#i write ff

[needsmoresleepwrites]

Gift for rhapshie: “Poor idiot Yuuji, falling for someone so constipated, he can’t even sort out his F-E-E-L-I-N-G-S. Oops, do you think he can spell?” (SukuIta, JJK)

F-E-E-L-I-N-Gs

Read on Ao3

tags: flower language, sukuna swears a lot, sukuna threatening the safety of poor florists, humor, nobamaki teases sukuna

note: this was written as part of a gotcha 4 gaza. if you like jjk, consider submitting a prompt here by the end of the month. you'd be helping out palestinians and getting some cool/cute fanart/fanfic for just a few bucks

——————————————————————————

Sukuna wasn’t mad. No. That would imply that he cared and that was the last thing on his mind. No, he was getting revenge.

Nobara popped the sucker from her mouth and grinned, her single eye looking a little too gleefully in his direction, “Is that what you call it nowadays? Too scared to call it what it is?”

Maki swung an arm around her shoulder and joined in, “Be careful, if you say the F-word, he might run away screaming.”

“Poor idiot Yuuji, falling for someone so constipated, he can’t even sort out his F-E-E-L-I-N-G-S. Oops, do you think he can spell?”

Sukuna puts out the cigarette he’d been smoking and reminds himself that Yuuji wouldn’t like it if his friends up and disappeared one day. Not even if they were the ones provoking him, “Don't you two lesbians have anything better to do? Like go fuck in a car or blow shit up?”

Maki laughed, “Fucked already, currently blowing shit up, is it working? How close to exploding do you think you are on a scale of one shit to five shits?”

“Maybe we should show him the other pictures Yuuji sent us,” Nobara grinned, taking out her phone from her pocket. 

And hell no, Sukuna did not freeze and no, he also didn’t relax slightly when Megumi’s monotone voice announced, “There are no other pictures.”

Sukuna considers his options. At this time of night, he was blessed with no witnesses and both Maki and Nobara were huddled on the ghats so close to the river that he really had the perfect situation to get away with murder. As if sensing his thoughts, Megumi sighed, “You’re proving them right, you know.”

Sukuna had planned to spare Megumi but perhaps a little scare would do wonders on the kid. 

“Besides,” Nobara adds, “We’re Yuuji’s friends. We should be endorsing his slut era, not getting mad. What kind of a boyfriend are you?”

“The kind,” Sukuna grits out, “that gives no shits. I’m out. Get yourselves home you pack of stray delinquents.” 

As he walks away, Nobara yells out, “You’re like two years older than Maki!” 

“Yeah, two years on each of her ass hairs!” he yells back. 

(And no, he did not let the three of them get into his car and he certainly didn’t drop them all off at Maki’s place. He left their asses by the river, went home and silently contemplated his revenge). 

.

.

His revenge comes to him at the ass crack of dawn and if he hightails it to the local flower shop and shoves a few bills onto the counter with a single request ( I need a bouquet that aggressively says fuck you)...well, he thinks he’s perfectly justified. And no, him having slept only 2 hours has nothing to do with anything

Sadly, the first flower shop employee has no clue what kind of bouquet that would be (the fuck! What kind of person works at a flower shop and doesn’t know flower language?! He leaves the shop while calling the guy a useless idiot and that maybe Sukuna should give him a fuck you bouquet), while the second refuses to make it for him, even after (or perhaps especially after) he threatens to burn the place down. Figuratively. He’d never actually do that but apparently the guy didn’t know and he’d hightailed it back to his car before the guy could untangle himself enough to call for help

It’s only after he’s driven around for about 2 hours that he finds some dingy old flower shop willing to give him what he wants. The owner looks like he’s at least 500 years old but he laughs at the request. 

“Youngsters these days, so full of passion. This for your girl?”

“More like a snotty nosed brat,” he grumbles, his fingers tapping against the counter.

The old man just nods, “It’s a nice gift.”

Sukuna grins, “Won’t know what hit him. Bet he’d be too stupid. Hey, add one that means stupid in there.”

The bouquet ends up being a horrifically colorful mess of reds, oranges, yellows, and purples. Sukuna thinks it’s loud, angry, and exactly what he needs. He leaves the old man a tip and pockets the pamphlet with the meaning of the flowers. 

“As long as it means he’s stupid and needs to fuck off, I don’t care what else is written on there.”

The old man just laughs.

When Sukuna comes home he’s not even surprised to see Yuuji in the living room with the three parasites from last night playing on the console they set up a few months ago.

Yuuji doesn’t turn to him, too busy racing but Sukuna can hear his smile when he says, “Sukuna, you’re back! Where’d you go so early?”

Yuuji’s voice sounds tired. He even tries to stifle a yawn and Sukuna frowns, “Why are you awake? And didn’t I leave you three to rot by the river last night?”

“That’s not what you said when you tucked us in last night,” Maki teases. “Even gave Megumi a goodnight kiss.”

Megumi makes a disgusted sound, “Did not.”

“We heard some weirdo tried to rob a flower shop,” Nobara snickers. “Figured that was our cue to come see the show.”

The screen flashes their ranks in the race and Yuuji stretches, leaning back against the couch and smiles, “Kiss.”

But Sukuna doesn’t lean over to grant Yuuji’s request. Instead, he shoves the bouquet onto his waiting lips (and face). He squawks and Sukuna laughs. A few lose their petals and fall into Yuuji’s hair. 

Yuuji grabs the bouquet properly and Sukuna gets a front row seat to Yuuji’s reactions. He goes from confusion to delight, his pallor replaced by a healthy red and the tiredness in his eyes flees for a moment. He smells the flowers and grins, “Someone woke up sweet today. What are these for exactly?”

Sukuna smirks, “Fuck you.”

Nobara stage sings, “F-E-E-L-I-N-Gs.”

(The bouquet ends up in the kitchen and Sukuna slips the pamphlet the old man gave him under the makeshift vase.)

notes for this fic: - the prompt is based on this tumblr post - rhapshie also mentioned: "Yuuji is confused why Sukuna gave him a buncha of flowers but he just ends up blushing furiously <333 can be AU :)" -i went the AU route and only have a vague idea of everyone's circumstances and ages. for example, i know sukuna is older than everyone and that megumi is the youngest but i'm not sure how much younger. he's like the younger brother/cousin that always tags along with his older relative and their friends. i also have a vague idea that yuuji is in his 20s. he went through 3 different occupations as i wrote this, haha -i wanted to focus on Sukuna so i made the fic from his POV. i also really wanted nobara and maki to interact with sukuna and that somehow turned him into a chihuahua and dad/older brother figure?? LOL -i was curious about the flowers and found that they all also?? mean positive things. tbh idk how flower language works but according to a very quick search, while the bouquet means fuck you, it can also 1) be an apology - carnations, 2) encourages someone who is facing a challenge - orange lilies, 3) help reduce stress and bring comfort- meadowsweet & geraniums, and 4) means protection- foxglove. sukuna knows this double meaning (he totally read the pamphlet)

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "attention" ⎯୧ (kdh)

+*:🌟:*﹤smut w plot, sub!leehan, edging, riding, exhib+voy themes, reader fem anat, piv sex, flawed characteristics, bit of a scent thing going on / wc: 4.7k / masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

leehan wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. he knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. he's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.

you're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. he’d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.

he’d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. he wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom. 

“don’t go to work. stay here with me,” he begs sweetly when you come back out. you consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.

“i can’t, baby. gotta get this project done, then i’ll be all yours, m’kay?”  he pouts, but it doesn’t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. within minutes, you’re out the door.

leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. it feels like the only time you’re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. it’s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, it’s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesn’t exist anymore.

he’s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. he thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when he’s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when they’re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.

his hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. he tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine it’s your pretty hands touching him this way. it's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and he’s grunting out into the silent room. 

you never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when he’s on the edge. he’s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. he sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, “good boy, aren’t you so well-trained?”

he chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. he knows he shouldn’t, but it should be fine, right? just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. you wouldn’t get upset with him for that, surely.

he reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guys’ text messages. he spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. then he’s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. when he feels close, he presses the “record a message” button beside the text bar.

at first, it’s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. the audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he can’t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

the answer is absolutely nothing. you don’t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a “did you have fun today?” that you throw his way when you walk through the front door. 

he continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually you’ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his “little treats” cute, make more promises to help him out when you’ve met your deadline.

he knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didn’t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games. 

leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. he’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

you finally have a day off, and have decided you’d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. leehan’s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch. 

you’ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. when lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest. 

“um, hi. are you busy?” a feminine voice says. the girl has to stand directly in leehan’s line of sight for him to realize she’s talking to him. when he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“can i help you?” 

“no! well, yes. i…was just wondering if i could have your phone number. i saw you standing alone earlier…” the girl’s voice fades out as leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.

“...alone again here in the food court, so i thought i should take the chance.”

leehan didn’t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someone’s interested in him, and he can play along.

he flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever she’s rambling about. she’s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but leehan’s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. he watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him. 

“is that…alright?” she says, looking at leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. he pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that he’s using her to get to you.

he’s about to tell her that he’s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. he doesn’t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. the girl pulls her hand away from leehan’s and stands around awkwardly.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you ask. your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration he’s been longing for. his composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says he’s fucked up more than he knows.

“this girl came up to me and…” he trails off and gestures in the girl’s general direction.

“and?” you ask impatiently, but leehan doesn’t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. this girl came up to me and i pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? he has a feeling that’s not going to support his case well. you turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.

“you’ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. i’m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.” the girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. she accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off. 

you shoot leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. he considers apologizing to the girl as well, but she’s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

to be honest, you scare leehan just a little, especially when he knows you’re angry with him but you’re not talking about it. he’d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. you don’t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.

you lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is “sit.”

leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. he expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. he doesn’t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. at least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him. 

“baby–”

“shut up,” you say, and his mouth clamps shut. you stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. he may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but it’s really not the time.

“why are you acting like this, leehan?” it takes leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize you’re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.

“what do you mean?” that’s his intelligent response. you scoff and roll your eyes.

“don’t act dense with me. you were flirting with that girl just so i’d see. i know when you’re acting out for attention, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing this entire week.” leehan’s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but it’s nowhere near convincing even to himself.

“no? you didn’t touch yourself and record it for me? didn’t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? didn’t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?” leehan’s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and he’s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“show me.”

leehan’s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. “w-what?”

“you wanted my attention so bad. now you have it,” you say with a bored expression. your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. he has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it. 

“go ahead,” you command with a jerk of your head. your lips are turned down into a frown, and it’s so condescending, like you don’t even want to be here. leehan needs you to want to be here, and he’s nothing if not a performer. he lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs. 

you make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.

“your little cock is hard, hannie.” he knows he’s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. “gonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?”

leehan’s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.

he does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like he’s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining it’s you, wishing it was you, but he doesn’t dare ask. instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when he’s close.

“stop,” you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. he would’ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. he tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.

“keep going.” 

he continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. his tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close. 

he strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. he has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.

“let go.”

leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. he’s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.

“hm…i dunno. something’s not right.” you tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. he can never understand how you’re so composed in moments like this, like it’s a normal evening. if you’re turned on, you don’t show it, and it makes leehan flush with shame. “what do you think, baby boy?” 

he huffs out a laugh at the question. how is he supposed to know? but you’re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. “i mean– usually i’m, like, in bed, i guess. thinking about you, imagining you, smelling you…” god, don’t get him started on smelling you. 

you hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. in seconds, you’re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. you hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. he’s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.

 “is that right? you think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?”

of course you’d know his weak spot. you’re so close to him and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you. your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. he squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.

“touch yourself, hannie,” you say sweetly.

he takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. he’s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.

he knows there’s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. the way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you. 

if he opens his eyes, he’s got a face full of titties, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. he wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that he’s speeding his hand up.

“ha– ah, fuck–” slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.

“let go,” you whisper in his ear. his hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. it takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didn’t last. 

he’s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. he doesn’t know why he’s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.

you pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. you smile at the sight and caress his cheek. he melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. you used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that he’s looking up at you. 

“i do think you were louder that time. moaned just like you did in those recordings.” he opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap. 

“fffuck–” he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched. 

“stay still,” you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. he struggles to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. the action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.

you stay like that until his breaths are more even and he’s somewhat calmed down. he lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.

“c’mon, hannie. i’m not done with you yet. let me see.” you push his legs apart with your knee. he looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. he’s leaking so much it’s soaking into the couch, and it’s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.

“w-what, are you j-just gonna–” he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. “how long are you gonna make me do this?”

you tilt your head and smile at him like you aren’t melting his brain into goo. “however long it takes for you to learn your lesson.” leehan whines a little in protest.

“just wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.”

the look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. “i missed you too, hannie. so. much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. “it was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. but bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?” leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

by the fifth denial, he’s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. he’s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. you’re so close but so far, and he’s definitely losing his mind. 

“please– n/n, let me…could fuck you so good,” he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. it’s the first time tonight you actually look interested in what’s happening, and he can’t figure out where to look–at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. you’re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. leehan thinks that’s the cruelest part of this punishment. 

his hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. he’s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. you know his limits, know that he won’t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness. 

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, just fuck me, please?” but you’re not looking at him. your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when he’s close. your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. he’s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if he’s doing good for you. 

“stop, pretty boy.”

his hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. he gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction that’s already gone.

his head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but he’s still watching you touch yourself. his mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and there’s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt. 

his eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. it comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.

you pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. he nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. it’s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.

“aw, hannie. look at me. tell me what you want.”

“mm, want– wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.” you giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.

“wanna taste me?” you reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. you straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. you make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out. 

you whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue. 

leehan’s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. you always taste so good, so sweet to him.

his eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. you slide against him so deliciously, but it’s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.

you wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.

he’s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. he tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible. 

“do you have a color for me, baby?”

“mhm, fuck– green, n-need you so bad. ’m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, t–”

you interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and leehan’s convinced he would’ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadn’t. he’s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. there’s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.

“i think my pretty boy’s at his limit, hm?” you ask, and he doesn’t really know what you’re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. you pull his shirt off as well, and you’re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as leehan longed for.

you cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. he knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but you’re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that he’s sure he looks beautiful anyway. 

you wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. it feels like he’d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. leehan doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know he’d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.

your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy leehan has ever seen. you lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. your cunt’s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. 

“i’ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,” you say like you read his mind. you grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. he gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. his thrusts aren’t coordinated at all, and it’s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot. 

“fuck yeah, hannie. that’s so good, you’re so good,” you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. on a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.

“look at me, n/n. please– look at me,” he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. it’s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and he’s making you feel good, but he’s not gonna last like this.

“you fill me up so good, hannie. make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. “gonna cum for me? gonna fill me up nicely?” and he’s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say. 

you trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. the rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he can’t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: “cumming, ‘m, fu–”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

it takes leehan a while to come back to earth. he’s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. after asking if he’s okay five times and getting five verbal “yes’s,” you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.

it’s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, “i really am sorry, y/n. i should’ve been more considerate. i respect your work so much, i just got so lonely…” you smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.

“i’m sorry you were so lonely, hannie. i should’ve managed my time better, should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. from now on, i’ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. how’s that?”

“that’s perfect,” he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3

[logansdoe]

will fluff?

I can't 💔

"will—", your lips protest but he didn't listen. Already on his knees, hands tying the lace that untied while walking. He doesn't grunt or hums to respond. Knowing it'll just fuel your complaints.

Your hands wrapped around the hot coffee. Hot caramel. Too sweet for him but perfect for you. Maybe that the secret of you being so bright and sweet. You are what you eat, after all. Perhaps that's why he is bitter as an instant coffee.

"you need to stop doing everything for me", you pout slightly. It's not like your cheeks puff and your lips turn round. No. It's the way your bottom lip slightly seems bigger. The frown, ever so visible. It makes him smile slightly.

"when I'm here, I will", he responds. Standing up again. Knee slightly cracking. A giggle slips past your lips, earning a quick glare from him before he shakes his head. Brushing a hand through his curls, adjusting his glasses.

Being the observant person Will always was, he noticed everything about you. He didn't expect the same from you, of course. Just because you weren't as observant as him didn't make him love you less.

He liked that about you. You lived in the moment rather than drowning in it. But he liked it. He liked drowning in you.

The way you'd mouth words when you are reading silently. To concentrate. The way the knuckle of your index finger would rub against your lip, if you didn't have anything on them.

Pinning your hair back, if you have lip balm so the strands don't stick to your lips. The way you'd push down on your ring finger to feel it pop.

He noticed. He loved. He just didn't show.

"you do know you can get this coffee anywhere here? Why did you drive an hour to get it from there?", you spoke. Actually confused. It just seemed like extra waste to spend that much time in something so small.

"because you only like the way they make it", he said simply. A shrug. Before taking your free hand, intertwining your fingers and putting it in his jackets pocket. Shielding it from the cold.

He noticed, he loved and he showed differently.

[double-gs]

Okay, i love smut sometimes but can we not go back to fluff and especially ANGST!?!? And i dont mean start off with angst and end with angsty smut or start with fluff and end with fluffy smut, i mean genuine fluff and angst, pure pain or happiness. Its literally the only thing that comes up for most searches, especially on tumblr and its so annoying cause i just want to read something but its all just dick and pussy like PLEASE

Not to mention the amount of DISTURBING "dark content" smuts there are. It's creepy and weird

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “we’ve just kissed and now I’m hooked” prompts

“Okay, but I want to do that again. And again, and again, and again. With you; only you.”

“Round two?” “…I’d love that.” 

Pulling them into another kiss before either of them could catch their breaths.

A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips.

“Okay, but I think we should do that again. For research purposes. For humanity.”

“That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.” 

“They say the second time’s the charm.” “Was the first time not charming enough for you?” “No, but the second time’s going to be even better, I promise.” 

Finger tracing their bottom lip, eyes never leaving their parted lips, before meeting them in the middle again, because one time isn’t enough. 

“Wait, that wasn’t good enough. Let’s do another take.” “…It’s been the fourth take already. Just admit you like kissing me, it’s fine.”

“I’d let you take my breath away like this everyday if I could.”

Laughing against each other’s lips after kissing for the umpteenth time because they just can’t get enough of each other.

“I have a new addiction and you’re to blame for it.” 

[kingkat12]

forever (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: angst, mentions of blood, ANGST (SORRY IN ADVANCE)

summary: nothing will ever be the same again after you've found out what Roman truly is-- you can be sure of that now.

word count: 5,093

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

a/n: GOSH I'M BACK! 13 is the lucky number (not). this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it's more than enough for this scene... I can't breathe omg. thank you to everyone that has helped me with brainstorming and clearing my mind about this scene, specifically @mentallyscreamingsincebirth who read about 7 different drafts (poor soul), and I'M SO SORRY. SO SO SORRY Y'ALL. ENJOY... tbh that's not the right word, so, good luck!!!

Loving Roman had consequences right from the start.

However, I never imagined it would lead to this. 

My hands trembled as I clutched the knife, though I couldn't tell if it was from fear or the sheer weight of the situation. Roman hadn't moved an inch since I'd pointed it at him, but the way he loomed in front of me made every second stretch unbearably long. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge-- my breath caught in my throat as he tilted his head, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable, something quiet.

Then, without warning, a slow exhale left his lips as though he was indifferent-- Roman's shoulders slackened, the tension bleeding from his frame as if this entire moment had bored him. And then, just like that, he put his tux jacket on the kitchen island before he turned away.

I flinched at the movement, but all Roman did was step toward the fridge, peeling it open with a lazy sort of ease. He bent down, rummaging through the shelves, shifting the milk aside like I wasn't still standing there, terrified.

I turned with him, still pointing the blade in his direction as my pulse threatened to rupture my ears-- this was the biggest mind-fuck of the century. This night was. My brows drew together as I dared to speak, confusion drowning my anxious words; "What are you doing?"

Roman shrugged. "I have a feeling this is gonna take a while, and I'm really fucking hungry. Do you know how many calories you burn from beating up assholes?" Another sigh followed--  he continued to speak into the fridge as he shuffled through the vegetables; "You're not wearing your dress."

It sounded like a casual remark, yet I knew it was loaded with the intent of getting me to explain myself. The longer I stayed quiet, the more I could hear my heart pound. "I changed,"

"Where?" 

"... Here?" 

Roman shook his head, remnants of a knowing smirk painting his lips-- it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't think we should be starting this conversation off with more lies," 

His words were chilling. I struggled to find mine. I cleared my throat over and over as my hands got clammy around the knife I had yet to lower; "I don't know what you're talking about,"

"Come on," Roman huffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened up, reaching for the handle of the fridge. When he turned his head to meet my gaze, I felt my breathing knot itself in my chest-- I hated this feeling. I hated being scared of my boyfriend. I hated that I couldn't bring myself to put away the kitchen knife I was still pointing at him. Roman continued; "I've been waiting for you for about... what, fifteen minutes? You didn't change here, and those clothes aren't yours."

Fighting the urge to stay tongue-tied, I snapped; "And you shouldn't have broken into my house in the first place! That's crossing all fucking boundaries!--"

BOOM.

The fridge door slammed shut with a force that rattled the shelves.

I jolted. A sharp, pathetic squeak clawed up my throat before I could stop it. My pulse jumped, breath hitching-- fuck.

Roman had never looked more intimidating; "I see we're past talking about boundaries!" he hissed, glancing down at the knife in my trembling hands. His attempts at containing his anger were cracking.

"Fine," I bit back. "Let's talk about the important piece of information you so conveniently failed to tell me, then!"

Roman blinked. I knew him too well; I could see his mind racing behind those big, beautiful eyes. I shouldn't be looking into them. "The car crash?" he asked, attempting to soften his voice. Something told me he got hopeful that he had hit bingo about the subject, and that he could somehow salvage this; "I'll tell you everything you want, baby. No problem, okay? Where do you want me to start?--"

"Don't fuck with me, Roman!" One of my hands left the knife as my tremble subsided, and I steadied my stance. "Enough!" 

Roman's fists clenched, and his gaze pierced mine with rays of ice. It took him some time to let it sink in-- we were about to have this conversation, whether he wanted to or not. We were going to talk about what he was. Despite the horror of the situation, my body filled with a satisfaction unlike anything I had ever felt before; I had pieced it together. I had cornered him. I had caught the liar, and I had done it all by myself. 

However, the liar in question didn't want to relent so easily; "This is about Daniel, isn't it? The little shit who confessed he'd get off to snapping your neck in half?"

"It's... What?" My frustration possessed me as I gestured with the knife, exasperated. "No, Roman! It's not that, and you know it!"

Roman let out a quick, icy breath as his fists clenched and unclenched-- deny, deny, deny. "He had it coming," he breathed. "I don't get why you're holding a knife at me for giving that guy what he deserved!"

"That's not why I'm!--"

"You think I went too far?" Roman scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. Deny, deny, deny. "You think I should've let him walk away after hurting you, is that it?"

This was beyond frustrating now. It was infuriating, actually. Roman's dismissal of the real topic of concern drove me into a state I hadn't been in before; it almost made my vision go red. Then, it took me a second to realize my vision was blurring because of more causes than one-- with tears pooling in my eyes, I watched as Roman continued his angry rant;

"I don't get you! Why the fuck are you pulling a knife on your boyfriend for protecting you?! I was the one who saved you, I was the one who made sure you got the revenge you deserved, and what do I get in return? That terrified look on your fucking face?!" 

Roman was yelling now. 

Yelling.

I kept telling myself he didn't mean it, that he was simply anxious to face the truth that I knew his biggest secret, but... now that I knew what he was, it only made me grip the knife harder. What if he suddenly pounced at me? What if he got so overcome by anger that he lunged my way out of pure instinct?

I flinched when Roman raised his hands, yet I let out a shaky breath of relief when they went to his hair, ripping at the tips of his brown locks in frustration; "I have done everything to protect you! I-- I messed him up, okay, but!--"

Enough. "Protect me?! You think this is protection?!"

The panic Roman had painted across his face for sympathy got wiped away the second I raised my voice too. His act wasn't working. His distractions weren't working. Nothing was. "It is," he hissed.

"No!" The tears that had welled in my eyes threatened to spill. "You should've left me alone the second you started feeling anything for me! That would've been protection, that would've mercy!" 

Roman closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp line of air-- "Don't say that," he breathed. "You're crossing the line."

"Crossing... the line?!" 

"You are," he continued, blindly gesturing at the knife. "Point your knives, call me whatever, say all the shit you want, but not that. What we have is damn near holy to me, so keep that out of your mouth."

I had half the mind to throw the knife at him. Enough was enough, I couldn't stand it anymore; "You're insane!" I yelled. "You're batshit crazy, and you're out of your fucking mind if you think that you were protecting me all this time! You've only put me in danger!"

Roman's eyes widened with offence. "I have not!--"

"You urged me to slice my hand in front of you, and you sucked my fucking blood that time you decided you wanted to blood-bind us or whatever the fuck those vials were for! How dare you put me in that situation when you know what you are?!"

Silence.

In the void of sound we had created, I could hear a light tapping against the windows-- it was raining. Outside, the grass was given the opportunity to grow. At this very moment, flowers all around were watered with new energy for life; yet here I was, being drained of all of mine.

Roman's face twitched with multiple emotions, unable to decide which one to settle for as he lowered his gaze. Had he ever prepared for this moment? I wondered if he had. I wondered whether he had ever laid in bed at night, riddled with guilt and the weight of the world, and whether he had ever thought about coming clean. Had he thought he could get away with it, that I would never find out? 

Finally, Roman opened his mouth; "I..." 

It didn't take long before it shut again.

A shaky breath escaped me when I realized my knuckles were going white around the knife. I was about to say something, maybe even dig deep into my soul to search for words of comfort; yet when Roman's eyes fully focused on mine again, I felt my whole world freeze over.

Roman's pupils widened, fixating on me as though I was prey, a big deer in the wilderness. He knew the act was up, that the game was over, and instead of facing it, he fixated on the one thing he felt he could still control. His words came out with a low growl; "You have something of mine,"

... What? 

He took a threatening step forward. 

My breath hitched; I readied my brain for possible combat. 

"The vial," Roman hissed. "Where is it?" 

Another step.

"It's mine. If this is how you want to do this, I want it back,"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Back-- Back off!--"

With Roman's next step, my body tensed up with the realization that he was speeding up--

It was now or never.

With a shriek, I tossed the knife in his direction out of pure fear, and ran out of the kitchen as my screams emptied my lungs. The pounding of my heart filled my ears as I heard the clashing of pots and pans, possibly the sound of Roman jumping over the kitchen island to get to me, and it only made me panic more.

He called out my name, a yell of rage, as I made it past the living room and into the hallway. 

I was running for my life. 

I was running for my life. 

A ragged scream tore from my throat as I snatched the nearest object, a flimsy umbrella, and flung it behind me without looking. It didn't matter. He'd dodge it. He'd always dodge it.

Tears burned down my face, blurring the steps ahead as I bolted up the stairs. My chest heaved, my legs burned, but I pushed-- pushed like my life depended on it, because it did.

I was going to die, wasn't I?

This was it.

But for a second, a stupid, desperate second, my brain tricked me; maybe I could make it? Maybe I could outrun him? Maybe, maybe I could get out of this alive?

I chanced a glance over my shoulder--

Roman wasn't there.

My heart stopped. Relief slammed into me so hard that my knees nearly buckled.

Too soon.

I saw it too late-- the flicker of movement at the edge of my vision.

Roman's hand, appearing at the top of the banister.

He hadn't run up the stairs. He'd jumped. From the first floor to the second in a single, monstrous leap.

A scream ripped from my throat as he vaulted over the railing, his body a blur, his weight crashing into me before I could even think to run.

My back hit the ground hard, but before I could even feel the pain, something else registered.

His hand. Between my head and the floor, cushioning the blow.

My breath stuttered, my body locked in pure terror as I fought, thrashed, pounded my fists against his chest-- but it was useless. He didn't budge.

My heartbeat was a deafening drumbeat of panic; I wasn't getting away. I wasn't getting away.

I wasn't getting away.

Then, Roman grabbed my hands and slammed them to the floor, pinning me down with a groan. His voice was sharp, teetering on the edge of control; "Stop it!" he yelled. "Stop fighting! I'm not going to hurt you!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears still coming. I didn't believe him. I couldn't believe him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he continued. "Since when do you throw knives at me?!" 

I kept trying to kick him off. It didn't work. Nothing did.

Roman's chest heaved above mine, his grip tightening before he seemed to catch himself-- his fingers loosened just slightly. His voice dropped, a thread of disbelief woven through the frustration. "You're really afraid of me, aren't you?"

I let out a quiet sob, unable to speak.

Roman's breath shook, his head tilting as if seeing me for the first time. He exhaled through his nose, but his next words wavered; "After all this time... you really think I could hurt you?"

Something in his voice made me pause. He wasn't just angry anymore, he was... wounded. 

"After everything?" he breathed. His fingers curled around my wrists, but this time, they trembled.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

That silence, that awful, confirming silence, broke him. Roman's expression crumpled as he clutched my wrists like a lifeline, his breath uneven. The anger drained from him in an instant, replaced by something desperate, raw, broken. 

"You're breaking my heart," he breathed.

The words shattered between us.

I stilled, my own heartbeat stammering.

In the muted space of my lack of words, Roman let out a quiet, shuddering laugh, his green eyes glossing over. "Letha told you, didn't she?" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper; "You're wearing her clothes, and you kinda smell like her expensive incense for crazy people. Don't tell me she performed some ritual on you?"

I swallowed hard. Telling him the truth felt dangerous; I needed to protect my last ally, didn't I? "No," I whispered. "No rituals. There was no Letha. I figured it out by myself... I-- I read a book." At least there was some truth to what I was saying.

Roman uttered something between a scoff and a choked breath, shaking his head. His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. "All by yourself?" he muttered. "That's my girl."

Acid filled my next words, overcome by emotion; "You left me no choice,"

"I didn't?"

"You didn't,"

"That's nonsense," Roman mumbled. "We could've avoided all of this. We could've had a few good years with you in the dark."

His face was too hard to read. His expressive eyes were so cold and hard with his conviction-- he really believed that, didn't he? "Years?" I whispered. "With me... in the dark?"

"Yeah," Breathless. He was breathless. "A decade, maybe."

It didn't take me long to piece it together. It would take a decade until he looked considerably younger than me. Would he have let me in on his secret then? 

"That wouldn't have been enough," I said, choking back my tears. "I wanted a whole life with you, Roman."

His next inhale was shaky, yet quick-- finally, he could be sure that he had lost. "So you... you really know, now?"

I knew.

I knew. 

And I could barely speak it; "That you're a upir? Yeah,"

Roman had yet to let me go. "Fuck..." he breathed, nodding to himself. "There goes that."

There it goes.

All the stolen glances, all the kisses, all the joy, all the love.

It was draining the life out of the both of us. "I'm not going to ask you to forgive me," Roman tried. "But can I at least... please have the vial?" His voice broke at the end of his sentence, and he bit down on his bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

My words came out with a tremble; "I-- I threw it away. It was affecting you horribly, and I don't want that for you... I don't want you to be in pain, Roman, despite everything you are,"

He sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body locking up as if my words had just stabbed into him. "I'll have nothing of you, then?" His voice was barely there, so fragile it made my chest ache. "When you leave me, I'll... I'll have nothing?"

I blinked. When I leave?

Was he... planning to let me go?

"You're breaking my heart," Roman echoed, his shoulders trembling as he let go of my wrists to cradle my face in his hands. 

The touch nearly made me flinch. Had I not been so intent on my survival, I would've pushed him away with a shudder. I didn't want him touching me, not now that I knew who and what he was, yet I endured it for the sake of my life. 

Roman's grip faltered as he watched me fail to hide my fear, and his fingers trailed to my cheeks as he took in the look on my face.

"I can never trust you again," I whispered. "Never hold you, never kiss you... Not now that I know what you are."

Roman's fingers slowly brushed over my cheek, shaking. "But... it was supposed to be you and me," he breathed. "Forever."

Forever.

The word sent a sharp ache through my ribs.

Roman's eyes shut, his face twisting with something too deep to name. "I know I should've stayed away..." A shuddering inhale. "I should've just kept on being miserable." 

I choked down a sob; "Rome," I whispered. What else was there to say?

The nickname hit him like a bullet. Roman's voice was rough when he dared to speak; "I wasn't supposed to feel like this for anyone... That was my one rule," He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were bloodshot, and his jaw was tight like he was forcing the words out. "I don't know when it happened, and I don't know how it happened, but I woke up one day and realized that I-- fuck!" 

Overcome by his emotions, Roman let out a sharp, bitter laugh; "I didn't want this, okay? I didn't-- God, I didn't fucking want to feel anything for you at all! I didn't want us to ever happen in the first place!"

The words should've hurt. They were meant to hurt, why else would Roman say them? But the way he said them, so wrecked, so lost, made my heart ache instead.

Roman exhaled hard, tilting his head back like he was trying to keep it together. "You have no idea how much I fought feeling anything for you... You have no idea how many times I told myself that it was nothing, that it would go away, and that you were just!--" He stopped, his breath hitching. "That you were just some meaningless girl, something temporary, a distraction at most, and not!--"

He didn't say it.

He couldn't. 

Not yet.

"And I--" Roman stopped, like the next part physically hurt to say. "I should've told you about this, I should've told you who I am. You deserved that much, and I tried, I swear! I-- I wanted to. But every time I got close,  every time I thought, this is it, tell the fucking girl, be a man, I'd look at you and-- and I got scared."

Finally, I could be sure the world was going under. The notorious Roman Godfrey was scared, and even worse, admitting to it. 

"Because if I told you, you'd leave!" he said, voice raw with pain. "And I couldn't-- I can't!--"  He was shattering right before my eyes, shattering into a million pieces. "Fuck, you have to understand! I didn't keep it from you to hurt you, I kept it from you because I'd lose everything!"

Roman swallowed hard, and in the smallest, quietest voice, he whispered; "I never, ever wanted to lose you. Nothing else matters like this, I-- I love you too much to function,"

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

Roman Godfrey... loved me?

He loved me.

Roman loved me.

And here he was, looking down at me with those big, pleading, green eyes like it would fix everything. Like it would fix the fact that he could kill me within a second. Like it would fix his blood-thirst. 

"Please," he breathed, heartbroken with my lack of response. "You're not saying anything. Please say something."

All the times I had sensed something was wrong and convinced myself I was crazy rushed through my mind, clouding my shock at Roman's confession. It was torturous how he had let me remain in the dark for so long. Was that love, or was that selfishness?

I knew the answer.

"That's not love, Roman," I whispered. "That's fear."

His face fell. "No," he tried. "Don't-- Don't say that, it's not--"

"You say you didn't tell me because you didn't want to lose me, but what do you think this is? What do you think is happening right now?" My voice wavered, heat rushing to my face. "You talk about love like it's this big, tragic thing you had no control over, but you chose to lie to me above all else! You chose to put me in danger every time you were ever near me!"

I pushed against his chest, my body trembling with the force of my anger; Roman could've easily stayed put, could've easily kept me pinned to the ground, yet he relented, his eyes wide with hurt as he allowed me to push him away and sit up.

"You let me walk around and doubt myself for months, Roman! You let me drive myself crazy, trying to understand what the hell was wrong with me and why I was even doubting you, when this whole time-- this whole time, you were lying to my face!"

Roman ran a hand through his hair, looking wrecked. "What did you want me to do?!--"

"Anything but this, you fucking asshole!" I shoved myself off the floor, feeling my heart pound. "And you don't get to look at me like that, like I've wrecked your life! You don't get to act like this is just something sad that happened to us when this could've been prevented all along if you'd just stayed the fuck away!"

"That's not fair!" Roman yelled through the tears welling in his eyes. "You were basically throwing yourself at me!--"

"And you shouldn't have let me!" 

"Come on!" Desperate, Roman reached for me, but I jerked away so fast that I nearly tripped.

"Don't!" My voice cracked, but it didn't matter. "Don't you fucking touch me, how dare you!" Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to tell him that I loved him too, that we could find a way to make it work, that I would always love him no matter what... but Letha's warnings ran through my head.

She had told me he was dangerous. She told me about his urges, how he would forever be hungry for blood, and that I risked my life every minute I was near him. Letha explained how Roman could hear the heartbeats of everyone within a certain radius, and that every thump reminded him of how hungry he was.

But now, as I looked into his hurt eyes, I could only see...

Pain.

I couldn't look at him anymore. I couldn't hurt him any longer, as Letha said I needed to do-- I had to move. Roman's voice was a faint echo as I started taking shaky steps toward my bedroom; there was no chance I'd outrun him if he wanted to chase me again, so I walked. It didn't take long before I heard him scrambling up from the floor as well, following me into my room. 

I could feel him behind me when I stepped inside.

The door clicked shut.

My heart pounded, and I knew he could hear it. I knew.

"Baby--"

"Don’t," I breathed, stopping in the middle of the room before I turned around to face him. Even at this moment, he was beautiful. He was breathtaking in his shirt, even though his previously neat hairstyle had fallen apart with all the running and struggling. How was this fair?

I heard the shift in Roman's breathing, and how he tried to swallow the desperation in his throat. "You’re scared of me,”

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Yes,”

"You don’t have to be," he whispered. "I would never--"

"I do,"

A sharp, broken exhale. He took a step closer, daring to get in my personal space, and I flinched before I could stop myself.

Roman froze.

Silence. Again.

And then--

He dropped to his knees.

I gasped. His hands clutched the fabric of my shirt, Letha's shirt, his forehead pressing against my stomach like he was praying to me. His breath was shaky, his fingers curling and uncurling as if he didn’t know whether to hold me or let me go.

"Please," His voice was wrecked, hoarse with unshed tears. "Please don’t do this."

I stood frozen, my hands shaking at my sides. I wanted to cradle him, wanted to sink down to the floor and hold him, but I couldn't move.

Roman pressed a kiss to my stomach, then another. Then my ribs. Then my hip. A desperate, reverent kind of touch. Not to seduce, not to possess-- but to beg.

"I love you," His voice cracked, his lips ghosting over the fabric of my shirt. "I love you so much, I can’t-- fuck, I can’t lose you!--"

"Roman--"

His body shuddered against mine, his fingers twitching where they clung to me, like if he just held on tightly enough, none of this would be real. "I can control it," he pleaded. "I swear, I swear, baby, please!--"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. I wanted to believe him so bad, wanted to relent, yet Letha's voice echoed in my head; "He will hurt you,"

"I won’t hurt you," he choked out, contradicting my every thought. "I’d rather die."

My breath hitched as my hands trembled, longing to reach for him. I pressed my lips together, trying to force down the sob rising in my throat; "If you don't want to hurt me, you-- you have to leave. You have to let me go," 

Roman's fingers clutched the fabric of my shirt as he shook his head, a frantic, shattered movement. No, no, no. "I don’t want to," His voice was raw. "Don’t make me. Please don't-- please don't make me."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. "Roman..."

He knew he had lost. It was over. There was nothing more to say. Slowly, painfully, he pulled back, looking up at me with wide, devastated eyes, silent tears streaking his face. He pressed one last, trembling kiss to my hip.

And then--

Roman let go.

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs. Stumbled back, one step, two.

Heavy. 

Everything was, until I felt the relief of his eyes leaving mine. It felt like the weight of his attention lifted a ton from my shoulders. But the momentary solace quickly left me when I watched Roman's gaze shift--

He stilled.

The change was instant. His entire body locked up so tight it was like something inside him had snapped. His breath came shallow, his shoulders rising and falling in sharp, stuttered movements. His fingers flexed and curled like they didn’t know what to do.

I followed his line of sight with my breath catching in my chest, and my stomach dropped when I saw what he was looking at.

The book.

That fucking book. 

The Avoidable Vampirism - The Upir.

It lay there on my nightstand, its pages still open, marked by the frantic creases my fingers had pressed into them over and over again. There was no hiding it now.

With a sharp turn, I glanced back at Roman with huge eyes, wondering whether anger would take over his body and trigger him to chew me to death. But alas-- nothing.

Roman didn’t move.

He just stared. His lips parted slightly, his lashes fluttering as he blinked through the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t speak. I could see it, the way the pieces started clicking into place in his mind, how the dots connected in a way that destroyed him.

Finally, we both knew it was over. 

Then--

Defeated, Roman turned away.

It was sudden, almost violent, the way he ripped himself away. He staggered toward my window, one hand swiping at his face as he smeared his tears into his skin, his breath a sharp, hollow sound. His entire body shook like he was barely keeping himself together, like the second he stepped outside, he would completely break apart.

Roman reached for the window.

Shoved it open.

But just for a second, he hesitated.

For a second.

For me.

He waited.

He was begging me to say something, to stop him, to tell him he didn’t have to go.

But I didn’t. I couldn't.

So, Roman climbed through the window I had snuck him in through countless times. We had shared countless kisses there; kisses of passion, kisses of joy, kisses goodbye, kisses hello. But now, there would be no more. 

With one final look back, his green eyes seared into mine with a look I would never forget.

And then--

Roman Godfrey was gone. 

I stood there for longer than I'd ever admit to anyone, staring at the empty space he'd left behind, waiting for him to come back. I could still smell him-- the deep cologne and the faint, metallic tinge of blood clinging to my shirt where he'd been pressed against me just minutes ago. It was Daniel's blood, a trace of what had happened earlier tonight. I couldn't believe I had been happy just a few hours ago. A few hours was all it took to unravel everything. 

It was like he had left a ghost of himself behind--- something half-alive, something that would never quite let go of me.

Nothing but the sound of my own breathing filled up the room. It sounded too loud, too shaky. My fingers drifted into my pocket without thinking, curling around the cold glass buried there.

The vials clinked together as I rolled them between my fingers-- his blood, my blood, trapped inside two fragile little prisons, always touching but never quite meeting.

I brought them to my lips, squeezing my eyes shut— I could never get rid of them. Never.

If I crushed them right now, if I just closed my fist and shattered them into a thousand tiny shards, maybe this whole nightmare would shatter with them? Maybe I would wake up and he would still be here, begging me not to send him away? Maybe I could've made a different choice? Maybe he would wrap his arms around me again and swear that he would never hurt me, and maybe this time I would believe him?

But I didn't crush them-- I couldn't.

Instead, I pressed the glass harder against my lips until I tasted the salt of my tears on the rim.

At least in this form, we could be together.

Forever.

(a/n: ... sorry not sorry. this was heartbreaking to write, believe me. but this isn't the last chapter, that will be the next, and y'all are in for a RIDE!! thank you so so much for reading this, aaaand just quick psa, I will not be compensating anyone for their possible need for an ambulance or any funeral services cause I'm obv evil:))) JK MWAH🥹🌸 THANK YOUUU<333)

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[frostedfragments]

could you do prompt 19 with caleb? :D

caleb x reader

19. getting turned on by their partner's new uniform for work and then roleplaying a bit

cw: inappropriate use of evol, handcuffs note: first time writing for caleb !! i'll admit i've been putting off writing for him bc aahh he's such a hard character for me to figure out for some reason, i cant seem to get into his head as well as i can with others! but i hope i've done him justice for the caleb enjoyers!

When you walk into your apartment after work one night, you expect to find Caleb draped across some piece of furniture, watching tv maybe. It's pretty common for him to come over, especially when he's home for the short time he has from the Farspace Fleet.

What you don't expect, however, is to walk in to find the room bathed in the warm glow of candle light. The flickering light illuminating a single, dark figure standing beside a chair in the centre of your apartment. For a few brief moments, you're almost tempted to call the police - because, what the fuck - but soon you recognise the broad cut of figure's shoulders, the outline of the peaked cap he wears with his uniform.

Instantly you relax, and then your gut pulls tight with anticipation, curiosity lacing your words as you step further into the apartment, closing the door behind you.

"Caleb?"

"You'll address me as Colonel, and nothing else," He steps forward, voice hard and authoritative, brandishing something silver that gleams even in the low light, "hold out your hands. I need to ask you some questions, and it will be better for you if you are restrained,"

Oh, you think, so this is what we're doing. "Yes, Colonel," is your reply, excitement bubbling deep in your gut, warmth dusting your cheeks. You should have known Caleb would do something like this as soon as you told him how sexy you found him in his new uniform.

Holding out your hands as told, Caleb clips one of the cuffs onto your wrist, leaving the other free before dragging you over to the waiting chair behind him. He tugs you, roughly, into the chair before moving around to your back and cuffing your hands. You're mostly immobile, except for your legs of course, and you're attached to the chair thanks to the cuffs. It's a concept that would probably frighten some people - being restricted in such a way - but for you, it only manages to fan the flames flickering to life in your stomach, the warmth travelling between your legs and through your thighs.

When Caleb steps back to the spot in front of you, he kicks your feet so your knees part for him. He gazes down at you, though thanks to the low lighting in the room, you can't see much of his face under his cap. Just the slight tilt of his lips, a smirk that seems to mock you in your submissive state.

You're sweating.

Bending at the waist, he lifts a hand to cup your face, squeezing your cheeks in the leather claps of his gloves. His eyes are dark, heated as he trails a look over your face before moving lower, lingering on the way your thighs are draped either side of him. You can already feel how wet you are, underwear clinging uncomfortably to the skin between your legs, but you play along.

"Colonel, I don't understand -"

Caleb's hand shifts slightly, his thumb pressing against your lips to keep them closed, "I don't remember saying you could talk," his eyes drift from yours to land on your parted lips beneath his thumb. He watches closely as he slowly parts your lips further, forcing his thumb into your mouth. You gasp, the taste of the leather hitting your tongue as Caleb caresses it, pushing further, just enough to have you on the edge of gagging.

"Are you going to be obedient?" He asks, his fingers digging into your face just a little more as he removes his thumb from your mouth, smearing your lipstick with your own saliva. You nod, eyes bleary as your thighs shift around Caleb's legs, itching to press together and soothe the ache between them. He watches the whole thing, scoffing quietly before moving away and waving his hand. Instantly, his evol parts your thighs again, holding them open, almost uncomfortably so. Your skirt rides up, and you know by now your underwear is probably exposed to his wandering eyes.

Caleb moves away for a moment, his evol still gripping you tight, keeping your legs parted despite your attempts to shift. Sweat begins to mist your skin as your gut squeezes like a fist, pulling down and down. Your clit throbs, begging for mercy, a touch to sooth the persistent ache.

When Caleb turns back to face you again, he's holding his baton. The long, thin weapon is usually closed up, hanging from his belt, but he has opened it to its full span, holding the object out and pressing under your chin. He lifts your face to greet his own, his body bending so he can kiss you sloppily, his tongue licking heat into your mouth. You gasp into the kiss, already eager for this torture to end and for Caleb to fuck you already.

He shows no signs of giving into such demands yet, however, as he pulls away, leaving your lips wet and shiny in the low light of the room. His violet eyes appear almost black as he watches you beneath heavy lids. Instead, he steps forward, hand dropping to your shirt as he begins to undo each button deftly with nimble fingers, even in the thick leather gloves. Soon, your bra is bared to him, breasts heaving to escape the confines of the black lace.

"You think I haven't noticed how you act when I am wearing this?" He murmurs, bringing the baton up until its resting on your lower lip, "Suck. Get it wet,"

You oblige only too eagerly, wishing it was him instead, allowing your eyes to meet so Caleb can imagine you suckling just as greedily and messily on his cock. His jaw clenches, eyes hazy for a second as if the idea might be enough to tempt him into giving up this whole charade, but the expression fades just as quick as it appeared. He drags the baton from your lips, the wet tip of it tracing a path down between your breasts, over your stomach. It stops briefly at your skirt, and Caleb's lips twitch at the way your hips shift slightly.

"Cale- Colonel, please," You whine, and Caleb tilts his head, "please touch me. Please do something,"

"Watch your mouth," He replies, voice lethally soft, "I never said you could speak," he tuts gently, lifting the baton and bringing it down quickly against your thigh. Pain flashes hot against your skin, melting into something liquid, something addictive. You moan softly.

"So disobedient," Caleb murmurs. He drops the baton, kneeling at your feet, quite unlike the cold colonel. His leather-clad hands find your thighs in a rough grip, hard enough to leave marks, and you hope they do. Caleb lifts your skirt, giving him a clear view of your black underwear, the lace so damp now that he can see the wet spot on the seat below, "Messy too,"

You try not to beg him, trying to keep silent and stay obedient so that he might touch you. His lips grow wet as he drags his tongue over them, staring intently at your parted thighs like he might wish to lick you clean himself, though he doesn't move. His hand makes its way up your thigh, over the reddened mark where he'd smacked you with the baton. The skin, sensitive now, hums under his tough as he runs a thumb over it, a soothing gesture cutting through his act.

"You've thought about this a lot," He says, voice softer now, "I have noticed every time your eyes watch me when I leave. Whenever I wear this uniform your eyes seem to glaze over like you're in the middle of a daydream," his hand moves further towards your clothed pussy, the leather soft and cool on your heated skin, "Is this what you were thinking about?"

You nod eagerly, unsure if he will stop if you were to speak. He smiles, almost looking like the Caleb you know again, though the grin soon sharpens with an edge as his fingers meet their mark. He presses hard against your clit, rubbing the wet lace against your skin in a slow, taunting circle. He does this twice, taking his touch away and observing the shiny wetness on his gloves. He pauses, like he might bring the fingers to his own lips for a taste, but instead he lifts them to your own mouth, pushing them past the seam of your lips.

"Taste it," He speaks, gruffer than a moment ago, "Taste the mess you've made,"

You moan around his gloved fingers, the familiar bitter taste of the leather soothed slightly by the salty tang of your own arousal. You lick every drop, sucking hard until your cheeks hollow, and Caleb's lips part to accommodate a low, quiet moan. When he pulls his fingers out, he returns them in a swift movement, rubbing your clit again and again.

"Come," He grits out, watching your face hungrily, the cool, calm pretence from earlier vanishing with each second, "Fuck, come nice and quick for me and I'll reward you with my cock,"

Your thighs tremble against the hold his evol still has on you, hips barely managing to chase his fingers, though you seem to crash into your climax unexpectedly. The force of it takes the air from your lungs leaving your lips parted on a silent moan before you drag in a broken gasp, "Oh- oh god, fuck, Caleb -"

"Good," He says, dazed, "So good, you did so good for me,"

His evol vanishes, your thighs clamping around his hand as he continues to rub and rub and rub until you're leaning forward, biting into the material of his jacket to quell the scream building in your throat. When you come a second time, Caleb seems to moan with you, so attuned to your body that he can feel your pleasure for himself.

He stands as you begin to gather yourself, panting in the chair and watching his movements with teary eyes. He doesn't bother removing his uniform, pulling out his cock through the slit in his trousers. It's hard, almost angrily red and shiny - your mouth waters with the need to taste, and thankfully, Caleb doesn't keep you waiting. He parts your lips with the head, gripping your hair in one hand while the other braces on the back of the chair you're sitting on.

"Oh fuck, oh god -" He's throbbing in your mouth already, hips stuttering as he shallowly fucks into your mouth, "Gonna come, oh fuck, gonna come. Yeah, yeah -" you suck hard, hollowing out your cheeks in order to bring about his release quicker. He comes with a broken groan of your name, chair creaking in his vice-like grip, and he uses the hold on your hair to pull you up and down his cock slowly, dragging out every thick rope of come he has to give.

When you're both panting, Caleb braces himself on the kitchen counter, dragging in deep lungfuls of air before he walks over on shaky legs to uncuff you. When you're both feeling human again, he brushes your hair from your face and looks down at you with wide, glassy eyes.

"Did I do good?" He says, "Did you like it?"

You shake your head, laughing, "You did really good, believe me,"

Caleb nods, satisfied, his playful demeanour so at odds with his uniform that it makes you laugh. The two of you shower and spend the rest of the night watching movies, though you make it known that should he want to welcome you home like that in the future, you are more than willing to play along again.

[isacksteban]

bitch i am not the one.

[needsmoresleepwrites]

Everyone paused at that. No, it wasn't because what Dazai said was eerily creepy or weird. These were the things that they expected of the ex-Port Mafia member in regards to his prized Atsushi.

7 Hours Behind

read on AO3 (4/?)

tags: humor, crack, big cast, travel abroad, dazai is losing his mind, drunken shenanigans, multi-chapter, mini-chapters (etc.)

——————————————————————————

Dazai can't remember the last time he was away from Atsushi for so long, or rather, he can but he likes to not think about it. Unfortunately, he can no longer say it's been less than a handful of times, what with this recent trip being number five. How he longs to hold his little silver-haired kitten! 

"To think you'd be one of those boyfriends," Naomi teased while sitting in one of the lounge chairs closest to her brother.

Kunikida only grunts, "You're lucky this is your first time hearing him whine like a baby." He'd given up on "encouraging" Dazai to do any work. All he'd done today was arrive (late, might he add) and wither away with all the sighing he was doing. And complain about work. And whine about how much he missed Atsushi. But most importantly...

"He hasn't posted anything online! What if he's forgotten me already?"

Naomi picked up her phone and raised a brow, "It hasn't even been that long since his last Instagram upload."

"That was hours ago!" Dazai complained. Kunukida was glad he'd stopped rolling around on the ground but pushing his cellphone into his face wasn't making anything better (this was one of the many disadvantages of sharing a desk with Dazai) . He was trying to finish up some last minute paperwork so they could all disband and let Dazai wallow in his own heartbreak but his partner was making things nearly impossible. He had dreaded this the moment Atsushi had announced his plans nearly a month ago and he had prayed that things would be different this time (to no avail. Dazai had an uncanny ability of defying God Himself)

"You can't actually believe he's still at the Cultural Center. Besides, he also hasn't updated his story since breakfast. It's already nearing lunch in Madrid...!" Everyone paused at that. No, it wasn't because what Dazai said was eerily creepy or weird. These were the things that they expected of the ex-Port Mafia member in regards to his prized Atsushi. Although everyone was surprised he hadn't GPSed the kid (note: He'd tried)

No, what made everyone pause was how right Dazai's statement had been.

Naomi quickly checked Atsushi's stories again, wondering if she had missed something, while her brother nervously looked over to her. They shared looks and then turned to Dazai who was laid out on his desk, his phone still in his hand, nonsense coming from his prone form. Ranpo put down his newspaper to fiddle with his phone, made a few quiet noises, and inconspicuously turned his chair away from Dazai. Naomi could see his hand disappear into his coat pocket. Even Kunikida paused in his work to check his notifications (this was an Emergency. While annoying, his Ideals could wait a few seconds...)

"...maybe the wifi is down?" Tanizaki suggested.

"No, the connection is strong. I just finished submitting some paperwork and contacting some clients, plus, Yoko hasn't let us know anything is off. I'd be the first to know if communications were somehow compromised," Naomi would love to say there were only a few moments when she wished to strangle Kunikida for being so dense but, well, that would be a lie. Luckily she had immense self-control

"I meant...maybe in Madrid? What if he hasn't had a chance to connect?" 

Dazai seemed to revive slightly at this suggestion but then Ranpo smirked over at them, his glasses perched on his nose, "He didn't have any issues these past few days. No, I doubt that's it. Perhaps he's...avoiding someone."

At that moment two things happened. Everyone's phones went off with notifications and Yosano barged into the office, a manic grin on her face as she yelled, "Have you guys seen Atsushi's latest post?! They are so adorable!"

Everyone screamed.

A/N: Here is that old fic that has finally been updated! I started it back in 2019 for the dazatsu ship week. i wrote 2 chapters and then disappeared. now i'm back with 2 new chapters and more to come~ my goal is to make something cute and fluffy but also CHAOTIC as always, comments feed my soul~

[foldingfittedsheets]

DMing is hard. I acknowledge this. Weaving a story with words for long periods of time means you’re gonna say something silly sometimes when your brain blips. And it’s not your fault that it’s so silly that your players share it around turning it into an inside joke, immortalizing your brain fart moment forever.

My DM was narrating a scene between our tiefling rogue and the NPC she was romancing. He was trying to set the mood for their first kiss, up on a tower overlooking the city, looking into each others eyes. They’d just been on a romantic date, there was a bottle of wine between them. And this was their moment.

The NPC leaned in to kiss the rogue and the kiss was, according to our DM, “long and normal.”

The entire session went off the rails. We became ungovernable creatures of hilarity. How long is normal?

We are informed normal is six seconds and we devolve even further into chaotic paroxysm of laughter. The DM desperately tried to rein us in but for the rest of the session everything took a long and normal amount of time.

My betrothed and I would kiss each other while counting to six in our heads then declare afterward, “Ah yes! Long and normal!”

I accidentally told my school team about it, reasoning that they’d at least never meet the DM who lives out of state. They’d say we needed the scene to be the long and normal length, or hold a pose for a long and normal time.

At the end of the year I invited them to my house for a celebratory meal and was surprised when my DM joined the DnD video call early. My teammates looked at him, expressions slowly spreading into evil grins. “Long and normal!” They greeted him.

He turned a look upon me of utter betrayal while I hustled them out of my house.

“It’s been a year!” He cried at the unfairness.

“Maybe it’ll phase out by next year,” I told him.

[rikan-oo]

Jiuyuan Uni Au, where SY and SJ are both literature professors that have a beef with each other, but still get paired for lectures/practice lessons for same groups for some reason (It's actually Airplane's fault, but hey sometimes he needs a break from these two as much as other teaching stuff, so they neutralize each other).

SJ usually delivers lectures, and SY takes care of practice lessons. Despite similar elegant air, these two are different as night and day in their teaching methods. At Shen Jiu's lectures, students are afraid to take a breath, let alone ask questions. Meanwhile, SY loves conversations and debates on his lessons. He sometimes bullshits about plot on purpose to check whether students read material.

Nevertheless, SY and SJ have one other thing in common. They say passive-aggressive comments about each other or give backhanded compliments when nobody expects that. It fuels theories among students why would they hate each other, but it's so hilarious that students started to collect these questionable quotes and make fun of that. Also, I wholly believe that they would have nicknames because both of them are Shens. I bet it's confusing as hell, so SJ would be either Snape or Evil Queen. Meanwhile, SY is some kind of fairy.

Usually, SJ does lectures and SY — practice lessons, but once it was decided to swap them. Airplane was sick, so the other person made a new schedule. Top 10 Anime disasters. Meanwhile, more failing and bad grades were expected. Nobody could predict this shitstorm. It's all concentrated around one particular student, whose name was Luo Binghe. SY's favorite student and absolute teachers pet for him. Obviously, for SJ, it was hate from first sight. Many failed this course, and LBH was no different. He didn't get enough points because SJ was extra picky with grading his papers. LBH, all crying with puppy face, lamented to SY, and then shit hit the fan.

SY went to SJ, and they had a cat fight in their office after lessons. It started with accusations from both sides about bias. SJ saying that he obviously favors LBH and codles a beast who is too cocky, arrogant, and doesn't know his place. SY saying SJ is biased and hates LBH for his talent and cleverness, and also because LBH prefers SY's articles and analysis to SJ. Then, it proceeds to them criticizing each other and screaming. Naturally it ended with them making out (again) and having hatefuck (new!)

SJ was smug and obviously bragged to LBH with "I fucked your mum" energy. SJ: "Nobody is going to believe you anyway." (Wrong, LMY will eat this shit up and write a ff with love triangle, adding her brother and professor YQY to the mix. Somehow, all faculty know about its existence and students share it like a sacred torch) Boy is deeply traumatized by his teacher's sacrifice to pacify evil dragon. He promises SY a lifetime servitude. (SY: "No, Binghe, don't kneel, please. I don't need a lifetime servitude. Just you living a fulfilling life and pursuing academic endeavors is enough for me. " LBH: "Laoshiii *crying*). LBH won, but at what price. Press F for SY ass and LBH lovelife.

[hyukalyptus]

txt reaction when they’re making love to you for the first time, you’re shy and want the lights off, but they urge you to keep them on and end up finding your healed body scars. Is that angsty?

HELL YEAH THIS IS ANGSTY i love it. lets do some hcs,hmm?? im kinda nervous for this one lmao. i feel like my answers may be a bit cringe but i don't care lmfao. maybe a tad self indulgent MWAHAHA

cw. lots of talk of scars and of self harm (nothing graphic, just talking about scars, not the actual harming), kinda cheesy i think?, i tried really hard to not make it cheesy though, sex implied but nothing graphic there, kissing, swearing.

hcs under cut. again, this talks about self harm.

yeonjun is quiet at first. you can feel the moment he sees them. it happens every time. and you still don't really know how to prepare or react. should you act like they don't exist? address the elephant in the room? cover them up with the blankets? your internal argument is interrupted, though. "i see them," he says. no sugarcoating things. which might be your favorite approach so far. you let out a quiet laugh. he says, "honestly, i was already impressed by you." then he grazes his fingertips over them. "now I’m just kinda intimidated." u raise a brow, unsure if he's joking. "you went through all that, and you're still here like it's nothing." you take a deep breath. then he looks into ur eyes and says, "you're even more of a badass than I thought." and you can tell that it's not a stupid line he pulled out of his ass. he's dead serious. and when he leans in to kiss you again, he shows you just how much he wants you.

soobin i think would be very quiet about it. like not really making many comments for a while. but not out of shock or confusion or pity. just an acceptance of who you are. like he's undressing you gently and finally sees your bare body in the light and starts noticing them slowly, his eager hands slowing down. he looks at it for a second while u carefully watch his reaction and then he leans down to press the softest kiss to one. again, not a performative pity party, not feeling sorry for you, and definitely not wanting to "save" you like some have wanted in the past. it's almost in admiration or reverence. and he kisses more of them, saying i see you without speaking.

beomgyu notices them when he lifts your shirt off, eyes slowly trailing down before catching on the thin lines as a flicker of awareness flits across his eyes. you've done this before, though, and with worse lighting. it's not so scary anymore. "yeah," you start. "they’re what you think they are." and he just nods, "okay." and there's this beat of silence before you finally ask, "you good?" he nods with a chuckle and says, "just trying not to say something stupid." a small smile tugs at the corners of ur lips. then he gently rests his palm on ur stomach and says, "it's just..." he takes a deep breath. "ur still here. and you let me be here too." he smiles. "that’s…a lot, you know?" and honestly? you finally feel seen. not as someone with weird scars or some pathetic thing that's minutes away from breaking down. and he's obsessed with you.

taehyun is kinda caught up in the moment already. ur splayed over the bed, fully bare and visible in the light. and he's just noticing them, touching them to acknowledge their existence. "they're not new," you say. "i'm okay now." and the way he looks in ur eyes, a deep admiration and respect ur not sure u've ever felt, just sort of hits. he holds ur face in his hand and says, "thank you for letting me see this part of you." and it's not dramatic. just truth. and you finally feel like he's not looking at something broken. "i didn’t mean to make it a big deal," you murmur. "you didn’t," he whispers. "but it is. you could’ve kept the lights off or covered up. but you didn’t." and the kiss is so beautiful and blissful—not because he sees your scars—but because you trusted him to.

hueningkai sees them when he's kissing down your stomach. he takes them in, slowly, silently. you go still, bracing for something, but ur not quite sure for what. you just hope it isn't disgust or worse: pity. he doesn't speak. just sits back on his knees and really looks at you. "damn," he starts. "you've been through it, huh?" then his eyes flick back up to yours, something different in them now—heavier than they were before. "and i’m just really fucking honored you chose me." you blink. and it hits. you don’t say anything. just reach for him, hand wrapping around the back of his neck to rest gently. when he leans in to kiss you again, it's not careful. it's intentional. he knows what this means. and he's not afraid. and this weight lifts off your shoulders. because he saw them. and he stayed.

-

suicide hotlines:

usa national suicide hotline: 988

Trans Lifeline: 877-565-8860

Blackline (centers Black, Indigenous, & People of Color): (800) 604-5841

Wildflower Alliance Peer Support Line: (888) 407-4515

For text based support, THRIVE Lifeline offers 24/7 crisis support at 1 (313) 662-8209

[heeseungiez]

» XO, Miss Decelis

pairings! rich kids!hyung line x fem!reader, choi yeonjun x fem!reader briefly synopsis! perfection used to be all you strove for, keeping everything that didn't fit the image a secret from the world, but an accident that nearly took your life made you reconsider what kind of person you truly wanted to be... warnings! smut (mdni! 18+), mentions of bullying, joking about past trauma to cope, angst, jealousy etc. (warnings will be added) taglist! closed a/n! never thought i'd be back to writing fanfic on tumblr but here we are... i guess even 6 years later, i'm still the same person i was when i was 15... just btw, the pairings can change as i write more since right now, i have only officially written the first sooo... don't take it for granted

RESOLUTION 1: actually enjoy a party... (Lee Heeseung x Reader)

synopsis! lee heeseung has known you your whole life. he has always kept you at an arm’s length due to his childhood pettiness after being forced to spend time with you as kids. but now that you were back in town, going to school again, he finds his resolve to dislike you at all costs crumbling between his fingers. as if it hadn’t always been chipping away throughout the years.

word count! 5.4k

read here!

RESOLUTION 2: not be a virgin anymore... (Sim Jake x Reader)

synopsis! sim jake has always liked you, but as heeseung’s best friend, he felt weird trying to talk to you. now, with the rules around you loosening, jake refuses to miss his chance to win you over.

word count! 8.4k

read here!

RESOLUTION 3: become popular at school (Park Jay x Reader)

synopsis! park jay always thought of you as the annoying little miss perfect who could do no wrong in the eyes of his, yours and heeseung’s parents. he wasn’t fond of you in the slightest for that very reason. but when you dropped the act after your perfect image had shattered in front of everyone, he can’t help but feel drawn to you. when he discovers another one of your secrets, he thinks he might truly have to ruin you for the whole world to know how far from perfect you truly are.

word count! 12k

read here!

RESOLUTION 4: maybe get a boyfriend? (Park Sunghoon x Reader)

synopsis! park sunghoon always preferred admiring you from afar. because to him, you were untouchable. as the daughter of his career’s biggest sponsor, he was scared that the smallest slight upon your person could make your father withdraw. but you were not the fragile pretty flower sunghoon thought you to be. it was only his luck that you ran right into his arms when you didn’t know what to do about the rest of his friends.

word count! 15k

read here!

Good morning, Decelis! Guess who’s back?

And no, I’m not talking about myself at the moment, but rather, a princess of a successful empire, and our beloved black sheep of the school. It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? In a place where money is power, she has none despite the billions she’s meant to inherit. Poor girl, wouldn’t you say?

But rumours have it that our princess is back from her prolonged summer break abroad, and she’s different than we remember.

It seems that the good girl image has been thrown to the wolves, and the princess is back with a bite of her own.

I’m most definitely looking forward to what this year brings us.

XO, Miss Decelis

[causereyna-artie]

Just incase you're having a bad day, I want you to know that in some universe Fleamont Potter is probably throwing it back Desi drunk dad style at a jegulus wedding

[piracytheorist]

In Life, And in Death (1/11)

Fandom: Spy x Family Word count: 4.1k for this chapter | 32.4k in total Rating: T Warnings: Temporary character death, graphic violence, horror imagery, body horror, mild gore, whump, language Cover art by @buf309

Summary: Anya is kidnapped, and Twilight is thrown into the horrors of a mysterious, deadly village. Forced and then choosing to survive its trials - physical and mental - he's brought to figure out who he truly is. (A Resident Evil Village fusion)

AO3

~

Author's Note: Probably my most insane fanfic project yet. After I successfully probed SOMEONE, aka @spencer-is-someone, into watching a Resident Evil Village gameplay, they fell in love with Ethan Winters but felt he went through too much in the game, prompting the idea "What if Loid went through all that stuff instead". And well, 32 thousand words later, here I am, inflicting this literal horror upon y'all.

I made a post about it, and the absolutely wonderful @buf309 went and made this amazing cover art, and I literally couldn't be more thankful for that. I was so amazed when I saw the first draft sketch that I went like I'M GONNA WAIT TILL IT'S READY TO POST THE FIC. Seriously, words cannot describe how grateful I am, I sincerely hope the fic feels satisfying enough for the work you've done <3

If you know how the Resident Evil Village story goes, this is pretty much the same... yes, in all of its "parts-in-jars" glory (if you know you know, if you don't you will soon), just with Twilight taking the place of Ethan Winters. There will be a few changes from the original story to fit Twilight's character, some to facilitate the adaptation from game narrative to fanfic narrative, some to fit my own tastes, and an actually hopeful ending because we were all left heartbroken after the ending of RE Village so might as well pour some healing juice to put our hearts back together same way Ethan puts his limbs back together and hope for the best.

Do take note of the warnings, please. There is one part of the story I actually had chills while writing (yes, that part for those of you who know, it will be slightly changed but the essence will be the same) and it is based on the story of a horror/survival game, so make sure you're okay to read something as intense as this.

The story is written in full, though I'm still doing small bits of editing here and there. I don't have a posting schedule, but I'm thinking of updating twice a week, or once if I see the editing is taking longer. Chapter titles are taken from track titles of the game's original soundtrack.

So yeah, long intro over, take not of the warnings, I hope you enjoy if you read on!

~

Chapter 1: Bloodthirsty

~

“Anya, don’t sit so close to the TV,” Loid said, not looking up from the counter.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. He wouldn’t doubt that she hadn’t even heard him, let alone acknowledged his request.

He picked up a handful of minced meat to mould into a burger steak, deciding to give her another reminder in two minutes from now. Yor had just left to walk Bond, so it was only his direction she had to follow – and she was starting to make clear whose directions she preferred to follow nowadays.

He placed the burger on the pan as his body tensed. A split second later, the door burst open.

He jumped through the opening between the kitchen and the living room, but even that seemed a pointless blessing as thick smoke quickly covered the apartment.

He rushed through it to grab Anya, who trembled against him, but he didn’t have the time to move away from the shots.

Two silenced shots, piercing through his clothes and reaching into the skin of his back.

No blood. But they were pinching his skin, and he immediately felt groggy…

He dropped to his side, unable to move as figures approached him. One of them took Anya.

“PAPA!” she screamed at him.

He feebly raised his hand. “Wait,” was the only thing he could say, before his hand dropped.

More figures approached him, and then his vision went dark.

~

Focus, Twilight.

Don’t open your eyes yet. Don’t alert the enemy yet.

He held his breath for a moment.

He was somewhere cold, outside.

He could feel something soft but freezing underneath him. Snow?

His hair didn’t feel wet, so he mustn’t have been lying there long.

It was quiet. He could only hear distant sounds of wind and crows flying somewhere close.

He couldn’t feel anyone’s presence, so he decided to open one single eye to check.

But then both his eyes shot wide open.

In front of him stood a magnificent gothic mansion. It could be a mansion, or it could be a damn castle. It was surrounded by a thick wall, like a fortress.

He sat up. He was indeed lying on the snow, but it was the least of his concerns right now.

He had apparently been placed on the castle’s garden. Right in the middle of the winter, it was only decorated by a few naked trees as well as three scarecrows.

Those didn’t seem to do their job well enough, he thought, as crows still flew around, some even sitting on them.

He got up, checking himself for injuries. He couldn’t feel any pain or any indication of pierced skin. How had they drugged him?

It was then he realized he was now wearing his jacket.

Had they dressed him for the cold? While taking off his apron and the gloves he wore while preparing food?

What the hell?

Where even was this place?

Why was he brought here?

Where was Anya?

His attention was drawn back to the apparently useless scarecrows, and a chill ran down his spine – unrelated to the cold – when he noticed something eerie about them.

Carefully, he took a few steps towards them.

His breath caught in his throat when he was close enough to notice.

Those weren’t plain scarecrows.

Those were actual, human bodies hanging on wooden crosses.

His breath finally came out shaky, forming a cloud.

What the hell was this place?

Unable to quell his curiosity, he stepped closer, trying to notice for any details on the bodies, in case he recognized them.

All three seemed to be men, of ages between thirty and fifty, and they couldn’t have been dead for longer than a week or so. The cold might have preserved their bodies, but exposure to the outside would do as much more damage.

He couldn’t recognize any of their faces – or what was left of them.

Well, he didn’t even know where he was, how far away from Berlint or even in Ostania for that matter.

He clenched his hands into fists and turned around, looking around the walls surrounding the castle.

There was a huge metal door blocking the path outside. No climbing the wall; it was too smooth and covered in even more slippery ice. Climbing the trees wouldn’t give him enough height to swing himself out.

Which meant, his only way of getting answers was through the castle.

He must have been placed there for a reason, after all, and if they’d wanted to kill him they would have already done so.

He reached the entrance, and the door swung open easily.

The entrance hall was as luxuriously decorated as the outside hinted at. A lush burgundy carpet went up the few steps, leading to a wall where a painting of three young women hung.

The door closed behind him, and he didn’t miss the definitive clang as metal bars started descending right in front of it.

He turned, and for a few seconds he weighed his options.

He could break the door quickly enough before the bars descended too low, and slip outside.

But then again, they obviously wanted him in there, and again, it didn’t seem that killing him was their priority.

He faced forward, ignoring the sound of the bars trapping him in there.

He might as well play their game.

He walked to the painting. Underneath it was an inscription that wrote “Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra.”

Which one was which?

The women on the painting didn’t seem too different from each other. The painting itself didn’t seem all too enlightening, either; it looked like any common Romantic-style oil painting.

Well, it wasn’t going to give him any answers, would it?

He turned around, walking down a corridor and out into another, larger hall. He noticed how warm the whole building was, despite the freezing weather outside and the apparently old construction of the place.

This hall had hanging, lit candles all over the walls, though they couldn’t be the source of the heating. The lighting was low, but lucky for him, he’d been trained enough in low lighting for that not to be an issue.

He jerked back at the sound of a swarm of flies coming his way, then he sensed someone’s presence.

Flies, he could handle.

But then the flies started gathering together, and within seconds they morphed into three women, dressed in black hooded cloaks.

“Wha—?” he whispered.

“Looking for Anya?” a voice said, and he assumed it’d come from one of the women. Who had just formed from flies.

The absurdity of his situation almost made him forget that she had just mentioned Anya.

Which meant they probably knew where she was.

However, he was too shocked by the sight that he couldn’t move when one of the women, all of whom were cackling, approached him and pushed him backwards.

She swung the scythe she held in her hand, and he pulled his legs away just before she could bury it in his calf.

“Oh, he’s feisty!” the woman said with a wide smile.

Her arm then almost zapped through the air, and his left leg was exploding in pain before he could even register the movement.

He yelped in pain as she leaned closer to him and took a long sniff.

Her mouth and jaw were covered in blood, though her blond hair looked pristine clean.

“Mmm, man-blood,” she said.

She then leaned back and started dragging him, by the scythe embedded in his leg, as he still lay helplessly on the ground.

She was too fast. He flailed around, trying to grab at anything they passed by to make her stop, even though that would mean the scythe would rip his entire leg open, but then another woman reached his other side and buried her scythe in his right leg.

He threw his head back, biting down another yell of pain.

Could he just have one moment?!

The women dragged him down another corridor and into what he quickly realized was a bedroom. They removed their scythes, and he quickly reached to assess the damage, when he heard the blond woman say “Mother, I bring you fresh prey,” as she pointed at him with her hand.

“You are so kind to me, daughters,” came a voice of a woman who sounded older than them.

Older, and bigger.

She was sitting on a massive chair, holding an equally massive glass of red wine. She took a sip from it, then stood up and turned to him, saying, “Now, lets take a look at him.”

He raised his head to look at her.

And then raised it higher.

She had the build of a muscular woman, with curves proportionate to her height, which must have been about three meters tall. She wore a black wide-brimmed hat over her chin-length black hair, and a long white dress that reached down to her feet, though she moved comfortably in it.

“Well, well. Loid Forger,” she said. “Came looking for your daughter, I presume?”

He sat there, frozen.

They knew who he was – or at least pretended to be? And they knew Anya was also taken?

She walked closer to him, smiling as she put her hands on her hips. “For you to think you can waltz right in here—let’s see how special you are,” she nearly purred.

She threw her hands up in a sign for something, and two of the younger women said “Yes, mother,” as they grabbed his arms and pulled him up.

His first thought was that he was standing up surprisingly well for just having had two scythes ran through his legs.

His second thought was terror as one woman grabbed his hand, and the other produced a very sharp-looking knife.

Before he could jerk back, she sliced his palm open.

He bit back a grunt; it wasn’t a deep cut, but it would be annoying…

His last thought trailed off as the tall woman reached down, grabbed his hand, brought it to her lips… and started sucking.

Now he really was frozen in terror.

What the hell was this nightmare?

The woman pulled her head back, licking at her lips with a blood-soaked tongue.

She threw his hand away. “Hmm,” she said. “Still fresh, but only barely.”

He wrapped his hand into a fist, keeping it close to his chest.

“Then let’s devour his man-flesh quickly, mother!” one of the women said, handing a handkerchief to her.

“But I’m the one who captured him!” the blond woman protested.

“Now, now, daughters,” the tall woman said, patting at her lips with the handkerchief. “First, I must inform Mother Miranda. But later, well, there will be enough for everyone.” She threw the handkerchief aside, smiling down at him. “Put him up!”

The young women surrounded him, and though he struggled, they were too strong for him as they put heavy manacles on his wrists.

A thick build, but he could break out of them with little effort.

But then, they secured a chain to them, and the chain started going up. He was lifted off his feet, and started grunting as the full force of his weight fell on his wrists.

Don’t say anything. Don’t let them take a hold of any weaknesses.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his voice from making any sounds as they headed out of the room. The tall woman had to bend to get through that door, and one of the young women – the second one who had stabbed his leg – bent down and picked up the discarded handkerchief, smelling the blood on it and laughing, as she followed them.

Breathing hard, he looked up at the manacles.

The pain was intense but manageable, though he already felt the tingling of numbness in his fingers. By his calculations, he had about fifteen or so minutes before cut blood circulation would start causing permanent damage.

Escape, first. Then you can freak out.

He grabbed the chain and dragged his body up. Though his legs were still bleeding, he brought them up so he could hold the chain between his feet.

He was gasping by the time he managed that, but at least he had less pain on his hands and a better view of the manacles.

They were old and rusty, but seemed to have a fairly standard locking mechanism. Bringing his body closer, he fished the lockpick out from a hidden pocket of his jacket.

Biting his lip, he worked through the lock of the right manacle. Just as it opened, his feet slipped from the chain and dropped down, causing all of his weight to drop onto his injured left hand.

The pain knocked the air out of his lungs.

Think! Think! Pull yourself together!

Taking in a laboured breath, he looked back up.

The lockpick had slipped from his hand and was now too far down for him to get it. His right hand was free, but he didn’t have any other options left.

Reaching up, he wrapped his free hand around his left thumb, and with a sharp pull, he dislocated it.

As his other hand was coated in blood from the cut, his wrist slipped through the manacle as soon as his thumb wasn’t in the way.

He dropped to the ground clumsily, not managing to balance his landing.

Wheezing, he looked at his left hand.

Bleeding, and a dislocated thumb.

He gave himself ten seconds.

Ten seconds to wonder where the hell he had gotten himself into, what that tall woman even was, standing at three meters tall and drinking blood, and what her “daughters” were, emerging from flies and also participating in… blood drinking? Cannibalism?

Ten seconds, and he was back to himself.

Focus, Twilight.

He looked at his legs – they were still bleeding, but he felt confident he could stand on them. Though those scythes looked sharp, they must have split a tendon or two apart.

At the corner of the room stood a vanity table, and on top of it, along with various cosmetics, lay a small green bottle with a cross on the label.

He stood up carefully, glad that his legs weren’t trembling. He picked up the bottle, carefully reading the label.

Medical alcohol.

Not one to trust this place that much, he opened the lid, and sure enough, it smelled like ethyl alcohol.

He sat down with a grunt, pulling his right trouser up. He didn’t have any clean gauze, so his only option was to pour liquid right over the wound.

He braced himself for the sting of pain, but instead, the liquid brought a cool, numbing sensation.

And then, right in front of his eyes, his wound closed then disappeared completely.

He stared at it.

Ten more seconds.

What the hell.

He looked at the bottle again. Medical alcohol, it said. It smelled like it too.

He looked back at his leg, raising his other trouser where the other wound still stood.

What the hell?!

Uncertain, he poured a little less liquid over that wound.

The wound immediately stopped bleeding as new skin seemed to form, though it didn’t heal completely.

He let out a breath. If he were honest with himself, this wasn’t really the weirdest thing to happen in the last few minutes, was it?

He turned to his mangled hand. Just how much could that liquid heal?

He poured an equal dosage to it, and was still surprised to see his thumb painlessly slide into its place, as well as the cut close completely.

Well, at least it could be useful.

He didn’t have time to worry over the supernatural. He had to get out of there, and find out where Anya was.

He took the path of unlocked doors, as he didn’t want to waste time and noise trying to break the lock of every locked door he found. Breaking the windows wouldn’t lead him anywhere – each one was sealed shut, and though he wasn’t averse to turning into a hooligan for the sake of escaping, the entire castle seemed to be surrounded by that wall.

He needed to get to a higher floor, but the safest and most silent path led him to the basement, where he found himself walking along piles and piles of dead bodies.

He had to hold his breath as he passed them by; apparently the occupants of the castle had the habit of feasting on the blood of humans, and did it so often that the amount of bodies was too big to act as decoration for their garden.

It was all men, however. As young as twenty-three, from what he could gather with a quick look.

The fly-women seemed to be confident enough in their hunting that they didn’t take away the handgun from one of the more fresh bodies. Twilight couldn’t tell if that was a police officer, a soldier, or a man aware of what he’d been dealing with, but it didn’t matter to him. He undid the holster, as gently as he could out of respect of the deceased man, and he put it on under his jacket.

He checked the magazine. Ten bullets out of sixteen.

He looked at the man. Had he shot those first six bullets right before he was killed?

The man had a shoulder bag on him, and inside was a box of bullets, a total of forty. He slid that too over his own shoulder.

He kept the safety on the gun on, but held it in his hand. He picked up a hunting knife from one of the other bodies and walked on.

As the bodies thinned out, he found a lone skeletal figure draped in a plain canvas cloak. The limbs stood out, bare, emaciated, and rotting. While other bodies were in a similar state of decomposition, they were fully clothed, at most with a few rips in their clothes. This one was the only one so bare.

And it was holding a scythe in its hand, old and rusty in comparison to the women’s scythes, but still sharp enough to do harm.

He approached it carefully, keeping both hands on the gun.

He thanked his training for that, as the figure moved when he passed right by it.

He yelped in shock, moving away from it and raising his gun at it.

“Stop!” he said. “Don’t move!”

The creature, whatever that was, didn’t seem like it listened let alone register his words. It stood up, hunched over, then lunged at him with the scythe.

Not finding any alternatives, he shot right at its head.

The creature jerked back as a screech left its mouth.

Twilight held his breath.

His blood froze when he saw it still stand on its legs and try to swing at him again.

He shot again. He was perfectly certain the bullet got through its head.

Yet the creature moved again.

And he shot again.

Only now did the creature finally drop to its knees, but it was still screeching and growling.

Desperate, Twilight took the knife and drove it through the creature’s skull, three times, until he felt it stop moving.

It collapsed on the floor.

Hell knew if it would rise again. It was supposed to be dead already, wasn’t it?

He turned around and ran.

There were more creatures on the way. Some he slashed at with the knife, some he shot at, some he simply ran away from. A few managed to nick him with their scythes, and if he were honest, he was more worried about infections than the injuries themselves.

As he found a quiet corner, he pulled out the alcohol – or whatever that was. It seemed to work on the nicks too, making them close quickly and painlessly.

He supported himself on the wall, forcing his breath to calm down.

He had to get out. Now.

Holding the gun tight to his hand, he moved to leave, but then a buzzing and a voice sounded from behind him.

“Hmm. Warm, bright, red blood.”

He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew it was the blond woman.

He made a run for it as flies swarmed around him, until he found a staircase going up, reaching into what looked like a kitchen area.

“Where are you going, little one?”

The woman appeared right in front of him, cutting off his path. She was smiling at him, surrounded by flies, her face still stained with blood.

“I just want to find Anya,” he managed.

“Aw,” she said. She then pushed him back and he fell on the ground. She lay over him, reaching at his neck and biting.

Yelling, he took the gun and fired twice at her stomach.

She reached up, laughing as fresh blood ran from her lips.

He shot at her head.

“Your bullets cannot harm m—”

Her voice cut off when another of his shots passed through her and hit the window behind her.

The glass cracked, and it quickly shattered as a cold gust of wind blew into the room.

The gust threw the woman’s hood off her head. Twilight tightened his hold on the gun when he spotted a massive, fleshy scar on her temple, a bald spot from her long hair.

The woman shrieked, then growled. Her skin, already pale as it was, seemed to start cracking and turn grey. She looked at her hands, still gasping in pain, and then turned to him, yelling, “You stupid man-thing!”

His mind finally picked up the pace. The cold made her weak?

He stood up, raising his gun at her.

“How dare you bare your teeth at us!” she shouted, then lunged at him with her scythe.

He managed to block her attack, pushing her back, and he shot at her face.

She groaned, still standing, but she said, “What? My body—it’s breaking…”

He kept his gun up. “Just let me go,” he said.

A wild rumble came from her mouth as she turned to attack him again. She reached him, and he could only block her at the last moment, his arms taking the full blow of her scythe. “Give up!” she said, reaching back for another swing of her weapon.

He shot twice at her head, and she yelled again.

The flies seemed to drop in numbers, and her skin cracked more and more. He barely managed to avoid two more of her attacks, and then she fell on him, ready to bite his head off, he supposed in the split second it took him to kick her off of him.

He shot two more times.

“This can’t be,” she said, weakly now, her body swaying.

“Let me go!” he repeated, taking two steps back.

She screamed and reached back with her scythe, and he shot again.

And then a sizzling sound came from her body, as she started swinging wildly, not reaching anything. She groaned and groaned, and her body transformed.

It seemed to calcify into gravel, as she slowly stopped moving, her hand still up in a pose of attack.

And then it broke down.

Whatever it was, it cracked into small pieces, and what started as the form of a woman was now a pile of something on the ground.

Breathing hard, he leaned his back on the wall behind him and slid down to the floor.

His hands were trembling, his feet felt like water.

What the hell was all that?

Were was he?

Why was he brought here?

And where was Anya?

What were those creatures…?

He closed his eyes. Ten seconds. Just ten seconds to freak out.

He just had to get out. Find Anya and…

He opened his eyes, his throat tensing.

Did he really have to find her?

As far as he was concerned, right now she was a liability to him. He had to prioritize his safety first.

It wasn’t like there were piles of bodies of dead girls around, was it?

Letting out a deep sigh, he stood back up. The woman had managed to hurt him a little, but the healing liquid was in short supply and he could handle those injuries up to a point.

The woman. Who was now a pile of ash.

Calm down, Twilight. Get yourself in order and find a way out.

The castle proved massive, and he couldn’t find any viable exit paths even as he seemed to reach what looked like hallways reaching into bedrooms.

Then, a mournful scream sounded from a floor below.

“What have you done to my daughter?!”

His blood chilled. If the “daughter” had been that vicious, he didn’t want to face whatever her mother had in store for him.