intensity. "You're mine pipsqueak, caught in my gravity forever."

[milkloafy]

THE ASTRAL EXPRESS’ LAUNDRY FAIRY — DAN HENG

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: you hate doing your laundry and dan heng needs to use the dryer. one day, he folds your clothes for you and places your skimpiest pair of underwear on top for everyone to see.  ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fluff, 16+, fem!reader, humor?  ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 2.3k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: yes this is based on my roomie folding my laundry for me whenever i forget to take it out of the dryer for too long…but like no she doesn’t put my lingerie on display that is only for dan heng to do <3 sdjfhsdj

While the Express seemed filled with saving the world and trying not to die, being a Nameless had its more mundane moments too.

You had chores to do, just like any other person out there. You had to wash your dishes, clean your bathroom, and do your laundry. As did everyone else on the Express. 

Unfortunately for you, you hated doing your laundry—namely, you hated folding your clothes. And even more unfortunate was that there was a limited amount of washer and dryers that had to be shared amongst the passengers. 

It was safe to say that you had a bit of a…reputation for leaving your clothes in the dryers for too long. 

Most times, you would get a text from Trailblazer telling you to get your damn clothes out, or a knock on the door and a delivery of a basket full of freshly dried clothes for you to fold from March 7th. But some days, when you remembered in the late of night to go and take your clothes out of the dryer yourself, you would see them in a basket, folded neatly and compactly, with no sign of who did it. 

At first, you assumed it was Welt. He seemed fatherly enough. But today when you went to pick up your laundry basket, you noticed your lacy and sheer baby pink thong folded neatly and placed on the top of the pile of clothes, and you immediately knew it couldn’t be him. Welt would’ve had the decency to at least hide your undergarments…

You had plenty of other, more boring underwear in there was well. Plain black ones or nude-colored ones. Placing the skimpy pink one on top just had to be targeted.

Himeko, perhaps, would have the gall to do such a thing, but she was worse than even you at doing her laundry. At times, she didn’t even remember to take it out of the washer and it would take multiple more washes to rid her dresses of the musty, damp clothes scent. 

That left only two people: Pom-Pom and Dan Heng. 

Pom-Pom because the likelihood of them knowing that the underwear they folded was a thong bordering on lingerie was slim to none. And it was on top simply due to them thinking the color was nice. And Dan Heng, well…because he was Dan Heng. 

You decided there was only one way to find out. 

“Pom-Pom,” you said in a singsong voice to your favorite and only conductor. You waltzed over to them in the Parlor Car and handed them a homemade cupcake that came fresh from the oven. “Here is my little thank you gift. It’s red velvet. Your favorite.”

Pom-Pom’s eyes lit up as they accepted the cupcake with open arms. “For me? Pom-Pom loves this treat! But what is the thank you for?”

You smiled, pleased with yourself as Pom-Pom devoured the cupcake in just a few bites. “Thank you for folding my clothes for me, of course!” 

Slowly, Pom-Pom folded the cupcake wrapper with wide eyes. “Folding your clothes? Oh, you must be mistaken! Pom-Pom is not your maid. Pom-Pom is the conductor.” 

Blinking rapidly, you nodded with a sheepish look on your face. “Of course! Pom-Pom is no maid. But if you haven’t been doing my laundry for me, then that must mean…” 

Your eyes flitted over to Dan Heng, who was reading a book at a table in the parlor car, a cup of warm tea in front of him. He was close enough that he could overhear your conversation if he wanted to, but it was more likely that he was too engrossed in his book to notice. 

Clearing your throat to get his attention, you called out, “Dan Heng.”

He looked over in your direction before closing his book and placing it in the table. Picking up his mug, Dan Heng a sip of tea. “Yes?” 

“Did you…” you trialed off, realizing you didn’t have a cupcake in hand to thank him. It had been eaten by Pom-Pom for no apparent reason. Though, the conductor certainly deserved random treats for their hard work as well. 

“Did I?” 

You tugged the hem of your shirt sheepishly, suddenly feeling bashful at the thought of Dan Heng taking his time to fold the smallest of your underwear and putting it on full display. 

“Never mind!” you blurted out, suddenly making an excuse to head back to your bedroom. “See you later, Dan Heng! I hope you enjoyed your cupcake, Pom-Pom!”

Running out of the Parlar Car and down the hall into your room, you shut the door behind you and laughed to yourself. Now, you just had to find out— Did Dan Heng place your panties there on purpose? Was he simply unfazed or did he want to tease you by doing so? 

Closing your eyes and letting out an exhale, you told yourself there was only one way to find out. 

—

Dan Heng walked into the communal laundry room after his clothes were finished in the wash and saw the small selection of dryers in use. They all had another forty minutes left to them. All except for one. The one, single dryer that was finished drying but still had your laundry basket on top of it, claiming the space as yours until you gathered your items. 

He shook his head but smiled despite himself. This was a bad habit of yours you had to break, so why did he indulge in your forgetfulness when it came to laundry and fold your clothes for you? Part of him said it was simply because it would be too much work to message you and wait for you to gather your stuff— By the time that happened, his clothes would have been wet for too long. 

But another part of him just felt it was a nice thing to do for you. You, who always went out of your way to celebrate his “birthday” on a random day of the year since Dan Heng never had the chance to learn when it truly was. 

Everyone deserved a special day, you had said.

There was also you who made sure to always bring Pom-Pom a souvenir since they were unable to go out themselves. 

Perhaps laundry was your one downfall. And in that case, Dan Heng certainly didn’t mind. It was the least he could do to help you out.

Still, as he folded this week’s batch of your laundry, heat rose to his cheeks at the sight of, not one, but four pairs of lacy underwear and matching sets of equally revealing bras.

Dan Heng sighed, chuckling to himself. He learned over the last few weeks that you preferred more subtle types of undergarments… So why this week the amount of lingerie exponentially grew was beyond him. 

It could have been that you finally learned the person folding your clothes was Dan Heng and wanted to poke fun at him a bit. He shook his head. If that was the case, he could certainly retaliate himself.

After finishing up the folding with your intimates intentionally laid on top of the pile, he finally placed his own clothes in the dryer. He pulled his phone out to set a timer—something you could learn to do—but before he put it back in his pocket, Dan Heng found himself opening his messages with you.

Dan Heng: Interesting selection you had this week.

Y/N: ???

Y/N: Interesting selection of what?

Instead of typing a response, he thought it would be better to show you.

Smiling to himself, he took a picture of your laundry basket—the red pair on top this time—and sent it over to you.

Your reply was instantaneous.

Y/N: Oh my god…

Y/N: YOU’RE my laundry fairy after all?!!

Dan Heng: It seems I am.

Y/N: Then why are you placing my unmentionables on the top!! Have you no shame?

Dan Heng: Strange way to say thank you…

Y/N: …thank you.

Y/N: Also, just FYI, i don’t normally that many raunchy undies in one week. 

Y/N: I only wore them this week for you.

Dan Heng blinked in shock. Not that he was opposed, but he wasn’t sure if he was understanding you correctly.

Y/N: Wait. Not like that.

Y/N: It’s not like I’m wearing them for you for you, you know??? 

Y/N: It’s like… I was wearing it for my laundry fairy to find out who they were and to get a rise out of you.

Y/N: Out of them* the unknown laundry fairy.

Dan Heng almost laughed at the amount of times you had to correct yourself in the span of one measly minute. 

Dan Heng: Of course. You wore them for the elusive laundry fairy, not me in particular. 

Y/N: Yes! Exactly.

Y/N: But also thank god it is you, right? Haha.

Y/N: Like imagine it was Welt after all… Oh gods he does not need to know THIS is what I wore underneath all my clothes…

Y/N: He would say something like it might be uncomfortable for the movement required during combat.

Dan Heng’s expression soured at the strange thought of Welt having to fold your delicates, but that quickly changed when the image of you wearing these lacy undergarments flashed through his mind. 

Y/N: You know what?? Nothing I’m saying is coming out right t-t

Y/N: I’ll just see you at the laundry room to pick up my stuff

Y/N: Meet you there!!!

Dan Heng held his hand over his rapidly beating heart in hopes that it would calm down before you got here. Not to mention the red in his cheeks that showed no signs of going away.

He didn’t intend to think such thoughts of you, nor did he expect that he…didn’t mind it. But either way, the image had to get out of his head before you arrived at the laundry room. The visions would only grow stronger at the sight of you in person, and he was not prepared on having to deal with that. 

Dan Heng wasn’t sure if he could face your inevitable teasing if you ever found out.

—

All it took was one look at Dan Heng’s face and you automatically understood the entire situation. 

“Do you think the laundry room runs really warm too?” you asked, fanning your face as you entered the door. “It’s always so hot! I hate coming in here!”

Dan Heng blinked, nodding slowly but unsurely, as if he was ready to go along with whatever you just said.

You walked over to him and placed your hand on his forehead, checking to see if his entire face and body was burning up. Alarm filled you when you felt the heat radiating from his face.

“Dan Heng! You’re burning up in here,” you fretted, closely inspecting his face and tugging at his sleeve to motion him to follow you. “Let’s get out of the laundry room.”

His face turned even more red as you touched his cheeks tried to cool him off. Decidedly, Dan Heng shook his head. “I do not think it is the location causing the warmth.”

“Then what?”

He did not answer, but you noticed the way his eyes flickered briefly to your laundry basket of folded clothes. Just like the picture he sent you, your matching red lingerie set was placed neatly on top.

Suddenly, you felt your own face warm up.

“O-Oh… That’s why.” You scooped up the basket into your arms and held it close to your chest, as if it were a shield protecting you from embarrassment. “I’ll get these out of your way now! And thank you for…you know.” 

“Anytime.”

“And I promise, I won’t be wearing such racy bras and underwear in the future in case I forget to come collect my laundry again…” 

Dan Heng cleared his throat before shaking his head. “No, that’s not necessary.” 

You stared and him and he stared back. 

“What I mean to say is, feel free to wear whatever you want. I don’t mind,” he said, walking out of the laundry room with you. “In fact, you probably look…nice in them.” 

Dan Heng froze in place and you almost tripped over the air and dropped all your clothes. 

“I mean—” he started. 

“No, yeah! I get what you mean!” 

You did not get what he meant. 

Was he complimenting you? Flirting? You were 95% sure he was and your heart was about to fly out of your chest. 

This man would be the death of you one day.

“Anyway, this is my stop,” you announced, as if Dan Heng hadn’t been past your room multiple times before. “Thanks for doing my laundry! Bye now!” 

Rushing into the safety of your room, you threw the basket of clothes onto your desk at the entrance. Before you could get too comfortable, you heard a hesitant knock on the door. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a deep exhale and attempted to appear normal. 

You opened the door and peered up at the black-haired man with frustratingly pretty eyes. “Hi! Can I help you?”

“You dropped something…” Dan Heng stood at your door frame with your red thong hanging from his fingers. His cheeks almost matched the color of your panties. 

“Oh.” You grabbed them at lightning speed, avoiding looking into his eyes. “Thank you.”

Once you shut the door in his face for the second and final time tonight, you immediately ran over to your bed and screamed into your pillow. 

After a brief moment of silence, you heard his voice through the door, “I feel the same.”

Your threshold for embarrassment had broken already and all you could do was laugh. 

At least you and Dan Heng were both on the same boat.

[themology]

harry castillo x curator!reader “a million dollar man”

masterlist | previous chapter

chapter 1 — grief and desire

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

It didn’t.

It shouldn’t.

Right?

It was one encounter.

Merely even a flicker, maybe at least for a man like him. A glimmer of interest, like the trace of some strong perfume left in a room long after the person who wore it was gone.

The Harry Castillo had looked at you, really looked at you—and you’d felt a thrill so acute it frightened you. Electricity trickled down your spine so deliciously you wanted to feel it again, that pleasant shiver, that delicious itch you so badly want to scratch immediately.

You didn’t blush easily, but your neck had obviously grown warmer, and mind you, the gallery was so cold you second guessed on wearing something less thin. You’d left the gallery with a strange buzzing beneath your skin, like your nerves had been tuned to a new frequency, and now every sound under felt louder. Every movement, yours or anyone else’s felt exposed.

The name, Harry Castillo, nestled itself in your thoughts with the casual weight of something inevitable, something that evaded your mind even while you did the most mundane things, biting your lips, him. Checking for texts and emails, him. Drinking your usual cup of tea, him. Visiting book stores, him.

You didn’t Google him that night.

Not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew what you’d already find.

You’d heard of him in corners of conversations you weren’t meant to be part of. Among esteemed professors who lowered their voices when his name came up during random conversations. Among every types of artists who spoke of him like some kind of fable: a man with a Midas touch, and a taste for the unruly.

A mogul, others always said. A patron. A very generous man. A collector of minds before things.

“Harry Castillo doesn’t buy art,” someone once murmured during a roundtable talk your second year in grad school, you contemplated about it for a moment, twirling and playing with your pen. “He consumes it. Entirely. Devours it whole. And somehow makes you think he’s doing you a favor by doing so.”

You hadn’t understood it much then.

You do now.

His card had stayed in your purse for days. Each time you reached for something, your lip balm, your pen, your books and notebooks, your wallet, it brushed your fingers like some kind of dare, like being offered the pearly gates while also being offered a once-in-a-lifetime deal with the devil.

Thick.

Sleek.

Matte black with embossed gold type. No number. Just a name, and the Atelier’s insignia—abstract, sharp, private.

Once in a lifetime.

You tried not to fixate.

You tried to drown yourself in your work. You were knee-deep in preparations for a tightly curated group exhibition. Your first with partial autonomy, you were already incredibly happy with that, honestly. It was a critical step for someone still building her name in a field ruled by the already known.

It mattered.

This wasn’t just about mere aesthetics of environment or colour, or mediums of arts. It was networking. It was visibility. Being seen and heard. It was just how careers were truly made in the world you are about to step to: whispers in rooms you weren’t invited into, grants given over drinks at rooftop bars, opportunities passed between the hands of men who never looked at your resume, just your potential.

Of course, you were not naïve about it.

You dressed a little more sharper, more red lipstick, it was daring, you figured it didn’t matched your skin tone first, but you’ve gotten used to it. You spoke with more measured control, did some confident pauses here and there, as if you’re dragging every syllable in a perfect, disciplined way.

You offered opinions only when you knew you could defend them, you’re becoming braver, yes, not stupid enough to blabber too much about something you haven’t dive much into yet.

You made yourself smaller and sharper all at once, so you’d take up just enough space to be noticed, but never enough to be a threat, yet, of course, you start competing, not too much to the point where you were digging your own inevitable grave, not too soon. Not yet, not now.

So when an email appeared in your inbox one morning, a short, pristine message marked CONFIDENTIAL… you reread it at least five times.

Subject:

In Conversation: Castillo Atelier + Carnegie Project

From: Assistant to Mr. Castillo

Mr. Castillo would be pleased to host an informal studio tour for select emerging curators.

Your presence was specifically requested. Should your schedule permit, kindly RSVP.

Location details to follow upon confirmation.

You stared at it, stunned. Lips trembling, hands doing the same as well. The words “specifically requested” sent a ripple of heat down your spine, both thrilling and unsettling.

It couldn’t be real.

You even checked the sender’s address for signs of phishing. You triple-checked the logo.

Your fingers hovered above your keyboard. Every rational cell in your body told you not to read into it. It was probably a blanket invite. Someone on his team looking to make nice with the newer generation of tastemakers. Or maybe he was collecting names like he collected canvases… indiscriminately, temporarily, just to see what they looked like in his light and see if he’d like it enough to keep it for a while.

But still. He’d looked at you.

And now… he’d called you closer.

So, you said yes.

It rained the night you arrived.

The car sent to pick you up was black, unbranded, with deep-tinted windows and a silent driver who never once turned his head toward you. It felt like entering another world, one where time slowed and your pulse counted louder than the music, soft jazz filtering from hidden speakers.

The townhouse was located in a discreet pocket of SoHo. Nothing marked it from the street, but the architecture was deliberate. Concrete wrapped in soft shadows, sharp lines softened by the golden glow of interior lights, the hush of money that doesn’t need to announce itself.

You stood under the awning for a beat too long before ringing the bell.

A woman answered the door. Tall. Polished. Unfazed. She greeted you with a neutral elegance and took your coat as though it weighed nothing. Her French accent was smooth, her cheekbones godlike. She handed you a drink in cut crystal, pear liqueur, subtly chilled, and gestured to a gallery lounge deeper inside the space.

You followed her steps like a dream.

She didn’t say his name, and neither did you.

The lounge was… well, transcendent. Quiet in the way sacred spaces are quiet.

Large canvases lined the walls, pieces you didn’t recognize from any public collection—angular, erotic, dangerous in tone and texture. A Calder mobile hung above you, its motion subtle but constant, like breath. The whole room smelled faintly of oil paint, ozone, and something else you couldn’t name. Something warm.

You wandered. You took slow steps, one at a time. You sipped the drink but barely tasted it. Your heart beat in your mouth.

And then… “I didn’t think you’d come.”

His velvety voice broke the silence behind you, dragging down your spine like silk catching on bare naked skin.

You turned before you could prepare yourself.

He was leaning against the doorway, half in shadow, wearing a black shirt with sleeves rolled just enough to bare his forearms, solid, tan, a thin chain catching the dim light against his collarbone.

He was older up close.

Better that way.

Lived-in.

Real.

The kind of man whose presence takes up space long before he speaks.

“I wasn’t sure I would,” you replied, coolly. Or you hoped it was cool. You couldn’t tell if your voice was shaking or just soft. You stepped a little bit closer to appear more confident than you’re supposedly feeling inside, you feel hot and heavy and your spine feels tingly but you continued, still.

“You said yes,” he said.

You nodded. “It was a professional opportunity.”

“Of course,” he murmured, crossing his arms and shifting slightly in his place, fixing his posture for a little, a flicker of amusement in his tone.

“That’s why I invited you.”

You should’ve moved. Should’ve kept the upper hand by walking more into the room, gesturing to the work, launching into critique. But your feet stayed planted. And he stepped inside.

His gaze didn’t roam. It rested. Steady. A heat held in restraint.

“I watched you at the last opening,” he said quietly. “The way you looked at that Tetsuya Ishida piece. You stood there like you were trying not to feel it.”

You blinked, looking away momentarily to try and remain . “Well, I was doing my job.” you said, as if stating the obvious.

“No,” Harry said. “You were trying not to respond. It was written all over your face.”

That stirred something low in you. Unfair, that he could read you like that.

“I’m not here to be read,” you said, softly, shrugging softly as your gaze explored the expanse of the room. “I’m here to read the art.”

Harry stepped a little closer.

Still not touching.

Never touching.

“Then read this,” he said, gesturing to the massive oil piece to your right, unframed, thick with texture, and aching with movement. “Tell me what you see.”

You turned to the painting, hiding the fact that you’re lightly biting your lip to ground yourself. grasping for words, for detachment. But the scent of him was already curling at the edges of your mind. Cedar, leather, something warm and faintly spiced, like bourbon soaked into wood.

The gallery room was quiet, soaked in the hush of dim lights and polished marble, with only one painting commanding the space.

Carnal Repose by Luisa Ferretti, a large, feverish thing of oil and silk and skin. But Harry Castillo wasn’t looking at the painting. He was looking at you.

And even as you began to speak, articulating color theory, emotional narrative, the dialogue between brushstroke and body, you could feel his gaze on you.

Not devouring.

Not invasive.

But attentive in a way you weren’t used to.

Like you were the artwork.

And he wanted to know what it felt like to be inside your skin.

You could feel his eyes, sharp and deliberate, more precise than the tailored lines of his charcoal suit. He stood across from you, relaxed in the way only men who owned too much could be, hands in his pockets, lips curved in the barest hint of something unreadable.

You kept your posture straight, voice steady, clipboard clutched like a shield against the way your body betrayed you.

“It’s one of Ferretti’s final works,” you explained, gesturing toward the canvas without meeting his gaze. “Painted during her time in Florence. The brushwork is chaotic, but deliberate. A visual tension, some say it reflects grief. Others say desire.”

He stepped closer, the sound of his shoes soft on the floor, eyes dragging slowly over the painting before finding you again. “Grief and desire,” he said, his voice low, too smooth. “Funny how easily they get mistaken for each other.”

You didn’t let yourself react. “The drapery clings to the subject’s spine. See there?” you pointed, as if distraction might cool the heat rising in your throat. “It’s a study in restraint. The figure’s tense, like she’s trying not to move. Or trying not to give in.”

“So she’s holding back,” he murmured, now only a foot away from you.

You nodded once. “Trying to.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth. “And failing.”

You swallowed, breath caught behind your ribs. His tone wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It slipped under your skin, nestled there. You kept your gaze forward, not on him.

Not yet.

“It’s compelling because of the control,” you said, voice cooler than you felt. “Because of what’s withheld. That’s what makes the piece intimate—not what’s exposed.”

Harry smiled slightly, tilting his head, like he was measuring you. “That’s exactly what couture is. Power in precision. Knowing what to show… and what to keep hidden.”

He moved closer…so close you could feel the heat from his body across the small space that separated you. Still not touching. But the air felt different now, charged and tight. His voice dipped even lower. “Do you think she liked it?” he asked. “Being seen this way. Tense, composed, but still exposed. Do you think she wanted to be interpreted like this?”

You exhaled carefully. Your voice stayed even. “She knew exactly what she was doing.”

“So do you,” he said.

You turned toward him, your chin lifting slightly, expression unreadable but eyes sharp. You didn’t need to say anything. The tension in your stance spoke for itself. Turning back to the painting, you added, quieter now, “Ferretti believed beauty came from restraint. Not surrender.”

There was a pause. Then Harry’s voice, rich and slow: “Some of us would disagree.”

You stepped away, your heels the only sound in the room. You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. His eyes were still on you, and the moment hung there, stretched thin and glistening like wet paint.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t over.

It’s only starting.

next chapter

notes…

i apologize for the delay on the first chapter, something came up but here is the first chapter! consistent updates will be provided soon!

please comment down below if you wish to be tagged in future updates <3

themology, 2025.

[jenchan-writingmultis]

Twisted Wonderland Boys x Fem Reader in their respective Fairytales (Series)

Leona's Part

Previous Part (Riddle)

─────❅───── A/n: I might have butchered Leona, I'm so sorry :(

Content Warning: This Fic will be tagged as 16+ since it is a bit suggestive along with mentions of Gorey themes (Azul), it’s very vague. I haven’t finished Book 6 and Book 7 because I’m stuck in Tartarus, but they’re not done here yet. Riddle (Suggestive Themes), Leona (Cussing, Blood mention), Azul (Obsession, Manipulation, Cussing once, Potential Cannibalism? (He eats merpeople who are turned into Polyps). The reason for potential OOC was cause I mixed both the classic Villains with the personality of our beloved boys

Due to the Tumblr Limit, Each one will be divided unfortunately, hopefully, it's an easy navigation for all of you!

─────❅─────

First Batch would be: Riddle, Leona, Azul Second Batch would be: Kalim, Idia, Malleus

List of Villains interconnecting with each character:

Riddle = Queen of Hearts

Leona = Scar

Azul = Ursula

─────❅─────

Leona:

It’s hot, you thought to yourself, sweating bullets as if you were in the middle of a savanna, which, unfortunately, you were. Looking around; you only noticed a small cave that was a few feet away from you.

You could go there just by walking so without a doubt, you made your way to it, the closer you were the bigger the cave got, fanning yourself, you immediately went inside, sighing in relief as you felt cold water dripping to your forehead, it might be a wet pit cave. You were going to step further when you felt something squish beneath your feet.

“Urghk” a grunt was heard, causing you to jump back in surprise, the perfectly camouflaged man stirred up, sitting as he placed his tail on his lap, rubbing the part you stepped on. “Fuck, what the hell is a prey doing here?” snarling as he opened his eyes, piercing into your figure like he wanted to devour you here and there. “You’re lucky that I’m too lazy to eat you” he continued, sounding annoyed, standing up, he grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling you roughly near to his face so that he could examine you better.

“You really are a prey,” he said amusedly, while you froze, not from fear, maybe a bit of that but also from surprise, Leona, your lover, was standing infront of you shirtless, with only just his pants, since when was he this bold?

“Leona!” you squeaked, covering your eyes to shy yourself away from the lion, who looked lost. “What?” he asked, crossing his arms, he found you looking like an idiot, covering your eyes like that, but instead of getting irritated, he found himself intrigued by how stupid the situation was.

“Put on some clothes please” you muttered, still not glancing at him, okay that was ridiculous, he grabbed your collar once again forcing you to look at him, “What kind of idiot would get flushed over a body?” he asked, after all, in this land, almost every beastmen and beastwomen were half naked, or fully naked, so why are you flustered? Huh, now examining your outfit, you didn’t seem to be a beast type.

"Hm," he murmured, pulling away to maintain a safe distance. "A human in the territory of beasts." He glanced lazily behind you, checking if you bought any of your herbivore friends with you. Finding none, he couldn't decide if you were bold or simply foolish. With a slight laugh, he added "You're bold. I'm surprised you weren't mauled and served as today's dinner on your way here."

“What does that mean?” you pouted, Leona somehow senses a feeling of familiarity in it, so he grabbed your hand, dragging you to his lair further as he sat down, placing you beside him, he draped himself on you.

Yeah, this feels familiar, he thought to himself, laying on your plush thighs, you didn’t even push him away automatically brushing your fingers in his hair. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here Prey,” he asked, eyes closing as he feasted on your affection.

“Yeah, I just happen to be here” you replied shortly, you didn’t really know what to say, this guy might not even be Leona, maybe he’s an evil counterpart, but the thing is he seemed to be fond of you, so what’s the difference? Was it the fact that the scar on his eye was bigger? Or the fact that he was littered with tattoos, unlike your Leona? The black ink spreading all over his arms to his back and neck was pretty, it suits him.

“When I take the throne, I’ll make you my little mouse,” he said so casually which caused you to stiffen. “Take the throne?” you asked as your fingers nimbly pushed the hair back that was covering his face, the moment he opened his eyes you saw the determination in his usually bored eyes.

“I will be king someday,” he said, grabbing your wrist you felt him pull it to his lips as he nuzzled it, so uncharacteristic of him, however, you’re not even sure who he is, so maybe not.

Pain suddenly surrounds your wrist, squeaking when Leona bit your wrist, letting the blood drip into his mouth; that hurt, you tried to pull your hand away but his grab on you was firm.

“I’ll be ten times the king Farena and his little brat will ever be” he stated, letting your wrist go when he saw the look you gave, fear, it suits you.

Yeah, He’s decided, the way you react, the way you stare at him with both love and fear. He’s going to keep you.   I’m sure you knew what he meant when he said he would take the throne right?

Azul Part one

[blairkiss]

Bound in Leather and Parchment.

by @blairkiss , thank you so much for reading. I appreciate any reposts and likes and comments!

tags; BDSM, mistress!older!Agatha, younger!rio, strapon (Rio receiving), fingering (Rio receiving), semi-public sex

The ancient mahogany doors of the stately library creaked open, revealing a dimly lit sanctuary of knowledge and forbidden pleasures. Agatha Harkness, a 51-year-old widow with a voracious appetite for the taboo, stepped inside, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Her trenchcoat hugged her curvaceous figure like a second skin, accentuating every dip and curve.

Rio had been seeing the BDSM mistress named “Witch Tamer” for a while, though their relationship had blossomed into something other than just an exchange of pleasure, and of something of love with now weekly sessions.

Rio looked up from the counter where she was cataloging books. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in Agatha’s appearance. Rio’s own outfit was more modest, a crisp white blouse and a navy-blue pencil skirt, but her eyes smoldered with desire beneath her horn-rimmed glasses.

“Agatha,” Rio breathed, her voice a hushed whisper. “You’re very early. Our next session isn’t until next week”

Agatha smirked, sauntering over to the counter with a sultry sway of her hips. “I couldn’t wait, pet. I’ve been aching for you all week.”

Rio’s cheeks flushed, and she bit her lower lip, tasting the glossy red lipstick. “The library opens in an hour. We have time for a quick… session, If you’re willing?” One thing that Agatha has helped with, was Rio’s confidence.

Agatha’s eyes gleamed with wicked intent. “Oh, I intend to take my time with you, Rio. I want to savor every inch of your delectable body.”

Rio’s breath hitched as Agatha rounded the counter and into the office where the bookbinding would happen occasionally, her movements fluid and predatory. Agatha’s gloved hand reached out, fingers trailing along Rio’s jawline, tilting her chin up to meet her gaze.

“You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you, Rio?” Agatha purred, her voice a silken caress. “I can smell your arousal from here.”

Rio whimpered, her thighs clenching together as a rush of heat flooded her core. “Yes, Mistress,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

Agatha’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Good girl. Now, strip for me. I want to see what you’ve been hiding beneath those prim and proper clothes.”

Rio’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, her hands shaking with anticipation. She shrugged off the garment, revealing a lacy black bra that barely contained her ample breasts. Her skirt followed, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a matching thong and thigh-high stockings.

Agatha circled Rio like a predator stalking its prey, her eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin. “Turn around,” she commanded, her voice husky with desire.

Rio complied, presenting her back to Agatha. Agatha’s gloved hands skimmed over Rio’s shoulders, down her spine, coming to rest on the swell of her ass. She gave the supple flesh a sharp smack, relishing the way Rio yelped and jolted forward.

“Such a perfect little ass,” Agatha growled, kneading the reddened skin. “I’m going to enjoy marking it up.”

Rio’s breath came in shallow pants, her nipples hardening into stiff peaks beneath the lace of her bra. “Please, Mistress,” she begged, “I need you.”

Agatha chuckled darkly. “Patience, pet. I’m in charge here, remember?”

She guided Rio to a nearby reading nook, a plush armchair surrounded by towering bookshelves. Agatha pushed Rio down onto the chair, straddling her lap. Rio’s hands instinctively reached for Agatha’s breasts, but Agatha grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head.

“Ah-ah,” Agatha tsked, shaking her head. “No touching until I say so.”

Rio whined in frustration, her hips bucking up against Agatha’s in a desperate bid for friction. Agatha ground down on her, the linen of her pants now slick with sweat and Rio’s own arousal.

“Feel how wet you’ve made me, Rio?” Agatha purred, her breath hot against Rio’s ear. “You’re such a good little slut for me.”

Rio moaned, her head falling back against the chair as Agatha’s hips continued their tortuous rhythm. Agatha’s free hand roamed Rio’s body, tweaking a nipple through the lace of her bra before sliding lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her thong.

“Mmm, so wet,” Agatha groaned, her fingers parting Rio’s slick folds. “I bet you’d let me do anything to you right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Rio gasped, her hips thrusting forward to meet Agatha’s probing fingers. “Anything.”

Agatha’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Good girl.”

She plunged two fingers into Rio’s tight heat, pumping them in and out at a brutal pace. Rio cried out, her walls clenching around Agatha’s fingers as she neared her peak. Agatha could feel Rio’s body tensing, ready to shatter, but she withdrew her fingers at the last moment.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Agatha chided, bringing her slick fingers to Rio’s lips. “You don’t get to come yet, pet.”

Rio’s eyes fluttered shut as she parted her lips, her tongue darting out to taste her own arousal on Agatha’s fingers. Agatha groaned at the sight, her own desire spiraling out of control.

“I need to taste you,” Agatha growled, pulling away from Rio’s mouth. She pushed Rio’s thighs apart, settling between them on her knees. “I’m going to devour this pretty little pussy until you scream.”

Rio’s hands fisted in Agatha’s hair as the older woman’s mouth descended on her, her tongue delving into Rio’s wet folds. Agatha licked and sucked, her lips sealing around Rio’s clit and drawing it into her mouth. Rio bucked against Agatha’s face, her moans echoing through the empty library.

“Mistress, please,” Rio begged, her hips grinding against Agatha’s mouth. “I need to come. Please let me come.”

Agatha pulled back, her chin slick with Rio’s juices. “Come for me, pet,” she commanded, her voice rough with desire. “Come all over my face.”

Rio’s body obeyed, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She cried out, her back arching off the chair as her walls spasmed around nothing, her release gushing onto Agatha’s waiting tongue.

Agatha lapped up every drop, her own arousal soaking through the crotch of her underwear. She stood, pulling Rio up with her, and guided her to a nearby table. Agatha bent Rio over the smooth wood, kicking her legs apart.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Rio,” Agatha growled, her hands roaming over Rio’s trembling body. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

Rio whimpered, her hips canting back in invitation. Agatha reached into her pants, pulling out a strap-on dildo, and quickly secured it around her hips. She positioned the thick, realistic cock at Rio’s entrance, teasing her with the tip.

“Please, Mistress,” Rio begged, her voice ragged with need. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

Agatha obliged, slamming into Rio with one powerful thrust. Rio screamed, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the table as Agatha set a brutal pace, pounding into her with relentless fervor. The table creaked and groaned beneath them, books tumbling from the shelves with each forceful thrust.

Rio’s second orgasm built quickly, her walls tightening around the thick intrusion. Agatha could feel her own release approaching, her hips stuttering as she chased her pleasure.

“Come with me, pet,” Agatha growled, her fingers finding Rio’s clit and rubbing tight circles. “Come on my cock.”

Rio’s body obeyed, her orgasm crashing over her like a tsunami. She screamed Agatha’s name, her vision whiting out as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. Agatha followed seconds later, her own release flooding her as she slammed into Rio one final time.

They collapsed together onto the table, Agatha’s body covering Rio’s as they both struggled to catch their breath. Agatha nuzzled into Rio’s neck, pressing soft kisses to the sweat-slicked skin.

“That was… incredible,” Rio panted, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Agatha chuckled, nipping at Rio’s earlobe. “You’re incredible, pet. My perfect little slut.”

Rio preened under the praise, her body still tingling with aftershocks. She turned her head, capturing Agatha’s lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

The library doors creaked open, signaling the arrival of the first patrons. Agatha and Rio quickly disentangled themselves, straightening their clothing and smoothing their hair. As they parted ways, Agatha’s hand lingered on Rio’s lower back, a silent promise of more to come.

Sorry for the slightly out of character for Agatha and Rio..

[ginnysgraffiti]

you're devouring these patrick bateman asks and i love it so i have to put in a bit

could we get smth w maybe a younger reader (like finishing a degree ish mbe??) whos an aspiring writer and patrick sees their writing as something actually good enough to obsess over and admire like he does with music yk and he kinda takes it upon himself to try to help boost their career and all that

also mbe a little gn idk if you do that on ur acc i forgot to checkkk it's ok if not there's just not much patrick that isn't fem

i tired to make it longer than usual, i hope you enjoy it TT

PATRICK BATEMAN x yn.

it starts as quiet curiosity. then, as always with patrick, it becomes consumption.

you hand him your writing one night —unsure, maybe shy, maybe joking and saying that you needed advice for university courses you were taking— and he takes it with mechanical politeness, fully expecting mediocrity.

most people who say they’re “working on a novel” are unbearable, and he’s read enough uninspired prose in the new york times to expect another disappointment.

but it isn’t that.

you write like you see too much. like you notice things other people miss. the rhythm of your sentences has intentionality. the metaphors are sharp, cold in places, and disturbingly exact. and he feels something rare while reading it: a flicker of actual feeling.

not envy. not admiration. something closer to awe. he rereads the same three pages four times that night.

then he prints a copy. just in case.

he starts quoting your own writing back to you —subtly, like it’s something from an ad campaign or a record sleeve.

in the beginning, you don’t notice. he’ll casually drop a phrase during conversation, something you recognize in passing. when you pause, brow raised, he only blinks. “what? it’s good.”

by the third time, he isn’t hiding it.

he reads your latest draft aloud to you in bed like it’s an excerpt from les inrockuptibles, cigar in hand, voice calm and clinical.

“this part,” he murmurs, tracing the margin, “this is violent. you understand violence better than most people in this city.”

and it’s not a compliment. it’s a revelation.

he begins inserting your name into conversations with unsettling ease.

patrick doesn’t usually talk about people. he talks about impressions. about value. but suddenly, your name becomes something he says often.

at restaurants: “they’re working on something new, you know. it’s different. smarter than what’s being published now.”

at business meetings: “you know who could write that better?”

he gets you in rooms you didn’t ask to be in.

he doesn’t ask if you’re ready.

he just decides.

you are something good, and like all things he deems worth preserving, he wants to own it — or at the very least, orchestrate its rise.

he offers to “help” edit, but his version of feedback is bizarrely intense.

he doesn’t care about grammar or structure. he cares about the precision of your metaphors, the weight of your last line, whether or not the reader should be punished by the ending.

he circles whole paragraphs and writes “not cruel enough.”

he hands you books from his library that don’t match your style, but then explains why your work is what they were trying to do — but failed to.

he says, almost offhandedly one night, “i think your sentences could kill someone if you wanted them to.”

and he means it.

he reads your writing the way other people read sacred texts. not because he understands everything — but because it makes him feel like he could.

he doesn’t love easily, or well. but he obsesses in ways that mimic it.

and you? you’ve given him something no one else in his world can offer: language that isn’t about money, or sex, or image.

your voice — your mind — exists outside the cages he built for himself.

so he tries to bind it anyway.

he commissions a custom leather-bound print of your manuscript. you haven’t even finished the last chapter.

he keeps it in his briefcase like it’s a weapon.

like you’re his weapon.

and when you finally ask why he’s helping you so much, he says — too softly to be calculated — “because you’re the first thing i’ve read that made me feel like i wasn’t in control.”

there’s a pause. he swallows.

then he ruins it by following it with: “and because i don’t want anyone else to find you before i’m done.”

you stare. he doesn’t flinch.

he thinks it’s a compliment. and, somehow, it is.

his obsession isn’t subtle: he’s constantly angling to insert you into the right circles, the elite literary salons, the private readings, the offices of influential publishers he’s cultivated relationships with.

patrick’s used to playing a game of appearances and leverage, and now he’s using every tool in his arsenal for you.

he’ll call contacts under the guise of business, then casually drop your name, speak about you as if you’re already a published author, an inevitability — and because it’s patrick, his confidence convinces them to listen.

he doesn’t care that you’re still working on your thesis or that you haven’t quite perfected your narrative voice. he will get you published, no matter what it takes.

there’s a sharp edge beneath his patronage — he’s determined the literary world will see you the way he does: worthy.

patrick’s precise nature bleeds into how he treats your writing process, almost to the point of compulsive control.

he schedules “work sessions” where you read your drafts aloud to him, under his watchful eye.

he’s the ruthless editor who will cut what he deems “superfluous” — but only because he’s obsessed with perfection. his feedback is exacting, sometimes cruel, but always laced with the knowledge that you can do better.

he doesn’t tolerate excuses or hesitation. “this is your career — your legacy. treat it like it’s the only thing that matters.”

and you start to realize that for patrick, your success is his validation.

because if you fail, what does that say about the one who invested everything?

beneath the relentless drive, there’s a strange kind of affection — rare, muted, and fiercely guarded.

patrick doesn’t do softness. he doesn’t do vulnerability easily. but when he watches you struggle with rejection emails or harsh professor critiques, he’s quietly furious on your behalf.

he’ll bring you coffee at dawn, a rare warmth in his voice when he says, “don’t let them break you. they’re terrified because you’re better.”

he believes in you with a conviction that feels almost like obsession.

and every night, when the city is silent and your pages are strewn across the apartment, he’ll sit beside you, pretending to read, but really just watching you breathe.

you’re still young, still growing — but patrick knows he’s already irrevocably tangled in the story of your life.

and the tension between admiration and possession is a constant undertone — he can’t help but feel territorial over your talent, your time, your energy.

he hates the idea of distractions pulling you away — friends who don’t “get it,” classmates who underestimate you, editors who dismiss your voice as “immature.”

he becomes a gatekeeper in the most subtle way, encouraging you to cut ties with influences that don’t serve your future, pushing you harder when he senses complacency.

“the world isn’t going to hand this to you. you have to take it — and i’m here to make sure you do.”

there’s a dangerous intensity in the way he says it, like love and control are braided into one.

the night of your book launch, patrick is impeccably poised — a mask of calm, but every detail obsessively curated.

he’s chosen the venue himself — a sleek, minimalist gallery downtown, just the right mix of exclusivity and buzz. the guest list is a who’s who of literary elites and socialites, and patrick has personally made sure your face is the only one on every invitation.

he stands beside you, perfectly tailored, but his eyes never stop scanning the room — calculating who admires you, who might try to undermine your ascent, who might be worthy of your attention.

he offers you a glass of champagne with the precision of a surgeon, his voice low and steady: “they’re going to eat you alive. but you’re stronger than they think. devour them.”

beneath that calm exterior, he’s buzzing with a complicated cocktail of pride, possession, and an unspoken fear that someone might try to steal what he’s helped build.

patrick obsesses over every review, every mention, every whisper of your name in the press.

he compulsively collects clippings, screenshots, and emails, filing them away in a binder that looks more like evidence than praise.

he reads the critiques with a clinical eye, discarding the “constructive” ones as irrelevant or malicious, but treasuring the rare glowing words as if they were personal victories.

if a review is harsh, he calls your publisher or editor — charming and lethal — to “clarify misunderstandings.”

for patrick, your success is a reflection of his own power and influence, and he will not tolerate anyone questioning it.

he becomes a paradoxical mix of protector and competitor.

while he wants you to shine brighter than anyone else, he’s also deeply territorial.

at parties and readings, he watches your interactions with other admirers or writers with a simmering jealousy that he masks behind polite nods and dry remarks.

he might comment, “interesting conversation, but be careful who you trust. some people only want your name for their own gain.”

he’s the silent shadow behind your spotlight, making sure no one forgets that he was the one who engineered your rise.

in private, his admiration turns into something almost reverent

he’s fascinated by the physical book itself — the weight, the texture, the smell of ink on paper. he’ll trace the letters of your name on the cover with deliberate fingers, like it’s an artifact.

he keeps a signed first edition on his nightstand, next to his meticulously organized skincare products — a symbol of the world you’re conquering together.

he may even whisper to you late at night, “you’re not just a writer now. you’re a force.”

and in that moment, the usual coldness melts into something fiercely protective and strangely tender.

GOD NOW I WANT A PATRICK BATEMAN TO HELP ME PERSUE MY WRITING PASSION UGH

:,(

[moonstruckme]

Hello! First I wanted to tell you how much I love your work, I think I almost read them all ! Second, I wanted to request, if that’s ok, a poly!marauders or any marauder with a reader insecure about her small chest. I thank you for the time you’ll take reading my request, and hope you’ll continue writing !

Thank you lovely :)

cw: smut mdni, reader has insecurities around breast size and makes a joke about looking like a boy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 797 words

The sky outside is a pale gray, and droplets of rain cling dearly to leaves and flower petals. You’ve left the bedroom window open, letting in the cool breeze that smells of green and freshness. It licks over your skin like a fine mist, sweet and earthy. 

But you like Remus’ licks better. 

His mouth is warm on your breast, both of your books turned over and forgotten at the end of the bed. You have one hand burrowed in his hair, extra fluffy from the damp air, while your other runs up and down his back, beseeching. Remus kisses and sucks at you so gently you don’t even suspect the hickey he’s leaving behind until he moves to a different spot and you see the mark. You don’t let him get very far on his next project. 

“Rem,” you plead, giving his hair another little tug. 

He chuckles but complies, stretching up for a syrupy, lingering kiss. You sigh into his mouth. He devours it happily, slipping a hand around to the small of your back and starting to press you downwards onto the pillows. But that’s a position you haven’t taken for a reason, and you push back, covering your resistance with the guise of kissing Remus harder, forcing you both upright. 

Remus’ mouth curves against yours. He goes along with you, nipping playfully at your lip and gripping you tighter, rougher. 

But it’s not long before he tries again, urging you horizontal so he can get on top of you properly. This time, when you don’t go, he takes notice. 

“Something wrong?” he asks casually, still tending to the corner of your mouth with soft, sweet kisses.

You hum a denial and go for the distraction, clutching at the muscles of his back and trying to maneuver yourself into his lap. Not particularly easy, since he’s currently in your lap, his body spread over you with his legs on either side of your hips. 

Remus sets a hand on your shoulder. A restraint. “Sure you don’t want to tell me?” he asks softly. “I can tell something’s bothering you.” 

Your lips still on his. For a few moments, the only sounds are bird calls and the tinkling of raindrops falling from trees like silver coins. Remus doesn’t pull away. He waits for you. 

“I don’t really want to lie down like this,” you admit. 

“That’s fine.” Remus’ hand slopes down your shoulder, thumb beginning to draw circles into your arm. He’s always had a sense for when you might need soothing. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah.” You laugh at yourself, a light little puff of air that sounds as forced as it feels. “I’m being vain.” 

His eyebrow twitches upward. “How’s that?”

It’s an effort not to look down at your chest. “I’m just not really feeling my boobs lately,” you say simply, trying once more for insouciance. “I don’t even want to think about how they’d look concaving back into me, so I’d rather avoid having to see it.” 

Remus grins, a small, crooked thing that lets you know he’s playing along with your levity even if he doesn’t buy into it. “They do not concave,” he sneers teasingly. “And you don’t have to be the one feeling them, dovey. I’ve been feeling them for about a half hour now, and I’d say they feel excellent.” 

“Ha ha.” You direct your smile just over his shoulder. 

Remus hums and plants a hand in the middle of your chest. “Now, that didn’t sound very sincere,” he says, pushing downward. 

There’s a bit more force to the motion this time, and you can’t resist for long. You go down giggling, even as unease twists peskily in your gut. 

“See?” Remus bends over you, laying a kiss on your cheek before creeping downwards. “Still lovely.” 

“I’ve become a young boy,” you lament jokingly, but squeak when Remus nips admonishingly at your neck. 

“They’re perfect,” he says, mouth marking a trail down into the valley of your chest. He presses his lips to the inside of one breast. Lets them linger there, emanating a tenderness you can feel seeping into your core. When he lifts them, it’s with a soft suctioning sound. “Perfect.” 

“Remus,” you whisper. 

His eyes flick up to yours, eyelashes nearly brushing his eyebrows from the angle. “Yes?” 

“You…you don’t have to.” 

He looks back down, tsking. He sets another kiss on the same breast, moving slowly closer to the stiff peak of your nipple. “Still doesn’t believe me,” he mutters as if to himself. Another press of his lips, this one almost directly on the bud. 

Remus sighs, and goosebumps skitter over your skin. You shiver.

“I think you may have to get comfortable, darling. I’m going to be busy here for a while.”

[scholarinbookland]

Musings Inspired By Jimin’s Imminent Discharge

(Another rambling, late-night, pain-induced insomnia based post inspired by listening through Jimin’s discography. Probably won’t be enjoyable for those who follow me for posts like my ridiculously over-the-top Jimin acting analysis thinkpieces. Semi-personal.)

When I first started listening to Jimin roughly six months ago, it was at the start of one of the worst medical episodes I’ve had since 2019, when I was in the process of getting my first autoimmune disorder diagnosis while studying far away from home. This time I was lucky enough to be attending college online and living at home to save money when I began this chronic illness flare, instead of ending up in the hospital dozens of times over six months while the doctors tried to figure out what was making me so sick like last time. I even had a minor heart attack at the age of 19 due to my untreated illness back then. But every time this happens to me (doctors suspect new autoimmune illness this time, still in diagnosis stage), I get really into music.

My main hobbies when I’m well are reading fiction and nonfiction, crafting, dancing/watching dance videos, video games, and music, roughly in that order. But when I’m sick, I can’t focus on new books or on video games, my coordination and concentration isn’t good enough for crafting, and all that’s left is music and watching dance.

When I’m in the mood, there’s nothing more fun to me than searching up a random genre on Spotify and exploring new music, even if the overall genre is mainly outside of my taste (looking at you, modern country music). I can usually find at least one song I like in every genre I check, it just sometimes takes a while. If I’m feeling especially daring, I check out the Global Top 50 playlist, which is where I found Jimin.

All the Jimin fans who might decide to read this know what it feels like when an artist’s music moves you. “Who” didn’t end up being my absolute favorite Jimin song (I can’t pick a favorite sonically, but emotionally I resonated with Face-Off the most), but even in the relatively standard pop track that “Who” is on its face, he uses his beautiful voice to add emotion and texture to the song in a way that made me pause, favorite the song, and then check him out on YouTube. His utter mastery of dance in the MV clinched it for me, and I devoured his solo content with real enjoyment despite being ridiculously ill for the last six months with diagnosis and treatment still being at least a month away (outpatient treatment is slow with US specialists).

I’ve mentioned before that I tried to get into the solo work of the rest of the group, because I always want more music, but even when I enjoyed a track here or there, nothing resonated with me like how FACE and MUSE feel like a continuous, cohesive, sonically pleasing story. Their music isn’t for me, and that’s okay. I wish them all the best in finding their audience as soloists and am happy for those who enjoy their music, but it’s just Jimin and roughly half of BTS’s music for me. So I didn’t end up vibing with the overall BTS fan experience from the start because it would feel disingenuous to try and discuss their music in those fan spaces. That’s why I’m chronically on Tumblr in Jimin-focused spaces right now, liking posts, reading varying opinions, and just in general keeping up with voting and updates to what’s going on in other platforms. But I haven’t posted recently because I don’t feel qualified to comment on a lot of the discourse.

I’m big on not allowing myself to speak for an artist, to a ridiculous extreme. I’ll speculate about the meaning of a piece of art, or the interpretation of this or that interview, but everything is intended to be speculation or opinion, not trying to talk as if I know them. It’s especially hard when you’re trying to figure out an artist as politely diplomatic and ambiguous about his art as Jimin, without over-interpreting or putting words in his mouth. I especially don’t feel comfortable commenting on how he relates to the rest of BTS, the company employees, or anything of the sort, because I don’t have the data that longer fans have and quite frankly I feel everyone, famous or not, modifies their behavior with a camera present enough that I’m too autistic to read into things. I also have no idea what he plans to do once he’s free from mandatory military service, but I can hardly wait to find out.

So I can hope for more This is Jimin videos, or Jimin eventually creating his third album and touring solo like the others have, or him getting more writing credits in BTS albums, but more than anything, what I hope for him is happiness and career longevity.

Two of my favorite artists, Freddie Mercury and Sinead O’Connor, died fairly young (45 and 56, respectively) and suffered quite a bit in their lives. I don’t care if Jimin never becomes a universal household name, breaks more records, or anything of the sort, as much as I’d love to see it. As long as he’s enjoying his career as an artist and performer and isn’t being limited by his company, I’ll be content.

(Any followers who like BSH, once again, this is not the blog for you. I am not a fan of him both as a person and a businessman, and I don’t believe he has the best interests of the group in general and Jimin in particular at heart.)

There’s nothing more enjoyable than seeing someone doing something they love and excelling at it, and that’s what I see in countless Jimin performances and concert fancams. To see someone who planned out their dream in middle school and achieved it through hard work, natural talent, innate charisma, a determination to overcome setbacks and opposition, and a genuinely kind and magnetic personality is really a rare occurrence. I’m really excited to see how his career develops now that military service is no longer looming on the horizon, and hope that his wish in MiniMoniMusic, to come out of service less easily swayed, has been realized. I strongly suspect that it has, because virtually everything that Jimin resolves to do, he achieves. (Note: I’m not putting this man on a pedestal- I’m well aware that he isn’t perfect, has made mistakes and will make them again. I’m just aware that he’s way more stubborn than he lets on.)

For me personally, I am making a conscious choice to not let myself devolve into pessimism, even in the utter trash fire of a world we live in right now. Art, music and literature in particular, may currently be going through some growing pains due to the looming threats of AI and TikTok micro trends, but dedicated artists, especially financially secure ones like Jimin, stay the course in telling their own story. Even though Jimin’s company have abandoned being artists for healing, I feel confident enough based on his choices outside group activity and his current artistic output that the next album will be just as intentional, symbolism-laden, cohesive narratively, and surprising as the first two, no matter how long it takes for it to come out. I’m sure the countless projects celebrating his release have made it even more apparent to him that we, his fans, are here to stay and see what he does next. Some people can’t help but make an impact, and call me biased, but I’m convinced Jimin’s barely started, despite his massive success thus far.

[traincat]

I absolutely devoured and LOVED your Johnny Bobby Ultimate WIP- thank you for posting that!! It was just amazing. I haven’t read the Ultimate F4 comics, are they worth a full read? Or if not, what are the highlights to see all the big Johnny moments?

Thank you so much! I have a soft spot for it myself. Love Ultimate Johnny, whose life is terrible even by Johnny Metrics.

Is Ultimate Fantastic Four worth a read? Short answer: Oh God, no. Absolutely not. It's garbage.

Long answer: Oh God, no. Absolutely not. It's garbage, but on the other hand there's nothing like a little dumpster diving.

Off the bat: Ultimate Fantastic Four is a bad comic. It is bad in almost every conceivable way. It cannot keep track of its own continuity. The writing is aggressively early 2000s and often not very good. The art? How do you like your most obvious of "this is traced off of porn, isn't it" Greg Land issues.

Is it like, weirdly compelling to me in spite of all of that? Unfortunately yes.

Ultimate Fantastic Four reimagines the Fantastic Four in the original Ultimate Marvel universe, which was originally envisioned as an updated version of their classic characters more suited for modern times. (Also they were going bankrupt.) Most popular for Brian Michael Bendis' Ultimate Spider-Man, where Miles Morales would eventually take over as Spider-Man after Peter's untimely death, and The Ultimates, its take on the Avengers, Ultimate Fantastic Four was largely background noise in the universe. In Ultimate Fantastic Four, the Baxter Building is re-envisioned as a military funded think tank for baby supergeniuses, run by Franklin Storm. Reed, who built a machine to transfer matter between universes in his stepdad's garage, is recruited into the program, where he meets Sue, a medical prodigy, Johnny, not a prodigy at anything, and Victor, a hostile foreign recruit whose equations are the missing piece of Reed's puzzle. On the day of the test launch for the finalized version of his project, his childhood friend and protector Ben comes to see the launch, and, of course, everything goes horribly wrong. Forever changed, the Fantastic Four are formed under the strict if inefficient supervision of the US military. And Victor gets little metal goat feet!

One of the big problems with Ultimate Fantastic Four is that it doesn't know what to do itself. It recreates a modern day version of the accident -- exploring other dimensions instead of outer space --and then just kind of flounders around with itself for a while. Reed and Sue are a couple, because Reed and Sue are a couple in 616. Ben meets Alicia before the book forgets she exists. Johnny meets Crystal, etc. (I do appreciate how deeply weird the Ultimate Inhumans are, even by Inhuman standards, which are already Deeply Weird.) But unlike Ultimate Spider-Man, which like, okay, I am not the biggest Ultimate Spider-Man lover in the world, but it takes strides to tell a modernized version of classic Spider-Man canon. Ultimate Fantastic Four, for the majority of its original run, just kind of sits there and twiddles its thumbs before a wider Ultimate universe event forces its hand and sends its cast scattering in all different directions and onto different books.

And yet it is so hugely influential, for some reason, on the rest of the Marvel universe. Ultimate Reed eventually becomes the multiversal supervillain the Maker. Ultimate Fantastic Four was the first introduction of Marvel Zombies, with a zombie version of the Fantastic Four trying to invade the Ultimate universe from their zombie universe. And the plot of an Ultimate Fantastic Four arc was used as the base for the MCU's Avengers (2012). Ultimate Fantastic Four #33-38 features space whales, a Plot Important aspect named Tesseract, the cosmic cube, Thanos, one character (Ben/Hawkeye) getting possessed and attacking their companion -- it's the same plot elements, just assembled differently and featuring a different team. Which is just weird for a comic that, again, I have to point out is not very good.

So it's bad. I've read it like five times. For some reason it compels me -- I'm completely aware of its quality, but it's kind of fun in its inability to ever wrangle its story into something sustainable. I will say I think everything that's actually interesting with the Ultimate FF happens after the dissolution of the team -- basically all the Johnny stuff I covered in the Johnny/Bobby WIP was post-Ult FF. Peter dies and everything is so horrible for him from then until about twenty seconds before the whole original Ultimate Universe got blown up. More under the cut.

I can't advise reading Ultimate Fantastic Four. I'm not advising against it, either. Ultimate Fantastic Four is more of a thing that either happens to you or doesn't. It hugely depends on your tolerance for frequently terrible comics. (My personal tolerance is, unfortunately, huge. You give me a particular kind of terrible comic and I will happily read the whole thing.) But for Johnny highlights from the actual book itself:

(Ultimate Fantastic Four #13) "I notice stuff." Cute moment of Johnny telling Ben his eyes are still the same as before, and a look into his kind of general attitude with him not being particularly interested in whether or not his powers might kill him. An interesting thing with Ult Johnny is that, despite his dad being alive (at this point in time anyway) and present in his life, he has significantly less of a support system. His father doesn't understand him and is frequently frustrated in him, and he's never been "special" for anything before, not like Reed and Sue, who are both geniuses. He's been raised in a government think tank as, essentially, the dumb kid who is just there because his father runs the place. Because he's much closer in age to the rest of the team in Ult FF, no one else on the team besides Sue really views him as someone who needs to be supported or protected. He's a peer to them and not a kid, which I think makes him feel even more isolated than he does in 616, and it's why he was so much happier when he was living in May Parker's house.

And his "flame thing" does mess him up, btw, at least temporarily:

(Ultimate FF #15-18)

(Ultimate FF #24) Look at him being sooooo happy his terrible mom who abandoned her family to go look for Atlantis is back in his life to call him dumb. I'm obsessed with Ultimate Mary Storm, she's the worst. Ultimate Franklin is also the worst because when his wife left him he decided the best course of action was to pretend she was dead, up to and including throwing a fake funeral for her and making his young children attend it.

Great question, Sue. "A humanist service, as requested." Incredible. This Johnny and Sue had zero chance of being normal people. (I had the most fun writing Ultimate Mary in the JohnnyBobby WIP because she strikes me as the exact kind of person who would waltz back into her children's lives because she wants something, discover her son is gay, and proceed to be absolutely delighted about it because she views having a gay son as fashionable. She sucks! Women's wrongs! Abandon your children on the regular!)

Anyway, with parents like these, maybe it's not surprising Johnny gets Teen Pregnant.

(Ultimate FF #30) Sort of. Not with a baby. With an alien parasite that's going to kill him and also everyone else when it's born. "I knew this was gonna happen, but all those lying skanks said it was impossible." Incredible.

Because Johnny's alien parasite baby is going to kill everyone, Alien-style, the military decides the best course of action is to chuck Johnny into the Negative Zone so then only he'll die. Great plan, everyone!

Sue even tries to get Crystal to help, and Crystal basically goes, "Wow, that sucks. Not my problem, though."

(Ultimate FF #32) "Oh, I heard them, sis, and I'm cool with it. I mean, what's an idiot like me compared to all the people who'd die out there if this thing ever hatched?" Haha, hey, could any version of him value himself even a little bit? Like for ten seconds?

It's also just now occurring to me that this is the Ultimate version of Valeria's birth (life-threatening pregnancy solved via magic ritual) and also of the Egg Baby incident (Johnny's supposed offspring is actually a monster that will kill everyone if it hatches) just like, with alien parasite mpreg. And this is why everyone loves comics.

I'm skipping over yet another uncomfortable Johnny and consent plotline but rest assured it happens here, too. Staring out across the ocean.

(Ultimate FF #55) I know what the intent was here but Sue saying she needs to be more like Johnny by having "a boy in every port" is unintentionally very waves hand around. I will say that Ultimate Johnny is more aggressively "girl crazy" than 616 Johnny, where even the writers who have tried to push it the most ultimately give up, but like 616 Johnny it still feels very hollow. He'll brag about sleeping with hot girls and then turn around and do this on a date:

(Ultimate Spider-Man #129) To be fair, though, I do think Bendis had a more consistent personality for him than anyone writing Ultimate FF. The cuter Johnny stuff is honestly over in USM.

Ultimate Fantastic Four ends at issue #60, and has a brief epilogue with Ultimate Fantastic Four: Requiem. In it, Johnny has an argument with his father where his father says Johnny essentially says Johnny isn't "who he needs to be," and then immediately dies saving him. (There was a big wave that hit Manhattan and a lot of people died. It's important to the Ultimate Universe overall, but not important to our cause beyond "big wave killed people" so that's all I'm gonna say about it.)

The Fantastic Four essentially dissolve at Franklin Storm's funeral, when Reed proposes to Sue over her father's casket. Literally.

(Ultimate Fantastic Four: Requiem) Unfortunately I find this kind of funny. Reed moves back into his family home where he will eventually, uh, kill everyone in it. (Ultimate Reed is kind of an interesting thought exercise in "what if Reed Richards sucked exactly as much as people who don't read Fantastic Four think he does" and like, the thing is, the Maker is so utterly horrible he circles around to oddly compelling evil noodle, so it works.) Ben joins the military. Sue... does something. She ends up on an iteration of the Ultimates eventually. And Johnny? Johnny wanders directionless around Europe for a while, hating himself, before he collapses on the Parkers' doorstep.

(USM v2 #2) "He's just a baby." Thank you May Parker for being the only person to ever say it! He is just a baby!!

(USM v2 #3) "You're just a kid." I love May and Johnny so much in Ultimate. :( She loved him. :(

Johnny lives with May and Peter, along with Gwen and Bobby, because May Parker was taking in wayward youths like it was her hobby at that point, for a while and he's like, actually happy. (His alias at this point is "Johnny Parker." Do with that one what you will.) He dyes his hair! He goes to school like a normal teenager! He has actual friends! He kisses Peter's clone! He doesn't know she's his clone, but he very much kisses Peter's clone!

It doesn't last, of course -- when the Green Goblin attacks the Parker house, Johnny's fire accidentally makes him stronger, and while Peter defeats him, he ultimately dies himself literally underneath Johnny.

(USM #160) Which completely devastates Johnny, who admired Peter more than anything and -- look, obviously I'm biased, but I don't think it's a very huge reach to think that Ultimate Johnny was in love with Peter. At the very least, he was, essentially, Johnny's lifeline, and with him gone, Johnny loses any sense of direction he had.

(Peter was eventually resurrected. I don't know if Johnny ever found out. It doesn't matter because they blew up that whole universe anyway and that's how Miles Morales is a 616 character now.)

(Ultimate Fallout #1) Literally exploding in grief at the top of the Empire State Building on the morning of Peter's funeral. Johnny doesn't go back to May's house, feeling responsible for Peter's death, and instead ends up joining Bobby and Kitty's underground mutant militia, a fraught situation because Johnny is, of course, not a mutant, something that gets constantly pointed out to him. He stays behind on a mission to protect the mutant kids they've picked up, which is when he's captured and taken to mutant torture prison, which I discuss in that fic. He's saved several months later, spends roughly a year in a hospital before he's kidnapped out of it and modified by Evil Noodle Reed into his heat proof drone. Sue saves him and we see him like one more time after that in another comic before the Secret Wars (2015) blew up the Ultimate Universe. So his life is like, generally just terrible the entire way through, save for a brief bright spot when he was living with May and Peter.

I love him so much even if he's inconsistently written between various series. I am going to one day write that fic where, as a side effect of, I don't know, Franklin messing around with universes, Ultimate Johnny falls into a 616-adjacent style universe where Harry was Peter's tragic dead college love.

(USM #118) And he'll get to be friends with MJ again because they were cute. I just need to, you know, rip it up entirely and rewrite it first.

[misspelledwordswizard]

Chapter 17 - We got a little too excited about the change of environment.

Previous chapter / Next Chapter

We all looked around in an attempt to recognize the place we were sent to, there was also no sign of the Postman who supposedly passed through the portal shortly before us. Of course, me and especially Sky recognized the place quickly, the others may have taken a while, but the fact that we were on na island in the sky would drop at some point, and they would end up associating it with the first hero.

— We’re in my Hyrule! Well, not exactly Hyrule, but it’s my time. – Sky commented excitedly, heading towards the large pumpkin in front of us. – Come on, this is the perfect time for pumpkin soup!

Still a little lost and confused, we just followed the blond into the place. I must admit that I’ve always wanted to try this famous soup from the game, but I still haven’t been able to process all the information about the sudden change in environment. At least, in Wild’s time and mine, I had many years to adapt to the idea, so the weight of time travel and that kind of thing hadn’t hit me yet.

Entering the establishment, it was exactly like in the game, the atmosphere was comforting, it would easily be a place I would come to on a rainy day to eat and read a book. The chandelier that was most likely broken by Sky, at least all players break it, is in its rightful place, not seeming to have any damage. The whole pumpkin theme was actually very pretty, I felt like I was in a themed café that is popular on the Internet because people like to take pictures.

Our large group sat at the large round table – which had to be supplemented with a few benches – while Sky went to talk to the owner and cook, Pumm. Everyone there seemed happy to see the hero again, and confused by the group that accompanied him. I imagine that the great hero of his people disappearing out of nowhere is something to be commented on and caused great concern.

While we waited for the sleeping hero to return, everyone looked at each other a little lost. Of course we knew that this was Sky’s time, but he was acting so casually about it, and didn’t even listen to any prior conversation, just dragged us along as if it were a regular visit. But in the end, it was good to see him so calm and happy, he was at home and that was evident by the way he acted.

It was when the aforementioned guy approached the table carrying a tray with five bowls that I started to pay attention, soon understanding what he was doing. I instinctively got up and went to the counter to get the second tray with the rest, so he wouldn’t have to make another trip. We both passed a bowl to each other, until only our own were left. The smell of the pumpkin soup was definitely divine, and it made my mouth water. Since we hadn’t skipped lunch, everyone was hungry, so there was no hesitation in devouring the food, which was greeted with sounds indicating how good it was all around the table.

As I put the spoon in my mouth, I could feel the sweet taste of the pumpkin in perfect harmony with the spices and creaminess. God, this is divine. Nintendo should open a Zelda-themed restaurant and sell the most famous recipes, it would make a lot of money! Maybe it was because I’ve always wanted to try these foods, or because I grew up romanticizing them, but it brought me great comfort. I’d never been to that place before, not in person, and yet drinking this warm and refreshing soup brought me a section of peace, as if I were at home.— That’s good, I want more! – Wind said with his mouth still full, his bowl was still half empty, I scolded him with a slight tap on the back of his neck.— Finish eating first before asking for more, and don’t talk with your mouth full!— Okay, sorry. – He said after swallowing the soup while massaging the affected area.

The others’ giggles were heard and silenced by a look from me and the Sailor. We all finished eating in a comfortable silence, not that it lasted long, since hunger made everyone eat quickly. After promising to come back here later for Wind, we were finally ready to leave. It must have been mid-afternoon, and our concerns turned to how we would get everyone to Skyloft.

Sky could very well go with his Loftwing there, and even take one of us with him, but it would be unfeasible for him to make nine trips to drop us off one by one while he picked up the others. There was also no one around to hitchhike, if that was a thing here – I mean, would they let strangers ride in their loftwings? – so now we were working together to come up with a plausible solution. Or rather, Sky was coming up with a solution, since we didn’t know what possibilities were viable around here.

— I can go and look for help, I’ll find people who are available. It might still take a while, everyone is busy with the transition to the surface. – Sky commented thoughtfully.

— That seems to be the most viable option, if it doesn’t disturb them, it would be good to do it. – Time considered the idea. Really, even if it took a while to find people, it would be faster than Sky making nine trips.

— Okay, one of you can go with me now to stay there and speed things up. – The hero of the skies looked between us, as if choosing the best person to leave momentarily alone in Skyloft. – Maybe you’re the best option to come with me. – He finished speaking directly to me, with a gentle and shy smile on his lips while I looked at him confused and surprised.

— No way! – Before I could say anything, the Veteran intervened, with na irritated tone that left everyone confused. – Are you stupid? If she goes, she’ll be alone, even if for a short time, it’s dangerous for her to be away from all of us!

Everyone acknowledged Vet’s point, which was quite logical. It also made him an unviable option, since he’s also under some “protection” after what happened, but I think it’s best not to mention that so as not to irritate him further. Sky seemed embarrassed by his suggestion, apologizing softly and looking away with a puppy dog face. Bad Legend.

— Well, then I’ll go!

— No way! – I cut Wind off, who frowned in the same second. – If it’s not safe for me to be there alone, it’s not safe for whoever’s there for you to be left unsupervised. – Maybe I was being strict, but I couldn’t help but worry. About Wind, of course, not just the residents of Skyloft.

— She’s right. I’ll go, it would also be good if the Old Man were the last one, so there would be someone to take care of things there and here. – Twilight concluded, and finally we all agreed, ending the discussion.

With that settled, Sky headed towards the... flying thing? I don’t remember what it’s called. He jumped off the edge, making everyone let out a gasp of surprise – except me, who was already expecting it, so I had to fake one when I realized it. A whistle was heard and a large red bird was seen diving towards the falling hero. We had a few seconds of tension, some processed what had happened, others were too surprised and apprehensive to react, and then the bird resurfaced with Sky on its back.

— So cool! – Wild exclaimed and approached the edge of the island to take a closer look.

— Ah, now I want to be the first even more! – Wind completed, joining the Champion.

— Come on, Rancher. This is as close as I can get, you’ll have to jump up here.

Twilight agreed without worries, approaching the edge and with a push mounting the bird, still a little apprehensive. He makes it look easy.

— You can wait inside the restaurant if you want, this might take a while.

◇

It was almost half na hour before we had any sign of the hero of the skies. Sky returned to Pumpkin Landing with Pipit, he might not be much help, but he would still speed things up a lot. Unable to control the youngest of the group for long, we allowed Wind to be the next to go, along with Warriors who promised to control him. 

The rest of us waited outside the Lumpy Pumpkin, I sat on the edge of the island, swinging my legs as if I were on the edge of a river. The breeze here was much softer than I imagined it would be, I could feel the wind, but it didn’t bother me. Wild sat next to me, with a smile, so we sat side by side, just watching the horizon. It was late afternoon, the sun would set in about na hour, so the sky was very beautiful, without many clouds, only the islands and birds could be seen in the distance.

— What other types of islands do you think there are around here? – The Cook asked next to me, curious. – I mean, if there’s a pumpkin island, what else could there be? – He added, making me laugh.

— Hm, maybe there’s an bug island? – I said, pretending to think of the most absurd thing possible.

— What? I don’t think we’ve reached that level! I think a heart-shaped island, if there’s a lake like that, why not an island?

— Oh, do you want a bet?

— You don’t have money to bet.

— Oh, right. – I said frustrated, thinking of a solution. I really want to bet something, because I know I’m right. – What if we make a slap bet? – I said, remembering one of my favorite sitcoms.

— A what bet?

— Slap bet! We bet, if I’m right, I can slap you, and vice versa. – Even knowing how stupid this idea would be, I always wanted to do this.

— I wouldn’t hit you, not even as a joke! – The killjoy said, frustrating my stupid childhood dreams.

— What if I find a representative? – He looked at me confused, so I tried to explain myself. – I’m going to sell my idea to one of the boys, if they buy it then the bet goes between the two of you, and I’ll just be the judge.

— You’re really determined, aren’t you? I’ll be in if you can convince someone. – The Champion gave a mischievous smile, liking the new idea. Oh, come to think of it, I’m practically sacrificing him, since I know I’m right, but this is a too good joke to waste.

I got up and went towards the boys who were left on the island, I have four great options, even though at first I thought Wars would be the best option – at least he would agree with my stupid idea. Of those left, Four wouldn’t get involved in this, Hyrule wouldn’t hit one of his brothers, Time will reprimand my offensive joke, and Legend will call me an idiot, but I still want to try.

— Who here wants to give Wild a fair and pre-agreed slap?! – I asked them with some undue excitement at the moment, receiving confused looks and judging my soul. – I mean, we want to make a bet, but instead of money we’re going to bet slaps. But I need a representative since he wouldn’t hit me, who here wants to buy my idea?

Time sighed in frustration and walked away, Hyrule seemed even more incredulous and Four looked at me as if I were na idiot. Which I am. It was the Veteran who first showed interest, curious about all this.

— And what kind of bet is this?

— Oh, we’re betting that there might be another island around here. I kicked na island of bugs, Wild kicked na island shaped like a heart!

— And if they’re both wrong? – Four questioned.

— Nothing happens. If either of you accept, I’ll have to stay away from the bet and be the judge of the slap bet.

— And how sure are you about that? – Rulie was the next to ask, not seeming very sure about all this.— I’m absolutely sure I’m right!

— Then I’m in, I don’t mind slapping the Champion, and if they’re both wrong, which is likely, I won’t get in trouble either. – Legend said, with a confident smile on his lips, and I was excited to have a volunteer.

— But what if he’s right? – Four countered, bringing up other logical points.

— Oh, a heart island in the sky? Don’t you think that if that existed Sky wouldn’t be talking about it all the time? He’s a “hopeless romantic.” If that existed, there would probably be some silly legend about soulmates related to this island and he would be talking about how he would like to go there with his love one day. – The Veteran retorted, rolling his eyes in disgust at the Hero’s whole melodrama.

Tired of arguing, Four just let it go, as did the Traveler, who, even though he didn’t like the idea of his brothers fighting, decided not to get involved. Finally, I went back with Leg to where Wild was, and made them both sign the bet, along with na oath, demanded by the Cook, that from now on I would be completely biased about this bet until it was finalized, and that as a judge I should not get involved or favor anyone.

Poor Wild, I hope Legend goes easy on the slap. 

◇

Finally, Sky returned with Pipit to look for another partner. I would be one of those who would go, by Time’s decision, and he also demanded that it be with Sky himself – I think he doesn’t trust me much in leaving me away from a Link.

Getting on a Loftwing is something to be talked about, to say the least. I was a little scared at first, you never know, what if I end up annoying him and he throws me into the air. No, I know that Sky’s Loftwing wouldn’t do that, he’s really like his partner, the two share that detail. The hero himself helped me up, after all I’m not as physically skilled as the others, and soon we were flying through the skies towards Skyloft.

When I felt the big bird move, I instinctively clung to Sky, as if my life depended on it – and it did – and he laughed at me. How ugly, laughing at my misfortune, I thought he was different from his brothers. But soon after, he comforted me by caressing one of my hands that tightly gripped his waist, comforting me. I relaxed a little, but still stood firm, my body glued to his back, my face resting on his shoulder, his good smell flooding my senses. What a good smelling boy.

I could vaguely see what was in front of us, when I realized, we were heading towards a floating rock with a hole in the center. If I remember correctly, if we pass through the middle it will propel us forward at high speed. I was scared shitless, but I trust Link, I know nothing will happen to us. What didn’t stop me from hugging him even tighter and hiding my face in his tunic until we passed.

I felt a strange sensation, and soon our speed increased drastically, my heart raced with pure adrenaline, I felt dizzy, I think I fainted for a second. But then, we stopped. I gathered the courage to look around, still holding on to my poor friend, who didn’t even seem bothered. We were above Skyloft, close to the ground, as close as possible. I could see the others waiting down below. It was a beautiful sight. The landscape was lit by the sunset, which fell divinely on the trees and waters there, it was possible to see Loftwings flying around – I think I saw Groose’s in the middle – and the clouds helped to make it all even more beautiful. When I looked at Sky, he was already looking at me, his beautiful blue eyes full of charm and happiness for showing his home to his dear friends, I smiled thinking how happy he must be.

— Hold on to me. – He said as he adjusted himself on the Loftwing, putting both legs in the same direction and pulling me closer. – Put your legs around my waist, it will be safer that way.

— What? Why? – I asked, even though deep down I already knew the answer I didn’t want to hear.

— Let’s jump, don’t worry, my cape will serve as a parachute, just hold on tight to me.

— No way! I’m not crazy enough to do this! – He put my own arms around his neck and helped me put my legs around his waist. The proximity between us distracted me from what I was trying to avoid, and knowing this, the bastard just held me tight by the waist and jumped. – SKYYYY!!!!!

I screamed as I grabbed him with all my strength, closing my eyes. If before I was crushing him, now I must have broken one of his ribs with my thighs. My despair only increased when I felt his hand let go of my waist, now my life depended on me not letting go of him, and man, there was no chance of that happening. It was only when I felt our falling speed decrease drastically that I opened my eyes again. Thanks to his cape, we arrived safely on dry land.

— It’s okay, you can let go now.

He tried to calm me down, but all I could do was shake and hold myself steady, my body not obeying my will to let go of this suicidal maniac. I’ll never trust him again. It was only when Twilight approached and grabbed me by the waist that I managed to free myself. Or rather, Sky freed himself. I was placed on the ground, but at the same time my legs went wobbly and I almost hit the ground, but the two men next to me grabbed me, one in each arm, and pulled me to my feet.

— I think it’s better if we help you walk for now. – Sky commented, holding back a laugh.

— You’ll pay me, birdman!

— If you want, I can carry you like last time. – the Rancher teased, laughing at my irritation.

— Don’t you dare!