#i need to curl up into a ball and like .become one with the soil

[stardatez3ro]

I JUST WATCHED TNG S5 EP4 SILICON AVATAR AND I NEED LIKE 5 TO 10 BUSINESS DAYS TO RECOVER i was like oh yeah let me check in with tng before i go to sleep AND THEN THIS EPISODE KICKED ME IN THE KNEES AND TWISTED BOTH MY ANKLES i hate it here

[madnessr]

Last Night Part Two

Poly Lost Boys + Michael x Reader

Synopsis: You still ponder what really killed you, the day you died or the day you lost your humanity. When the dawn becomes something you'll never see again, will you ever be able to accept your new nature?

Summary: Micheals Ex-Girlfriend received a concerning phone call from Lucy begging her to come and check up on a now distant and unrecognizable Micheal. But what was meant to be a simple reunion and check-in, instead leads to four very rambunctious bikers and an old lover, to be extremely opposed to letting you leave again.

Warning: Animal mutilation, blood, blood drinking, minor injuries, hurt/comfort, some angst, grinding, murder, corrupted representation of Christianity 

Part One

Word Count: 10k

There will be no explicit or detailed smut because I wanted to keep this fic gender neutral! I'm sorry to anyone who expected some spicer scenes with our boys!

Your comments and reblogs mean the world to me and motivate me to keep writing! Please keep leaving them since I love to read them! This will be the final chapter in the"Last Night" series since I'm dying to write about something new. Let me know what you thought of this!

If you needed to explain how you were feeling, the best way to describe it would be in a state of constant panic. Your mind was throbbing, eyes catching onto everything, yet nothing simultaneously. You had become all too aware of the rising sun, the bright light blinding you. Planting a powerful migraine against your head. You couldn't breathe, you couldn't feel but felt everything at the same time. Heard nothing but could make sense of the squirrels hopping from branch to branch. You cried, utterly unaware of where you were. In that moment of panic, when that monster finally let you go. You didn't look back; you didn't stop until you felt like you had put enough distance between you and Santa Carla. 

You sat somewhere in the forest, crawled against a tree as if the wide bark would somehow hide you as you wheezed for air. The moist soil underneath you tainted your pants, leaving you looking exactly how you felt. Some of your blood had soaked up into the top of your shirt, while the rest grew dry and uncomfortable against your skin. 

Your body ached. Your teeth burned, and so did your hands. Glancing down, you nearly threw yourself back into despair at the sight of your sharp, nail-like claws. What happened to you? And most importantly, what were you now? 

You couldn't help but wail, your knees pressed tightly against your chest as you wrapped your arms around yourself. As if you could protect yourself from whatever was happening, even though you knew how nonsensical that hope was. It still provided some comfort for you. 

You had stayed in the position for hours, and although your sobbing was long replaced with tiredness, you tried staying awake. But something about the sun forced your eyes closed, and when you opened them once more, the sun was setting, and your throat burned. You groaned, sitting up from your lying position. You didn't know what to do; you couldn't return to Lucy's, especially if she had something to do with this. The thought made your stomach tie itself in knots, a sinking feeling nearly pressing you against the ground. How have you gotten yourself into this position? 

How could anyone do this to you? Your fists balled at the thought, your sharp nails slicing into your palm. You slowly got up, stumbling around for a little. You could hear so much, could see more precisely than ever before. It gave you a massive headache; some part of you just wanted to curl up against the tree stump and wake up from this nightmare. But you couldn't, no matter how much that thought broke you. This was real; whatever was happening was real. 

You stumbled aimlessly through the woods, trying to figure things out away from the rest of society. A part of you felt safe, knowing that he couldn't find you in the middle of nowhere. The sharp sound of a twig snapping pulled you out of your thoughts, predatory eyes instantly zeroing in on the location the sound originated from. The sound came from a bush, the leaves rustling as something clearly nudged and navigated through the shrubbery. You stood still, not trusting yourself. A peculiar itch, almost like a nervous tick, urged you towards the noise. Your hands craved for something, your teeth ached, and your throat felt dry. Your body screamed for something you didn't understand or refused to recognize. 

Your breath caught in your throat as a small, brown bunny peeked out from the bushes. Its small button nose twitched as it sniffed and analyzed its surroundings. It's cheeks made the whiskers flick, small paws tapping the ground several times before dedicating the mossy floor save enough to hop on. You froze, that nagging urge growing into a raging protest. Before you could even hesitate to question the simple thought, you pounced. The small, high-pitched screech of the bunny brought tears to your eyes as you gripped it. Getting the small fluffy body to your mouth and biting into it. The tiny creature uttered another small cry before going silent, its previously kicking paws and legs halting before slowly sinking and stilling completely. But you didn't care; you couldn't, not when that god-awful nectar was pouring down your throat. Calming the fire, quenching your pain, all through the price of another. 

You were messy, and the grip of your jaw was so fierce that you could hear several crunching of bones under your grip. You gulped up whatever you could, blood dripping out the corners of your mouth, trailing down your neck, and staining your shirt collar. You sucked until nothing came out of the poor bunny anymore, letting go and looking down at the life you just stole. Realization dawns on you like boulders, dropping the poor lifeless body and beginning to weep. You killed something; you killed that bunny. You felt hysterical, hands twisting themselves in your hair as you hyperventilated. The word monster takes the form of a mantra, marching to the beat of your racing heartbeat. 

The burning in your throat died down but was quickly replaced by the aching of your heart. Mourning what you had done it took you nearly an hour to calm down. You had tried wiping and scrubbing off the blood on your body, most likely smudging and making your appearance much worse, but at the moment, all you wanted was that crimson color off of you. It stained, and you weren't sure if you could ever indeed wash it off. It didn't stain your skin, but your soul would bear this mark for eternity. 

You gently shifted the bunny, starting to dig a small hole beside the bushes it hopped out from. Your appearance couldn't get any worse now, blood and dirt-stained clothes. Grimy hands, the dark soil stuck underneath your fingernails. When considering the hole deep enough to prevent any predator from digging up the carcass, gently lower the bunny, covering it with dirt and patting the ground flat afterward. You sat before the makeshift grave, not knowing what to think or feel. There was too much, and as you sat rooted to the ground, you tried figuring out what to do next. A small thought came to you: if anyone could help you now, at least give you refuge, it would be the church. Wasn't that their whole shtick? Providing aid and guidance in moments of doubt, because if that was the case, you'd be a perfect candidate for practicing their moral codes.  

But you had spent nearly the entire day wallowing and mourning your old life, who you were, and fearing what the setting sun made you. No, showing up the way you were now, covered in blood, was a sure way to send a raging mob after you holding pitchforks and blazing torches. You needed to find shelter, hide out the night, and adequately recuperate. But you had no money, and you'd rather die than return to Lucy's home. 

Was that why she had actually brought you here? The thought made your skin colder than it was, but an even worse thought crossed your mind. Twisting your heart in a brutal, vice-like grip. Did Michael know?

Time seemed to tick past you at that moment, the singing breeze creating a symphony of rustling bushes and leaves. It all moved through you, past you, like you weren't really there. You didn't want to breathe, think, or even consider that thought a possibility. Micheal had always been a lousy liar. Currently, that was the only knowledge you had to ground yourself. You tried to control your breathing, but with your rampaging thoughts and the subtle taste of copper in your mouth, you just couldn't. It wasn't that easy, and looking ahead simply felt too overwhelming for you. So, you took things step-by-step, figuring the first thing you could do was get out of this damned forest. 

So, you began walking straight ahead following the setting sun. The orange hue occasionally broke through the thick foliage of branches and leaves. Cascading delicate beams of light onto the mossy floor, the beauty of the sight calmed you. It felt separate from the rest of the world, like a slight pause for you to soak up before returning to the never-resting society you belonged—or instead, used to belong to. 

You couldn't tell how long you walked or where you were, but you knew you had finally made it when you saw the flash of car lights. The sun had finally died for the day, lessening your headache considerably. You finally made it to a gravel-like road, not having any official pavement but clearly hardened from car tires throughout the years. You watched as the car drove on, hoping to follow it to a more populated area. You let the path guide you. You had to be careful; the course contained so many depressions and holes in the ground you didn't want to accidentally twist your ankle. With your current streak of bad luck, you wouldn't put something so ridiculous above you. The longer you walked, the more you couldn't help but wonder how anyone could travel down this path in a car without getting incredibly motion sick. 

However, when you finally saw a house in the upcoming clearing, you weren't greeted by the gradual introduction of neighborhood streets but instead a large farm. Fields and crops litter the area to your left, while pens are to your right. No doubt about yielding livestock. The area practically reeked of cows in the most unpleasant way imaginable. But you found yourself relieved; a farm like this wouldn't have the toughest surveillance to beat, if any, and you felt safer knowing that. You snuck around, keeping yourself hidden as you watched the farmer exit his truck and enter his home. 

You could see so much clearer if the sun had never really set. You glanced around before you found a wooden barn on the south side of the field, rushing your way over and trying to pry the rusted doors open. It didn't work, at least it wouldn't if you didn't want to rip the door off its hinges. You walked around, seeing a broken window. Small, sharp jagged pieces of glass still stuck out here and there, but you managed to lift yourself through it. Not without a complimentary scratch, a low hiss escaped you as you glanced at your cut arm. Your eyes watched as your blood cried from the cut, and a sick part of you was tempted to lick it clean. 

The barn was clearly too old to still be in use; the only company you had was heaps of hay, creaking wood, and a roof that threatened to collapse onto you any minute. The barn had two stories, although the second story only covered one-half of the first floor, a long unstable ladder leading towards it. You had come so far, and the thought of being above viewpoint was somewhat comforting. So, you carefully climbed up the ladder. Letting out a sigh of relief when you made it, throwing yourself onto a lump of hay in the far corner. You felt hidden, away from anything or anyone. 

"They ought' to be here!" Paul exclaimed, clearly exasperated and exhausted from this situation. They had been looking for you all night, neither of them being able to get an ounce of rest knowing you, their mate, had gone missing in Santa Carla of all places. They had traced your steps the next evening when you failed to show up, following your faint scent into a shady alleyway. To say Marko nearly hyperventilated at the smell and sight of your dried blood was an understatement. They were all beyond worried, sick to the bone. Their only consolation is that you were alive; they would've felt it had your bond died. No, you were still alive, and they couldn't rest until they found you. 

"I smell it too; it's faint. They must've been here; their blood must've dried a while ago." Dwayne hadn't spoken a word since you went missing, only ever speaking up when he needed to. He had to remain calm; in a situation like this, David and the others needed a rock to ground themselves on, and despite the emotional anguish he felt, clawing at his heart to cry out for you senselessly, he remained stoic. 

"Search the area. I don't care if you have to stick your nose in the filthy soil; find where the scent leads." David growled; he felt the worst out of everyone; he felt a horrible, cumbersome chain tying itself around his throat. Guilt. He was the coven leader; his job was to ensure his mates were safe. He was immortal, a god-damned creature of hell, but what was the point of being invincible if he couldn't even protect the people who mattered? He shouldn't have let you go that night; he shouldn't have listened to the others. It was in his instinct to take you with him, to keep you in his sight, safe.

 None of them really conversed much since you disappeared, sure they were all mates, but your absence left them incomplete. If the conversation wasn't about finding you, they didn't have it.  

Micheal was fairing the worst, an undeniable feeling of guilt similar to David's settling on his body. Sure, David was supposed to protect everyone. But ultimately, he was the reason you came to Santa Carla in the first place. Maybe if he had hidden it better, his adjustment to his new life, his mother would've never sent you here to hell city of all places. 

Marko couldn't stay still; he had even tried some of Paul's more vigorous weeds to keep him calm. But he couldn't, rushing from place to place like a frightened cat. Some might mistake this as hyperness, but the boys knew the real reason. Pure, unfiltered anxiety. Like a bunny hopping from place to place, a weasel who can't stay still, Marko found you first. Sleeping in a curled, protective form, body covered in several pieces of hay. But the sight of dried blood over you, not hearing your heartbeat, his world crashed down onto him. 

“Y/N?” His voice was croaked, raw from emotion. The simple word, breathless as it was, caught the attention of everyone. 

Marko kneeled, letting his hand ghost your shoulder and arm before shaking you. Seeing your eyes open, as tired and irritated as they were, brought such relief to him that he could cry. However, Paul was a step ahead of him, being the first to join Marko in fussing over you. 

David, Dwayne, and Micheal followed soon after. Dwayne wasted no time helping you sit up, carefully inspecting your body until letting his eyes land on the cut on your arms, studying it carefully before grabbing the cloth tied around his waist and making a makeshift bandage to prevent dirt from coming into your wounds. 

"What happened to you?" Micheal finally piped up, grabbing your hands and inspecting the dried blood. He only let out his own breath when he realized it wasn't your blood. He pulled you into a tight hug, his hold tight and unrelinquishing as he nuzzled his head into the top of your hair. 

"Stop hogging her!" Paul complained, shoving Micheal off. It wasn't anything too forceful, more like a nudge. When Micheal pulled away to fight with Paul, Marko swooped in and pulled you into his arms. Taking on a similar position to Micheals. "You made us worried." He murmured into your neck, giving you another squeeze to reassure yourself you were there. Safe in his arms again. 

All the boys had been so ecstatic to see you; even David's shoulders dropped as he sighed of pure relief. But he was more analytical than the others; he recognized the lack of your heartbeat. The way blood seemed to cling onto you, he could sense it. Somehow, you had become a vampire. The thought made him cold, even more, frigid than he already was. No, his anger was blazing, but it did not radiate a scalding heat but the opposite. His fury was glacial. 

"Wait outside for us." His authoritative voice commanded, sending silence across the shabby barn. They all send pleading looks toward you before slowly leaving. Dwayne grabbed David's shoulder, reminding him to be gentle with whatever the bleach blonde had planned. When the boys had finally left, you felt your ability to breathe return. You had been so overwhelmed, thousands of thoughts and questions running through you. Why weren't they afraid? You were a bloody mess! You could understand Micheal looking for you, but the others as well? 

Your small moment of relief was quickly replaced with dread as you realized you were alone in a room with a man you couldn't bring yourself to lie to. It was silent, the sound of singing crickets seemingly decorating the night air. It would be relaxing if you didn't hate the oppression its silence came with. Slowly getting up, you winced at the reopening of your cut. 

David slowly walked over, carefully reaching out and cupping your cheeks. He stayed like that momentarily, simply soaking in the sight of you before him. Eventually, his hand traveled lower before pushing down the collar of your shirt, revealing the two puncture wounds that changed your life forever. His eyes flashed yellow, a low, animalistic sound escaping him. 

"Who?" 

"What?" You snapped yourself out of your lost haze, finally meeting David's cold stare. It wasn't directed at you, but you, unfortunately, didn't know that. 

"Who did this to you?" 

The question seemingly transported you. Back into the body of a helpless individual, losing their lives in a dingy alleyway. The fear, the panic, it made you crumble. Your knees went weak as you wobbled back onto the floor. "I—" you struggled, trying to put on a brave face in front of such stern eyes. "I—I didn't know them." 

That answer provided a scowl to erupt across David's features, a feeling of uselessness washing over him. How was he supposed to avenge you if you couldn't give him anything to work off of? He sighed, his mind wanting to push further, but a simple glance at your quivering form prevented him from doing so. "Come on, rosebud, let's get you somewhere safe." He eventually settled on that, watching you stumble before picking you up. If he hadn't pushed you enough tonight, he lifted off the ground to reach the bottom, and promptly, the outside of the barn sent your mind reeling. 

You wanted to run, but the feeling of being in someone's arms. Someone you knew, someone who felt oddly safe to you had you staying. The boys glanced at you two, Dwayne coming over and taking you from David's arms. He saw your weak and drowsy state, his heart clenching at the sight. "She hasn't had enough blood." He started calmly, watching you soullessly rest your head against his chest. "We'll give her some in the cave, then she'll be able to recover someplace safe." Dwayne nodded at David's statement, readjusting you in his arms. The movement prompted you to open your eyes, the smell of his leather jacket oddly settling to you. "Get some rest Y/N; we'll take care of you now. You'll feel better soon," you nodded slowly. Closing your eyes and resigning yourself to whatever the future holds for you now. It couldn't get any worse anyways. 

"Are they still sleeping?" 

An exasperated sigh echoed throughout the cave, Dwayne rolling his eyes before rubbing his temples. "You asked five minutes ago; yes, they're still sleeping!" 

A loud hush followed from David and Micheal, both scolding the two for talking so loudly. Everyone was on edge; you had slept for nearly two days now. And although odd sleeping patterns weren't rare for fledglings, you were a neglected fledgling, which provided them all with many concerns and worries. The birth of a new vampire was often labeled as a fledgling, as in the eyes of vampires, you, and your very unique nature, was akin to that of a baby. Similarly to neglecting babies upon birth, they weren't sure what consequences you'd suffer from upon waking. 

"David, we need to wake them. They need to feed." Micheal chimed in, his need to coddle you almost overbearing. Although the boys had given him a fair share of tough love, they made sure his fledgling stage was a healthy one. He was more moody than ever, but changes like those were common for at least a year after turning. Although David acted the coldest, he had been the most persistent that Micheal was feeding enough and adequately. A complete mother-hen in denial. 

David sighed, getting up from his wheelchair-like throne and making his way over to the bed you and Dwayne were snuggled in. The sight would've warmed his heart if the circumstances would've been different. He walked around before settling down on the edge of the bed closest to you. He gave Dwayne an approving nod, "Wake them; they've rested enough." He whispered, gently stroking your cold cheek before pulling away. His poor rosebud. 

Dwayne gently shook your shoulder, shifting you off of him in order not to scare you when you woke up, watching you slowly stir awake, blinking the fatigue off of your cute expression. 

For you, it has, somehow, gotten worse. 

Waking up, you felt feverish; your body ached similarly to how it had done hours ago. When you had—had killed that bunny. 

Your hand instinctively clutched at your throat, trying to somehow dull the ache. Your hearing was blurred, but you heard distant hushes and orders before fully coming too. Your eyes focused on the concerned figures of David and Dwayne, practically looking over you as Dwayne took your hand away from your throat, hushing your pain-fueled whines. "Shh, it's okay. You're okay." Dwayne's soft but stern voice seemed to stabilize you, but the familiar need left your body twisting and shifting. Every little muscle felt utterly uncomfortable, aching torturously. 

David gently combed his fingers through your hair, trying his best to calm you down. Seeing his mate, his little vampire, in such distress ruined him. "It's okay, rosebud, we're here to help." He hummed, glancing at Dwayne as they silently communicated. They slowly helped you sit up, watching the way your hand unknowingly sharpened its nails. Your body prepares itself for a meal. 

"What's happened?" You stammered, hating the way you were losing control. A deep sense of fear washed over you, draining into your being. "I—David, Dwayne—"You couldn't form a proper sentence, but the words you did manage to say put the two eldest vampires into a protective frenzy. 

Dwayne hushed you, gently rubbing a soothing pattern against your back. David already shrugged off his jacket, shifting his shirt to properly expose his neck to you. He watched with narrowed eyes how your gaze halted against his suddenly exposed skin, watching the small bob of your throat as you swallowed at sight. 

Dwayne gently cupped the back of your head, nudging you towards David. "You're hungry, baby; look at David. He's offering you a meal, sweetheart. You'll feel better once you feed; trust us; we'll take care of you." 

Your unsure gaze flashed between them, that odd feeling once again tugging at you. Your body, more than ever, felt pulled to them; they gave you comfort. A need to be with them, and in a moment of weakness, you thought yourself giving in to them. Letting your body get pulled; once close enough, David snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to practically be sitting in his lap. You inhaled the sweet scent that seemingly surrounded David, making your tense shoulders loosen, your body easing into the comfort that David provided. The bleach blood rubbed your back, trying to soothe you further. "Come on, rosebud, let those instincts take over." 

The two could tell you weren't going to take a bite on your own, your mind and body too perplexed to accept the reality of your situation. Dwayne reached over, letting one of his fingernails extend into a claw-like shape and making a small slash at David's neck, letting his crimson blood trickle from the wound. 

As if the smell and sight triggered your buried instincts, you latched onto David's neck. Your fangs pierce the skin with a painful clumsiness typical for a fledgling. But the sound of your eager gulps had both of the vampires relaxing, Dwayne gently moving your hair to one side as David held you close. "That's it, good job." The blonde praised, keeping a firm but caring grip on the back of your head, not letting you go until you had a full feeding. The praise, the touch, and the comfort from both of them allow you to fully relax. Letting out small sighs of relief as you drank greedily, gulping down the sweet crimson from David. Letting his blood calm every screaming nerve inside you, replacing the dull ache with a welcomed high. "Good job, sweetheart; see how good it feels to feed?" Dwayne's voice cooed gently into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. 

It took a while before you unlatched from David, his blood messily spread and smeared across your mouth. The sight nearly made Dwayne coo at your adorable form, your eyes a little glassy from feeling so overwhelmed. David, on the other hand, felt overly satisfied, watching your relaxed state of a post-feed high, gently nudging you to lay back down. 

"What a messy little fledgling you are." He teased softly, chuckling as he watched your eyes droop. Now that your needs have been met, you feel an unexplainable tiredness, the suddenness of your exhaustion setting your nerves off once more. Before you could push yourself up again, Dwayne guided you back down. Covering you in a blanket, "Sleep baby, it's normal to feel tired after such a big meal." 

You nodded, at that moment, not overthinking. "We'll be here when you wake up; rest now, rosebud." You heard David's voice whisper, the two vampires watching you drift off into a peaceful slumber. 

Once they were sure you were fully asleep, they slowly crawled out of the bed. Greeting the upset-looking vampires in the main hall, all angry about being benched by the oldest. "Why did you get to feed her?" Marko cursed, casting an irritated glare toward David, who sat back down with smugness. Flashing your sloppy bite mark off to the others with pride. "Because I'm the oldest and our coven leader Marko." He explained calmly, reveling in the jealousy of others. 

Paul groaned, having laid himself back up on the couch. His head was hidden in one of the cushions. "They probably looked so cute.." Dwayne smiled, your hesitance and gradual acceptance being awfully adorable in his eyes. "They sure was." He mused, making both Marko and Paul groan. 

Micheal sighed, a part of him just glad you ate. But he feared for what you'd be like after waking up from your nap, with a clear head this time. Would you hate him? Indeed you couldn't accept this life so quickly; among all of them, he was the only one who didn't see this feeding as acceptance. He knew you still had a lot of things to say, and none of the boys were ready to hear it. 

When you woke up again, your body felt better, stronger, and more rejuvenated. You couldn't really remember what happened when you woke up the first time, only having a hazy memory of David and Dwayne being by your side. You sat up, looking around you and the bed you were In. The sheer curtains around the bed didn't let you see anything besides silhouettes around the cave, prompting you to get up and shift out of bed. 

You glanced around, analyzing your surroundings. When did you get inside a cave? You could hear distant chatter, following the sound until you entered the central part of the cave. A decrepit fountain in the center of it all, your steps echoing across the stone floors. 

"You're awake!" Paul perked up as he turned around at the sound of footsteps, grinning as he saw you. He waved you over, watching your confused stare before finally making your way around and sitting down on the couch beside him. The couch cushions were soft and overused, letting you practically sink into the pillow-like cushion. 

"How do you feel?" He asked, his eyes carrying the familiar blown-out expression you were used to. "Right now? I'm surprisingly fine." Paul grinned at the answer, taking a quick drag of his joint before moving closer. "Now that's all I ever want to hear, baby." 

"Piss off, you crack-head!" Micheal hissed, shoving Paul's face away from yours. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, standing up from the couch. "Micheal, we need to talk." You said sternly, ignoring the way Paul cackled behind you two. 

The brunette nodded, walking back over to the bed the boys had set up for you. If David returned from his hunt early with Dwayne, the two overprotective vampires would roast him alive if they found out he had taken you out of their nest. He slid the curtains closed, trying to regain a semblance of privacy for you. "Okay," he murmured, crossing his legs as you two settled on the bed. "Hit me with it." 

You sighed, initially wanting to leave wherever the hell you were. But you didn't seem to have the strength to settle back on the bed, sitting criss-cross and fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "What the hell has been going on? I mean—what am I? What are you?" Questions kept escaping you like a bunch of word vomit, making Micheal hold up his hands to try and silence you. 

"Slow down," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't want to hurt you with this information, but he knew it was a hard pill to swallow. 

"Firstly, you're a vampire. We're not sure from who, but someone had turned you. The act is done by being bitten and then promptly consuming the other's blood." 

As if the world didn't feel like it was falling down onto your shoulders, the cumbersome weight of your malicious reality certainly did wonders in keeping you in a constant state of disparity. You didn't want to believe Micheal, but you knew better than to sit in a puddle of denial. It wouldn't change a thing; you'd just drag out the pain longer. Before you could properly grieve your past life, the two devil twins came barging into your space. Jumping onto the mattress, making all of you bounce into the air before landing not so gracefully against the mattress. 

"Jesus Christ, you two! Will you chill out? This ain't exactly easy for her to take in." Micheal argued, sitting back up with an irritated stare. But there was nothing much his words could do as the two blondes surrounded you. 

"Cheer up, sugar! Being a vampire ain't all that bad; we can do some pretty cool things too!" Marko cheered, his energy quickly matched by Paul as they tried to cheer you up. They couldn't stand the sight of you sulking, no one in the cave could, but everyone was so preoccupied with your situation that even the century-old immortals didn't know what to do. 

But you still couldn't get over the fact that you now had to kill people; what had happened to you filled you with such rage that you didn't know what to do with yourself. You had been wronged, and every fiber of your miserable being wanted to rip whoever did this to you apart by the seams. "Mhm, sounds great, Marko." You murmured into the crook of your arm, not really paying attention as you sat curled up on the bed. 

Both Marko and Paul glanced at each other at your dull response, Paul's expression contorting to one of worry. He wasn't the best at comforting you, especially since he had wanted his turning, and although the thought of someone else harming you made his blood boil; in secret, a deeply-hidden part of him was glad. Now you were like them and could live together for the rest of your immortal lives. The two glanced at each other before nodding, bouncing off the cave and hiding behind the sheer curtains. 

You hadn't even noticed them leaving, or at least you didn't acknowledge it. But the sound of subtle little squeaks had you lifting your head, letting out a small gasp of your own as you were bombarded by two blonde bats. One had fluffy blonde hair, while the other's fur appeared more curly, no doubt being reminiscent of the two blonde bikers. "Paul—Marko?" You called out, getting little chirps back in return. Paul flew around you a couple of times before landing on your head, making a mess of your hair. Marko didn't sit still, flying around you, giving you a slight nip here and there to keep you on edge as you laughed. 

"I didn't know you could turn into bats!" You laughed, for a moment finding paece in the distraction the two provided. The sound of your small laughter provided the cave with an unseeable light, but all of them could feel it. Paul and Marko flopped back into their human form, grabbing your arm and hoisting you off of the bed. "Come on, darlin', you can do it too!" Paul cheered, Marko, nodding eagerly as the two distracted you. 

Dwayne put the bag of clothes he had gotten for you in his hand down, letting his feet drop to the floor with David's. He let out a sigh, getting up and walking over to the two terror twins. "So she can fall onto the cave floor?" He asked, his disapproval clear in his authoritative tone. 

"Lighten up, Dwayne! So you fall a little; what's so wrong with that? It's all part of the fun." Marko argued, mentally challenging Dwayne. Everyone knew their intention was to distract you, and although Dwayne couldn't stand the sight of you sulking, he wouldn't put you in danger, either. He prefers you brooding then having to you see your body black and blue from screaming bruises. 

"You call falling on your ass fun?" Micheal chummed in, letting his body rest against the headboard of the bed, dramatically rubbing his butt to lighten the mood. 

"Not everyone is as bad as you are when it comes to flying, Mikey," Paul argued, rolling his eyes. 

"She shouldn't transform until she's had a proper meal." The authoritative voice of David chimes in, effectively ruining your mood. You wanted to stand up and argue with the blonde, to stomp your foot into the ground and demand he stops commanding you. But you were out of your element here; even if you wanted to be stubborn, you're just hurting yourself. "I am not killing anyone, David." 

You watched his cold eyes narrow at you, wanting to watch you waiver, but seeing the resilient look on your face made him sigh. He pulled out a cigarette in a desperate attempt to calm his nerves. His little mate was denying themselves proper health, and although he might act uncaring, it was worrying him sick. The boys had agreed to give you some time to adjust, but as the coven leader, it was his job to assure the health and safety of all his members. Especially you. 

"Don't worry about it; you can still drink from us whenever you feel hungry." Micheal hummed, his tone gentle and reassuring as he rested his hand on your shoulder. Gently rubbing the tense muscle as you settled back into your seat. You nodded, cringing subtly at the idea before deciding to drop it. 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Paul's sultry voice echoed in your ear, making your hands twitch with an unfamiliar itch. Excitement spreads through you, filling you with a sense of adrenaline. You slowly realized what position you were actually in, Paul lying underneath you, your hips straddling his as he rested his hand on your thigh. In your roughness, his jacket seemed to half slide down his shoulders, now resting against the crevice of his elbows. His mesh-like top left little to the imagination, his pale chest on display for your hungry eyes. He looked delicious. 

As if Paul could tell he was losing your attention, he rutted his hips against your aching nerves. Letting out a shaky sigh, his signature crooked grin spreading across his features as he watched you suck in a breath. "Eyes on me baby, just feel with me, yeah?" Despite neither of you needing air, he sounded practically breathless; but you also felt breathless. Your post-drinking haze left your body so sensitive, every little spark of friction igniting a new addiction deep within you. You two felt like pure sin. 

You have been in the cave for about two weeks now. Letting yourself feed regularly off of the vampires you were staying with, none of you liked to address the elephant in the room that was your turning. The mate bond between you all had strengthened, leading you all to be closer than before throughout this time. Even David acted softer around you. But something you weren't prepared for was the many feelings associated with feeding, more specifically the lust. 

In all your rampant thoughts, you failed to see Marko pull the sheer curtain back, his eyes lighting mischievously at the display. He tugged off his boots, slowly sneaking over to you; your back still turned to him. He watched silently before slowly pushing himself against you. His chest against your back, the smell of the forest and fresh blood sticking to his skin. You moaned at the smell, letting the back of your head rest against his shoulder. As if sensing your uncertainty about actually indulging yourself, Marko slowly let his delicate hands trail towards your hips. Slowly, he guided yours to grind against Paul's aching bulge. 

You let out a shaky breath, one that came out shaky and chopped as you let your body tingle at the feeling. Although it felt good at that very moment, it only fueled your need. Your hand gripped Markos, a weak attempt at stopping him from tempting you. 

"Ah ah, let me darlin'." He mused, his tone so coy you could practically hear his smugness. He continued rocking your hips, one of the hands holding your hips gradually moving upwards sensually before ending at your chin. Cupping the skin in a firm grip, he slowly removed your head hiding in the crook of his neck and titled it towards the debauched sight of a panting Paul. His bottom lip was caught in between his lips, and one of his eyes squeezed shut as his chest heaved up and down in a complete state of breathlessness.

 "Look at him, all messy for you." He pointed out, moving your hips to push particularly roughly against Paul, making both of you moan at the friction. Unlike Dwayne and Michael, Marko and Paul didn't want to comfort you in the sense that this situation was terrible, but instead accept what you now were. How good it could feel, what it was like to have the freedom to explore every ounce of your most concealed secrets. 

"Lesson one of being a vampire," Marko mused, removing his hold on you. The two changed positions with you. Paul now leaning his back against the headboard, legs spread with you in between them, your back pressed against his chest. His hand trailed around your waist, teasing your shirt before slipping underneath. His fingers now torment your searing skin, which in reality was just as freezing as the two blondes was. Marko nudged your legs open, laying on his front so his head rested conveniently between your thighs. He guided them open, caressing your skin soothingly.

"Feeding is often accompanied by an insatiable–" Marko purred, kissing up the length of your thigh. "And nearly irresistible," He continued but was cut off by Paul, who had begun massaging your sides; "hunger," Paul finished. 

"So why don't you lean back and let us care for ya'?" Paul mused, practically whispering the phrase into your ear. In a similar fashion, you would've imagined the snake talking Eve into biting into the apple, Paul and Marko were the current embodiment of Lucifer for you, and this time you weren't in the mood to repent. No, you'd welcome the flames of hell eagerly, the masochist inside you hoping to feel the sting of its flames. With a nod of your head, a messy high clouding you with need, you officially sold your soul to the two devils holding you. 

Marko grinned, his lips trailing kisses up your thigh, inching closer to where you needed him to be. They were teasing you, your needy eyes watching Marko kiss over your most needy spot, his teeth nipping the top of your pants, one of his fangs sticking out from the fabric. He looked up, his darkened gaze connected with yours as he patiently pulled your undergarments down. 

As if in a desperate attempt not to lose your attention, Paul nipped at your neck. The sudden action sends a small jolt of electricity through you, pulling a soft mewl from you. Marko cooed at the noise while Paul chuckled, both clearly amused by your current state. They knew how hormonal fledglings could be, like animals in heat; Micheal was no different.

They had helped him out too, and they were most eager to provide their services now as well. 

No matter how hard they tried, how often they showed you the normality in their ways. You couldn't wrap your head around it, that nagging resistance keeping you awake. You couldn't enter this life without committing yourself to a final attempt at regaining your old one. So, when the others went out to eat after feeding you. You left, setting out for your last, and final attempt at regaining your old humanity.

The leaves rustled with a strange ferocity as you pushed your way through the untraveled path. You didn't want to accept what you were; there needed to be an alternative. You didn't want to admit it, so when the daunting forest around your figure cleared, you saw the back of the church. You wanted to believe in that hope, that perhaps all these values preached and thrown down your throat had a purpose. 

The forest was at the back of the church, revealing a small garden enclosed by a white picket fence. You hopped it, letting your bloody hands stain the purity of its color permanently. You rushed towards the back door, balling your first and desperately pounding in the creaky wooden door. You quickly shifted your focus, trying to open the door and jiggling the handle. "Please! Someone—anyone, please!" 

Not hearing an answer, you stumbled back. Your tears make you choke on your own sorrow, rushing around toward the front of the building. "Please, Father! Anyone, please!" You begged, continuing to slam your hand against the door. It wasn't until it opened that you stood stunned, chest heaving, hands stained, and body soaked. You wailed in front of this man's sanctuary. Begging entry. 

The man appeared elderly, with white and gray hair dominating the little hair he still had left on his head. His black cassock made his position as a priest clear, but you didn't dare move. You felt the need to be invited in. 

"Goodness! Child, come, come inside." He ushered you into the old building; there were candles lighting the area, casting everything in a warm glow. You stepped inside, unable to stop your shaking, until the man covered you in a blanket. He was probably trying to provide your frigid body with warmth. "What happened to you?" 

"Father, please, you need to help me. I need help—please, I need aid." You stammered, letting him guide you into a back room away from the main hall. He listened to you, his brows and face contorted in worry. "Calm down; you are safe now." 

The room seemed less decorated but more elaborate than you would've thought it would be in the church, but you didn't say much as you sat down in the empty chair across the old desk. This must've been some sort of office. The priest stared for a moment, his gaze lingering on your stained hands before shuffling around the desk. His shoes thumped across the red carpet covering half of the dark oak floors. He sat down, letting his hands intertwine, and he rested them folded on the edge of the desk. "So, my child, what brings you here? What has brought you to my doors in such distress?" 

You needed a moment to collect yourself for that question. What hadn't happened to you in the last week? Every horror imaginable seemed to be flowing through your life at the moment. A part of you wanted to lie, but you knew that hiding the true nature of your case would prevent you from getting any practical help. This was necessary. Clearing your throat, you slowly gather your perseverance to continue. 

"Father, you must believe what I have to say. I am new to Santa Carla, but in my stay, I've encountered death and despair more than in any other place." You started, your voice shook and a clear representation of what you were feeling, utterly distraught. The man nodded, seemingly focused on you as he urged you to continue. "But what I originally thought were simple gangsters, feuds, and typical street violence became much darker. Vampires, Father, Vampires reside in this town, and I've found myself to be one of them." 

You were desperate; frantic eyes watched the man inhale and lean back in his chair. He thought deeply, or at least the look of concentration was deeply etched into the creases of his face. He sighed, uncrossing his hand and gently reaching out to rest a comforting hand on top of yours. 

"My child, I've read the bible well. The true structure of this world and how it came to be, the only time vampires were ever named—or mentioned. Alukah only ever being mentioned in Sefer Chasidim, where the creature is understood to be a living human being but can shape-change into a wolf. Alukah can also roughly be translated to "blood-lusting monster" or, in your case, a vampire." 

He had a calm tone, deep and raspy, but it seemed to have an oddly chiding tone. He moved away, leaning fully back now against his chair as he chuckled. "But my dear, I assure you that these are old tales; such demons do not exist among us anymore." 

His words were like a splash of cold water to the face, a deep, unsettling reality overcoming you. You sounded crazy; of course, no one would believe you. "But Father!" He held his hand up to silence you, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. "You can lie to me, but you cannot fool the Lord." 

Anger seemed to replace your sorrow, standing up abruptly, the stool you were previously resting in falling to the floor with a loud clunk. "I am not lying!" You screeched, your face unknowingly morphing into one similar to the boys. Angled features, sharp bones, and burning yellow eyes. The man stumbled back, stammering as he took in the demonic sight that was you. His hand unknowingly grabbed onto his cross, moving out of his chair. 

"I need your help Father; I have not consumed human blood yet! There needs to be a way to fix this!" Once again, you were pleading. A part of you was growing sick of it; how could a man detest your current nature but refuse to help you revert back to your "purer" self at the same time? It was hypocritical. 

The hand holding the pectoral cross shook with a small tremor, breath equally as rough when it escaped his shaken form. His free hand covered his mouth, either trying to hide his labored breathing or trying to regain composure. You weren't quite sure. The silence in the room now was unsettling, threatening even—leaving you on edge. Finally, the old man's hoarse voice cut through the air as he removed the pale hand from his mouth. He waved it toward him as he walked over before passing you and opening the door. Standing beside the frame as he beckoned you to follow. 

"Come come, my child. We must act quickly; you have the devil inside you. With every moment we waste, it'll grow stronger." You nodded, cringing at his choice of words before slowly following him. You would've argued at the choice of words but didn't seem to have the energy to do so. You followed as he led you through the church, leading you towards the back door you had previously banged on. He opened it, leading you towards the backyard. To the left, there was a small gravely path that shortly led to a wooden shed. Wood rot was apparent when you looked at the dying boards that made up the shed's walls. 

He unlocked the shed with his key; the loud cling of chains dropping was quickly followed by the squeak of old hinges being forced to move again as he opened the door. It was an average shed if it didn't have a hidden doorway behind a shabby bookshelf. The old man pushed the shelf to the left, revealing a mossy, dirty stairway further down in what you assume to be a basement. 

As if the priest could see your confusion, he began to say, "This church used to perform a multitude of exorcisms. We used to do it in the old church, but people began associating it too much with demons, so we renovated the old shack basement to do the job. That was a while ago," He mumbled, walking down the steps and revealing an equally run-down setup. There was a bed, shabby with a mattress stained with yellow and brown. The bed frame seemed to be made of rusted metal, not undoubtedly a cheap purchase at the time. Restrains we're hanging from each end of the bed. 

Every fiber of your being was begging you not to lay on that mattress, but your own desperation convinced you. It convinced you to lie down and let that man tie you up; it made you trust him to cure you. 

"So what will you do?" 

"What I need too." 

His gruff voice echoed through the room; he had tied something loosely around your eyes. Explaining that it was all part of the process. You heard him open on an old shelf, the sound of clinking wood making you uneasy. Your instincts screamed at you, but you weren't sure for what. You didn't understand yourself anymore, and the frustration coursing through you nearly brought you to tears. You just wanted all of this to be over, to understand yourself once again. 

"And what would that be?" You edged further, feeling like something was wrong. 

"What I was born to do." 

His voice grew darker, lowering an octave or two, making you shift. The blindfold slid at your defiance, sliding off of one of your eyes. Snapping them open, you took in a sight you'd surely never forget. There, a man swore to do no harm and held a wooden spike in his shaky hand. The other clutching his cross to his heart while whispering mantras. He didn't even hesitate as he saw your yellow eyes open before he slashed forward, putting his full force into the throw of the stake. 

Perhaps it was instinct, or perhaps it was simply foolish for the man to believe leather binds would chain you. But in a moment of adrenaline, you pushed your body away from the mattress, your wrists and ankles suffering a burn from the sudden action as you snapped yourself away from your murder. Watching the way his sheer force stabbed the stake through the mattress, your eyes lingering on sight. 

That blow was meant to kill you. 

"You fucking bastard!" You growled, a distorted tone to your voice as you took a step towards him. But with your lack of control, your hand was around the man's throat with his old back smashed against one of the walls. 

"I trusted you! What kind of priest are you? You are meant to aid, protect, and serve. I am still one of God's creations! You taint your very purpose in this life with your actions!" The hand around his neck tightened, your claws unwilling to draw blood. Your eyes zeroed in on the sinful liquid, the smell so much more intense than of any of the boys.

The boys. 

David was right; they were right. There was no turning back for you. 

"You will never—be one of God's—creations." 

Those were his last words before you ripped his throat out with your teeth. Dismembering the man's jugular, drinking away the last of your crumbling humanity. There was an irony in it that the remains of your dying humanity weren't taken from the vampires you now lived with but by a human themselves. 

The man fell to the floor, eyes a haunting color. They were cloudy; you couldn't describe the sight of his pale skin mimicking the shade of yours. 

You wailed, grieving everything you were as you sat hunched on the floor. Covered in the blood of the man who tried, and in some way—killed you. 

You weren't sure how long you sat there, frozen, until the boys came. A hand gently shaking your shoulder, making you jump, meeting the eyes of a saddened Paul. "Oh, darlin'.." He whispered, watching you stammer, desperate to explain. But he simply picked you up, bridal-style, and led you out where the rest of the boys stood. 

Marko walked over, letting Paul set you on the ground before the curly-haired vampire pulled you into a tight hug. A hug which all of the boys joined, their hearts breaking at the sound of your sobs. "It's okay, it'll be okay," Marko whispered, holding you close. 

"Come on, let's take you home." David sighed after a moment. His voice drowned out in the hauntingly silent night. 

That evening was the second and final marking of your death. The first takes place in an alleyway by a vampire, and the job is finished by a human. You struggled after that night; you barely ate or talked. You felt awful, your thoughts not abandoning you or your guilt. You were a murderer. 

That all had taken place a few days ago, your body now sat on the roof along the boardwalk. It was a motel, two stories high, so you found a semblance of privacy on top of the concrete roof. You sat on the thick stone wall of a fence, letting your legs dangle over the edge. 

"I'll never forget the day I made my first victim." Micheals voice cut through the distant booming of chatter and joy taking place below you by the adolescent and naive party-goers on the boardwalk. 

"It was April 6th, at about 12:06. I lost my life forever." He went on, walking closer towards you. Stopping beside you and leaning on the fence with his forearms. His gaze lingered on the glowing boardwalk, casting everything surrounding it in a golden orange. 

"So we're all murderers.." You murmured, eyes not meeting him, but you knew he was now looking at you. Your tone was cold and distant. 

"He was a child molester." Micheal spat, standing up and gently moving you so you looked at him. "We don't have to be monsters, Y/N; we don't have to kill the good. I chose to take the evil from this world, and you can too." 

You nodded weakly, not in the mood to argue. You let a frail smile tug on your lips, nodding to his words as you let him wrap an arm around your shoulder and squeeze you close before slowly leaving. Giving you space. Once again, you were surrounded by silence. Nothing but the blurred screams from ride-goers, drunks laughing and prancing around on the ground beneath you.  

"He's wrong." That crystal clear voice, his tone stern and unwavering even if David tried to sound gentle. But his words felt icy like a cold bucket of water was poured over you. Sinking into the skin, leaving goosebumps to ravage your already frigid body. When Micheals words provided comfort, as if holding your wounded heart in his hands, David seemed to drop it instead. 

"What?" 

He walked over, the sound of his boots tapping against the concrete. You didn't necessarily look at him, but you noticed he settled beside you. His body bent forward, forearms resting against the wall-like railing on the rooftop. You both stood there in silence, watching the stars glitter across the ocean's surface. The silent, cruel breeze drifts through your hair and body. Seagulls cried, and boardwalk goers partied, but you felt so far away from it all. It made you question the finality of your death and where it had really occurred. Did you die in that alleyway or when you let go of your remaining humanity? You were sure a part of you must die in order to take a life; death is inevitable for either party. There is no such thing as only one dying; the other might live but never completely. Your humanity had died along with that priest. 

"You are a monster." David's voice was stern, clear, and factual. Your gaze turned to him finally, seeing the way he stared so longingly out at the sea before turning to you. 

"What the fuck David?" You snapped, feeling like this was not the time for him to throw his own values onto you. You had killed someone, taken a life, and instead of trying to bring you any consultation, he insulted you? 

"Don't you think I feel shitty enough? Fuck this, I know, okay? I know you don't need to stand here and rub it in my face!" Why had you expected anything else from the blonde, you couldn't lie to David, and he had neither lied to you. He was, on many occasions, the truth. 

"You are a monster, Y/N. You will never die; you will never age." He hummed, ignoring your outburst as he took out a cigarette and lit it. He held it up to his lips, taking a long drag, dropping his hand against the railing before blowing out the smoke. "But you must feed." There was a finality in his town that made you suffer as if you were the only one who noticed the morbid aberration of your circumstances. But how were you supposed to explain your regret about eating a sheep to a hungry pack of wolves? 

"What if I don't want to?" You asked, voice hoarse from the raw emotions you felt. You wanted to smack him, berate him to find another time to torment you. 

"You'll kill someone you actually like." He whispered an answer that took you off guard. Eyes trailing back to him, you noticed that haze. A similar one to what Michael used to wear whenever he encountered an old memory. Yes, David seemed to be dancing in his past. 

"But make no mistake, Y/N. You are a monster. A filthy abomination that feeds off the weak, the defenseless." He focused his cold gaze on you, "You will fall apart the day you realize just how much you enjoy it. The screams, the suffering, the pain. It will be the only consistent factor in your life. And when you look around and see the constant deterioration of mankind. You will turn and see us." He took another drag of his cigarette before dropping it, suffocating its flame with his boot. "We are monsters too, Y/N." 

"I will never let you forget it. I will tell you every day before you rest and when you awake." There was an odd gentleness to his tone, one that made you look up at him once more. Although you could hardly bear to keep eye contact with the man. 

"Why?" You had a thousand questions running wild throughout your head, an intimidating rampage and riot pushing through, begging millions of questions to be answered. They stuck in your throat like a lump, a noose around your vocals, keeping you silent. Finally, you managed to settle on that one word. Why? 

"Do you think a lion thinks of itself as a monster when it eats a gazelle?" 

"We aren't animals, David–"

"But aren't we? We're all just mammals trying to get by. A lion doesn't feel guilty for killing because that's what a lion simply does. They need to in order to survive." His eyes seemed to burn into you, a desperate sense of vulnerability taking hold of his features. It seemed David wanted to spare you from your own feelings, to clear the path you were going on, no doubt one he had walked before. 

"But what if we asked the gazelle what they thought of the lion. When a meal would mean losing a brother or sister, mother or father, the gazelle would see the lion as a monster too." 

A heavy wind blew through your hair, reminding you of the night air. Whispering about the daytime and how you would never be able to see it again. Feel its warmth kiss your skin, see its joyful birth across the horizon. The wind mocked you, and the night sky never felt so empty before.

"So?" You asked, wanting a conclusion to this lesson. A small chuckle parted from David, the blonde finding your impatience amusing. 

"The term monster is subjectable. It depends on who you ask, rosebud. To them," He gestured to the late-night party-goers. "You will always and forever be a monster." But before you could frown, even dare settle on that phrase for too long. He turned to you, taking your hand and squeezing it. As if you'd let go, leaving him alone. "But to us, you are everything."

"I'll call you a monster until the word doesn't sting anymore." 

He whispered, cupping your cheek. You noted the lack of his gloves, for the first time touching his bare skin. He leaned closer, kissing the top of your forehead lovingly. It was an embrace in some way, a sweet and gentle promise. That no matter what you become, he'd love you. 

"We'll be down at the boardwalk if you want to join us; you can't stay sulking forever, rosebud.." He whispered, leaving you alone to think once more. 

When you did make your way down the sandy docks, feeling grain against your shoe as you walked with a sunken head. You wondered how your life had changed so drastically since you came to Santa Carla, whether everything was for better or worse. 

"Hey, Darlin!"

The booming voice of a happy Paul called to you, making you look up. Before you stood your gang of boys leaning against the wooden railing of the boardwalk pier. Their bikes were parked beside them, all smiling as they looked at you. There was fondness in their eyes you could describe, but as you walked over and were encircled by your boys. All equally ecstatic to see you—you felt less alone. Welcomed even. You still had a long way to go, but for once in a long while, did you feel alright. Perhaps, becoming a vampire wasn't the worst thing that's ever happened to you. 

[some-kindofgnome]

now everything is easy

do not interact with this post if you are under 18.

Katsuki wakes next to you the morning after your heat reaches its peak.

c: katsuki bakugou x reader

wc: 3.7k

cw: smut (18+), morning sex, subtle alpha/beta/omega dynamics (knotting, heat cycles,  descriptions of scent & slick), vaginal & oral sex, aftercare if you squint, katsuki is like lovingly disgruntled through most of this but he adores you i promise

notes: Bakugou lovers, what’s up? It’s been a minute... 😅I can’t BELIEVE how long it’s been since I’ve written about Bakugou. But I signed up to write him for a few collabs over the summer, so here’s my warmup. I think I did this trope wrong but he goes down on u so like that’s fun, right? 👀

(MASTERLIST)

Morning comes hot and sticky, drizzling like honey into Katsuki’s slowly waking mind.

For a long time, waking slowly like this seemed little more than a far-off dream, for the man who could never be caught off guard. Most days his eyes still spring open, fully alert to the sound of his six o’clock alarm. But when she needs him, he loses himself easily to her.

To you.

He’s not sure what time it is exactly, only that midmorning sun splashes obscenely across the mussed bedclothes, lighting up the soft green of the worn linen and the buttery eggshell-painted wall beyond. His muscles settle into a dutiful ache. His thighs are still a little stuck together. He kind of needs to piss.

But you, fragile and perfect with the dew of your leftover heat drying on your spine, are worth lingering for.

You’re still fast asleep as he rolls onto one hip, fresh scratches pulling and stinging in the muscles of his back. The sheet’s tucked haphazardly over the curve of your hip, but you’re sprawled on your side with your torso left carelessly bare.

He can’t help himself, leaning forward to bury his nose against your scent glands, pulling the strong reek of you into his head. Your scent is so easy to read- maple-sweet, fragrant like orange blossom and deliciously mingled with his own. Last night, he fucked you both into sheer exhaustion, and the sheets still waft puffs of your mingled scents with every shift of his body.

Still, you’ll be wanting more soon. He gives your petal-soft skin a devilish little nip, rolling away to stretch yesterday’s exertion from his tendons.

Before he can even shift to climb out of bed for the bathroom, you’re squirming beside him.

Too late.

Those long, peaceful breaths of sleepy silence quickly give way to strained little whimpers as your senses come back to you. Last night, your heat cycle had reached its peak. But after a full measure of sleep- and eight hours without the fill of your alpha- he knew this was coming.

“Alpha,” you keen, struggling with even one coherent word. Katsuki’s instincts flare to life while you wake up, fresh waves of your needy scent filling his head and bringing his alpha to the surface. His cock stirs greedily against one thigh, stiffening traitorously in response to your voice.

He sighs harshly, flopping back against the pillows. His jaw ticks, letting firm throbs of desire swell in his gut.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to take a piss, could you?” He growls, no shortage of affection in his rough tone. You’re already rolling over, tangling clumsy, slick thighs in the soiled sheets.

“Please,” you sigh. “One more. I need one more.”

“C’mere,” he grunts, palming your ass to bring you close. “Let me see you.”

Your flesh is hot and sticky beneath his touch, and he knows how badly you need him but he can’t help indulging. Not now, when you’re so pliable and needy for him. It’s cruel to think so, but he loves you most when you’re desperate like this. His mean streak doesn’t come for you very often, but he can’t help it. You’re so easy to tease, and so much cuter when you want something.

He slips between your thighs to quell your squirming, letting you settle onto your back. You spread your legs as far as they’ll go, staring up at him with that wide, vulnerable, irresistible expression you always get at this time in your cycle. It’s how can tell your heat’s coming, far before the changes to your scent. The first time you look up at him like this every season, he knows it’s all over.

Your thighs are still crusted with last night’s slick and dried remnants of cum, but when you spread them, long strings of fresh fluid break and drip onto the mattress. The warm slip of your sex is glistening already.

Katsuki decides in that moment that he’s going to take his time with you, whether you’re ready to wait for it or not.

“You feeling patient?” he chuckles, lip curling as he flicks his eyes back to yours. You’re still staring up at him like that, an extra flash of panic lighting your eyes when the word patient reaches your ears.

“W-what,” you plead. “N-no, please, just- now, just do it now…”

Your voice trails into a strangled little squeak of pleasure when he dips his head between your thighs and seals his mouth to your dripping cunt. The familiar sweet musk of you pours into his mouth, cocktailed with the overwhelmingly heady flavor of your heat slick. The tightness in his balls is getting blurry now, half-full-bladder, half-swelling desire. But he can hold it, if it means he gets to pull more of those little cries from your needy throat.

He glides the flat of his tongue up between your folds, knowing that it makes you squeal without actually pushing you any closer to the edge. As he predicted, your thigh twitches by his left ear and your toes curl, but the whine that leaves you is not a satisfied one.

“K-katsuki,” you beg. The shape of his name on your lips comes as a surprise to him, and he glances up at you with a flinch of his brow. While there’s nothing quite like the way you shout “alpha” in the throes of your heat, when you’re all sleepy and sticky and half-conscious like this, his name feels good, too, hanging in the bleary air between you.

It sounds nice.

He rewards you with a lift of his chin, bringing the fat press of his tongue over your swollen clit just once. The sharp flick of it makes you yelp and flinch, slamming your hips into his face so hard he nearly bites his lip.

“Fuck,” he curses without pulling away, “cut it out.” He flattens one palm over the low plane of your pelvis, pressing weight into his wrist and pinning your wriggling hips to the mattress. The angle’s a little more awkward like this, but your toes are starting to twitch and he can tell you’re losing yourself to the pleasure.

He presses one finger to the weeping silk of your slippery folds, nudging it forward to find your needing hole and pushing smoothly inside.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he croons into your cunt, “y’re fuckin’ grabbing me already.”

Your walls flutter in near-instant reaction to his touch, closing down hard around his middle finger. You squeeze so tightly he can barely draw back out of you again, curling the pad of his finger to find the spongy flesh near your entrance. It’s the tenderest part of you, and when he rubs it just right, you’ll descend into the kind of shivers that’ll make it hard to hold back.

It’s worth it every time, though, to watch you lose your mind under his diligent hands.

Katsuki refreshes the weight in his palm, pinning you freshly down while he re-adjusts to the slick pull of your clutching depths. He cups his tongue against your clit, feeling the heat in its swollen ridge, and dips his ring finger into you, alongside the first. His cock’s fully hard now, drooling wet preek into the sheets and burning with bright, hot tension.

Fuck, it’s going to feel good to get you on his knot again.

He focuses once more on the task at hand, finished revelling in your taste and ready to focus on your pleasure. You like it when he flutters his tongue quick and sharp against your clit, and your cunt’s most sensitive in the shallow parts near your slit. He curls his fingers, rubbing all along the hottest planes. He can practically feel the spots where your nerves sit closest to your skin, making your body spasm when he pins them under his fingers.

“Kah!” The first syllable of his name flies from your lips. He knows you sense his intent now, and your body’s already beginning to stiffen with the promise of climax. He knows you have to tense up a little to make it happen, so when you tense your core beneath the press of his free hand, he knows you’re getting close.

“Close,” you pant anyway, slipping one hand between your thighs and raking your fingers into his hair. When you grab the longest strands at his crown and pull, it sends an unexpected little shock of pleasure to his dick that pulls the air from his chest.

You’re already starting to pitch and shake, but he knows better than to let up now. He keeps the pleasure coming steady and strong, pushing out out a solid rhythm between his tongue and his fingers as he feels you pass the point of no return.

“Right there,” comes your desperate voice, crawling into your upper register. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s it, y-you’re-“

It’s kind of beautiful, how easy to read you’ve become. He’s pretty sure he could satisfy you like this by feel alone at this point, blindfolded with his ears stuffed full of cotton.

A heartbeat and a half later you’re falling, tense muscles suddenly going slack as you dig your heels into the mattress and arch your back off the bed and contract so tight around his fingers he almost busts it right there, trying not to think about how maddening you’re going to feel around his cock in a few seconds. You let out one, long, hushed draw of his name, a “Katsuki,” that wafts by his ears like a fragrant breeze. Then you’re collapsing between his hands, fitful and whimpering and fighting him off.

“Better?” he grunts, sitting back on his heels. He wipes his mouth off with the back of one hand, dipping the pad of his thumb into the corners as he licks your heat-slick from his lips.

The look you give him suggests everything he intended. Better after a peak, perhaps, but there’s only one thing that’s going to satisfy you enough to function today.

Fuck, his knot’s already starting to swell a little when he closes his fingers around himself. He grits his teeth, ignoring the flush of heat that creeps down the back of his neck and willing it to stay small enough to fuck you properly.

He looks up at you again, and your scent crashes into his mind, filling every hollow of his blurry mind. You’re already gushing fresh slick, reaching for him to grab him by the face and pull him back down to your level.

He probably shouldn’t have teased you so long.

He lets you tug him against you, bracing his hands at either side of your head to drop his mouth to yours. He laves his tongue affectionately across your teeth, tasting notes of his scent in the lingering flavour of you. The hint of his own musk serves as a pleasant memory from the night before, when he’d poured his scent into every hollow of your body, claiming you as wholly as you’d given yourself to him.

You’re already humping your hips down against his, with his cock pressing up into the crook of your thigh. Katsuki groans long and low into your mouth, fitting one hand between you to bring his weeping tip to the hot gush of your cunt.

“That’s what you want?” He grunts, dipping his mouth from yours, tucking it against the shell of your ear.

“Katsuki, hmmm,” you whine, dragging your hard nipples against his chest. When he doesn’t move right away you whine again, clutching at his back and trying to rock yourself down onto him.

“Alpha, plea-hah!”

Katsuki delights in the way he can still startle you, after all this time. He cuts off your begging by snapping his hips sharply forward, bottoming out in one clean thrust. He’s never pretended to have the biggest cock in the world. But he’ll be damned if you’re not satisfied by it anyway.

“That’s right,” he pants, closing his eyes against the crook of your neck. “I got what you need.”

He pets a hand down your sternum as he straightens up a little, thumbing the tender swell of one nipple. He slides his fingers into the dip of your waist to brace at the curve of your hip, digging the pads of his fingers into your flesh as he rolls smoothly in and out of your clingy heat.

He closes his eyes again, overcome by the feelings he swallowed to tease you earlier. You are still tender and gooey from last night, molded perfectly to the size of him and sucking him forward every time he tries to pull away. Your slick leaks out around the edges of his cock with every push of his hips, and the quiet, satisfied cries from beneath him send pulses of deep affection into the hollows of his chest.

There’s nothing quite like this, the physical manifestation of the intimacy that lies between you. He is the only one who can do this for you anymore, the only person in the world who can quell the trembling tides of your heat.

He’s not gonna last long at all, getting sweet on you in his head like this.

Determined to make use of the time that he has, he slides his fingers into the back of your knee, pushing your thigh up toward your torso until he can reach up and grab you by the ankle. Slowly, deftly, he straightens your leg, gliding his palm down the length of your shin and guiding the curve of your heel into the crook of his shoulder.

“Pretty like this,” he croons without thinking, turning his head and feathering a quiet little kiss to the inside of your ankle. He spies your reaction out of the corner of his eye, a blissful little sleepy smile that paints your warmed features. Affection clutches low and hot in his belly, a feeling he’s only now grown used to embracing. Tenderly, he wraps his arm around your leg, braces it against his chest, and begins to thrust.

He takes up a slow, heady pace, pulling slowly out of you and then slamming forward with a harsh snap of his hips, revelling in the way your body jerks every time. He can feel the breath rattle against his palate as he sucks it in through his clenched teeth, losing himself in the maddening grip of you. It’s woven into the very fabric of him, loving you. He doesn’t have to say it anymore, not when he can practically read it out of your skin. But he’s promised himself, more fiercely than anything, to take care of you.

He promises you in the way he fucks you through this, muscles stretched thin, balls aching. Worn out on a weeknight’s worth of sleep, calling out of work for the second day in a row, undoubtedly leaving you in bed to put together a decent meal from the fridge he’d stocked this time last week, when you started looking at him Like That and he couldn’t even bring himself to dread it.

You clench, shifting your foot against his shoulder and lifting your hips into his. The tight little ripple around the base of his cock shoots all the way to the base of his spine, and with a sharp little grunt Katsuki slips his free hand down your belly, stretching his thumb over your tender clit. He can already feel his knot beginning to swell again, pleasure spiking hard when he traps your clit under his thumb and starts to stroke, making you cry out and tense into him all over again.

“Kat…suki, I’m.. g-gonna,” you plead, like he can’t already feel it happening again. Even your scent fluctuates when you’re about to cum, rippled with a sharp little spice that peters into sweetness all over again when you bleed down from that high.

“I gotcha,” he promises gently, hooking his arm more firmly around your calf. “Come on, baby. I gotcha. Come on.”

He dips his hips as low as he can, paying extra attention to the beginning and end of every thrust, to overstimulate those tender spots that line your entrance. It works, because before long you’re digging your heel into the meat of his shoulder and convulsing around his pounding length and gushing hot slick that drips down his balls and coats his pelvis and smears across the low end of his stomach.

“Fuck.” The word hisses from his throat, his body taking the green light of your waning climax long before his brain clues in. He digs his fingers into your thigh and leans forward, stretching it up toward your chest and lets himself go, shoving his hips madly against yours and milking every cruel draw of pleasure from his own body until his thighs are shaking with the resistance of it. When the ecstasy finally boils over he slams his hips as far forward as they’ll go, squeezing his eyes shut and shooting long spurts of cum up into your belly. Your walls stretch eagerly around him as his knot expands completely, sealing his pelvis to yours.

Finally, he shrugs your ankle down his arm, gently straightening your leg out over his thigh as you catch your breath. He’s a little winded, too, never quite ready for the overwhelming sensations of taking you.

“That’s never gonna get old,” he mumbles, bowing over your supine form to rest his dewy forehead on yours.

You’re still panting hard, but you laugh airily, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. His eyes are closed again but he can feel you grinning and it’s too contagious not to crack a little smile. He ducks his forehead away from yours to nose against the shell of your ear, mouthing gently at your jaw and sliding both hands up and down either side of your torso.

“Better?” he asks, sincere this time. And, sincerely soothed this time, you nod.

“Much better.”

He knows you’re telling the truth, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be on you all day. He can’t keep himself off of you when you’re coming down from the worst of it, all sweet and pliable and soft in a way that you most certainly are not for the other days in your cycle. You kick his ass without hesitation, and he loves you for it. But you’re irresistible like this.

“Now,” he grunts, still nosing his way down your neck, tonguing the sweet hollow of your scent glands, “hurry up and calm down. I gotta take a leak.”

That urge hasn’t gone anywhere fast, growing shallow and tight in the pit of his groin. But it’s not urgent. Not when he’s locked so sweetly (and securely) into your relaxing depths.

“You’re the one that needs to calm down,” you retort in good humour, glancing down for a heartbeat.

“Say that again and I might not bother waiting,” he threatens easily. The noise that escapes your throat is enough to make him snort, pillowing his head in the crook of your shoulder as you turn sharply to find his eyes.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“You gonna stop me?” He regrets challenging you immediately when you flail instinctively beneath him, wrenching on the base of his knot and drawing a strangled, pained little wheeze from his chest.

“Fuck, I was kidding,” he scolds, pinning your shoulders to the mattress. “Jesus. Welcome back.”

You’re getting your fire back early. Maybe he’s kind of missed it, after all.  

He keeps himself curled over you like that until his knot’s gone down almost all the way, cock softening out of you and letting fresh drips of slick and cum leak onto his thighs. Finally he pulls himself away from you, padding blindly into the bathroom and flipping on the harsh fluorescent light.

He braces one hand on the wall over the toilet as he relieves himself, still half-hard and wavering on his overworked thighs. After he’s washed his hands he wagers a look in the mirror, turning his back and twisting to look over his shoulder and examine the damage.

He goes back to bed smirking, thinking of the long, angry scratches while the memory of their infliction is still fresh.

You are already half-asleep again when he finds you, so he just pulls the sheets up around your shoulders and drops a kiss to your temple. You’re going to want coffee soon, and you’re going to need breakfast. Neither of you have had a proper meal in longer than he’d care to calculate.

When he steps into some undershorts and eases into the open space that makes up the rest of your apartment, he opens the kitchen windows, since you’ll want fresh air when you come out to join him. He’d stopped by the bagel shop on the corner by the agency the last time he was there, leaving work early to come home to you, because he knew you’d want fried eggs on your favourite sesame bagel when you were finally coherent enough to crave food again.

The routines that make up his devotion to you aren’t the things he learned about in health class. They weren’t written down in the books that were unceremoniously shoved at him after he’d presented, nor did the details of your post-heat care list appear on any neatly packaged powerpoint presentation.

He’s picked them up slowly, the hard way, by messing up over and over and over again. They’re things he never even realized he knew about you, until he looks down at his hands and he’s flipping his own egg every few seconds to keep it from browning but leaving yours in the pan to get crisp around the edges.

It feels good to know you so deeply. Even when, sometimes, the flipside is still a little too vulnerable and scary. Even when he’s still harsh and mean, when he still messes up, when he still catches himself on the edge of fury so often.

You picked him anyway, and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to let that mean something.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“I’m not telling you again.”

If you’re still doing the sentence prompts?

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, minor whumpee (OC is 17), captivity, referenced dehydration and starvation, forced turning, wishing for death, religion

1905, somewhere outside New York City

-

"Come here, little one."

The boy presses himself back against the cold stone wall behind him. There's a cuff around one ankle, dull iron, and a chain that scrapes the floor when he moves. He swallows, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. Dirty hair falls dull over eyes that sparkle vibrant green in the near-total darkness.

He can't see her.

But she can see him.

"No." His voice is a whimper, a nearly-animal whine, pure fear. "Please, please, please no, not, not, not tonight, not... not tonight, please."

She sighs, chuckling fondly, and pulls a match across her palm to light the lamp that hangs on a hook down here. The wick catches flame, and now he sees the pale, pale skin, the deep red lips. The predator's gleam in glinting dark eyes.

She crooks a long, sharpened fingernail . He can see the hem of her dress, lace-edged, the skirt that sweeps up to curve her hips, the narrowed waist, the high neck. He's stared at illustrations of the Gibson girl put up in shop windows in stores that sell to richer women than he's ever known. She's an echo right down to the soft, upswept hair.

Like a man with an expensive coat hiding a knife, he thinks, that he means to slaughter you with. She's a monster who looks like an angel.

"I'm not telling you again. I'm hungry," She says, and gives a little pout. "I want you to feed me."

He pulls his arms in close, shaking his head again. Tears already threaten. He's so tired, all the time. There is never time enough to heal from one bite before the next and the next and the next-

"Come now, little pet. It's just one last time." Her voice is gentle, but he knows they lie. They all lie to get their fangs in you.

"What, what, what d'you mean?" The boy has a thick country Irish accent, still. Fresh off the boat, they call him when he tries to speak to the boys his age in his tenement. Half of them have accents like his, or thicker.

Not that he'll see any of them ever again.

Not since his parents-

Not since-

He chokes on a sob he can't quite hold back, turning at the waist to rub his fingers over the rough, cool stone. It helps. The motion, the texture, it helps. It calms him down, a little.

Everything here is wrong.

He misses home. He misses the green hills that were never so full of dirt ground in as the city streets are. He misses the air that didn't smell like offal day and night. He misses a world where it was all less overwhelming. He misses a world where his parents were alive to help him understand it.

"Oh, you're sad tonight," The monster wearing a woman's face says, taking the lamp off the hook and carrying it closer. The shadows dance off her cheekbones, they seem to give her a sneer rather than her soft smile. "Let Malorie be of aid to you. Tell me what you need, sweet boy."

"Can, can, can I have a-a drink? Miss?" His voice is hoarse from thirst, and he's parched. It has rained for two weeks and he's drunk the rainwater that leaks in through the walls, plus the few sips they give him each day. Food is a bit of moldy bread, cheese, maybe a thin soup. It isn't enough.

They don't seem to notice, or care.

But then food or water is something they left behind, isn't it?

"Hm." She steps forward, closer to him. Her eyes flash in the dark, reflect the bit of light, and he cringes back from her fangs as she smiles down at him. She moves to crouch before him, and sets the lamp down on the floor beside her. "Is it thirst that drives you, little one?"

"Please." His lips are chapped and cracked. He tastes blood, sometimes, and spits pink-tinged spit to blend with the soil beneath him. He tries to look pitiful - it's not hard to succeed. "Please. I'm, I'm so so so so... so thirsty, ma'am, just a cup, please-"

She looks down, unfastening the line of tiny pearl buttons on one sleeve, then rolling back the fabric to expose her wrist. A stray curl of dark hair falls down to brush her perfect cheekbone.

"Ma'am?" He can't understand what she's doing - none of them had ever started to undress in front of him before. "A drink, ma'am? Please?"

She looks up, and her eyes gleam like a cat's in the dark. Her teeth are very very white. He can see the venom shimmering on her fangs.

"A drink you want, you beautiful boy," She says, and he stares with uncomprehending horror as she moves her wrist towards her own mouth. "And a drink you shall have."

She tears her own wrist open with her teeth.

He gasps and tries to get up to run, but he's weak and dizzy and when she yanks at the chain that binds his ankle to the wall he goes down hard and lands with a thump, the breath knocked out of him.

While he wheezes air into lungs that won't take it, she pushes him onto his back and forces her wrist against his mouth, her other hand pinching his nose shut.

He cries out in horrified disgust against her cold skin and the thick brackish fluid that flows over his tongue. She stares down at him, avid, with huge eyes.

"Drink, sweet boy," She murmurs. "Quench your thirst."

He must drink or suffocate, and his body chooses for him. He swallows even as he gags, and swallows again, and she lets go of his nose so he can frantically pull in air, tears streaming to pool in the shells of his ears and soak into his grimy, dirty hair.

She is a blur through his terror, but her smile is written in stone in the yard beside a church.

"My turn," She says, and when she buries her fangs into his neck, the boy screams again.

And then goes limp as the venom takes hold, and the vampire begins to purr, her fingers gripped like claws into his shoulders.

There is no pain.

Only the fear.

I'm going to die, he thinks, and stares up into the darkness that wipes out even the lamplight. It seems like it's growing, within him and without.

His mouth is full of blood. It tastes better than it did when first she made him drink. The heaving of his stomach stops. He starts to swallow willingly, even eagerly. Nothing has ever quenched his thirst quite like this. It doesn't taste at all like he'd thought.

I'm going to die.

He wants to go home.

He wants more to drink.

He's so hungry.

He wants more blood.

When she pulls her wrist away, he whines and tries to grab at it, to pull it back. She laughs, swatting playfully at him.

"Not yet," She chides, wagging a finger. She licks her open wound and it closes. She laps at the remaining blood and he tries to sit up, to get some too, only for her to push him down again.

Then... pain.

Agony hits, a bright stripe straight up his spine, and he arches away from the ground, throwing his head back and screaming loud enough to bounce off all the walls. It recedes, and then comes again, through his stomach this time. The throb moves to his hips, thighs, into his calves and all the way to his toes.

He curls into a ball on his side, but the pain keeps growing. It takes over. He can't feel the floor he lays on, only the constant spark of nerves blaring alarm. He feels like he is being crushed under a rock, burned by the hottest fire, stabbed with a hundred knives.

"Wh, what, what's happening-... t'me?!" He coughs, and then sobs as the action hurts more than anything else ever has in his life.

"You're dying." She picks at her fingernails, already bored.

He turns to look up at her as she stands, licking her chops like a cat. Tears run down his face, and every time he blinks the air seems pink-tinged. "What...?"

"That's your body shutting down. You know, you're very fortunate." She wipes a droplet of the boy's own blood from the corner of her mouth and then sucks her finger clean. "Very few people get to be born twice. I'll see you tomorrow night. I would prefer if you didn't call me your mother."

Before he can even begin to form a question, she turns to walk away, hanging the lamp up on its hook as she goes, blowing out the flame.

The pain ripples again, he is broken like a brittle shell against the shore. His very bones feel as though they're tearing apart inside him.

He's going to die here.

And he won't stay dead. His parents will wait in Heaven for a demon son who will never be allowed to step foot into Paradise.

He gulps in air, lungs burning, and tries to remember the prayer through his panic. "Our Father, wh-who art in Heaven, hallowed be be be Thy Name-"

His throat blisters even saying the words, and when he tries to cross himself, his hand shakes too much, his joints crack and shatter. He can feel it, he can hear it. They crack and reform, break and bend.

He screams.

He screams until his throat is raw, until it bleeds, until his heart stops beating and blood runs from eyes and ears and from under his nails.

He whispers every prayer he's ever known when he can. He begs for salvation, he begs to be spared eternal bloodlust, he pleads for something other than damnation. He prays he'll see his parents in death and not become a monster like this.

His prayers are swallowed whole by darkness.

He dies, but he does not die for long.

-

Tag list:  @mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[sp00kworm]

I would love a Bram Strokers Dracula, where the reader is 21st century going on a college trip to the castle. She gets to stay in his room and he watches her, slowly falling for her and her love of literature. Then there’s a ball? where he re-emerges and woos her.

Pairing: Dracula x Female Reader, Vampire x Female Reader

Part 2 

---

Codex

---

A restoration trip to a dilapidated castle from the time of the Persian empire. Before that – your teacher had gloated in the class. You tugged your suitcase along and shouldered the weight of your backpack with a grunt before you looked up through the gate at the tall, crumbling structures.

“Part of it is in working order, with electricity and water. It gets cold but its completely safe. The other half is partly beyond saving. We want extra hands helping out with the library. There are scrolls which need a delicate touch, or they will turn to dust. That’s where you come in.” You nodded at the lead with a small smile, “Don’t look so glum!” he cheered, “Its saving history, after all.”

You tuned out his talking as your small group entered the ramparts, stepping through the iron bars and in through a heavy, new door. It smelt of freshly dried wood still. The inside was lit with new electric wall lamps, but a few candelabras were still in use, dripping wax into small holders. Everything was made of dark, grey stone, and the walkways lined with rich red fibre rugs. The portraits were restored and bright with colour. You tried not to gawk as the man lead you all to the rooms for your stay.

“Your room is the last one, but probably the grandest.” he announced as he opened another large door, revealing a grand room with a large four poster bed, covered in sheer fabric and lit with candles and electricity. The walls were covered in maps and old paintings of the surrounding countryside, but the new glass in the windows kept out the cold mountain air, “You’ll need to get the fire going but there’s kindling and wood for you. It was said that this was where Vladimir himself slept, but it seems to be just a myth from what documents were left.” The door closed behind you and you didn’t remember saying goodbye or registering the man leaving. You turned from the door and stood your suitcase up, looking around at the circular room. You were in the corner tower.

“Amazing…” You whispered as you felt the new cotton sheets and let free the silk curtains, “Its all a bit much for a stay as an overrated librarian.” You laughed as you opened your bags and headed to the wardrobe, unaware of the eyes watching you from the rafters.

 The vampire watched as you left for dinner and observed as you came back to clean and go to sleep. You dragged a book with you wherever you went. The titles were unknown to him. He was tired. Dracula curled into the rafters, hiding his face behind his leathery wings as the light burned his pupils. It was too bright. He listened as you blew the candles out before turning himself out of the stone and hanging from a wooden beam. Asleep. He slipped over the silk and watched again, his eyes drooping. The door opened and he slipped back up the rock.

“Master is she not enough?”

He looked and saw his latest follower. He opened his mouth and snarled.

“She is?” The lead architect hummed before jumping back to the door as a claw slammed near his face, “Is she, not right?”

“Get out of my sight.” He hissed before he slammed the door closed and rushed back into the rafters to watch you jump and squirm with the cold.

 The next day, you entered the room with an old fable scroll. A woman had written it for a child. A horse who lived in the stream wooed women before dragging them under the water and eating them. A young boy took the creature’s shined pebble necklace and had the beast for his own, until his daughter took the necklace and ended up in the creature’s grasp. She wasn’t seen again until the full moon came, and she rode the creature, bare, through the stream and into the ponds and lakes beyond. He knew it well. He remembered not understanding if the daughter was happy. It was a strange tale, but you smiled as you wrote it from the scroll and into a large book. The date and catalogue number were somewhere, but you seemed to take no notice as you started cleaning the parchment. He pulled his wing back over his face and settled in to sleep, listening to you singing softly.

 Days. For days he crawled through the roofs, watching you clean, hum, read and catalogue. You had a talent he was in awe of, and he was quick to ask about you. His follower obliged. A student. He could not believe you were a student at this age. Times have changed, or so he was informed. Women were not beholden to men. He laughed, a shrill noise which echoed in the bowels of the castle, shaking spiders and rats from their hiding places.

“Women are a challenge, master. They do not fall at a man’s knee anymore.”

“Did they ever, my child?” he asked with a hiss, “Women are a treasure to be found and looked after, lest they become scorn and curse your soul.”

The vampire laughed again as his disciple rushed away to excuse the noise and to lick his wounded pride. Dracula slipped into a coffin and buried into the soil before the follower returned. He leaned over the coffin with a bag, and Dracula grinned before sinking his teeth into him.

 “Ah, it appears he had family business to attend to.” Your teacher hummed at the letter, “But we can continue the work. A replacement is making their way here.”

“That’s odd.” You whispered as you returned to the library, “He seemed so keen to translate those books.” You rushed back to your workstation and looked down at the table. The ink was spilled and with a cry you grabbed for the papers, holding them up. The ink flowed off them like oil on the surface of water, and you gasped at the face that was revealed on the plain piece of parchment. It was a dragon, curled around itself. A family crest. You looked at it in wonder before laying the paper down and looking at the book it had come from. A cold hand laid on your shoulder as you turned, and you jumped as a man stood behind you.

“Dracul.” he whispered, “The dragon.” His hand laid over your eyes before you could utter a sound and blackness took over.

 “My love?” A man asked as your eyes opened, “You are going to be late.” The same man uttered again.

“Late for what?” You roused slowly and looked up. A silk canopy hung above you. You were back in your room, “What happened?”

A man sat at the bedside, his face sharp, angular and pale, with eyes that shone like a cat. The dark brown eyes softened. Dark hair fell over his shoulders in waves as he sat on the bed. Sharp nails curled over your shoulder.

“I have waited a long time.” He whispered, “But now, we can dance. Like the stories.”

“What is…” He leaned over and placed a kiss on your lips. The scent of iron clung to him and you pushed at his shoulders before fangs grazed your lips.

“You were brought here for me, but I will show you wonders of which you have never seen.” he reached for the bedside and pulled out the book you had been writing fables in, “A story like no other.”

You looked at the fangs in his mouth and realised who he was, “Dracula…”

The vampire smiled and leaned over you, pressing your hands back to the cushions before his fangs punctured your skin.

[ka-za-ri]

Press Play

It’s lunchtime somewhere. Have a sandwich. Pairing: Lucifer x Reader x Simeon Genre: PwP Smut Wordcount: ????     Tags: Smut, porn without plot, Demon sex, Angel Sex, Threesome, Toys, hand jobs, spit roasting, Sex Toys, Dom/Sub Undertones, sensory deprivation, temperature play, body worship, double penetration, size kink Summary: Lucifer and Simeon give you reason to look forward to movie nights with them.

Movie nights with Simeon and Lucifer became a rather regular occurrence once Simeon discovered just how large Lucifer’s backlog of unwatched movies had become. The angel made sure Lucifer set aside time once a week for at least one meet up. It took some persuasion, and a lot of pouting from both you and Simeon to get Lucifer to agree. The meetups started off innocent enough. Lots of cuddling and laughs were shared between bowls of popcorn as Lucifer slowly got caught up to date with the movies he missed due to his hectic schedule. It was a time for all three of you to relax, to enjoy each other's company and to forget about the stresses of the world outside. It was hard not to look forward to the movie nights especially after a week of study and corralling rowdy demon brothers. On that couch, you were safe between the two of them. There was no chaos, just a movie and their arms around your shoulders. From time to time, Lucifer would feed you from the shared bowl while Simeon offered you sips of his drink. It was pure, innocent and comforting. Until one day while were fully invested in the film and not paying attention to what they were up to, they slowly guided your hands to their crotches. By the time you noticed what they had done, they were already half hard and using your hands to stroke their lengths. “Oh, don’t look away, the best part is yet to come.” Lucifer said, making sure you focused on the flashing images in front of you instead of the growing bulges beside you. “Yes, you don’t want to miss this.” Simeon agreed, curling your hand around his shaft and encouraging you to stroke him. Lucifer mirrored the action and as the movie reached its climax, you realized you had a more interesting climax at hand, literally. It wasn’t until the credits started to roll when you were allowed to turn your attention to what the men had started. They leaned in, kissing you at the same time while your hands groped and stroked their lengths through their pants. Eventually Simeon won out, claiming your lips while Lucifer trailed his kisses elsewhere, down your jaw, to your neck where he greedily sucked at your pulse point. Their hands guided your own, showing you how they liked to be stroked and you were overwhelmed by the information overload trying to keep up with the differing paces they preferred. “Wait, Is this... alright? I mean, Simeon, you’re... an angel and all.” Simeon chuckled softly, kissing your cheek and nipping your ear. “Oh Little Lamb, how cute you are. Do you think a little sex is a crime punishable with a Fall? Humans are so gullible.” He rolled his hips into your hand encouraging you to keep going. “Why would the Heavenly Father find something natural a sin? There are crimes more serious than pleasure.” “Something like a rebellion?” Lucifer joked, squeezing your breast and he was rewarded with a gasp of pleasure when he pinched your pert nipple through your top. “Hmm Something like that, yes.” Simeon agreed and he let out a breathy moan when your fingers squeezed the tip of his cock harder than he had anticipated. “So, you shouldn’t worry about me, Little Lamb. You should be more concerned about how you’ll make us cum at the same time.” At the same time. You weren’t sure how you were going to manage the different tempos they demanded, and your arms were starting to get tired of the repetitive motions; but you were definitely interested in seeing them both come undone by your hands. Just touching them through their pants wasn’t enough. Almost as if they shared one mind, they had divested themselves of their pants and both of them were kneeling beside you, their cocks tantalizingly bobbing in front of your face as you went back to pleasing them with your hands. Without the barrier of clothes, it was much easier to pull a reaction out of them and they no longer needed to guide your hands into doing what they wanted. Simeon preferred a lighter touch and long, careful caresses while Lucifer loved it when you gripped him tightly to go hard and fast on his cock. Though their rhythms differed, they worked in tandem somehow with your hands and came at the same time after you fondled their balls and traced the heads of their sensitive, dripping cocks. Their seed, covered your face and your hands in thick, hot ropes as their dicks pulsed and they groaned in unison. “Your turn.” Lucifer declared, licking the mess on your face while Simeon cleaned off your hands. Once all trace of their loads were gone, they turned their hungry gazes to your own aching crotch and they parted your thighs as they settled between your legs. “I’m hungry.” Lucifer announced before delving into your soaked core. “Snacks weren’t enough.” Simeon agreed before letting his tongue join Lucifer’s and you writhed as they greedily lapped at your essence through your panties. When they couldn’t get enough of you, the soiled scrap of cloth was wrenched to the side unceremoniously and their tongues licked up your juices, probed at your entrance and circled your clit. The combined heat of their breaths and the lewd, wet sounds coming from between your legs brought you to climax much faster than you had anticipated. “So soon?”Simeon asked, his bright eyes held a fair bit of glee. He pulled away and you could see your essence glistening on his chin. “The credits haven’t even finished rolling.” Without any further preamble, he dove back in with Lucifer to continue their post movie snack until the credits and the extra post movie scenes were over. “So, same time same place next week?” Lucifer asked once silence fell over the room and you were reeling from your third orgasm that night. “Y-yeah... that sounds like a plan.” ~~ To say that you were eager for your ‘movie nights’ going forward was an understatement. It was the driving force that got you through the weeks. The thought of being between Simeon and Lucifer again occupied your mind and often you were caught daydreaming about what you could get up to in the upcoming meetups. You came to know their desires very quickly. Simeon was a tease. He loved watching you squirm and writhe under the lightest of touches. He was a romantic, full of kisses and cuddles once you were doing being used. The angel had a mischievous side to him, preferring to take slow, deep strokes inside of you, forcing you to feel the bulbous tip of his cock drag itself across your walls and memorize just how good his cock could make you feel. He loved you on your back, sprawled on the couch and disheveled, moaning for him as he took his sweet time fucking you. All the while Lucifer would occupy your mouth, muffling those pretty moans with his member. He adored seeing your throat bulge with the outline of his cock as he fucked your face. The way you would always gasp for air after he came down your throat was so erotic to him and never failed to get him going for another round, switching places with Simeon who would kiss your bruised lips so tenderly before encouraging your tired jaw to open up and accept his own length into it. Lucifer was a rougher lover. He pounded into you without abandon anytime he got the chance to sheath himself in your pussy. You always needed to nurse bruises during the week after he was done with you; not that you really minded. Shameful as it felt, you loved the feeling of his nails digging into your flesh, marking you and reminding you of the times you shared with the two of them. Different as they were, they were passionate lovers and never ceased to have you reeling in pleasure every week. While the movie played in the background, they found new ways to please and tease you until the very end of the film. With how long they had been alive for, they knew just how to play you like an instrument, drawing out your pleasure for as long as they wanted. Some nights, they would fuck you without abandon from the beginning to the end, other nights, they would pass you back and forth until you were ready to pass out and your pussy was filled with their seed. Yet other nights, the three of you would be stuffed full of your favorite toys, riding and grinding down on them, passing the remotes to the vibrators to one another and teasing each other until you all were over stimulated messes on that couch. Pretending to pay attention to the movie on the TV was difficult when you had two exceptionally attractive men moaning beside you and stroking their cocks in time with the hand held fucking machine thrusting in and out of your pussy until the three of you came at the same time and indulged in copious amounts of cuddles and kisses before deciding to do it all over again. Their methods of pleasure was as varied as the movies they chose and every week it was a surprise until you swore you had experienced it all with them. You had a good grasp on what they liked and pleasuring them came easily to you now. As soon as the door closed and the movie started, the three of you would spend at least the first ten minutes kissing each other deeply, fondling each other through clothing before everything inevitably came off by the time the first act was over. From there, you could almost predict what would happen depending on how the week had gone. Some weeks, Lucifer would have you and Simeon bound and kneeling before him, demanding that he be pleased first before he even thought about allowing either of you to think about pleasure. Other weeks, Simeon would have you tied down and spread on the couch so he and Lucifer could spend the whole film kissing every inch of your skin and counting how many times you could cum before the movie ended. You were more than happy to adapt to their whims, listening to them without question and following their lead. You thought knew them like your favorite movie. That comfort and routine had you falling into complacent lull which was how you ended up making the mistake of thinking nothing they did could surprise you anymore. ~~ You should have known better that there was something off when Lucifer lead you to a more private quarter that week than the room they used for your regular movie nights. You should have noticed how well padded those walls were, how the dim light illuminated everything. It should have been an indication of how that they had plotted this for some time now when Lucifer cast an extra strong spell of privacy over the room. It wasn’t until you heard the rustle of clothes and feathers that you realized what you were in for. Both of them were glorious and their massive wings seemed to encircle you in a cage once they both approached you sandwiching you between them. “A proposition.” Simeon started, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look into his eyes. “How about we make our own movie this week?” He glanced to the side and your gaze followed his. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the recording device set up on the dresser. You swallowed hard, unable to deny how much that thought turned you on, but also how much it intimated you. Being on camera, being recorded with such beautiful men felt wrong. “Oh, I know that look, Little lamb.” Simeon cooed, kissing your forehead softly. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Just follow our lead.” Behind you, you heard the rustle of clothing as Lucifer disrobed. He took your hand and brought you to the massive bed. You didn’t remember Simeon’s room being this spacious, nor the bed so large, but you didn’t have time to think about your whereabouts as your hands were tied above you to the headboard. Your legs were spread and tied to the posts at the foot of the bed. Once Lucifer was sure you weren’t going anywhere, he sat down next to you, his fingers brushed through your hair and his wings gently caressed your arms as he directed your attention to the angel in front of you. “Watch.” he commanded, and you could only obey. What followed was the most sinful strip tease. Simeon dropped the cloak he normally wore around his arms and let you drink in his angelic form. The white wings framed his body, keeping your eyes on him and only him as he traced all of his dips and curves through his skin tight clothes, peeling them off slowly, enticing you with every new inch of skin he revealed. You were practically drooling when his pants finally came off. You gasped when you saw his girthy cock and you shuddered, wondering if you could take something like that in you. Which suddenly brought the thought of Lucifer’s dick to the forefront of your mind. Glancing to the side, you took stock of his member and gulped at the monster between his legs. The demon chuckled, his fingers still stroking your hair gently and he leaned in for a soft kiss. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you’ll be properly ready for us by the end of the night. For now, relax.” You nodded, but you were unable to take your thoughts away from the tapered tip of Simeon’s cock which gave way to a massive swell. You unconsciously clenched just imagining how wide he would stretch you out before you could get to the base. The swirling ridges and thick veins of his member were unlike anything you had seen before, at the base, you could make out a substantial ring of taught muscle you could only imagine being used to lock him into place once he was inside of you, similar to the hefty knot that sat at the base of Lucifer’s cock. “You’re thinking too much.” Simeon chided coming over to grace your lips with a soft kiss. “I promise you’re in good hands.” He reassured. Your body was still tense with intimidation, his words did little to alleviate the fear and he could see it in your eyes. Beside you, you heard Lucifer sigh and pad across the room looking for something. “I suppose we’ll have to find other ways to relax you.” He came back a moment later with a silken blindfold. Carefully draping it over your eyes, he made sure it was securely on before dipping down and kissing you deeply until you moaned into his mouth and were breathless. “Better.” There was a moment of silence between the three of you while the angel and the demon contemplated just how to relax you. Lucifer had been so excited to get you tied up, he had forgotten to take your clothes off and so the first step was working together to undress you, undoing the ties only when it was necessary to slip your clothes off. You visibly shivered when you were left bare in front of them, in front of that camera. “Better.” Simeon finally agreed now that all three of you were in a similar state of undress. You heard a soft popping sound followed by a sharp gasp from Simeon. You heard it again but this time followed by a quiet grunt from Lucifer. Confused, shook your head back and forth, trying to figure out what had happened. Your confusion stopped when you felt the softest tickle of a feather caress your skin. There was the sound of wings flapping as they adjusted to fit you in a feathered cage. “Did you know....” Lucifer drawled, dragging his feather across your skin and watched as you twitched under the light touches.  “You’re absolutely adorable when you’re at our mercy?” “You are.” Simeon agreed, teasing your spread pussy with the tip of his feather. “You’re so cute when you’re an incoherent mess for us. I can’t help but look forward to seeing what kind of faces you can make tonight when our cocks make you scream.” You shivered, struggling against your bindings but to no avail. The knots held tight and you were helpless. You could only focus on the tingling sensation that followed in the wake of their teasing. The feathers felt different from each other. The one Lucifer dragged across your body to tease your nipples left a trail of warmth, like a soothing touch on heated skin after being spanked. The tip of the feather prodded your nipples until they were aching and sore, the heat intensifying until it was almost unbearable. As soon as it got too much, he would move to your other breast, repeating the process in a cycle that had your mind reeling. Simeon’s lips were practically attached to your neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there while his feather toyed your pussy. The cool, tingling sensation spread across your nether lips and down your thighs as he drew errant patterns across your skin, watching in awe as goosebumps appeared in the wake of his feather. Your clit was toyed with until it was almost numb, your essence coating the feather, soaking it as he continued to toy with your body. Then, they switched. The heat moved to your core and the chill traveled up your abdomen to tease your nipples. The drastic change in temperatures had you wailing and thrashing as the heat from Lucifer’s feather felt like a brand against your sensitive core. The cold on your nipples made them pucker and stand painfully erect. “Adorable.” Simeon cooed, admiring how you heaved and writhed under him. He reached to the bedside drawer and picked up one of the candles that had been illuminating the room. carefully hovering it over your chest, he watched with glee as the hot wax dripped from the candle and splattered against your skin, welting the skin and making you cry. You were too hot and too cold at the same time. The assault of sensations made your mind go blank and all you could focus on was feeling good, sounding good and letting them play with your body to draw out every sensation they could from you. They weren’t done yet, far from it. While Simeon focused on wax dribbling down your chest and carefully let hot droplets tease your oversensitive nipples, Lucifer had reached to the ice bucket which housed a bottle of wine. Finding a suitably small piece of ice, he dragged it across your thighs after his feather, making you shiver and moan. Pausing at the apex of your thighs for a moment, he let you catch your breath before sliding the melting ice into your waiting hole. His finger pulled back the fleshy hood of your clit and he pressed the feather directly against the bundle of nerves, rubbing it roughly, coating it with your essence and overwhelming you with heat and cold at the same time. “You can cum when the ice is melted.” He stated, assaulting your clit with the feather. His teeth found your collarbone and he bit down, hard, kissing your skin after he left his mark. Watching you come undone from their combined efforts was nothing short of a treat. The chill of ice within you faded as your own body heat melted the cold object. It felt like it took eons to do as Lucifer asked, but as soon as you no longer felt the ice in you, your whole body shuddered in completion, your inner walls collapsed clenching around nothing and your clit throbbed almost painfully as you rode out the waves of pleasure from your intense climax. Both the angel and the demon descended on your lips when you came, kissing you deeply thrusting their tongues into your mouth, moaning as they drank in the sounds of your orgasm. The blindfold was ripped off your face and you blinked to adjust your eyes to the light once more. They kissed you until you were breathless, tired and dizzy, but the night had only begun. You knew matter how tired you were, the two of them would push you past whatever limits you had until they too were satisfied. “There, nice and relaxed.” Simeon purred, carefully peeling off the dried wax from your skin and admiring the patterns it had left across your chest. He dipped between your breasts, pressing soft kisses on the tender skin while you were still wrapped in the afterglow of your climax. The ties that held your arms and legs were undone and Lucifer cradled you in his lap, fondling your tender breasts. Your limbs slowly regained feeling and your bleary vision cleared just in time to witness Simeon in front of you, stroking his length, eyeing your drenched pussy, licking his lips and dreaming of the moment when the two of you would become one. “I know you probably don’t feel ready, but I know you want this...” He leaned in to kiss you. Lucifer moved his legs to lock with your own, and spread you open for the angel. “I’ll make sure to go slow so you can feel... everything.” With one last reassuring kiss, he pressed the tips of his cock to your entrance, hissing from the residual cold from the melted ice. Your canal warmed up soon enough as you could immediately feel the swell of his cock push into you. There was no time to adjust, his shaft was nothing but a series of thick bulbous ridges that only got wider until it tapered off just a bit at the base where the muscular ring sat. You were stretched wider and wider with every inch, losing your breath at the sensation of taking Simeon in this form. “There, now. You’re doing so well.” Lucifer praised, pinching your nipples to keep you conscious of the current moment. “Look at that, he’s almost all the way in.” Lucifer guided your gaze down between your legs and your heart skipped a beat when you saw that he was correct. There was maybe an inch or two left before he would be fully seated in you. You took a deep breath and allowed the angel to make the final push to sheath himself within your walls. Simeon let out a low groan, nipping at your shoulder and he held you close to take in the sensation of being surrounded by you. “You’re so hot.” He whined, “So tight, so perfect...” He grunted, rolling his hips into you and your body shuddered at how deep he was able to reach. You let out a breathless whine grasping at the sheets below you, reeling at the sensation. “I’m so proud of you, I knew you could do it.” Lucifer praised, trailing kissed down your neck. He glanced over at Simeon and gave the angel an imperceptible nod, egging the angel to move more. Simeon didn’t need any more encouragement, slowly sliding his length in and out of you as he was wont to do. He never fully pulled out of you, just far enough to the widest point of his cock before sliding back inside of your snug, tight walls. The ebb and flow of being stretched and relaxed had you mesmerized and before you knew it, you could feel your climax approaching. He could feel your walls fluttering in anticipation of the end and that was when he stopped moving all together. You were left hanging just at the precipice and you could see the excitement in Simeon’s eyes as he too was enjoying the moment; but you couldn’t forget about the demon behind you. “I hope you’re ready for me too...” He murmured softly and for a moment you were confused about what his words meant. The meaning became crystal clear when the hard tip of his cock pushed against your already stuffed hole, seeking entrance to a space that was quite full already. You gasped, squirming away from him but there was no winning against his inhuman strength. “N-no... it won’t fit , It’s too much.” You protested Lucifer dragged his length up and down your soaked lips, coating his cock in your essence before pressing against your hole once again to join Simeon. He let out a low, dark chuckle. “Breathe, my sweet, trust us.” He reassured. “Just imagine how good and tight you’ll feel when we’re both all the way in you. That ridge of his and my knot buried inside, stretching you out, claiming you.” You could see the image in your mind, but feeling it was something else entirely. You were already at your limit, or so you thought. But Lucifer was persistent and with some coaxing, the tip of Lucifer’s cock eventually slid inside beside Simeon’s. Whatever limits you had were going to be tested now. Somehow, against the pain and the stretch you felt, you could feel your muscles clench, tightening against the new intrusion, accepting him, drawing him further into you. “That’s my Little Lamb.” Simeon praised, kissing you and distracting you from whatever pain your abused hole was feeling. “That’s it, take us all in.” Your mouth hung open in a soundless scream as Lucifer’s cock drove itself further and further inside of you. The long shaft going deep within, brushing against your cervix when he finally reached the base of his knot. “Amazing.” he breathed, marveling at the tightness of being together with you along with Simeon. “Simply amazing.” And then, they started to move within you. Their motions were perfectly synced making you see stars and the heavens beyond them. You clung onto Simeon, though your arms had long lost feeling. At this point, you only served to be a fuck toy for the two of them, something to be used for their carnal pleasures and you wouldn’t have it any other way. The way their cocks worked in tandem sliding in and out of your hole had you cumming almost immediately. But, they weren’t anywhere near done with you. Not until they claimed you and truly made your theirs. They went faster, deeper, harder until you couldn’t see straight. The sound of skin slapping against skin mingled with grunts and moans filled the room along with the sticky sweet smell of sex. “Oh, oh God!” You screamed when they slammed you down to the base of their cocks at the same time. “God is not here making you moan.” Simeon growled, digging his fingers into the supple flesh of your ass and gripping it hard, spreading your cheeks out to gain more access to your pussy. “There is no God here, just us.” Lucifer bit your neck hard, leaving deep teeth marks in his wake, nearly drawing blood. He seethed at the Heavenly Father’s name and it only fueled his need to claim you. “If you’re going to call out a name, why don’t you make sure it’s mine.” he commanded, forgoing any decorum and roughly thrusting into you, ignoring whatever semblance of rhythm he had with Simeon earlier. You cried out, tears streaming from your eyes, your voice hoarse from screaming and your body sore from the abuse it was taking. They made you feel like a sinner and a saint all at once, the mix of pain and pleasure too much for your mind to bear and eventually all thoughts faded to the background until there was nothing but euphoria. Your head lolled back, resting against Lucifer’s chest and you blearily looked up at the ceiling as you accepted your fate between these two men. They were nearing their own climaxes. Seeing you lose yourself in the throes of passion drove them to the edge they sought and your body reached its final trial. Their thrusting slowed as they pushed you down on the hard knot and thick ridge of their cocks. You couldn’t remember screaming, but you did remember thinking you were being torn in half. You clawed at Simeon’s back, drawing blood from scratching him so deeply. The angel hissed, his long lashes fluttering as he softly encouraged you to accept them, all of them. And then, there was pure bliss when you felt them securely embedded within you. It was a feeling of fullness, of contentment you had never felt before. It felt as if your very soul had ascended at that moment. With one final grunt from Lucifer and a breathy moan from Simeon, they released their loads into you at the same time. The copious amounts of their seed flooding your insides, causing your belly to swell as  you accepted their offering to you. The hot, sticky ropes of cum leaked from your pussy as they seemed to pump into you ceaselessly. You thought this surely must have been what paradise felt like as you yourself came around them one last time. As you felt your consciousness drifting away from you from your final climax. You remembered being gently lowered to the bed while both the angel and the demon were still inside of you. Their cocks were still hard and pulsing cum into you at intervals.  “You did so well, Little Lamb.” Lucifer murmured, using the pet name Simeon often used for you. “You deserve some rest.” “Yes, rest, my Sweet.” Simeon encouraged, pressing kisses on your forehead and your cheeks. “You were perfect.” “So... Does this mean same time, same place next week?” You asked tiredly. “I don’t mind shooting a sequel.” Simeon agreed wholeheartedly. “Why just a sequel? We could make it a proper... trilogy.” Lucifer chimed in, holding you close and wrapping his wings around you. Simeon followed suit and that night, you dreamed of what sort of blockbuster the three of you could come up with.

[yandere-wishes]

MONSTERS

👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...

👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse

👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !

👹 Wordcount: 2,480

👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.

👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Monsters were made. 

Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories. 

Monsters were made

whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner. 

If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,

He would simply answer, "Never".

Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.

Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.

He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected. 

Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.

There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak. 

Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions. 

Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home. 

Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air. 

Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him. 

You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born. 

You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed. 

Yet...

Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness. 

The void in all its glory.

that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world. 

There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.

Things that are just empty.

So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness. 

His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.

a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies. 

With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.

There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control. 

It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village. 

You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains. 

Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond. 

You were a thrown away doll,

A living dead,

A dying star,

You were the daughter of the number zero,

The monster that had no maker nor mother. 

Something not born nor created. 

Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow. 

There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well. 

Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders. 

And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.

You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips. 

You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.

You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been. 

 Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe. 

The space after the end, that's what you were.

Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.

You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth. 

That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.

You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a  pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.

 It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise. 

But...

For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like. 

For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.

///

Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death. 

Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure. 

But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all. 

It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest. 

The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava. 

Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste. 

"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise. 

You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights. 

 However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway? 

Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life. 

A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive. 

///

Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure? 

It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood. 

Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers. 

"S-sukun-a..." 

He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion. 

What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names. 

His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing. 

"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."

His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him. 

"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell." 

The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything. 

The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...

Monsters never die. 

How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

PPB Square: Possessive Behavior | @peterparkerbingo​

word count: 1.7k rating: explicit warnings: rough s_x, degrading and possessive language, org_sm denial ao3 link: https://bit.ly/36dxXWh

“Do you have any idea how it felt, sweetheart? When I had to watch that piece of shit put his hands on you, and you fucking smiled like you do for me?”

Peter can barely listen, let alone respond. Although the gala just happened, the memory of letting that overly flirty businessman touch him a bit too much is so distant, it feels like a lifetime ago. All that matters now is the feeling of Tony drilling him into the mattress, pushing deeper than Peter ever thought possible.

“I had to pretend like I didn’t care, but I was seeing red, baby.” Tony continues, his breath fanning over Peter’s nape, “Had to keep talking to all those nobodies, when all I wanted was to show that asshole only I touch you like that.” His fingers dig into Peter’s hips, punctuating his point, “Isn’t that right?”

When Peter only gives a choking gasp at the combination of it all - Tony’s claiming words, his bruising grip, his unrelenting pace - Tony abruptly stops, mid-thrust.

“N-No, please,” Peter heaves, because it’s too good to stop, Tony needs to -

“Oh, now you talk?” Tony condescends, and when Peter just wriggles in response, shifting his hips back and forth in a mindless attempt to get that intoxicating feeling back, Tony adds, “Where was this enthusiasm when I asked you a question?”

Peter has to concentrate to recall it, and then to find the wherewithal to answer. When he finally accomplishes both, he responds, high and breathless, “Y-You, only you c-can touch me like that.”

Peter’s still pretty out of it, but he swears Tony growls before he counters, “Then why did you let him touch you?”

It’s still so hard to think - all Peter wants is the mind-numbing cacophony of sensations back - so instead of trying to find another answer, he begs, “I don’t - don’t know, ‘m sorry, jus’ please keep going,”

One of Tony’s hands comes up to Peter’s jaw, pulling his head up from it’s place against the sheets to meet Tony’s burning gaze. The angle is awkward, but Peter doesn’t even consider the strain as their eyes meet; the intensity of it all and the rawness in his stare surprises Peter, and a whine catches in his throat.

“I jus’ - “ Peter cuts himself off, trying to overcome the sudden wave of embarrassment, “I-I wanted to see what you would do.”

The searing look in Tony’s eyes turns incredulous. Tony moves his hand from Peter’s jaw to his hair and pulls hard, so much harder than he’s ever pulled before, and he starts thrusting into him again, still so rough but edging on frantic, now. Peter falls back into the bed, unable to hold himself up against the onslaught.

“What the fuck did you think I would do, sweetheart?” Tony’s angry tone is undercut by the breathless edge to his voice, “You know I don’t like sharing my toys.”

Being referred to as a toy - as Tony’s toy - sends a sharp spear of pleasure through Peter, and his cock leaks precome where it’s pressed between him and the bed. He can barely understand his own muttered words as he tries, “M-Mr. Sta-”

Tony cuts him off swiftly, pulling his hair again and saying, “No, none of that shit. I’m not fucking around. What the fuck did you think would happen, Peter?”

Peter can’t respond, because it’s all too intense in the best way possible. The slick slide of Tony’s cock in and out of him, hitting his prostate head on with each push forward while his own dick rubs against the soft sheets, is about to take Peter over the edge, and he can’t find the voice to warn Tony, only to moan wantonly -

But he knows, anyway. Tony uses his grip on Peter to pull them both upward, effectively sitting Peter onto his lap while leaning on his calves, then squeezes his hand around the base of Peter’s cock. It pulls him from the precipice and rips a mangled groan of frustration from his lips as he jolts in Tony’s embrace.

“No, precious. You’ve gotta answer me, first.”

Peter feels tears prickling in the corner of his eyes as he drops his head back onto Tony’s shoulder, face somehow burning hotter, “I ca-can’t remem - “

Tony doesn’t let him finish the question, saying into his neck as he gives sharp, short thrusts into Peter, “Did you think I’d roll over and let you pull that shit?”

Tony doesn’t even sound like he believes it as he says it, and Peter would laugh at the mere suggestion, but he’s too busy trying to push back onto Tony’s cock, to get him as deep as before. He only manages to shake his head, just a bit.

Tony hums, exaggerated, then continues, “Maybe you wanted me to get jealous? Did you act like a cheap whore to get a rise out of me, huh?”

The shame that courses through Peter from the words is piercing, but thrilling. He nods, hoping it’s enough for Tony to keep going, but he does Peter one better; he moves his hands to under Peter’s thighs and uses the leverage to lift him and drop him back onto his cock.

“Then I’ll treat you like a cheap whore, baby boy.” Tony promises, and Peter only has time to shiver before Tony’s moving him up and down like he weighs nothing, forcing his dick so, so deep into Peter, he wonders if it makes a bulge in his stomach.

Tony completely ignores his cock as Peter writhes on top of him, and when he tries to wrap a hand around his aching dick, Tony catches his wrist and pulls his arm behind his back, holding it there for just a moment before dropping his grasp and trusting Peter to keep it there.

“Nuh-uh,” he teases, “whores come hands free.”

Though Peter tries to blink them away, the tears fall, now. He’s so hard it aches, and it’s beyond any frustration he’s felt before. It makes Peter appreciate the toe-curling pleasure he gets from his cock hitting his prostate even more, and he starts rolling his hips in time with Tony’s.

“Fuck,” Tony groans, “you feel so goddamn good, my own little slut.”

Peter can only choke out a wet gasp in response. He’s lost in the pleasure of it all as they move together, Tony’s large, sturdy hands on his hips the only thing grounding Peter. 

Tony pauses while he’s buried balls deep in Peter to grind into his prostate, keeping the pressure intense and relentless, and Peter knows it’s just moments, but it feels like hours before he’s coming with a strangled sob.

Although Tony stops aiming for Peter’s oversensitive bunch of nerves, he doesn’t let up his momentum, and Peter doesn’t have the energy to do anything but fall limp against his chest. He’s only distantly aware of Tony’s thrusts becoming more and more frenzied.

“You’re mine, angel,” Tony rumbles, “all fuckin’ mine.”

Peter tries to agree, but he can’t get it to come out, so he settles for a desperate, pitiful cry. All the sensations - Tony’s tight grip on his thighs and his warm body pressed against him, Peter’s burning lungs, his too sensitive hole filled to the brim - leave him convulsing, needing more and less simultaneously, and it has more tears spilling down his cheeks. Tony is lost in his own haze of pleasure above him, ignoring Peter’s quiet hiccups and squirming, as he keeps bouncing Peter on his cock.

Then, before Peter can realize what’s happening, Tony pushes him back into the mattress, wrapping his arms around Peter’s torso to pull his back to his chest. Tony drives greedy, aborted thrusts into him, and Peter barely musters the strength to bring his hands up to hold onto Tony’s arms, otherwise laying boneless below him.

With a deep, guttural moan, Tony comes inside of him, his hips jerking in uncontrolled, hectic movements. Peter whimpers as Tony’s pulsating cock nudges his prostate, making his dick twitch valiantly, despite Peter knowing he’s too exhausted for a round two.

When Tony starts to pull away, Peter has a difficult time letting him; his hold on Tony’s arms are tight, tighter than he thought he could hold right now, and he leans back into Tony as he tries to separate them. Tony wins the struggle, though, and as he eases his flaccid cock out of him, Peter can’t help but give another soft cry.

Peter’s hardly aware of Tony’s gentle shushing as he turns him over with accommodating touches and soothing murmurs of affection. He feels Tony reach across the bed, and then he’s easing Peter’s legs open and lifting him up carefully to clean the mess between them.

Peter whines as Tony grazes over his sensitive rim with a cursory wipe. He thinks he hears Tony speak, but it’s too far away for him to listen. Tony leans back, away from Peter, taking his comforting presence and heat with him. Peter feels the shifting of the bed as Tony gets off, leaving him alone in the expansive bed and soiled sheets.

Time is just a vague notion as Peter waits for Tony to come back, but he does eventually. If Peter had the energy, he’s sure he would’ve sobbed with relief - the return of Tony’s hands against him is grounding, and he’s suddenly filled with a desperate need to speak.

“’m sorry,” Peter mumbles, remembering the fierce look in Tony’s eyes when he admit why he let the stranger at the gala touch him too personally.

Above him, Tony sighs. “No, baby. I should’ve -- ” but he pauses before he finishes the thought, continuing instead with, “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Peter nods weakly, then starts as a warm, damp cloth touches the skin of his inner thighs. Tony uses his free hand to stroke a line along his side as he cleans the remaining moisture, and Peter’s chest tightens with his overwhelming love for the man.

“Y-You’re -- ” and it’s Peter’s turn to cut himself off, swallowing hard and turns his eyes to the side, because although he needs to know, he feels too vulnerable asking it, “you’re mine, too... right?”

Tony doesn’t say anything for several moments. Peter’s heart falls a bit, but then he looks up to meet his gaze. It’s soft, a bit melancholy, even, and filled with so much fondness, Peter doesn’t know what to do with it.

“For as long as you’ll have me, angel.”

[author-morgan]

Your work is so good, you should do this for a living! Your Ivarr stories are treasurers! Because quality Ivarr content that matches up exactly with my fantasies are rare, and I'm shit poet...

Could you please do one where the clan's dainty sweetheart secretly has the hots for Ivarr but avoids him because she doesn't know how to act around him.

He's also into her but thinks she hates him.

She gets terribly drunk for first time ever, throws herself at Ivarr...

Confused but also turned on, he internally struggles because doesn't want to take advantage of her.

He puts her to bed/or gets someone else to do it? Ubba? Because he doesn't trust himself to be alone with her?

Finds her when she's sober and not hungover, confronts her because drunken words are sober thoughts. She's embarrassed but they end up having really great sex!!!

i do write for a living, just not creative writing oh the joys of academia. apologies for the long wait, but here's more Ivarr! hope you enjoy! ♥ i kind of went overboard (like 3.3k words overboard) but it's Ivarr and i'm thirsty as hell for this bastard. Ivarr the Boneless x fem!Reader

EIVOR SHAKES HIS head. His arms crossed with a frown playing on his lips. He doesn’t see what you do —why of all the people in Midgard, you only have eyes for Ivarr the Boneless. Even Ubba would be a better choice, he thinks. It’s in Eivor’s nature to worry over and protect the ones he loves after all he’s lost. You are another example of Styrbjorn’s charity to those he considered friends, just as he is Sigurd’s brother in all but blood, you are their sister and have been for many years —becoming a temper for the two rowdy boys, favoring the healing arts over swordplay and battle.

Since Eivor’s initial meeting with Ivarr in Repton, there’s been something about his methods and outlook that sets Eivor at unease, even more so now that he’s caught Ivarr’s gaze lingering on you —like now during the autumn feast. Some jest, saying opposites attract, and while that seldom seems to be the truth, it is for you and Ivarr. He is cold iron, warm blood, a harsh winter —and you’re soft silks, a cool breeze, fresh spring blooms.

He’s seen the looks you share with Ivarr. Fleeting and flirtatious, but that is nigh all you share besides few rushed words in passing. Ivarr cuts an intimidating presence, and you’ve never been quite sure how to converse with warriors beyond your brothers. It’s nigh as difficult for Ivarr —all he knows is bloodlust and his fellow drengrs— finding the right words to say is not a battle he thinks he can win. There’s fondness between you, almost everyone can see it, but there are times when Ivarr is left to wonder if you truly like him or if your soft smiles and kind words are only a product of his reputation.

Ivarr’s feelings are clear to himself, though, especially as he watches you among the people of Ravensthorpe, partaking in the autumn festivities. Seeing you wear a crown of gold and amber leaves, dancing with Ceolbert to the drunken tune of Bragi and his tagelharpa with a tankard of Tekla’s mead in hand makes his heart beat faster, and his mouth go dry. He keeps to the benches, reminding himself that a drengr does not dance —at least not this type of dance.

The evening fades, but the festivities don’t. Soma claims her clan throws the best feasts, though you’re tempted to challenge the jarlskona for the title since Ravensthorpe has grown. You look around, searching for your brothers, but Sigurd has retired for the evening, and Eivor is slumped over on one of the tables, asleep —his hand still curled around the handle of his mead cup. Sighing, you find Ivarr’s gaze in the hazy air of the longhouse, half-shocked by the intensity and darkness, half-eager to return the lust-laden stare with your own.

Emboldened by the mead, you gather another horn and move across the longhouse where Ivarr sits. With a smile, you offer him the horn of mead before taking the empty spot on the bench next to him. He eyes you, curious, as he turns up the horn —downing the mead in a few gulps— and turns his attention to you. Spurred on by the moment, you lean closer, twisting to drape your legs across his thighs, squirming more than needed. “What game are you playing at, little dove?” Ivarr asks, his gaze dark and tone dangerous. You only smile, flitting your eyes up to meet his as you tip up your cup.

The soft plucking lyre strings and the low thrum of the tagelharpa are nigh enough to lull you to sleep coupled with the stillness. When you start to sway, both from the trance of the music and the heaviness of your eyes, Ivarr brings you closer to his side before deciding it best to see you off for the night —lest he is on the receiving end of Sigurd or Eivor’s anger. Ivarr pushes the bench back from the table, slipping his arms around your shoulders and beneath your knees, rising with you cradled in his arms —head resting on the leather of his shoulder pauldron.

When Ivarr places you on the straw and rag stuffed mattress of your cottage at the eastern edge of the settlement, you are not eager to part with him —the bulge tenting his britches tell you he’s not eager to leave you either. “Don’t” —you hiccup, lips turning into a pout as you lift the hem of your skirt to show the bare skin of your calves and beyond— “don’t you want me?”

Gods, Ivarr wants you. Just the thought of lying with you sets his blood hot and racing —like a giddy boy before his first battle. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted a woman more. But he can smell the mead on your breath and see the weariness hiding in your eyes. Ivarr knows it is the drink speaking for you, and he will not be the one to dishonor such a woman as you. “You’ve too much drink, little dove,” he chides in a rough chuckle, uncurling your fingers from their hold on his tunic. “Sleep,” Ivarr says, sitting back on his haunches —drinking in your appearance for a final time, “I doubt you’ll say the same thing come the morning.”

MORNING BREAKS AND so does your uneasy rest. The scent of smoke and mead clings to your skin and clothes, as does a dried sheen of sweat. Rising, you strip out of the soiled clothes and into a linen shift. With the hour still early and some only just retiring for bed from the feast, you gather up a cake of soap and boar-bristle brush, heading toward the small waterfall and pool at the northern edge of the settlement. Sparing a quick look around and now certain you’re alone, you strip, stepping into the clear, cool water with a sharp inhale.

Humming a soft song, you wring the suds from your hair and cross toward the bank where your clothes lay, but the snap of a branch underfoot stops you. Gaze darting around, you see him emerge from behind the trunk of a large tree near the stables. “Ivarr,” you greet, not shying away from his wandering gaze. His silence and the look in his eyes make you smile as you wade in his direction, stopping when the water brushes the underside of your breasts. “Are you watching me?” It’s a redundant question that needs no answer besides the hungry look in Ivarr the Boneless’s eyes.

“What you said last night–” he starts, voice surprisingly cautious, but you cut him off with a wave of a hand and scolding grin. “I was not that drunk, Ivarr.” Tekla’s mead had not dulled your senses, only gave you the courage to act on buried feelings. He lifts his brow and rakes his hand through his parted hair. “And yes. I meant it,” you tell him, wearing the same look now as you had last night nigh begging Ivarr to have his way with you. If Ivarr is surprised by the truth of your feelings, he hides it well. You motion to the pristine pool of water and bite down on your bottom lip before finding his gaze again. “Join me?”

Ties and buckles rustle as he hastily kicks away his boots, drops the fittings of his armor, and does away with his britches and tunic. Ivarr circles you like a wolf eyeing his wounded prey, and then he pounces, wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling your back flush against his chest. He leans forward, trailing his nose along your shoulder and neck —rough hands trailing up your sides and around to your breasts, squeezing them and teasing your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

When you gasp, he bites down on your shoulder and rocks his hips into your ass with a low chuckle. “You know who I am?” He means it as a warning —a warning of his bloodthirsty and unkind nature, that he is not a man to sing sweet songs or offer tender caresses. You already know that, having been privileged to witness Ivarr the Boneless in battle and know him outside of his craft.

“I do,” you answer, unwilling to shy away. He sucks in a sharp breath when you turn to face him, stepping closer and look up at him under lidded eyes with a wicked smile that sends blood rushing to his already half-hard cock. Careening toward Ivarr, you brush your lips across his jaw, settling one hand over the dark tattoo of Yggdrasil on his breast. “And if I wanted gentle,” you breathe at his ear, nipping at his neck, “I would fuck one of the Saxon monks.”

Ivarr laughs, grinning, but it falters when you reach below the water and squeeze his cock and balls, giving no doubt to your intentions or your wants. “Careful, little dove,” he hisses, tilting your chin up. He hunches, ashen hair half-falling before his face as he leans down and kisses you, warm, open-lipped, and intoxicating.

You pull back with a groan, and Ivarr chasing your lips, stopped only by your hands cupping his face —thumb tracing the deep scar on his cheek. “While giving the gods a show sounds delightful” —Ivarr’s lusty eyes take on a twinkle at the thought. Suddenly he’s picturing you splayed out on a Christian altar, spent from his love with his seed dripping from your cunt. His cock twitches, pressed tight against your belly— “Sigurd or Eivor finding us like this is less enticing.” Had it been anyone other than Ivarr, your brothers would have turned a blind eye, but neither have particularly liked the interest you and Ivarr show in one another.

Stepping back, you grip onto his wrist, staying his hands from their wandering assault, and pull him toward the waterfall and the small cave beyond. Before Ivarr has a chance to move again, you smile for him in the dim light, sliding an open hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him closer. With your lips pressed against his, Ivarr can only reciprocate —he parts your lips with his tongue, hands curling into your hips in a vice grip. But when the kiss breaks, you shimmy from his grasp and trail your lips to the dip in his neck —licking and laving.

“Having your lips on my skin is torture,” he inhales, hand fisting in your hair as you move down to the tattoo of Sleipnir at the center of his chest. You laugh softly and lean back, his eyes piercing through you. The smile on your lips is roguish, but you do not let up, making your way to his abdomen where a few small scars are clustered. Ivarr moans above you, and you haven’t even touched his aching, dripping cock yet. His hand reaches for your breasts, but you knock it away, having yearned for this moment for too long to let it slip away.

He titters at your enthusiasm and rolls his hips forward. Not dissuaded, you press your lips to the scar next to his navel, right below one of the dark runes tattooed on his abdomen. The hand still twined in your hair tightens, pushing you down to your knees. Ivarr’s legs are powerfully built, the muscles of his calves and thighs flex as you run your hand over them appreciatively, still finding small scars to trace and kisses, purposefully ignoring the hard cock pressed against his stomach. His hands clench as you kiss the skin of his thighs, your hair tickling the underside of his cock.

You smile at his surprised gasp when you drag the flat of your tongue along his cock, tracing along a vein running up the length of his shaft. Ivarr’s unable to hold back his groan when your fingers wrap around his girth, giving a few heavy strokes. And then, without warning, you wrap your lips around the head of his cock. He tastes of salt and iron and something forbidden and dangerous. Taking his cock as far as you can, you press your tongue against the underside, silently humming.

Above you, Ivarr chokes your name like a ragged prayer —it fills you with pride to know the son of Ragnar Lodbrok is coming apart at your hands and mouth, unable to say anything but your name. The lords of England may fear the whisper of his name, but right now, he is at your mercy.

Slowly, he begins to thrust himself into your mouth, but he makes no move to command your movements. Instead, his impatience wins over. He pulls you away from pleasuring him with your mouth. “Enough,” Ivarr says, his voice ragged as he crouches down, hand sliding from your hair and down to tweak one of your pebbled nipples, then lower still until he comes to the warmth between your thighs, slick with arousal. You whimper, gripping onto Ivarr’s shoulder when he pushes two fingers into your cunt, curling and thrusting. “On your knees, little dove,” he rasps. He warned you, and now he means to make good on his silent promise.

You struggle to gain your balance on the uneven ground of the small cave, but soon did, only to nigh lose it again when Ivarr slides the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds —thrice over before gripping onto your shoulder with one hand and guiding himself into your warmth with the other. Ivarr’s moan when he sinks inside you is breathless and airy, a misplaced sound from the likes of him. He grips you tight —one hand on your shoulder still, the other on your hip— holding your squirming body still as he eases his way into you. Your shoulders curl forward at the sudden wide spread of his cockhead into your body, fingers digging into the soft earth beneath you.

Ivarr pants against your shoulders —you can feel the open brush of his mouth along the sensitive skin of your spine and neck— as he draws his hips back and slams his cock back into you. You buck your hips back in time with his thrust, and Ivarr growls. You move with him as he fucks into you, squeezing with your inner muscles and whimpering in loud gasps. “Ivarr,” you chant, over-and-over.

He’s pounding hard immediately, giving in to the hunger that’s been consuming the both of you for far too long to be decent. His fingers are strong, streaking against your skin as his grip slides, something to discolor and bruise you by evening. But it feels so fucking good. You toss your head back, finding a glimpse of his face in this aching position with back arched, teeth shining in the low light, and eyes burning on you. He’s feral and ruined, and his fingers bend on your skin.

The building tension fades when he draws back, leaving you aching and empty. Ivarr spins you to face him as he reclines. “Ride me,” he commands, kissing you quickly, with an open mouth and teeth scraping your bottom lip. You pull away from the kiss, moving so you could sit atop him, straddling his hips, his back against a smoothed boulder. Breathless, Ivarr cannot be bothered with the loss of control —reckless abandon shines in your eyes, and he cannot help but grin as you slide down on his cock. He grunts enthralled at the feel of your warm cunt around him, walls clenching to feel every ridge and vein.

Moments pass, and you begin to move on top of Ivarr, rolling your hips into his. He groans, rough hands torn between holding onto your hips or pawing at your breasts. Instead, he decides to push himself up and let his lips attack your jaw and throat —biting and suckling— and annoyed at the slow in pace, Ivarr thrusts his hips up into yours, a sign to move faster. You don’t hesitate —lost to the exquisite bliss, clawing, desperate and eager. Holding Ivarr’s face in your hands, you try finding his lips with your own, but all you can do is moan and pant with him into his mouth, lost in the craven pleasure.

Ivarr bites hard in the crook of your shoulder and neck as he repeatedly drives his hips upward, chasing his and your releases. One of his hands slips between your bodies —his calloused thumb teasing your clit in a way that makes your hips stutter and body trembles, nails clawing into Ivarr’s shoulders. He grits his teeth, wondering if his little dove had broken skin. The burst of pain fades quickly as he watches your body bounce in time with his thrusts and listens to the moans and pants echoing off the cave walls and water.

He knows he’s close, his pants ragged and thrusts sloppy and desperate. The hitch in your breathing when he presses his thumb against your clit tells him you’re close to. It’s the boiling heat between you that takes hold, curling your toes and parting your lips in a silent throe, hands digging into Ivarr’s biceps as he chases his pleasure —teeth bared and bright eyes burning. Several thrusts later, his body tenses, and a dull warmth spreads between your connected bodies, and still, he is not done with the thrill of how you tremble and whine above him, but the rhythm soon slows, and you fall forward, resting your head on Ivarr’s chest.

You sit there, savoring the last twinges of carnal gratification, with your bodies rising and falling as you breathe in unison. And when the haze clears, you trace the small scars near his shoulders and follow the blue-black runes tattooed on his middle.

After what feels like an eternity, you feel him shift underneath you, sitting up on his hands. Ivarr glances over you —the small purple marks at the base of your neck from his lips and teeth, how your nipples are still hard, begging to have his mouth on them, and how your bodies are still connected. His cock is soft now, his seed seeping from your cunt and drying on your thighs —Ivarr thinks it a glorious sight. He hisses as he pulls himself out of your warmth, slowly, relishing in the gasps and whimpers you make at the resultant empty feeling it leaves between your thighs.

With flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you tell him you must go —this escapade would have already made you late for your daily duties, and the last thing you wish is for one of your brothers or Valka to find you in this state. He follows you from the cave behind the waterfall, back to the bank where his and your clothes are strewn. Gentler than you’d imagine, Ivarr kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before cupping your face with strong, rough fingers and moving your lips back to his. You let him move you, kissing you back, smiling against his mouth. “Come to me at nightfall,” you breathe against his lips, parting to gather up your clothes and shoes.

Ivarr grins, swatting your ass before pulling you against his chest, keeping you from reaching for your linen shift —his chin resting on your shoulder as his hand slides between your legs and two fingers sinking into your cunt, still slick with your essence and his seed. “That eager for my cock again, little dove?” He laughs.

He’s silenced when you grind back into his hips with a glint of mischief shining in your eyes. Ivarr lets you go, though reluctant, and watches you dress from the corner of his eye. It’s impulse driving you when you decide duties can wait. Smiling, you grip onto Ivarr’s wrist —he’s only half-dressed in his britches and boots, tunic in hand— and drag him away from the waterfall and toward your home in the settlement. Consequences be damned. It feels as though the gods made you and Ivarr for one another, and you aren’t willing to let another moment be wasted.

[taglist: @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm @elluvians @fullmoonwolfer1 @ghostieisalone @boodaga @southsideslutt @dynamite-with-a-lazerbeam @lizlovecraft @heathensith @alexisp787 @nobodyydobon @certifiedlittleshit ] if your name is italicized, tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you. if you want to be added to my taglist for Ivarr, just let me know in the replies or a DM!

[hrina]

1923, Pt. I - The Day

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: PG (for now) WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: nope

hi everyone! here is PART 1 of my historical AU featuring harry as a groundskeeper/farmhand (i know that those two professions are slightly different but just let me have this ok snfjsjfnsdsf)

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

this series will be composed of three parts altogether, so i hope u all enjoy this first one! as always, please reblog the fics that you like! and don’t hesitate to send in feedback, i promise that we, as writers, always love to witness your reactions :) anywayyyy now that we’ve covered all the bases, go stupid with 1920s harry! can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💌💌💌

~*~

    July 5th, 1923

“What if he comes back with a beard that goes all the way down to his knees?”

You snort and shake your head. “He’s only been gone for a few months, Dee. I don’t think it’s possible for one’s whiskers to grow that quickly.”

Lydia shrugs, toying with the hem of her pale blue dress. “What if he met an evil witch in New York who cast a spell on him? And now he’s doomed to live out the rest of his life with horrifying facial hair!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. I don’t think that there are any witches in New York, you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut. Believing in magic is an integral part of childhood—you don’t want to be the one who takes that away from her. Soon enough, she’ll figure it out for herself.

You wind an elastic around your fingers, securing the end of her braid so that it doesn’t unravel. “That’s one,” you say, sighing quietly. “Turn to the side so that I can start on the other.”

She obeys, angling her head to the left. You gather her dark curls in a loose fist, skimming your nails against her scalp to collect every last strand.

Her hair has grown hot, absorbing the heat of the sun. It’s a beautiful day—there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The two of you are sitting on the front steps of your home, looking out over the paved circular driveway and waiting excitedly for Andrew’s car to pull up to the iron gate. Realistically, you know that he won’t be here for at least another few hours, but Lydia insisted that you unwind outside to pass the time.

Somehow, she persuaded you to fashion her hair into twin braids. And though you had groaned at the initial request, here you are.

“He’s bringing a friend, you know,” your sister suddenly pipes up. “He told me in his letter.”

“Oh, really,” you say wryly. “And who exactly is this friend of his?”

“Martin Russell,” Lydia says, as though she’s reciting lines for a play. “He graduated from Harvard and then built his own company with nothing but a nickel to his name. Drew says that they’re trying to merge and become an empire.”

“An empire,” you echo, humouring her. “That sounds awfully intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Not to me,” she boasts, lacing her fingers together in her lap and squaring her shoulders. “Drew told me that I’m a businesswoman in the making.”

“That, you are,” you agree. You tie your remaining elastic around her second braid, fastening it in place. “All done.”

Lydia jumps to her feet, tugging down the material of her dress and turning to face you. She strikes a pose, placing one hand on her waist and lifting the other above her head. “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” you say, smiling up at her softly. “You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.”

At that, she frowns.

“I’m not little!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m thirteen and a half!”

“That’s little,” you say, laughing quietly. “Trust me. Once you get to my age, you’ll understand.”

“I’d rather be little than ancient,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly. You scoff, bringing your fingers up to your forehead so that you can shield your eyes from the sun.

“Twenty-three is not ancient!” you say, baffled.

Lydia just giggles, twirling around a few times and watching the skirt of her dress fan out handsomely. Once she looks up, however, she freezes in her tracks. Your eyebrows knit together as she extends her arm in a frantic wave.

“Hi, Harry!”

You stiffen, reflexively following her gaze.

Harry is about thirty feet from the steps, crossing the driveway with a heavy bag of soil slung over his shoulder. In his other hand, he’s carrying a bucket filled with rusted gardening tools. You had been so caught up in your conversation with your sister that you failed to notice him. He’s making his way toward the pretty garden that separates the entry and exit of the driveway, tucked between the two strips of road and outlined with smooth grey stones.

You swallow forcefully when he pauses at the sound of Lydia’s voice. He turns, and you get a full view of his broad chest, tanned skin peeking out from underneath his white shirt. Brown trousers cover his legs, held up by matching suspenders. His black boots are speckled with dried mud—you guess that he’s just come from the stables in the back.

Upon catching sight of your sister, he smiles and begins to walk over. You shift quickly, trying to focus on something—anything—else.

“Good afternoon, little bug.” Harry’s tone is deep, slow, rough. It sends a shiver down your spine. “You alright?”

“Very much so,” Lydia replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Harry, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he replies.

Your sister glances over at you, her brows arched high on her forehead. “He’s practically primeval.”

“Dee!” Her name leaves your lips as an admonishment, but you can’t stifle your laugh.

She just giggles and turns back to Harry; he’s smirking slightly, watching your interaction unfold. “Are you going to be planting more roses?” Lydia asks, changing the subject.

“Yes.” He nods. He sets the bucket down and uses his free hand to realign the bag of soil on his shoulder. “Would you like to help?”

Lydia spins around to face you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can I? Pretty please?”

“You’re supposed to take Artemis out for a ride,” you tell her, pursing your lips. “You know how antsy she gets when she’s cooped up all day.”

“Can’t you take her out?” Lydia asks, clasping her fingers together and bringing them up to her chest.

“Dee,” you start, shaking your head, “you know I don’t—I couldn’t possibly—”

“Harry,” she says suddenly, glancing down at him from over her shoulder. “Have you been in the stables today? Did you see Artemis?”

Harry hums dutifully. His eyes fall to you—you look away.

“And did she seem anxious at all?” Lydia presses expectantly, placing her hands on her hips.

He hesitates. “Well…no. But if you need to take her out, please do. I’m perfectly capable of planting by myself.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving away his words. She turns back to you, jutting her bottom lip out into an imploring pout. “Can’t you ask someone else to do it? What about Penelope? Or Beth?”

“Beth’s preparing lunch,” you say, scoffing quietly. “Besides, she refuses to work in a messy environment. What makes you think that she’ll willingly go down to the stables, of all places?”

Lydia frowns, blowing out an annoyed sigh.

“Fine,” she acquiesces at last, rolling her eyes. She spins around, hopping down the remaining steps and fixing Harry with an accusatory glare. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes! Don’t you dare start without me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little bug,” he replies, his lips twitching. You watch as Lydia takes off, her braids whipping in the wind as she sprints toward the side of the house. Once she disappears around the corner and out of your sight, you press your palms to your face, sighing loudly.

“She’s too much,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Harry chuckles quietly from the bottom of the stairs; you freeze suddenly, remembering that he’s still there.

“I should—” You clear your throat, climbing to your feet. The light material of your dress tickles the skin just below your knees. “I should probably go. There’s still so much to do before Drew returns.”

You’re lying, of course. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure there is.” Harry nods, running his fingers through his hair. The dark strands curl beautifully behind his ears. You allow yourself to study them for only a moment before diverting your gaze up to the sky.

“It’s hot—are you thirsty?” you ask, squinted eyes trained on miles of cerulean blue. “I can get Beth to bring you some water, if you’d like.”

“That’d be lovely,” he says. “Thank you.”

You simply hum in response. Your hands are abnormally clammy when you wipe them across the thin petticoat covering your thighs.

“Right,” you say, chancing a glance back down at him. “Well…have a nice day.”

“You too, miss.”

You pause, fiddling with the satin bow tied at the small of your back. “You—you don’t have to call me that, Harry,” you remind him, shaking your head. “How many times must I tell you?”

“My apologies,” he says, shrugging. “Force of habit.”

“It’s alright,” you say, intent on avoiding his gaze. “It just—it makes me feel as though I’m your—your—”

You break off, uncertain of how to proceed. Thankfully, though, Harry seems to understand. He chuckles softly, bowing his chin in agreement. “I know.”

Embarrassment festers in your chest, creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks. You straighten, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat and retreating toward the door. “Lydia will be back soon, I’m sure. Good day.”

When Harry lifts his head again, his green eyes teem with an emotion that is somehow unrecognizable yet familiar all at once. The gruff timbre of his response makes your stomach churn nervously, flipping your breakfast of fresh fruits and toast. You hate it more than anything else in the world.

You don’t hate him, though.

No…you could never hate him.

“Good day, miss. Ah, I mean—” His face collapses into a grimace. He grunts at the thoughtless error, shaking his head. “—good day.”

~*~

It’s just past three in the afternoon when a car horn honks from outside. Lydia’s shrill squeal of excitement follows soon thereafter.

“Drew!” she cries. She rushes into the front foyer, white shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The bottom of her dress is dotted with faded spots of mud, a testament to her time spent in the garden earlier today.

“Dee,” you scold her, frowning. “I told you to change once you had finished planting.”

“Sorry!” she says, though her tone suggests that she isn’t sorry at all—not in the slightest. “Got distracted!”

She grabs your hand, and you yelp when she gives a mighty tug, towing you outside. You dust off the skirt of your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears and staring at the iron gate in the distance—it’s closing back up, metal spines glinting alluringly in the sunlight. On one side of the driveway, a bright red car rolls along the pavement, tires bumping merrily against the ground. Two silhouettes sit in the front; the man behind the wheel honks the horn again and extends his arm through the window, sweeping it upward in a triumphant greeting.

“Drew!” Lydia repeats. She charges down the front steps, her hands outstretched.

“Be careful!” you call after her, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

The sun is still high in the sky. You crane your neck, surveying your surroundings. Heat rises from the driveway in murky waves, blurring the scenery. The large portico that spans nearly the entire width of your home is lined with bushels of potted plants—roses and peonies and daffodils. The lawn is bright and healthy, spearmint-green grass trimmed to perfection.

Something shifts in the periphery of your vision. Your head snaps to the left.

Harry is there, leaning against the corner of the house. He’s still sporting the same outfit as before, except it’s even more sullied, now. You’re not surprised. Gardening is grubby work, but gardening with Lydia…it’s a miracle that he’s not caked in mud, soiled from head to toe.

On cue, Harry reaches for a dirty rag dangling over his shoulder. He grasps the material with strong fingers, lifting it to his face and wiping down his forehead and his cheeks. You watch him closely, fascinated by the thin sheen of sweat sparkling on his skin.

As though sensing your stare, his eyes dart over, locking squarely with yours.

A soft gasp falls from your lips. You clench your jaw, incontrovertibly caught, and quickly look away.

As soon as Andrew steps out of the car, Lydia launches herself into his arms. He laughs gleefully, catching her with ease and spinning her around. He’s dressed in a cream-coloured suit, the collar of his periwinkle button-up peeking out beneath the lapels. His loafers are shiny and brown; a matching hat is perched atop his head, hiding his dark hair from view. The cap makes his ears stick out even more than usual—upon realising this, you smile.

“Look at how much you’ve grown!” Andrew grunts, setting Lydia back down on the ground. He puts his hand next to her shoulder, as though measuring her against an invisible wall. “The last time I saw you, I could’ve sworn you were only this tall.”

She beams before standing on her tiptoes and poking at his chest. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be gone for so long next time!”

“Touché,” he chuckles, nodding in assent. His fingers find the ends of her braids, fiddling with them absentmindedly. “And who’s responsible for these pretty things, hm?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question,” you interject, making your way down the steps.

Andrew looks up at you and grins widely. You hold out your arms as you approach, and he accepts your invitation with a happy call of your name. He’s tall—a few inches over six feet, if you had to guess. You hug him tightly, burying your face into his shoulder and flattening your palms against his back.

“You look very handsome,” you tell him when you break apart. “I like this colour on you.”

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you? I was on the fence about it, truthfully.”

“You shouldn’t have been—it looks good,” you assure him, smoothing your knuckles over his collar. “What took you so long? You’re late.”

“Stopped off at the cemetery to visit mum and dad,” he explains. “Changed their flowers, too—calla lilies, this time.”

You nod grimly, pursing your lips. “Mum’s favourite. Excellent choice.”

One of the car’s doors slams shut; the noise pulls your attention away from your brother. You peer past him, eyes landing on the man who has just exited the passenger side of the vehicle. His skin is a fair shade of olive, complimented beautifully by the beige jacket slung over his shoulders. Checkered brown pants cover his legs, and he’s clutching a sturdy briefcase in one hand. Andrew retreats, keeping a palm on the small of your back as he leads you over to his companion.

“Girls,” he says, tipping his cap, “this is my business partner, Martin Russell. Martin, these are my sisters.”

Martin bows his head. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“Are you tired, Mister Russell?” you ask. “It’s been a long journey, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite alright, miss, thank you,” he replies.

You don’t miss the way his amber eyes trail along your figure as he straightens up. You step back before you even have the chance to register what you’re doing.

“Hello!” Lydia—much to your relief—butts in, grabbing Martin’s hand and shaking it frantically. “I’m Lydia. Say, how would you describe your time at Harvard? Did you enjoy it? Was it a lot of work?”

Martin chuckles nervously, taken aback by your sister’s blathering. “Er,” he starts, “I—”

“Dee,” Andrew says, snickering quietly. “At least let the man get settled in before you begin interrogating him.”

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbles, shrinking away.

“That’s alright,” Andrew says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to chat with him over dinner tonight, won’t you? Is it true that Beth is preparing my favourite?”

Your sister beams and nods. “I asked her to!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Andrew smiles. He looks up at the house, his forlorn gaze running over the plethora of pale bricks and clear windows. Abruptly, he pauses, squinting and lifting his fingers to shield his face from the sun. “Is that…?”

Your blood runs cold.

Andrew raises an arm high above his head. “Harry!”

And suddenly, staring down at the ground becomes your most pressing concern of the day. Harry makes his way over, a mountain of handsome grime. It’s unfair, really, you think. How does he manage to look so fetching, even beneath a thin layer of soot?

“How have you been?” Andrew asks, surging forward and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Harry replies, grinning. “I’ve been alright. Keeping the garden tame, keeping the stables clean.” He tosses a pointed look in Lydia’s direction. “Keeping this little bug out of trouble.”

“Hey!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry just chuckles.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Andrew says, nodding in satisfaction. “It’s nice knowing that there’s still a man around the house to take care of these two.”

You bristle at his words, scowling in mock-offense. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Your brother shoots you a mischievous wink, and only then do you realise that he’s merely trying to get a rise out of you. You roll your eyes, though you can’t quell the fond smile that creeps onto your face.

“Let’s go in,” you suggest. “You can say hello to the rest of the staff, and then we can all wash up before dinner.”

Andrew hums in agreement. He tilts his head to the side, attention fixed almost exclusively on Harry. “You should come, H,” he says swiftly. “It’s been too long; we need to catch up.”

“Drew—” Your shoulders tense, and your nostrils flare. “I don’t think—”

“I’d love to,” Harry interrupts. He hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of his suspenders. “Thank you for the invite, Drew.”

“Of course.” Your brother nods before turning back to Lydia and Martin. “Shall we, then?”

The three of them push between you and Harry, climbing up the steps and disappearing through the front door. Inside, your sister unleashes a stream of fleeting questions: What’s it like in New York? Are the people nice? How was the food? Did you see the Statue of Liberty?

Gradually, her inquiries fade away. You stand there, chest inflated with a held breath and fingers fidgeting anxiously with the skirt of your dress. The sun beats down against the crown of your head, triggering a mild fit of dizziness.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“So…,” he begins, blowing out an awkward sigh. “What shall we be eating tonight?”

You scoff, unable to help yourself. “You accepted the offer without knowing exactly what it was?”

“Should I know?”

You swallow heavily, pinning your gaze on the scarlet vehicle still parked only a few feet away. “Minestrone,” you say. The word is clipped. “Drew loves it.”

“I’ve had it,” he tells you. “Beth always saves me a bit if there’s some left over.”

You nod wordlessly.

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

“As do I.”

“Right.” You avoid his gaze. “Goodbye, then.” You whip around, hurrying up the steps.

“Goodbye,” Harry replies from behind you. The smile in his voice is painfully conspicuous. “See you at dinner.”

~*~

You’ve just pinned a final clip into your hair when Lydia comes barrelling through your bedroom door with no warning whatsoever. You’ve long since given up on reprimanding her for it. She always forgets to knock.

“Can you button me up?” she requests, spinning around and exposing her bare back.

“Did you run down the hall like that?” you ask, laughing at her eccentricity.

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry—I made sure that the coast was clear.”

“Brilliant. Your reconnaissance skills are truly a sight to behold.”

She scoffs, smiling at you from over her shoulder. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“Patience, Dee,” you say. You turn back to your own reflection, twirling your finger through a loose strand of hair and letting it fall picturesquely against your temple. “There.”

Her feet scuffle absentmindedly against the floor as you approach her. She’s wearing a pastel pink dress with short, puffy sleeves that cinch at her skinny biceps. The bottom hem of her petticoat tickles her knees, which strain against transparent white tights. You remember wearing something nearly identical when you were her age. The outfit isn’t a hand-me-down, though. The stitching is brand-new, and the fabric is crisp and fresh, like it’s never once seen the inside of a washtub.

“It’s nice having Drew back home, wouldn’t you agree?” you ask your sister. She squeals when the nail of your index finger ghosts playfully up her spine.

“It is,” she concurs as you begin to fasten the clasps at the small of her back. “I’ve missed him terribly.”

“So have I,” you hum, pressing your mouth into a thin line. “There are some things that I could do without, though. Like that comment he made about us not being able to take care of ourselves.”

“He was only teasing,” Lydia says. “You know that. Besides—” She shrugs, puckering her lips idly. “—he was right. Harry does take care of us, even though we may not always need it.”

At that, you pause.

“‘Harry takes care of us’?” you parrot, your brows knitting together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she starts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who trims the lawn and tends to the flowers early in the morning? And who cleans out the stables when they get messy?”

“We pay him to do those things, Dee,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It’s his job.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees. “But he does so much more, don’t you think?”

You say nothing. She takes your silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“For example,” she says—declares, “he never gets irritated with me whenever I prattle on about my day.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So you are aware of your tendency to talk too much.”

“Not funny,” she deadpans. You giggle.

“He always lets me follow him around whenever I get bored,” she adds, her eyes glazing over. “And he likes to make sure that you’re alright, too.”

Your fingers fumble with the last button at the top of her dress. You pray that she doesn’t detect the sudden blunder. “How so?” you probe, trying to keep your voice level.

“You know,” she indicates, even though you most certainly do not. “Like today, as we were planting the roses. He asked me how you were doing—if you were eating well, if you were getting enough sleep. Those are fairly standard inquiries regarding one’s wellbeing, I’d say. Do you disagree?”

“No,” you murmur, gnawing on your painted bottom lip. “I don’t.”

You finish your task, fastening the final clasp on her dress and smoothing your fingers down her sides. “There you go,” you say softly, your throat dry. “All done.”

“Thank you,” she singsongs, twirling around to face you. She studies you closely, soaking in the black floor-length gown cascading down your figure. “You look beautiful,” she says, her tone sincere. “Martin’s going to be utterly speechless when he sees you!”

A weak chuckle falls from your mouth. “Shall we go down?” you suggest, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door.

“Yes, please,” she replies. She places a palm over her stomach, features crumpling into a theatrical scowl. “I’m famished.”

You smile.

And as you exit your bedroom with your sister in tow, you realise that she may have been wrong about which man you’re hoping to impress.

~*~

Dinner is full of surprises, many of which present themselves in the form of Martin Russell. It’s astonishing, you think, because the man who had barely spoken ten words upon first meeting you is now commanding the table at which you’re sat. Andrew is perched at the head, with Martin just off to his right. Lydia is next to him, and you’re directly across from him. And that means that Harry…

Harry is right next to you.

You do everything in your power to avoid looking in his direction. Thankfully, it proves to be easier than expected, considering the fact that Martin has been droning on about his company for the past fifteen minutes. You don’t believe that anyone else has managed to squeeze in a single word.

There’s wine, candles, and the finest china your family owns. But all of that pales in comparison to the man sitting beside you.

Harry cleans up exquisitely. Upon first entering the dining room, you were shocked to find him in a black tuxedo with a white bowtie resting just below his throat. It appears that he even combed and gelled his hair, though some strands have fallen free from the style and now hang down over his forehead. You don’t mind it, though—if anything, it’s a hint of the man you know peeking through. And the man you know is handsome—alarmingly so.

Drew had whistled as you descended the stairs. He then offered you his arm, patting your hand and telling you that you looked wonderful. Martin hadn’t been able to control his reaction, his eyes raking up and down your figure like you were a lavish meal on a silver platter. It had taken everything in you to hide your distaste.

But Harry…

Harry hadn’t said a word. He’d fixed his face perfectly, showing no sign of emotion whatsoever. You’d been hoping for something—anything—indicative of his opinion toward your outfit, but you observed no such consequence. He’d only acknowledged you with a curt nod before settling into his chair and pointedly looking away.

And now, here you are—a bowl of minestrone in front of you, a wineglass inches away from your lips, and an irritated groan simmering on the back of your tongue. Martin’s voice is growing more and more irksome by the minute.

“And then, it was as though they couldn’t get enough—”

“I had assured them that I would bring in at least twice the revenue—”

“It was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it—”

You polish off the rest of your wine, reaching across the table for the half-empty bottle. No one notices as you pour a bit more of the alcohol into your glass, sneakily surpassing what would be considered appropriate for a lady to consume. You set the bottle back down with a silent huff, lifting the goblet to your lips and letting your attention wander.

You freeze when you catch Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eye. The edges of his mouth are curled up ever-so-slightly, nearly imperceptible. Heat rushes to your cheeks; you gulp down a large sip of wine, averting your gaze.

You deposit your drink onto the pristine white tablecloth, glaring intently at your food. You can feel Harry’s playful stare burning a hole into the side of your head; you suspect that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

Your soup has cooled substantially. You shovel a spoonful past your lips, swallowing it with a considerable amount of difficulty. Everyone else has nearly finished their dinner, save for Martin. You want to thrust his face into his bowl—maybe then, he’ll finally shut up.

You lift your wine back up to your mouth. The action draws Martin’s focus. His eyes flit down to your minestrone, and then jump to the other empty dishes around the table. At last, he seems to realise the disparity between your meals,  because a small, sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“Lord,” he chuckles, settling into the cushion of his chair. “You all must’ve been ravenous. I’ve hardly touched my food.”

“It’s hard to eat whilst boasting, I’d imagine,” you mutter into your glass.

A loud, hacking cough breaks you out of your little bubble. Your head snaps to the left. Harry is choking on his own wine, chiseled cheeks growing red with exertion. He curls his fingers into a firm fist, pounding a few times on his chest to dislodge the liquid stuck in his windpipe. Reflexively, you place a hand on his arm, your forehead wrinkling in concern.

“You alright, H?” Andrew asks, leaning forward over his plate.

“Fine!” Harry croaks. He makes an indiscernible gesture with his hand, waving your brother’s worries away. “I’m fine, thanks. Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

He coughs again, burying the sound into the crook of his elbow.

You watch him with troubled eyes. When your gazes lock, only then do you realise that your palm is still splayed out over his bicep. You pull away quickly, recoiling as though you’ve just passed your knuckles through an open flame. Harry’s body rumbles as he clears his throat. He hooks two fingers into the collar of his button-up, loosening it from where it’s secured tightly around his neck.

Lydia is talking, now, but her declarations fade into the background. You wish that you could concentrate on them—you really do—but you have more far more pressing matters at hand.

Like Harry shooting you a swift, secretive smile, and every piece of the puzzle clicking perfectly into place.

His unassuming sip…your quiet quip…

He’d heard you.

You sit back in your seat, your ears ringing. Harry places one of his hands on the wooden arm of his chair; his knuckles flex painstakingly. Across the table, Andrew and Lydia have resumed their lively conversation. Martin scarfs down the rest of his soup, trying to catch up. The candlesticks perched between your plates melt slowly, a mess of waxy dribbles and drops.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you become aware that—for the first time tonight—no one is paying you any attention. The realisation makes you feel giddy, drunk on power and anonymity.

Or maybe that’s just the wine.

You peer down at Harry’s nails, studying them absentmindedly—they’ve been scrubbed clean.

And before you can even begin to register what on earth you’re doing, you reach out, tracing the veins on the back of his hand with one finger. Harry tenses; his concentration immediately falls to where you’re touching him. When you finally muster enough confidence to meet his gaze, you find him watching you with wide, awestruck eyes.

A small part of you is smug—that’s the reaction you’d been searching for at the beginning of the evening.  That’s how you’d wanted him to look at you when you made your entrance, wrapped up in a pretty black gown and layers of opaque red lipstick.

You cease your movements and retract your arm, tucking it back against your side as you turn your interest elsewhere. In the periphery of your vision, Harry has pinned you with an unwavering, stunned expression, his body rooted in place. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart, you keep your gaze trained ahead and your chin held high, pride swelling in your abdomen like a hot-air balloon.  

Lydia laughs at something that Andrew says. Martin tugs haughtily at the lapels of his suit. You release a heavy exhale and nudge your bowl a few inches away from your chest, completely sated.

~*~

Once everyone retires to their rooms for the evening, you wait approximately an hour before slipping out. You’re light on your feet, sneaking past Lydia’s quarters and the guestroom that was given to Martin for the duration of his stay. He snores—quite loudly, too. You can hear him as though he’s right next to you, even from where you’re hovering out in the hall.

You make your way down the spiral staircase, heading toward the large double doors leading to the backyard. You quickly tug on a delicate pair of slippers before sneaking out into darkness’ cool embrace. Midnight is only a few minutes away.

You pull your wool cardigan a bit tighter around your torso. The hem of your silk nightgown is shorter than that of a standard dress. The wind nips teasingly at your knees, making you shiver. Blades of grass tickle your ankles as you march toward the stables. There’s a single light hanging above the entrance, bathing the wooden panes in a faint yellow glow. Green grass gives way to dry soil and the odd piece of straw littered across the dirt.

Inside the stables, only two of the six pens are occupied. The first one houses Apollo, Andrew’s stallion. His skin is like chestnuts, his mane the colour of the sun. You’re sure that your brother will take him out early tomorrow morning—you doubt that he was able to find many docile steeds in the bustling streets of New York.

You bypass Apollo completely, stopping in front of your horse—Artemis.

She’s a sight to behold, white skin and jet-black hair. She reminds you of the first snowfall of the season: crisp and pure, untainted by footprints and pollution and everything else in between. She’s been your partner in crime for the past decade, even though you’ve spent the last few years simply guiding her along with your feet on the ground and a hand tangled in her reins.

Somewhere beneath the rational layer of your brain, you like to think that she sympathizes with your hesitation to get back on the saddle.

“Psst!” you hiss, leaning against the wooden gate of her pen. “Artemis! Come here, my love.”

She lifts her head up from the floor, chewing on a handful of hay. You dig your fingers into the material of your cardigan, producing a sugar cube from the depths of your left pocket. Artemis’ nostrils flare as you hold it out in your palm; she trots over happily, drawn to the sweet treat.

“Haven’t come to visit you in a few days,” you murmur as she dips her mouth against your hand. You stroke your knuckles down the side of her neck, petting her softly. “I’m sorry about that. Things have been so chaotic back at the house. I’ve barely gotten a moment to breathe.”

She whinnies quietly.

“Did you miss me?” you ask. When she nuzzles her nose into your arm, you smile. “I missed you, too. I thought that maybe you were developing a preference for Lydia. But that’s not possible, is it? I’m your favourite.”

Someone clears their throat from behind you. You gasp and whip around, hands flying to your chest. Your gaze locks onto an amused smirk and a pair of impish green eyes, and your stomach lurches uneasily.

“Hello,” you stammer, air caught in your lungs.

“Hello,” Harry replies.

He’s still dressed in his attire from dinner, though his appearance is significantly more relaxed. He’s abandoned the white bowtie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, allowing his collarbones to peek out from beneath the pallid fabric. The cuffs of his suit have been rolled up, and his hair has completely fallen from its acute coif. Glossy strands tumble down around his temples, curling in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch them.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You hope that he doesn’t hear the twinge of embarrassment in your voice. He caught you in the middle of a one-sided conversation with your horse, after all.

Harry holds up his hand. There’s a pale pink envelope clutched between his fingers.

“Post,” he says, like it’s the only reasonable explanation. It is, you suppose. “I was on my way home when I spotted you.”

Home. The little cottage just down the trail—the groundskeeper’s residence. It was built years ago, only a few acres away from the main house. You pass it sometimes when you take Artemis out for a walk. More often than not, you’ve found yourself studying its red bricks and white windowsills, yearning for a peek inside.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, wrenching you from your thoughts.

“Yes.” You nod, blinking twice. “Your letter—,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “—who is it from?”

And you immediately want to sink into the earth, because it’s none of your bloody business, is it? You have no right to be poking around and questioning him about his personal life. A slight grimace tugs at the corners of your lips, smearing a pained expression across your features.

But Harry just hums, unperturbed by your inquiry.

“My sister,” he tells you, shrugging. “She writes to me from Paris.”

He has a sister?

“Paris,” you echo dumbly. “France?”

His lips twitch. You want to set yourself on fire.

“Does she like it?”

“I think so,” he says, watching you with twinkling eyes. “She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m—” He hesitates, looking away. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

And though he hadn’t let the words slip out, you know exactly what he meant to say.

She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m stuck here.

A pang of guilt ricochets through your chest. Blood thunders in your ears as you direct your attention to the ground, kicking at the dirt below your slippers. You suddenly realise that whilst Harry is fully clothed, you’re dressed in nothing but a flimsy silk nightgown. You wrap your arms around your torso, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your knuckles.

“Er—”

You glance up at Harry when the awkward noise falls from his mouth. “Yes?”

He lifts his chin and gestures toward Artemis, who has returned to her tasty pile of hay. “She belongs to Lydia, does she not?”

“No, actually,” you reply. “Lydia takes her out, typically, but…she’s mine.”

“I see.” His face renders an innocent type of curiosity, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Do you ride?”

You balk, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I beg your pardon?”

And just like that, the innocence is gone. Harry’s features melt into a portrait of wicked mirth. His irises glint roguishly as he fixes you with a shrewd, crafty smirk.

“The horse,” he says slowly, his tone ripe with amusement. “Do you ride?”

“Oh,” you croak. “Sorry, I—”

Your nostrils flare as you avert your eyes, too humiliated to meet his gaze. He’s aware of the way in which you interpreted his question. He understands why you were so appalled. He knows exactly where your mind went.

“No,” you answer quickly. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, confused.

“How long has it been?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mount.”

“I stopped a few months before you came to work for us,” you say, playing with a loose thread hanging from your cardigan. After a beat of silence, you add, “There was…an incident. I fell.”

“Oh.” He recoils slightly, taken aback by your revelation. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Your feet scuffle against the dusty ground. “Sometimes, I catch myself longing for it, but I just—” You shrug. “I can never seem to get back on.”

“I understand.” His response is excruciatingly sincere.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He takes an experimental step forward, gauging your reaction. When you don’t make a move to retreat, he does it again. You chew on the inside of your cheek as he draws nearer, and your heart stutters beneath your ribs when he angles his body to the side, offering you his arm.

“May I walk you back?”

Is there a hint of fondness in his voice, or is it merely your imagination?

“You may,” you concede weakly.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and bid Artemis goodnight. The two of you stroll back up to the estate in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the evening. The wind whistles through the thicket of trees lining the edge of the property. Crickets chirp loudly, seeking shelter between blades of grass. Harry’s body is unbelievably warm, radiating heat despite the slight chill carried by nightfall.

You release his arm once you reach the steps of the back porch. He studies you carefully as you climb the first two stairs, a divot digging into the space between his brows.

All of a sudden, you pause, brought to a standstill by an invisible string. You spin back around, looking down and finding a pair of bright jade eyes in the dark.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you say softly, hands dropping to your sides.

Quicker than a bolt of lightning, he seizes your fingers between his. A faint gasp leaves your mouth when he bows forward and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Harry peers up at you innocuously, pulling his lips away from your skin after a long moment of stillness.

“Goodnight, miss,” he says. The words flow over you like molasses, viscous and warm and inconceivably sweet. “Sleep tight.”

~*~

PART II: The Week

PART III: The Month

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[funtimebunnyblog]

Nobody really asked for this but uhhh... I kind of needed it 😶😇😂 Please excuse me for being self indulgent for this one time! ❤❤❤ But most of all, please enjoy! 😘

The Pillarmen (separate) with an s/o on their Period...

(Under the cut for length!)

(Warning! This contains content all surrounding a Woman's menstruation cycle and all the absolute joys that come with it 🙃 like: graphic descriptions of pain and blood, more blood and lots of blood. Viewer discretion advised! In other words, you have been warned...)

Kars:

• Chances are, Kars will always be long prepared for your periods monthly arrival.

• Even in the time when you were first getting to know each other, he picked up on your cycle patterns quickly.

• The first time you confided to him you were on your period he was prepared then too, pulling out a fresh pack of pads for you seemingly out of nowhere.

• The way you reacted, he'd swore he had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

• From then on he knows exactly when it will happen, he's done all the calculations and has the date marked on his desk calendar.

• When the day comes, he'll have a box of stuff already waiting for you by the bed; a hot waterbottle, some chocolate, pads/tampons, a bottle of Motrin, you name it.

• It's no surprise that even if you happen to be late or early he'll still be prepared; heck, he'll take one look at you and know.

• If you're cramping or feeling bloated and icky he knows some good teas to help you with that too.

• Kars is also prepared for the emotional and intensive side of things when you're undergoing your cycle.

☆

The door creaked open quietly, a tendril of light cutting through the dark as the wrapped head of Kars poked into the room, ruby eyes settling on the lumpy form quivering under the pile of blankets covering the bed.

He had heard you crying from the hallway one his way back to his Office.

The Pillarman's lips came together, however, he didn't hesitate for a moment as he stepped further into the room. "My dear," he spoke, approaching the bed. Your shaking form visibly tensed right up. It was obvious you hadn't even heard him come in. "Is your back giving you grief again?"

You had started just a day ago and of course things were carrying out as usual; cravings, back pain, nausea, all things he expected.

What he didn't expect was your answer, which was a wet sob, words muffled as the blankets moved; a shake of the head was his only coherent response.

He only frowned, the bed dipping with a low creak as he sat down on the very edge right at your back where you laid curled on on yourself under the covers.

"Your stomach then? You feel nauseous, is that it?" He pressed.

Another shake of the head, his sharp ears strained to hear the watery response from underneath the thick layer of blankets, leaving Kars with no choice but to finally peel away the barrier covers between you and him. Your very red and very wet face was finally revealed to him, your lips knotted and quivering as you sniffled.

Your state was only worrying him further, it was plainly obvious you had been crying for some time and on top of things, you weren't even looking at him.

There was an unmistakably guilty look to your watery expression.

"What is it then?" He asked, a huge hand plucking the stray hair from your soaked cheeks and eyes. "What's wrong? I need you to talk to me, dear."

His pressing only made the tears come much harder, his hands instinctively going to your back and rubbing softly.

"I'm sorry, Kars..." came the staccatic whimper.

He blinked twice, "For what?"

"I ruined the sheets!" You cried, hugging yourself tighter. "I... I laid down because--because my back was hurting again and I f-fell asleep and when I woke up it was just... all over the place!"

Your Husband listened to you quietly, suddenly coming to the realization that the bed had indeed been stripped of the sheets beneath the blankets; you were only laying (probably not very comfortably) on the thin white plastic mattress cover. His eyes drifted to the far corner of the room where the ruined fitted sheet and the thin matching over sheet had been simply balled up into a big lumpy wad and thrown there.

"You ruined your pants as well then," he hummed, remembering that you had been wearing a particular pair; your favourite fuzzy lounging pants with the stars on them.

A nod was his only response this time.

Kars let out a sigh, leaning down to lay his head on your shoulder. "Oh, my sunshine, it's alright. We have plenty of sheets, one ruined cover is nothing to me."

"I--"

"I know you didn't mean to." He cut you off, already knowing what you were going to say, his gentle ministrations unceasing. "It was an accident, I would not expect you to have control over something like this. These things happen. We can always get new sheets and buy you more pants and undergarments."

It relieved you to know he wasn't upset with you over this, or worse disgusted by the prospect of your mess, and you found yourself letting out a shakey breath you didn't know you had been holding.

The covers peeled away and you nearly yelped as you were suddenly hoisted into his arms, the Pillarman carrying you right out of the room without another word.

"Wh-What are you doing?" You squeaked, your confusion making the remainder of your tears ebb a little more.

"I'm taking you to get cleaned up." He answered without missing a beat. "No doubt you're probably still soiled, so you're going to take a nice hot shower. I'll leave you some fresh clothes and replace the sheets while you're in there and then we can crawl into bed and watch that program you like."

"I-- I thought you had work to do tonight." You said, watching him owl eyed as he set you down gently on the toilet and began to putter around the bathroom, pulling towels down from the cupboard and turning the shower on.

He hummed, "Oh, my work can wait until the morrow. My duties as your Mate come first, you know."

You felt a quivering smile tugging at your lips as he peered over his shoulder with a soft smile, cocking an eyebrow at you.

Kars was undoubtedly the only one in your life who could sweep up the shattered remains of a problem and fabricate it into something treasured.

He was the only one who made a this week out of every month truly bearable.

Esidisi:

• Growing up, Esidisi had been around the Women of his tribe and his Family a lot.

• He's definitely prepared for something like this and even upon first getting to know him, you could talk to him openly about it.

• These kinds of things don't faze him in the slightest; you're a Woman and as long as you're healthy there was no issue.

• Esidisi will almost always be able to tell whenever your monthly cycle is approaching, being an intuitive man and all.

• He knows your behaviors and habits and he can easily spot your telltale signs leading to your period, like: any erratic sleep patterns, a shift in your overall mood, your eating habits taking a sudden change, any ofd facial acne popping up, etc.

• He'll definitely be prepared for the day it does hit because he makes sure to go out and do all the necessary shopping prior.

• When your period does hit, it basically hits both of you.

• If you get emotional, he gets emotional; when you're in pain, he's in pain.

• Half of the ordeal might just consist of both of you crying and holding each other.

• The other half of it consists of him doing his very best to help you feel better and alleviate any discomfort you happen to feel.

• However... his methods in doing so are very unconventional.

☆

You did your very best to lay still as the calloused pad of a thumb swiped along bare skin, just under your navel, where you lay; leaving not only a trail of paint but a ticklish sensation that nearly made you giggle.

However, it was easy not to laugh while feeling nothing but waves of uncertainty and mild irritation rolling over you amidst all this.

The deep timber of Esidisi's voice thrumming out the tones of a mantra in some language you couldn't identify did little to comfort you as you laid there before him on the bed. You were dressed only in your underclothes and already painted with several other sigils along your body as he finished the one directly over your womb.

The room was dark, save for the light of two candles, one at each bedside table, allowing you to see him partially where he stood over you in the shadows.

His eyes, normally two sapphires glimmering, shined like rubies in the dark; animalistic and a reminder that he was something indeed inhuman.

You weren't really one to believe in rituals, especially not while you had some Motrin in a bottle downstairs that would fix up your prediciment just fine, but your Husband insisted on this instead.

You were starting to regret telling him you were still cramping with every sigil he drew and every stone and flower placed particularly around and over you.

"Esidisi," You whined. "Is this really necessary?"

The Pillarman's rythmic chanting fell to an abrupt halt at your words, his eyes fell on you incredulously.

"Of course this is necessary!" He cried. "You want the pain to stop, don't you?"

You grimaced, "Well, yes, but I just think this is..." teeth dug hard into your lower lip as your Mates brow came together, full lips twisting and arms folding over his chest as his gaze burned holes into you, awaiting the end to that sentence.

What could you possibly say that wouldn't hurt his feelings?

That is was a bunch of hoo-hah?

That he didn't know what he was doing or how a Women's body worked?

That the ancient medicine of his people that he was still using was something long outgrown in today's society?

That it most definitely wouldn't work and it was a waste of time?

"This is, what?" He pressed, chin raising as his foot began to tap quietly on the floor.

You could feel sweat sticking uncomfortably to your skin, or perhaps that was just you suddenly becoming increasingly aware of the feeling of the oil on your body he had slathered you with prior, as you fumbled to finish.

"Er... that is is... a little.... much?"

A bare brow cocked as he echoed you. "Much?"

"Well, I mean, you've painted at least 13 symbols on me now and you've smudged the air with so much sage my head hurts and the crystals and the flowers and... just the whole shebang here..." your hand went up to guesture to everything that was laid out, things both on you and on him.

His attire was something close to ridiculous in your eyes; he was even more naked than usual! Dressed in nothing but feathers covering his nether region and his usual hat, he stood before you covered in swirls of orange paint all along his body rather than just his cheeks.

"Isn't this just a little much?" You asked, unable to stop the frown from tugging on your lips.

Esidisi blinked owlishly, "Well, how else am I supposed to banish the evil spirits from your uterus and alleviate your pain?"

It had greatly surprised (and upset) him to find that the medicines and practices he was weaned on as a child had faded away into non-existence along with the name of his people.

Apart from Kars, who had taken to (ugh) more "modern" practices with those placebos and chemicals made in labratories, there didn't seem to be a soul out there who knew how to properly do these things!

Esidisi wasn't going to let you suffer or be harmed in any way shape or form, not when he knew how to stop it. He had learned early on how to cleanse the womb and heal it of any harmful curses or diseases that would happen to plague you. His Grandmother had been the one who had taught him and he had spent his youth putting them to much practice.

If you thought that this was much, you were definitely going to be in for a surprise for when you became pregnant one day; he planned to preform regular hour long sessions daily then.

You couldn't stop yourself from sighing, a hand reaching up to give a light slap to your cheek as you groaned.

You would just have to explain to him what really caused all the pain of menstruation. "Honey, there's no evil spirits--"

A finger pressed to your lips, stalling anymore words from falling from them. "Shh, beloved. You mustn't keep disrupting the ritual." The man chided softly, leaning down to press a dotting kiss to your brow as he swiped the final line of paint over it. "Now just lay there and let me handle this. Trust me, you'll feel better in no time."

Your lips turned downward as you watched him step back to fetch his singing bowl, sighing softly to yourself as you adjusted the bouquet of herbs and flowers that he had pushed into your hands.

It was hard to get comfortable when you could feel the mint leaves he had scattered in your hair scratching against your scalp and the orange peeling he had stuffed it on your bra was an entirely different matter all together.

You supposed that somehow it could've been worse and you had to be content that this was relatively harmless all in all.

At least the hollow ring of the singing bowl and the continuation of his mantra would put you to sleep while he carried out the rest of this ritual...

Wamuu:

• Admittedly, Wamuu knew very little on the concept of Women and their monthly cycles; until you came along into his life that was.

• He knew how it worked of course and that it indeed happened but embarrassingly, he had sort of... forgotten about it in a way.

• Really, you supposed you couldn't blame him. This wasn't exactly something that was part of his everyday life, growing up with only 3 other Males the majority of it.

• The first time he happened to smell blood off you, it sent him into a panic and he immediately thought that you were hiding an injury from him; demanding to know where it was so he could treat it.

• Embarrassed, you tried to be discreet and prod him gently in the direction of what was happening. However, every code word for it just seemed to fly over his head; inevitably confusing him further.

• "It's high tide." "What? Beloved, we do not live by the ocean." "Er... the blood moon has risen?" "The blood moon isn't supposed to appear for another few months. And it is daytime, beloved." "Uhh... It's shark week?" "Why are you talking about a T.V. program at a time like this?"

• Finally, after a long, LONG session of going back and forth like that, you had no choice but to scream that you were on your period.

• Wamuu's beat red face and his impossibly huge eyes will be an image forever burned into your brain.

• After that, even though he wasn't exactly an expert on such matters, Wamuu did his best to at least be attentive to your needs.

• He does his best to understand your patterns and the entirety of what exactly you go through.

• He's always checking in on you every so often, sheepishly asking if you're feeling ok or if you need anything.

• Just say the word and He'll get you pads or food or water, perhaps even a distraction like a movie...

☆

The wet sounds of sniffling hitting his eardrums was what caused Wamuu to be roused from his deep and comfortable sleep, the Warrior blinking in the dark of the room and instinctively raising his head to locate the source.

"Beloved," He breathed, eyes falling onto your form. You were also awake, your back to him and sitting on the edge of the bed, curled in on yourself. His lips fell into a frown as you continued to sniffle, now trying to stiffle the sound upon realizing that he too was awake now.

Wamuu slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, "what's wrong? Why are you awake?"

It was still the dead of night, just a little past 1AM, he couldn't think of a reason for you to be awake and crying other than the possibility of you having a nightmare.

" 's nothing..." you hiccuped, scrubbing your eye. "Go back to sleep."

His frown only deepened, scooting across the bed to get closer to you. "No. What is it? What has you so upset?" He pressed, an arm encircling around your quivering form. "Did you have a nightmare?"

A particularly harsh sob cut through you as you shook your head, burying your face in your hands as if trying to hide from him, "No! Go back to sleep!"

Chartreuse eyes softened considerably, the massive man only hugging you closer to his body as he chose to press further.

"If it's not a nightmare than what is it?"

"Oh, you'll laugh!" came the moan.

"I will not laugh." He replied, quite matter of factly.

"You'll--... You'll be angry!"

His brow knitted together sternly, one huge and warm hand wrapping around your much smaller one, uncaring of the fact it was wet with tears.

"I will not be angry. Please, just tell me why you are awake and crying, my love."

You fell silent, save for the staccato of your hiccupped breaths, Wamuu waited with all the patience in the world.

"I--" you paused, swallowing thickly. Your expression contorted in an almost painful manor, a hand slamming over your eyes as you only began to sob harder than before. "--I want... CHICKEN NUGGETS!"

The Pillarman blinked in surprise, that confession had completely taken him off guard. You were crying over food of all things? At 1 o'clock in the morning?

Realization washed over him, making him frown deeper for only a second as he suddenly remembered the fact that you had started your monthly menstrual cycle yesterday evening.

You must've woken up craving and hurting, of course those things would drive you to cry helplessly like so.

If anything, the Warrior was relieved it was nothing serious.

Wamuu smiled softly, only hugging you tighter to him. "Will chicken nuggets get you to stop crying?" He asked softly, carding his fingers gently through your awry bed-head hair.

You coughed, sniffling as your whimpered response rose up from your throat painfully. "Yeah,"

He nodded, "Alright. How many do you want and what kind?"

You sniffed a few times, managing to calm down enough to tell him what would suffice enough to satisfy your hankering. Wamuu pulled on a simple hoodie and some pants as you talked, he even asked you if you wanted to come with him but you declined, not really in the mood to go very far.

He put the Television on for you, turning it on to a program and kissed your head, telling you he'd be back with an order of nuggets, a drink you liked and perhaps something sweet to enjoy after.

You felt guilty for troubling him with something like this, it was even worse that it was at an ungodly hour in the morning but Wamuu didn't care about those things, what mattered to him was your comfort, your happiness and your needs met...

Santana:

• Much like Wamuu, Santana isn't very much educated on the subject of menstruation and your cycles when first getting to know you.

• However, he could tell immediately that something was happening to you even before your cycle started.

• He mentioned that you had a stronger smell to him, like your hormones were given a signifigant boost. He claimed he could also see that you looked a little softer somehow.

• After sitting him down (a little embarrassed) and explaining to him what was going to happen soon, the dots connected for him and he understood.

• You were his Mate afterall and he followed his natural instincts to care and provide for you.

• He doesn't really like letting you out of his sight when it does happen, preferring to keep you close to him and he'll help you out in any way you need.

• You have to be specific with him though. If you send him to the store telling him that you need tampons, he might just come back with the entire isle of boxes in tow.

• This whole thing is always a learning experience to him, even though he can't undergo the same thing he does his best to understand and at least be attentive.

☆

"Oh c'mon..." you groaned, practically begging now as you curled in on yourself on the bed. "Kick in already!"

You had taken that Motrin over 10 minutes ago and still nothing was happening, your back was still aching and your stomach was cramping.

It was impossible for you to move now, you had laid down and there was no way in Hell you were going to get up again until all the pain was gone.

However, you were very much regretting not having the foresight to grab your heating pad on the way here, at least with that it would make it bearable but alas, it was all the way downstairs.

You couldn't even get up without fear of fainting or worse; ruining your pants.

Another wave of nausea shot through your gut, curling up in an icky tendril to your throat straight from the pit of your hurting stomach. All you could do was try to breathe; breathe, ride out the pain, hope it would be over soon and try not to vomit because of it.

A litany of begging was now falling through your lips like a prayer, pleading for anyone or anything listening to make it stop. Tears were beading at the corners of your eyes threatening to fall as your spine felt like it was being twisted, rung out like one would a wet rag.

"Please, please, please stop." You grit, hands turning to fists. "Please, please make it stop."

Little did you know your pleas didn't go unheard.

Santana watched you from the doorway where you couldn't see him, peering in with a thoughtful frown and a tilt of his head. Each quiet moan and whimper made his hands instinctively grip the door tighter, fingers digging harshly into the wood.

You were having a hard time. You were in a lot of pain and he hated to see you as such.

With only a moments thought, the Pillarman knew what he had to do, taking off quickly down the stairs; his feet barely making a sound on the steps.

Your back was hurting, he could see it in the way you kept trying to roll onto it. You used a strange device to help, one that emanated heat with a click of a button. His eyes scanned the living room for the familiar blue fabric with the white chord.

He snatched it off the couch, tucking it under his arm as he went into the kitchen next, finding himself opening and closing cupboards and doors without really knowing what he was looking for this time.

You had already taken one of those pills and he was certain you said something before about having to wait a couple of hours before you took another so that was out of the question.

The bright colours of your waterbottle sitting all by itself on the kitchen counter caught his eye. He didn't know how long you would be up there resting so maybe it was best to put it by your bedside for when you needed it. He also grabbed a couple of snacks from the cupboard, simple wrapped treats you enjoyed here and there.

He put the bottle under the tap, making sure to only stop until it was filled right under the brim with cold water.

Water... hot water. The red-head blinked, humming softly to himself as the gears turned in his head.

Your stomach had been obviously giving you grief as well, it didn't go unnoticed by him that you were clutching it; trying to curl in on yourself. You had something you used to help that too, he had seen you fill it up a few times before.

Waterbottle and heating pad under arm and snacks clutched to his chest, he went back upstairs. He went right past your room and straight into the bathroom, prying open the closet and digging around for the strange rubbery sack he could clearly see in his memories.

He pulled it out triumphantly, the object limp in his grasp like a pelt as he turned on the tap. He waited until the water was hot enough to make steam rise up from the sink before plunging it under to fill and corking it.

His arms now completely full, he shuffled back to your room with the goods; pleased his little scavenger hunt was successful.

There you lay, right where he had left you; from the look of it you definitely hadn't improved.

You were so consumed with your own discomfort you didn't even hear him or see him.

Santana approached the bed quietly, setting the waterbottles (both hot and cold) down on the nighttable with the snacks before fumbling with the heating pad, plugging it into the wall.

The massive hand being laid on your side startled you somewhat, eyes popping open with a shudder before being greeted with the sight of your one and only Mate standing over you at the bedside with a frown.

"Roll over." Came the quiet command, his hand pushing you further onto your side and slipping something familiar underneath you before easing you onto your back again.

"Santana, wha--" was all you could manage out.

Santana clicked it onto the medium setting, reaching for the hot-waterbottle next and holding it up for you to see. He draped the wiggly rubber sack over your stomach, an audible "bloop!" sounding from inside as your arms instinctively curled around it with a sigh; already relishing in its warmth.

The bed dipped as he crawled in next to you, the Pillarmen kindly pulling the blankets up around you both as he curled into your side protectively.

You could feel the heat seeping slowly into your back, the pain starting to ebb somewhat and the heated weight over your stomach was soothing; it all left you near to deliriously blissful.

You realized belatedly that he had brought you all of these things without you even having to ask, you turned your head with a sleepy smile, meeting the gaze of the red-head. He was so sweet you swore at times your heart would melt.

A hand reached up to tangle in his mane of wild hair, "Thank you, honey..."

The Pillarman nuzzled into your neck, almost purring at the gentle touch. He had made you better and that was enough to leave him content for now.

"I will always take care of you, my Mate..." he murmured, smiling softly as you closed your eyes and slowly fell asleep. It wasn't long after that he did the very same...

[24hlevi]

She No Longer Needs Me

Mikasa Ackermann (Attack On Titan) X Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst 

Warnings: Cheating, Language

Summary: After 5 years of what seemed to be a happy relationship, Mikasa’s final choice was Eren. And even worse, it was always him she cheated on you with.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: my first aot request and its angst i love it keep sending them in 🙏, also this is based in s4 but there are NO spoilers, i listened to nct 127’s “No Longer” which really helped inspire this title and vibe 

gif is not mine !

You had begun to notice some little things in Mikasa’s behavior that had changed, such as her smile never meeting her eyes whenever she was around you, or not ever hearing the excitement in her voice when she would talk with you about things you or she liked. But one thing you noticed the most was how she was almost never next to you anymore because she was always with Eren and Armin. You knew that Armin was just a friend to her only because of the time you asked him when it was earlier in your relationship and he denied it for both him and Eren. Eren was the one you were worried about. You knew Eren and Mikasa had been through some shit together, and that she loved him with all of her heart, and you thought she loved you too. Boy, were you wrong.

You decided that today would be the day. The day you would finally confront Mikasa about all these little changes you had noticed, and you prayed that you would just be overthinking it because you were too scared of what would happen if you were right. You didn’t want to think about being right, that Mikasa didn’t actually love you anymore, but a part of you already knew the answer.

You stood in front of the door of Yours and Mikasa’s dorm that you had slowly begun to see her less and less. You took a deep breath before reaching for the doorknob and turning it, opening the door, and walking in to see Mikasa sitting on the bed.

The raven-haired girl looked up upon hearing the door open and she realized it was you, “Y/n, we need to talk.” She said, getting off the bed and standing up.

You nodded, closing the door behind you, “Yes, we do need to talk.” You replied.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Mikasa stated as she looked you in the eyes.

Oh god. That was the one thing you didn’t want to hear come out of her mouth. Because it only meant that you were probably right in what you thought, and that caused your body to fill up with anxiety just at the thought.

“Go on.” You spoke in a quieter tone than the one you started off with.

Mikasa continued to stare at you in the eyes, and all you could see was dullness, no happiness. And it was the exact same in her voice, “I’m sorry but...I can’t be with you anymore.”

That one sentence had completely shattered your heart, breaking it with ease. You felt tears well up in your eyes as you stayed looking at Mikasa, taking note of her expressionless face as she broke you apart. “Why?” Your voice cracked as you asked the question.

Mikasa glanced away from you for a split second, and you thought she would end up stopping it there, but instead, she looked back at you with an even harder gaze. “I have to be with Eren.”

You didn’t think it could get any worse at that moment, you were being broken apart even more just by hearing the male’s name that you knew she would choose over you any day. “So I was right.” You said to yourself under your breath. You couldn’t believe it. You were actually right that Mikasa had lost feelings for you and she wanted to be with Eren, despite knowing the rivalry you two had against each other. “So what, you love him now?” You questioned angrily.

“No.” Mikasa shook her head. “I’ve loved him since we were young. Before you and I even met. And, I cheated.” She seemed to say it with such ease somehow like it wasn’t affecting her one bit that she was literally tearing you down piece by piece.

You felt your whole world break down after she said the last words and the tears began to fall down your cheeks. “You...Cheated on me? When? How long were we into our relationship that you decided you didn’t love me anymore? Or did you never even love me because you loved him?” You spewed out multiple questions, slowly getting sadder and sadder, but also angry.

“10 Months.” She answered simply.

“10 Months?! Are you serious?!” You finally exploded, becoming overwhelmed with the amount of anger and sadness that raged through you. “10 Fucking months, Mikasa?! Was I that bad of a girlfriend that you felt the need to cheat on me with that beast?!” You yelled out in anger.

“Don’t call him that.” Mikasa spat. “He is not a beast. He is the one who is going to save us all, not you. You need to stop thinking that everything is fine because nothing is fine, Y/n. We are about to go to war. Do you not understand that?”

“He is a beast! I bet you as soon as he hits the Marleyan’s soil he will kill hundreds! Including innocent people and children!” You continued to yell.

“You don’t even know him so stop acting as if you do!” The girl snapped at you. “It’s over, Y/n. You can’t stop me.” She told you, beginning to walk past you.

You followed her walking away with your head and you glared at her harshly. “Fine! Go and be with the beast! But don’t come running back to me when he breaks you just like you broke me!’

“He won’t.”

Those were Mikasa’s last words to you before she opened the door and walked out, slamming it closed. You let out a cry and your knees buckled before you collapsed to the ground with tears streaming down your face like a waterfall that would never end. You couldn’t and didn’t want to believe that this was real life, but you sadly knew that it was, and that’s why it hurt so much. Because this really was real, you had just lost the girl you were so deeply in love with over a boy you hated with your guts because you knew something like this would happen but you didn’t want to accept it. You still wanted to accept it, that Mikasa had cheated on you 10 months into your relationship and probably continued throughout the whole thing if she had loved him so much before you two had even met. But a part of you knew she would always choose Eren. He saved her life and everyone else’s on multiple occasions, but you didn’t want to accept that he was going to be Paradis’ savior. The fact that Armin had lied to you made it all more worse than what it could have been if you hadn’t asked the questions on why. He reassured you that there was nothing going on between Eren and Mikasa, and you believed him. Because the blonde boy never lied to you and he was always so sweet towards you, so you never imagined that the one and only time you asked about Eren and Mikasa was the one time that he would lie to you. Who knows how many more times that he or Mikasa had lied to you. There was no way to tell for sure. But it made you question every conversation you had with them, that at any moment they could have lied right through their teeth in front of you and you had never once thought about it.

You continued to cry as you curled up into a ball in the middle of the room, not being able to hold back the tears as they continued to rush down your cheeks and onto the wooden floor beneath you. You had never sobbed so hard in your life before, and this was the only thing possible that could make you cry this hard. You just never thought it would happen one day. But one thing was for sure.

She no longer needed you.

[ivarisms]

Forbidden Romance

Summary: Ivar the Boneless finds a Princess during one of his raids on Mercia, a sign from the Gods he decides. She is a Christian and he is a Viking, a forbidden romance on both sides of the sea. But Ivar does not care what others think, and he won’t start now.  

Story Rating: Mature — 18+

MASTERLIST

                   CHAPTER TWO --- TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

​The great wooden Viking long ship creaked and swayed violently against the battering swell of deep blue waves, and the bitterly cold water accompanied with white froth lapped up the sides of the hull, a terrifying sight for Freya who had never experienced the wrath of the North Sea. The young Mercian princess huddled herself into the stern of the ship, pulling her knees up into her chest and holding them there with trembling arms as the weather took a turn for the worse. She was freezing, colder than she believed she had ever been before, and she had experienced many terrible winters back home. She remembered them well, vast blankets of white snow as deep as her knees and whistling winds that could freeze her stiff if she stayed out in them too long. But there had always been firewood to keep her warm, out here in the middle of the sea there was nothing but the clothes on her back.

A great crack of thunder tore through the sky above, startling her from her memories. The sound made everyone on board flinch in surprise and Freya for a moment thought the heavens had split open. Commands were shouted between the Vikings in a language she couldn’t speak or understand, but she watched their faces and seen for herself the fear in their features. This was not good.

We are going to die out here, Lord please save our souls. 

She thought, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest along with the horrific sea sickness that swirled inside her belly by closing her eyes and pretending everything was fine.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Opening her eyes at the sound of the familiar voice, she found Ivar looking back at her from where he sat opposite her. She could have sworn he hadn’t been there before, or was her mind playing tricks on her? It didn’t matter. She was terrified, and no amount of reassurance from the very man who had stolen her from her land would make her feel at ease.

“I’m not.” She lied through chattering teeth, not convincing even herself of her own attempt to seem fine but she carried on with the act anyway, glowering back at him to let him know she could handle herself. “How long until we get there?” The question left her lips as more of a plea, but she hoped she didn’t sound desperate. 

The corner of Ivar’s lips curved into the subtlest of smirks and his deep piercing blue eyes narrowed just enough to make her doubt herself, he was good at that, too good. It was if he was silently mocking her, scheming some devious plan in that wicked mind of his.

He knows I am afraid, and he likes it. 

“Three days if we are quick.” He told her, never once looking phased by the chaos of the sea around him. There was a small pause before he continued, furrowing his brow. “Is this your first time on a ship?”

“Yes.” She breathed, lowering her eyes to her gloved hands to avoid his gaze. “I hate it, I hate the s-sea.” She stuttered, feeling colder by the second.

“You’ll grow used to it.” He sighed breezily and rolled his broad shoulders into a shrug. “You may even start to like it, in fact I’m sure of it.”

“I doubt it.” She murmured, shifting her weight until she turned herself away from him. Laying herself down onto the hard deck, Freya curled herself into a ball and closed her eyes, hoping to fall asleep until they arrived to where they were going.

Ivar remained seated, not moving to join her but instead keeping a watchful eye on her instead.                                  

                            ❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

Some time later, Freya started awake. Her entire body trembled from the freezing rain that pummelled down onto the ship from the grey clouds above. Groaning, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and winced at the dull ache in her neck from the position she had been sleeping in. How long was I out for? She thought. With teeth clinched, she tried to stop her jaw from rattling but she was freezing. She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes anymore, and her chest was so tense that she could no longer breathe in without hurting. Her ribs were tender, as if she had been punched a few times.

“I’m dying…” She whispered, tears pricking her soft eyes. She believed she wouldn’t survive this perilous journey to Norway and maybe that was a good thing. Just then as she gave into the deep depression that washed over her, Freya heard a dragging noise sound coming from her side.

Ivar. 

Her stomach lurched in surprise when she saw the Viking crawl up the deck and into the space next to her, his strong arms carrying the bulk of his weight on calloused hands that were bound with black leather wraps. She supposed crawling was how he got to one place to another when he didn’t have the support of his cane. It was unsettling to witness, almost snake-like.

“…I…” She attempted to speak up, tried to muster enough strength to tell him she was ‘fine’ and to tell him to get away from her but her mouth seized shut involuntarily with the chills. She didn’t want his company, she would much rather freeze to death alone than have him anywhere near her. He was the sole cause of her misery.

“Sssh, don’t talk.” Ivar hushed away her futile attempts to protest and pulled himself up to sit by her side. She leaned away from him, not wanting him to witness her vulnerability and mock her for being weak, but as much as she expected him to bite at her with some sarcastic comment, he didn’t. Instead he began untying the tassels that held his black fur cloak in place around his broad shoulders. “I promise you that things won’t always be this way, we will be home soon.”

His voice was smooth as he tugged the cloak from his back and wrapped it tightly around her shivering frame. Freya didn’t know how to process the gentle way he handled her, she truly wanted to run from his foreign touch, but she had nowhere to run to. Feeling herself sink into his chest in defeat, sadness swelled in her chest as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close to him to keep her warm.

“You took everything from me…” She whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks and onto his black armoured chest. “I have nothing, I have nobody.”

Ivar’s eyes softened at the sound of her pitiful voice, and he let his nose dip into her hair as he stroked her back. He was fully aware of the fact that she hated him, it was to be expected but in time she would see things from his perspective.

“I took from you what needed to be taken.” He told her lowly, allowing his lips to linger against the top of her head. “Your life back in Mercia would have amounted to nothing if I had not have saved you, princess. Your pig of a father was willing to let you be raped and die in exchange for his own life. He gave this ‘evil Viking’ his permission to do with you whatever I wanted, so if it had not been me to raid your town and some other raider had got there first --- you may not have been so lucky. Remember this when you try and convince yourself I am some monster dragging you into the dark!” 

“He never would have done that to me.” Freya lifted her head then and glared at the Viking who held her gaze. “You’re lying.”

Pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth, Ivar raised his brow and leaned in towards her, his nose brushing against hers. “You think so?”

Freya tensed as Ivar challenged her with that look, the kind that buried itself deep in her soul.  “He told me you were tucked away inside the chapel with your bishop when I nailed him to his cross.” He continued. “He told me you were beautiful with eyes as green as emeralds and hair as gold as the sun, and he wasn’t wrong. You truly are beautiful.”

“Stop.” She whispered, pulling her teary eyed gaze from his face. “Please, just stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

Her voice broke then and she slumped into herself, defeated by heartbreak. “The truth hurts sometimes, but it needs to be heard. There must be part of you that believes the Gods have plans for us.” He told her bluntly. 

Freya didn’t know if she believed in anything anymore. She was at a loss. Ivar the Boneless was the grim reaper, wherever he went death followed along with a murder of crows. And yet as much as she thought him to be a monster, she leaned into his solid chest and listened to his heart thump steadily against her ear. A monster doesn’t have a heartbeat. She thought to herself. A monster would never be as warm as he feels to me now. Breathing in the fur cloak that had his scent all over it – a mixture of the sea, soil, musk and firewood, Freya decided he didn’t smell all that much of a monster either. Closing her eyes, the Mercian princess felt herself drift.

“I think your Gods brought you to the wrong Freya.” She broke her silence. “I am a Christian, you are a Viking --- we are not the same.”

“They are never wrong.” He told her. “It is true, you are a Christian and I am a Viking. I don’t understand it myself but I have faith things will become clearer in time.”

Freya was asleep before he finished his sentence, exhaustion taking over. Leaning his head of dark braids back against the wooden stern, Ivar sighed as he let the princess sleep against him. His fleet of ships continued their perilous path towards Kattegat. 

tag list:  @punkrocknpearls​  @youbloodymadgenius​ @strayrockette​ @tgrrose​ @istorkyou​ @ivarhoegh​ @adrille88 @jadelynlace​​

[arvandus]

CONGRATS ON 500 OMG 🎉🎉🎉 IT'S MORE THAN DESERVED!!!!

Can I put in a request for All Might, #35 with a fluff ending?

Sooo.... I’m gonna be honest, I was so excited when I saw this request because.... angsty dialogue with a happy ending?  That shit is my jam.  And with All Might?  Perfect.

 A couple things before we get started: I went with All Might in his skinny form, cuz the prompt lends itself to that (so sorry if you were hoping for buff Might!) Also, took the artistic liberty of giving reader a healing quirk for this one called ‘Cat’s Cradle.’ You’ll (hopefully) see why it’s called that when you read it…

 I hope you enjoy, and sorry it’s taken so long to get this out!

 Um... Warnings: Blood (sorry, it’s Yagi... kinda a given), angst + happy ending

 Word Count: 3,223 and no regrets!

35. “I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

 There was a familiar knock at your door, and in an instant you knew exactly who it was.  Your teeth clenched, your jaw stiffened.

 You weren’t going to answer it. Not this time.

 Knock knock knock

 You waited, frozen, unwilling to move, yet listening intently.  The sound of wet, guttural coughing reverberated through the wooden barrier.

 God damn it.

 When it came to a certain world-famous hero, it didn’t really take much for you to give up your resolve.  You made your way to the door and peeked through the peephole.  Yagi supported himself with one hand against the door frame as his other hand clutched at his chest.  The front of his shirt was bunched in his grasp, blood coating his pale hands and the white fabric beneath it.  A curse fell from your lips as your hands unlatched the lock on your door, swinging it wide open.

 Yagi looked up at you with grateful blue eyes, sunken deep into dark pits. His wild, blond hair stuck to his ashen face with sweat, his brow furrowed in pain.

 “Hey,” he greeted with a lighthearted grin.

 “Jesus Christ, Yagi…” you growled.

 You grabbed him by the elbow and ushered him into your space before closing and locking the door behind you.

 There was no time to rush him into the bathroom like you normally did.  Instead, you had him sit in a dining chair and began to peel off his blood-soaked shirt.  Just as the fabric lifted off his head, another round of coughing doubled him over, blood splattering the tiled floor.

 “Shit…” Yagi muttered.

 “Don’t worry about it.” You replied.  But it was hardly convincing.  Your tone was cold and hard with frustration.

 You weren’t mad about the floor, though… honestly, you couldn’t have cared less. What mattered was the man currently looking like he was on Death’s doorstep.  It pained you to see him so clearly suffering, his skin covered in sweat and blood even as he tried to smile reassuringly at you.  It didn’t matter how bright his smile was; it held little weight against the scar carved into his side, or the atrophy that stretched over his bones.

 Your heart couldn’t handle much more of this.

 Gently, you pressed your hands against the front of Yagi’s shoulders until he was sitting up, back straight.  Even without his buff form, Yagi was tall.  With your body so close to his, you could feel his ragged breath on your cheek, hear the air rattling from his lungs like leaves.  You couldn’t help but look him in the eyes then, and a faint flush crept across his sallow cheeks that made your own skin feel hot.

 “Stay still.” You instructed.

 You carefully placed one hand in front of his chest and the other behind his back, your fingertips hovering over his body.  Glowing, translucent-white threads emanated from your fingers, passing through him to connect together deep within his lungs. Slowly, you began weaving, fingers dancing and flicking like a game of Cat’s Cradle as your quirk stitched and healed the damaged tissue.  It was painstaking work, what was left of his lungs already in poor condition, and the more he pushed himself past his limits, the harder it was to repair what he’d repeatedly broken.  Sweat beaded your brow as you worked, your hands moving meticulously.  One wrong move, one wrong stitch…

 But you’d done this countless times over the years.  It was nearly second nature to you now… you knew his body nearly as well as your own.  You stared at the glistening red staining from his lips to his chest as you worked, your vision blurred as you focused on your quirk’s senses.

 Slowly, you could hear Yagi’s ragged breaths begin to improve.  His gasps for air filled deeper into his chest, expanding his rib cage.  His exhales followed clean and steady.  The tension in his face relaxed, his brow smoothing over as he closed his eyes.

 Finally, you broke the connection and slumped into your own chair, exhaustion overtaking you.  It was far from perfect, but it was the best you could do given his level of deterioration. You watched Yagi take a few more deep, experimental breaths before he looked up at you.  You opened your mouth to scold him, your brow furrowed into a frown, but froze as soon as you saw his gentle expression become guarded as he prepared for your verbal onslaught.

 An ache filled your throat where your words were supposed to be, and you closed your mouth.  How easy it was to revert back to old habits when you were together.  The two of you were broken; the same old wounds seeping red because they were never given a chance to properly heal.

 You weren’t going to go through it again; not this time.  You were too tired.  And it wasn’t like it made much difference anyway.  It didn’t matter how much you begged, cried, or yelled.  Yagi wouldn’t stop.  He couldn’t stop.

Silence fell between you as you both stared at each other, the space between you feeling empty. No doubt your hurt was evident in your face, your body language, your eyes.  And if there was one thing you knew Yagi hated, it was seeing you upset.  He wanted to hold you.  You could see it in the way his body leaned towards you of its own accord, arms shifting just the slightest bit closer to your torso.  You could see the words on the edge of his tongue too, suspended between parted, bloodstained lips.

 Don’t. A part of you begged.  You didn’t want his comfort.  You didn’t want his excuses.

 Just as his mouth opened wider to speak, you averted your eyes and shifted your body away from him.  It was difficult – painful, as if you were a plant being pulled from the earth, fragile roots breaking in the soil.

 “You should go clean up.” You said quietly.

 Another long pause greeted you before he finally spoke.  “Yeah.  Okay.” He stood.  “Do you still have my clothes?”

 “Yeah. Dresser, bottom drawer.” You replied.

 Yagi excused himself, and a moment later you heard the sound of running water in the bathroom.  You stared at the bloodied floor and the stained shirt balled up on your table.  Nausea filled you, twisting your gut.

 Quickly, you grabbed your cleaning supplies and set to work, watching as the blood soaked into the white paper towels like an inkblot test.  Each fresh bloom of crimson spelled the foreshadowing you tried to erase, until you were wiping and scrubbing at the floor in frantic anger, tears dripping from your lashes.  It felt futile.  No matter how many paper towels you used, you always seemed to need more.

 By the end of it, the trash can was full, the roll noticeably smaller than when you had started.  You added Yagi’s ruined shirt to the top of the pile and stashed the bin away out of sight beneath your kitchen sink.  You’d take it out as soon as he left.  

 You could still hear the shower running in your bathroom, so you went to your living room and slouched onto your couch, waiting for Yagi to finish.

 You had hoped that cleaning up the mess would help reduce the severity from the situation, help you mask your growing fears.  But it was too late.  All you could see was red.  The red on his lips, the red on your floor, the red in the paper towels...

 The emotions you had hoped you could suppress until he left began to crest in you, and you vacated the living room in favor of the privacy of your bedroom. Maybe if you could let a few tears out during his shower, then you’d have enough composure until he left.  You curled onto your bed, your pillow clutched tightly in your arms as you buried your face into the plush fabric.

 For so long you’d held out, hoping that one day he’d understand.  That he’d see the damage to his body, see how quickly he was deteriorating.  That he’d see the fear in your eyes every time he showed up on your doorstep needing your help.  You’d hoped that your countless conversations would eventually amount to something, your words secretly unravelling the veil he chose to wear over his eyes as he fought battle after battle.

 It was that pesky, lingering hope that had been keeping you going.  Hope that eventually, there’d be an end to it all. Hope that Yagi could finally stop killing himself for the sake of the greater good.  Hope that the two of you could eventually pick up where you’d fallen and live a happy life.

 And it was hope that made you open the door for him each time.

 But now, that hope was finally gone.  You were done trying.  You realized it as soon as you’d finally given up talking to him – finally given up trying to save him.

 An emptiness took its place, cold and heavy.  Its absence gave no place for your love to nest, no place for your dreams to take root.  All you had left was the heavy, gut-wrenching reality that eventually, inevitably, you’d lose him.  Either he’d die in battle, or worse… He’d show up at your doorstep, his body beyond repair, and the only thing you’d be able to do is hold him as his lungs filled with blood.

 Your chest constricted so tightly at that single, horrible thought that you couldn’t even breathe, your lungs burning in a frantic need for oxygen.  There was nothing in the world worse than that single moment coming to life.  But you couldn’t erase it, couldn’t run from it.  It sat there, as real and permanent as the blood-soaked rags lurking in your kitchen trash.  You tried to suck air into your lungs, but the knot in your throat didn’t allow it, a suffocating sob lodged like a rock.  Your arms tightened around your pillow.

 You were going to lose him.  And there was nothing you could do about it.

 Grief settled itself onto your shoulders, heavy as an anchor.  Grief for a future that could never be. Grief for the death of a love that never fully had a chance to bloom. Grief for a man who would eventually slip through your fingers to become bones and dust, leaving nothing but the ache of his memory upon your soul.  You buckled under its weight, the heavy sob finally spilling from your parted lips as tears soaked into your pillow.

 You didn’t even notice as Yagi entered the room to find you curled up in your bed, sobbing.

 “Hey…” He whispered as he rushed over.

 His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you up against his bony chest, your head tucked under his chin.

 “Hey, hey…” he soothed as he held you.

 You leaned into his embrace, letting his presence envelop you.  Maybe you should have fought it; pushed him away instead of letting yourself indulge.  But it felt too good, too safe, and your arms tightened around him selfishly as you cried.  It brought back familiar memories of a time when the two of you had been happy, surrendering to your feelings for each other, before it all fell apart.  

 God, how you missed this.  Love had never been the issue for the two of you.  No, that was the easy part.  But it wasn’t enough.  Not when all of Japan rested on his shoulders, leaving little space for you no matter how deeply he cared for you.

 He held you as you cried, silently holding the space for you, his arms a safety net for all of the emotional weight you couldn’t carry alone.  Your tears soaked his shirt, your arms wound tight around his ribs, as you wished for nothing more than the power to change what was.

 “I don’t want to lose you…” you sobbed.

 “You won’t.” He replied.

 His words were meant to be comforting, but their effect was the opposite, making your heart ache even more at his inability to address the issue head on. He always was an optimist when it came to things of the heart.  It was part of what made him such a great hero.  But optimism wouldn’t save either of you here.

 You pulled away from him slightly, already missing the closeness of him.

 “Don’t…” you pleaded.  “Don’t do that.”

 Yagi looked down at your tear-stained face.  “Do what?”

 Quietly, you grabbed a tissue from the tissue box on your nightstand and wiped at your nose.  The material crumpled into a ball within your fist and you stared at it, your vision already blurring with fresh tears.

 “Don’t try to give me hope.” You replied.

 Yagi stared with wide eyes before withdrawing his arms. His expression fell, wounded by the truth in your honesty.  

 You struggled not to let it sway you.

 “I… I can’t keep doing this.” You whispered as you wiped the last of the tears from your cheeks. “Every time you show up on my doorstep, you’re worse than before. I won’t always be able to help you.”

 He watched you in silence for a moment before looking away in shame, his fingers interlaced in front of him as he leaned forward.  “I know.” He replied.

 Regret filled you at rejecting him.  You wanted him to touch you, to hold you. To have his presence surround you. To feel him alive beneath you, whole and here.  But you had to set a boundary.  You had to stop following him, stop hoping… if you didn’t, it would destroy you.

 Instead, you sat with your arms wrapped around yourself, a pitiful defense against the familiar allure of the man next to you.

 “You keep wanting me to save you, Yagi… but how can I save you if you won’t save yourself?”  You looked at him then, your eyes locking with his.  “You keep choosing to fight, to push yourself well past your limits. And you keep coming here, because you know that I still love you and won’t turn you away.”

 Yagi sucked air into his lungs, his posture going stiff at your words. You were right.  He knew you were right.  His inability to counter your statement was evidence enough of that.  Disappointment and guilt filled you as you broke eye contact to look at your shaking hands.

 “But… I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself. And you shouldn’t expect me to.” You whispered.

 The words were heavy, filling the empty space between you with their finality. You refused to look at Yagi; you knew he’d be hurt.  You knew his shoulders would slump in defeat, his mouth pulled into a deep frown.  Guilt filled you, making your hands fidget and your shoulders tense as you waited for his response.

 “You’re right.”

 His words were a whisper and your eyes snapped up to stare at him, bewilderment on your face.  He’d never said those words to you before... not about this.  His mask had cracked, and you could finally see his emotions flashing across his face as he struggled to transform them into words.  Remorse. Panic. Love. Fear.

 He cleared his throat and repeated himself.  “You’re right.  I have asked a lot of you.” His brow furrowed.  “I don’t know why I keep coming back.  I guess I just get… homesick.”

 Your breath hitched in your throat as your heart pounded like a battle drum in your chest.  You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were stolen from you when Yagi’s eyes met yours, deep and familiar.

 “I miss you.” He stated.

 “Yagi...” You cupped his cheek in your hand.  He leaned into it briefly, before removing your hand from his face and holding it within his own.

 “Listen... I... didn’t intend to come here for your help.  Not this time.  But you know how these things are...” He explained.  “I was on my way over when a villain showed up, and...” Yagi’s words faltered as he saw the expression on your face begin to fall.  He was doing it again, getting caught up in his work, making excuses... hurting you.

 He cleared his throat. “It’s... not important.  The point is, is that there was something I wanted to tell you.  But... I’m not sure it’ll make much of a difference.” He averted his gaze, his brows pulled together pensively.

 Your own brow furrowed in response, confused by his ambiguity.  A part of you was hesitant... you’d truly felt that you were done, that you’d reached your limit.  But could tell that whatever it was, it was important to him, and it was something that he wanted to share specially with you.

 “Just... tell me.” You said quietly, as you emotionally braced yourself.

 His blue eyes looked back at you, and he took a steady breath.  “Alright...”  He took your other hand in his own.  Now he held both of your hands between you as he sat with you on your bed.  “I... found a successor.”

 Your eyes widened, as you felt overcome with dizziness.  You were lightheaded, suddenly floating on his words that still lingered in the air like morning mist.

 “W... what??” you choked out.  Your heart pounded wildly as your hands gripped his, the warm, firm touch barely grounding you.

 “I found a successor.” He repeated, a slow smile starting to spread across his lips at your dumbfounded reaction.

 A smile began to spread across your lips.  “Does that mean... you’re retiring?”

 “Yeah-”

 Your lips were on his before he could say anything more, your arms flinging themselves around his neck.  He laughed against your lips as he returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his lap.

 You pulled away for a moment and stared into his eyes. They sparkled with mirth, blue as a summer’s day.

 “Well, that went better than I expected...” Yagi teased.

 “Tell me it’s true.  You’re really done?” you asked.

 “Well, I still have to train my apprentice... he’s got a big heart and a strength in him that I don’t think he even realizes he has yet.  But it’s going to take some time for him to learn how to wield all that power.”  Yagi’s expression turned from happy to serious.  “And... I have to admit that I can’t retire just yet.”

 You opened your mouth to protest, but he covered your lips with his finger.

 “Hang on a second, firecracker.” He grinned.  “I will retire. But I still have remnants of One For All in me, and I need to protect this kid until he’s able to master that power.  I’ll still be All Might until that last spark leaves me. I’m sure you understand that much, right? I have a responsibility to him.”

 You brushed aside his long bangs, relishing in the feel of the golden locks between your fingers.  Of course, you understood.  You’d never expected it to be immediate anyway.  But at least things were in motion.  All he had to do was survive.  And if Yagi was good at anything, it was surviving.

 You had to believe in him.

 “Yeah...” you whispered.  “I understand.”

 Now it was Yagi’s turn to be surprised. “Really?”

 You smiled and kissed him again.  “Really.”

 You had hope.

[crazy4dragons]

The Next Level

Astrid is ready to go to the next level with Hiccup. He isn’t quite there yet. Takes place sometime during RTTE. Rating: M (smut, nudity, all that good stuff). Not for kids! 

Astrid moaned as she felt Hiccup draw her lower lip between his teeth, his hands low on her hips. She couldn’t remember exactly when he’d become such a good kisser, but she definitely wasn’t complaining about it. Except for the fact that she craved more.

“Gods,” Hiccup breathed, pulling back and pressing a hand to the blonde’s cheek.

“Gods is right,” laughed Astrid. Sitting up, she straddled his waist and leaned in for another kiss, struggling to suppress the throbbing between her thighs. Typically, she’d go back to her hut and finish herself off. Lately, however, she’d been staying the night with Hiccup, and she couldn’t do that in front of him. At least, not without any warning.

Smiling, Hiccup affectionately grabbed her left foot and ran his thumb across her toes.

“Mmm.” Astrid delivered a peck onto his cheek then hungrily went for his lips again, this time sliding forward and pressing her chest against his.

“My gods,” breathed Hiccup, slipping his tongue into her mouth while he wrapped his fingers around the end of her braid and gave it a light tug.

Astrid nodded. When she felt her hair fall loose around her shoulders, she leaned back and smirked. 

“What?” Hiccup asked, grinning.

Taking a deep breath, the blonde grabbed the hem of her tunic and pulled it over her head, a light blush covering her cheeks as she noticed Hiccup’s eyes grow wide.

“You…your…uh…” he stammered, gaze wandering to the wall.

“You’re allowed to look,” Astrid laughed, squeezing his hand. She was well aware that she wasn’t wearing bindings; she’d taken those off for bed along with her boots and armor.

Swallowing hard, Hiccup fixed a stare on her naked chest. Her breasts were small, yet fuller than they appeared under her clothes, and her stiff nipples were a pale, rosy pink, just as he’d imagined them.

A shiver ran down her spine. She wasn’t one to strip down in front of others; being a late bloomer growing up, she’d developed a painful self-consciousness that made her hesitant to even use the public baths. But undressing in front of Hiccup was different. She felt vulnerable, yet comfortable; shaky, yet excited.

“Holy Freja,” he whispered, eyes still wide.

“You like them?” asked Astrid, guiding his hand to her right breast.

“You want me to…” Hiccup trailed off.

“I wouldn’t have gotten half-naked if I didn’t want you to touch my boobs,” teased Astrid, moaning as his thumb brushed her nipple.

“You okay?” He lifted his hand.

“Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled, bringing his thumb back to her peak. “I like this.”

Hiccup gently pressed her nipple, nearly drooling at the thought of putting his mouth on the rosy nub.

“Do you mind?” Astrid asked, tugging on the hem of his tunic. When he shook his head, she pulled the garment off of his body and pressed her breasts into her bare chest.

He gasped, hands wandering over her naked curves while his lips met hers in a hungry kiss.

A shiver running down her spine, Astrid ran her fingers through Hiccup’s hair and kissed him harder. When she finally pulled away to breathe, she sat back up and began to slip off her leggings and underwear.

“Astrid.” Hiccup’s eyes widened as he caught sight of a messy patch of blonde curls, beneath which he knew her folds were hidden, the folds he’d fantasized about licking many times. But that was impossible. If he finished her off tonight, then she’d want to do the same to him, and he wasn’t ready to be completely bare in front of her.

“Hmm?” Astrid cast him a sexy smirk.

He caught her hands. “I…I…can…can we keep…keep our bottoms on for now?” His voice was hoarse.

Astrid’s cheeks turned red, and she quickly tugged her pants back up to her waist. “I…I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” Hiccup assured. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed her hands and forced his eyes from her breasts to her face. “I…I’m not ready,” he admitted.

Astrid shrugged. “Okay. Then we’ll wait.” She laid down on top of him, winding her arms around his neck and burying her head against his shoulder.

“But if you’d allow me,” he began after a pause. “I’d love to suck your nipples.” The last sentence came out in a whisper warm against her ear, causing an excited shiver to run down her spine.

“Bold,” smirked Astrid. “I like it.” She sat up.

“So is that a…yes?” he asked, grinning.

“Only for you,” she said, pressing a sloppy kiss against his lips. “Anyone else who dared to suggest even going near my nipples would get a good kick to the balls.”

Hiccup brushed her sweaty bangs from her face. “I’m a lucky guy then, huh?” he murmured, bending over her breasts and carefully drawing her right peak into his mouth.

“And I’m a lucky girl,” Astrid added, biting back a squeal as his lips grazed her areola. She knew her nipples were sensitive; she’d traced them, stroked them, even tugged on them while pleasuring herself. But the feeling of Hiccup teasing them aroused her on an entirely different level.

“Mmm, sexy,” he mumbled, pulling away from her chest to press a hungry kiss onto her neck. He knew it would leave a mark, and he knew Astrid would kill him when she had to find a way to hide it from the rest of the dragon riders, but right now, all he cared about was satisfying her.

“Babe,” she breathed, back arching and hands cupping his cheeks, guiding his face to hers so she could press her lips to his.

Hiccup slipped his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss. Making out with Astrid had always been one of his favorite things. But making out with her while she was topless was now the new number one activity on his list, tied with discovering new dragons.

“Gods,” the blonde gasped, finally breaking away and brushing her boyfriend’s sweaty hair from his forehead. She tugged on her pants. “You don’t…you don’t have to, but I…I’m…I need…need to finish.” She kissed him between her words.

Hiccup’s eyes widened. “You mean…you…you’re gonna masturbate? Here?”

“I…I don’t care if you see,” Astrid insisted. “I’m so horny...so horny,” she insisted, sliding down her bottoms just far enough that she could comfortably bring her fingers to massage her clit.

He swallowed hard and, blowing out the candle, slipped down his own pants and wrapped his hand around his erection. If Astrid could be open enough to pleasure herself in front of him, then he could be open enough to pleasure himself in front of her. Only in his case, he felt better with the lights off.

For the next few minutes, they lay beside each other, stealing desperate kisses as they brought themselves to climax. Hiccup reached his height with only a quiet gasp, but Astrid didn’t try to hold back. She wriggled around, moaning, mumbling his name before letting out a satisfied sigh, signaling she was done.

“Here.” Hiccup climbed off the bed and, making his way to the wash basin, soaked two washcloths in water and passed one to Astrid. “For cleaning up.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

After wiping away his own mess, Hiccup ducked into the darkest corner of his room and changed into clean bottoms, then offered Astrid fresh clothes.

“I’m alright,” she insisted, tossing her soiled garments onto the floor.

“Are you…naked?” Although there was no light, he could make out the faint features of her body.

“Is that okay?” She tugged the covers over herself and settled against the pillows.

Hiccup crawled in beside her and kissed the bridge of her nose. “As long as you’re comfortable,” he laughed, arms circling her waist.

“With you, always,” replied Astrid, closing her eyes.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - A Gentleman’s Promise

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (君子一诺) which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Features S2 Shaw

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s fourth S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

The first time Teacher Zeng met Shaw was three or four years ago.

Back then, he was just a little over thirty, and was still at an age of surging vigour. Based on the results of his online searches, Teacher Zeng carried a bag, bringing along some tools, and came to this mine shaft alone.

Lifting a torchlight with a weak light, he carefully observed the surroundings, trying to search for the stone tablet with the symbol “8″. Despite walking quite far in, he had not been able to glean anything. It was most likely another instance of “mistaken information”.

But he had to admit - this mine shaft was built too loosely. As a graduate in archaeological studies with practical experience, Teacher Zeng guessed that there was sandy soil underneath. For safety reasons, he decided to leave this place first.

That was when the accident suddenly happened.

Teacher Zeng happened to walk into an exceptionally narrow space. Perhaps the mine shaft was too dark and there wasn’t any space for his feet. Just as he planned to turn around, Teacher Zeng felt the ground beneath his feet soften. Knowing that he had unfortunately stepped onto soil which was too loose, Teacher Zeng reacted quickly, attempting to lunge forward. However, the sinking sandy soil was even faster than his thoughts. He was about to fall -

Before he faced imminent peril, he felt an external force grabbing him suddenly!

In the next second, the sandy soil filled the air, collapsing from above. How could a person’s strength withstand the speed of the collapsing soil? Almost immediately, Teacher Zeng attempted to free himself from the other party’s grip, not wanting to become another person’s liability.

As though sensing Teacher Zeng’s intentions, the other party shouted in a muffled voice, “Hey, grab tight!”

All of a sudden, lightning as bright as daytime appeared out of thin air. In the next second, a loud crackling sound of electrical currents seemed to gather into a ball. Along with a few "boom” sounds, the sandy soil and the wall of the mine were instantly exploded open by lightning.

Taking in light and air once again, Teacher Zeng was still badly shaken up. He subconsciously looked at his “saviour”, who appeared to be a young man of around eighteen or nineteen years of age. His head of bluish purple hair was very striking despite the sand and soil that had fallen on it. And in his palm, there seemed to be some electrical currents releasing buzzing sounds.

Even though he’s an ordinary person, Teacher Zeng had seen enough over the years to guess that this young person was likely an Evolver with an ability related to thunder and lightning.

While a sizeable number of ordinary people had issues against Evolvers, Mr Zeng naturally felt very grateful that his life was saved. He panted loudly, thanking him repeatedly. “Little Bro, I’m truly grateful to you.”

“That’s enough. It wasn’t as exaggerated as you said.”

“But you should consider yourself lucky. Leaving someone in danger isn't my style.” The young man arched his brows while speaking, his tone sounding very flamboyant. He looked Teacher Zeng up and down, his gaze sweeping past his weak handheld torchlight and shovel. While brushing his hair lightly, he casually asked, “You brought quite a number of tools. What are you doing here?”

At the same time, Teacher Zeng also noticed the other party’s protective equipment used in archaeology.

That mine shaft was definitely not a normal site for exploration. But according to Teacher Zeng’s knowledge, there were quite a number of people like him who were searching for the “historical ruins” represented by that special stone tablet. He might have the same goal.

Probably because the earlier rescue left a favourable impression on Teacher Zeng, he deliberated for a moment before testing the waters. “I heard there might be an unusual stone tablet in the vicinity. I came to have a look since I was curious. What about you?”

Hearing this, the man’s brows arched high. He patted the sandy soil off his body, standing up in an agile manner. Only then did Teacher Zeng notice that he was really tall.

Carrying a black bag, his lips hooked into a smile. “It’s good to be curious. Looks like we’re kindred spirits.”

Watching the man’s back as he left with large strides, Teacher Zeng couldn’t help but surmise where exactly he came from, and how he dared to take action alone at such a young age. However, when he thought about the other party’s skills, Teacher Zeng tossed aside the thoughts in his head: He should be concerned about himself first.

With this thought in mind, Teacher Zheng opened the notebook he brought along with him. Out of habit, he hastily made a brief record before preparing to leave.

It’s a pity that this was yet another futile exploration.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The next time he met Shaw, several years had gone by.

A few years isn’t exactly long, but it was enough to gradually morph Teacher Zeng’s perseverance in the face of returning empty-handed again and again, into a state of giving up on exploration and finding historical ruins.

That morning, Teacher Zeng reached his work department: the Ancient Literature Society of Loveland City. After conducting the routine selection of a theme, he suddenly received a call from the front counter, telling him that someone was looking for him.

Right after stepping out of the elevator, he instantly noticed the especially striking head of bluish purple hair next to the pillar. Teacher Zeng subconsciously furrowed his brows, feeling as though he had seen such a conspicuous hair colour somewhere. Just then, the other party turned his face leisurely, meeting Teacher Zeng’s line of sight.

The young man narrowed his eyes slightly, giving him a contemplative glance from top to bottom, and an almost indiscernible interest appeared in his eyes. On the other hand, Teacher Zeng remained stunned in place, the memories from relatively far away stirring in his mind.

“You’re that...”

Before Teacher Zeng finished speaking, the young man arched his left slit eyebrow. “...it’s really you.” He swept a glance at the surroundings. “This place isn't convenient. Let’s chat somewhere else?”

The desolate flower nursery at a corner.

“The last time we met was an accident, and we didn't get to introduce ourselves.” The 10am sunlight filtered downwards through the clouds, providing a contrast to the glistening colours in the young man’s eyes. “I’m Shaw. The reason why I looked for you today...” 

“The reason why you looked for me today couldn’t be because of what happened a few years ago, right?”

Not expecting Teacher Zeng to be so direct, the corners of Shaw’s lips curled upwards. “Since you’ve already asked, I’ll get straight to the point.” While speaking, he retrieved a slightly yellowed old photograph, holding it before Teacher Zeng.

Once he saw the photo, Teacher Zeng lifted his head in surprise. “Why do you have this photograph?”

There were two people in this old photograph. One of them was an obviously younger version of Teacher Zeng, and the other was, astonishingly, Shaw’s mentor.

[Note] Shaw’s mentor is introduced in his 2020 birthday R&S!

Shaw raised the old photograph. “That old man standing next to you left this to me, and said I could look for a helper based on this photo if I ever needed it. I found it a while ago, and realised the person the old man let me look for was actually a ‘familiar person’.”

Teacher Zeng was stunned. So he’s...

Even though Shaw didn’t make it clear, Teacher Zeng already had an answer in his heart.

Shaw rolled his shoulders casually, then continued. “The old man said that you’re really skilful when it comes to online searches and exploration.”

“I’m not that good, maybe just a little faster in searching than ordinary people.” Suddenly hearing Shaw bringing up his mentor, nostalgia flashed across Teacher Zeng’s eyes. “Come to think of it, I just graduated back then, and many things were based on trial and error. Being guided by your mentor for a while was truly a huge fortune.”

“That old man...” Shaw couldn’t help but laugh, but he quickly returned to the earlier topic. “You should also know that we aren’t the only ones searching for the ruins.”

“The speed of one person is limited, so I’m looking for a ‘helper’. How is it? Are you interested in working together?”

After Shaw finished saying this, Teacher Zeng unexpectedly hesitated, growing quiet.

Along with Teacher Zeng’s silence, Shaw slowly retracted the smile in his eyes.

“Actually, in recent years, I haven’t continued in this matter...” A wave of perplexity appeared in Teacher Zeng’s eyes. “I’ve been disappointed too many times over the years. So many times that I’ve gradually lost my motivation despite being unwilling to.”

Shaw’s tone was very calm. “Anticipating failure is something archaeologists should have gotten used to since a long time ago.”

“You might say that, but what exactly is this so-called “ruins”? Whether or not it truly exists - even this answer is a blank space-”

“It doesn’t count as a blank space.” Shaw interrupted him. “Whether they are those picture scrolls kept by the old man, or the notes he left behind, all the records and markings are traces of the real existence of the ruins. As long as they’re around, it’s worth exploring.”

“The instincts of an archaeologist tells me that the secret hidden within it is definitely related to a certain mysterious civilisation. And we might just be missing that final push.”

Teacher Zeng was left in a daze, and he didn’t speak.

Hearing Shaw bringing up his mentor’s picture scrolls and notes, Teacher Zeng’s own notebook, which already had hairy edges, suddenly flashed in his eyes. Actually, there were many times when he wanted to store the notebook in the bottom of his box. But until now, the notebook remained at the top of his drawer even though he couldn't fathom why.

"Although there are times when I dislike how the old man goes on a wild goose chase,” Despite how Shaw said “dislike”, a small smile appeared in his eyes, “But he said something which was correct. As long as you persevere, there will come a day when the secrets within will be revealed. So, as long as there’s a shred of hope, it doesn’t count as a disappointment.”

After saying this, Shaw kept the photograph, then shrugged when he saw how Teacher Zheng remained stunned in place. “But people who are as stubborn as the old man are truly a rarity of rarities. If it’s too difficult, forget it. I’ve never forced anyone into doing anything.”

“All right, that’s all. I’m off.”

“Wait!”

Teacher Zeng called out to Shaw without realising it. His mouth hung open. For a moment, he had no idea what he wanted to say.

A person’s subconsciousness is always the most honest. It turned out that he had never completely let go of searching for the historical ruins. And what he needed was perhaps a person to give him another push.

With this thought in mind, Teacher Zeng met Shaw’s bright eyes. “If you really need it... I could try helping you out once or twice.”

-

[ Chapter Three ]

After agreeing to Shaw, Teacher Zheng spent the following week using codes and calculations to search almost every corner of the panoramic maps on the internet. He meticulously searched for new locations of the historical ruins, not expecting the progress to go even more smoothly than expected.

“With such speed, you truly live up to your reputation.”

Teacher Zeng sent the location to Shaw. “I’ve found two likely positions. One of them is this abandoned factory building which seems more plausible.” Shaw stared at it fixedly for a few seconds, then curled a corner of his mouth and said, “Okay, got it.”

Next to the railing on the roof, sunlight seemed to be even brighter than usual. Magnificent solar flares leapt in between Shaw’s bluish purple hair. He straightened up, his confident expression even more dazzling to the eyes than the sunlight in between his hair. Shaw kept his phone away. “Since I don't have anything on tomorrow, I might as well take a look first.”

Hearing Shaw saying this so lightly, Teacher Zeng instinctively wanted to give him a cautionary warning. However, since it was only their third meeting, he didn’t really know how to phrase it. 

Tidying the hair on his temples which were blown messy by the breeze, Teacher Zeng finally spoke. “I might be overthinking it, but I feel as though it’s been going too smoothly. In the past, I’ve always had to exert double the time to find hazy markings and traces. In short, be more careful tomorrow.”

Shaw arched his brows. “Got it.” Shaw lowered his head to check the time, then waved his hand. “I have class in the afternoon, so I’m heading off.”

-

That evening, Teacher Zeng slept without a peace of mind, and he woke up just as the sky started to brighten. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he subconsciously tapped open the address that he had discovered earlier, but realised that the markings he saw earlier had vanished!

Were the markings he saw earlier false information by someone on the internet?

Teacher Zeng was startled awake completely. After checking for the third time, he immediately contacted Shaw, but realised that he couldn’t get through no matter what. Feeling anxious, Teacher Zeng rushed to the abandoned building with his quickest speed. 

The moment he entered, he saw countless rusty iron sheets and iron pipes. He keenly detected a strange atmosphere: this place was abnormally quiet.

Just as this thought flashed in his mind, a deafening sound drifted from the building in the next second. Thinking of how he had not contacted Shaw yet, Teacher Zeng trembled with fear, sticking himself against the wall of the staircase, and running up quickly.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

“BOOM-!”

While Teacher Zeng was rushing up, Shaw was facing an unknown attack.

The attacker was hiding in a dark place, and was probably an Evolver who could control metal. The iron pipes in the surroundings were pulled mid-air in an astonishing angle, sent smashing in Shaw’s direction. The air was very quickly mixed with the muffled echos of metal.

Shaw’s eyes keenly swept towards the dark area. As though accurately predicting the other party’s thoughts, he unfurled his palm in contempt, sending crackling lightning towards the iron pipes which are not too far away. With a muffled thud, the attacker was struck down.

Perhaps the consecutive failures had left the attacker in a complete frenzy. In the next second, a loud sound of metal exploded in the air.

But Shaw’s reaction was even faster.

His fingertips instantly crackled with electricity. With a flick of his wrist and a stretch of his arm, along with a frigidly cold “hmph”, the loud sound of electrical currents followed the expanse of metal pipes, striking the attacker like a sharp blade.

Most likely sustaining heavy damage, the attacker no longer cared about anything else, fleeing by jumping from the window in a flurry.

In a single breath, Teacher Zeng ran to the roof of the building, but only made it in time to see the moment a hazy figure leapt out of the window.

Shaw furrowed his brows, lifting his hand in distaste as he wiped the rust off his face. “Tch, I actually let him get away.” He turned his head and saw Teacher Zeng who had suddenly appeared, then pursed his lips. “What are you doing here?”

Teacher Zeng explained softly. “I just found out that this could be a trap, but I couldn’t contact you, so I rushed here without thinking too much... it’s a good thing you’re skilled.”

Shaw casually tidied his drooping fringe, revealing his eyebrows, which were arched high. After all, they were “co-workers”. Hearing these words blurted out by Teacher Zeng, the initially sharp expression in Shaw’s eyes turned indiscernibly gentler.

While heading down with Shaw, Teacher Zeng released a sigh, then laughed bitterly. “It’s been so many years. From what I know, due to the lack of progress, people who were searching for the historical ruins like me, you, and your mentor, gave up in succession. I just never thought that aside from there being no progress, it actually became even more dangerous...”

“That’s enough. This matter had nothing to do with you. Searching for the ruins isn’t dangerous.” Hearing Teacher Zeng’s self-abasement and guilt, Shaw interrupted him. “In the process of searching, I accidentally made a few enemies. The one from today was probably just targeting me.”

While speaking, they walked out of the abandoned building.

Despite going through this shocking wrestle, it was only daybreak. The rosy dawn served as a foil to the rising sun, elegantly travelling thousands of miles in the sky, the rose red rays of light spilling across the overgrown land, spilling into Shaw’s serious eyes which refused to concede defeat.

“When it comes to things worth persisting in and challenging, I’ve long since mentally prepared myself for protracted warfare.”

Shaw’s lips hooked upwards, an earnest spirit leaping in his eyes. “They will definitely lose.”

Seeing the stubbornness and seriousness hidden in the depths of Shaw’s eyes, Teacher Zeng’s heart suddenly received a jolt.

At first glance, the young man in front of him looked youthful and flamboyant. But his tenacity and dedication far surpassed the imagination of most people, and made Teacher Zeng re-discover the surging emotions he once had in his earlier years.

He’s akin to a giant creature hiding in the deep sea. Once he bit onto a goal, he would never let go.

For some reason, Teacher Zeng found this emotion rather familiar. It’s as though time had flowed backwards to several years ago. Back then, under the guidance and assistance from Shaw’s mentor, he had once seen a similar expression and tone of voice in the other party.

When the faraway memories surged up, Teacher Zeng stopped breathing. What accompanied this was that smiling face reminiscent of a mischievous child, the web pages he found after days and nights of searching, and all the locations he had once explored without a regard for the results...

Emotions he had not felt for a long time suddenly surged in Teacher Zeng’s heart.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

The weather today is very humid, and there doesn’t seem to be a single gust of wind.

After lunch, Teacher Zeng heads to the grocery store to buy a box of cigarettes. Then, he makes his way to the small flower nursery at the corner. Just as he breathes a few mouthfuls of smoke, the sound of footsteps suddenly drifts from behind him.

Teacher Zeng bites on the cigarette bud and turns around: it’s Shaw.

“Good afternoon.” Shaw has a hand stuffed into his pocket, elongating his words teasingly. “Since you’re smoking to entertain yourself, looks like Teacher Zeng has been pretty bored lately.”

Teacher Zeng chuckles softly. “Why are you here today?”

Shaw purses his mouth. “This might sound baffling. This morning, someone dressed in black suddenly attacked my antique store, wanting to search for some leads...”

Teacher Zeng ponders on this.

Slightly irritated, Shaw kicks a pebble at his feet. “It isn’t that easy to defeat me. We have to find the starting point for the ruins first.”

He lifts his eyes and looks at Teacher Zeng, arching his brows. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned being able to help “once or twice” that day. I’m now asking for that second round of assistance.”

Ever since they parted ways the previous time, Teacher Zeng had been giving it much thought. Perhaps Shaw’s persistence moved him, or Shaw’s mentor made him feel sentimental for the past. Regardless, a certain thought in the depths of his heart is especially clear: Actually, he had never let go of searching for the historical ruins. Since that’s the case, he might as well be involved in it entirely, and it wouldn’t put the years of accumulated knowledge to waste. 

Teacher Zeng has a small smile as he speaks leisurely. “Helping out is definitely not a problem. I’ve already been searching for new leads over the past duration. But I’d like to change the conditions.”

Shaw shoots him in glance with deep interest.

Extinguishing the cigarette bud beneath his foot, Teacher Zeng turns his head and says, “If you face more problems, it’d no longer be ‘once or twice’. We’ll work together formally. Can you accept this condition?

Finally, the clouds on the horizon seem to be dispersed by the wind slightly, revealing rays of light.

Shaw arches his brows. “Deal.”

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