#it often feels almost cruel to him when people want him to go back to being just an untrustworthy scammer

[thefirstknife]

Is it just me or are there less morally gray characters on our side now?

By that like: Drifter's more openly altruistic, Mara is opening up and respecting boundaries, Nimbus is super good etc.

All seems left is Spider. (idk if Clovis could be considered morally gray perchance)

Like I'm not against character development & hope and kindness but.

I miss having shifty people, bastards and the like around to muddy the waters

There's definitely less, yes. I would still classify Spider and Clovis for sure, but a lot of the characters have since been kinda forced to pick a side. As Osiris told Rasputin in their cutscene:

A line has been drawn in this system. Light on one side. Dark on the other. Where do you stand?

I think this was a question in general to a lot of characters, not just Rasputin. I also really love shifty characters, but as we near the end of the story, there simply is no time for us to endure and tolerate characters who aren't clear on where they stand. The survival of all existence in the universe depends on it.

I think muddying the waters is something that happens in the middle of the story, but by the time we get closer to the end of the narrative, these have to become clear. Like, right now, our enemies are so overwhelming and so powerful that any sort of indecisiveness or shiftiness can be seen as extremely dangerous. There's no more room for staying neutral or playing both sides.

With Drifter in particular though, I'm super hardcore with the belief that his story was always leading to this. It's the natural line of his character arc. He was cool as a shifty guy, but that was just the surface of him as a character. There was always a deeper desire that he followed all of his life; his desire to be safe and his reliance on hope.

He had his doubts in the Light and Ghosts, but he equally doubts the Darkness. He tried both sides and found them both wanting. What he finally realised, is that his place is with the people. He has always been a person eager to help, just afraid of consequences of angering the wrong side. If you remember his early life in the village Eaton, he was hiding his Light, but he could still NOT resist helping; he was using his Ghost to scout the area for food and push animals towards the village hunters.

Even when he was playing with Darkness as a Dredgen, something within recognised that it's not his place when it gave him the name of Dredgen Hope. Similarly, Shin also recognised this and established contact and they forged Gambit together to weed out corruption in Guardians. And finally, he met us, the Young Wolf at the urging of Osiris no less:

“Go home. There’s a Guardian you should meet,” Osiris said.

“Yeah, yeah. Hero. Red War. Can’t wait.”

When he realised that he can trust us AND that we trust him, he finally figured that he can relax for the first time in his life. It was a tipping point. Everyone spent so long telling him about trust and hope and a possible better future and there was nothing to convince him it could be truly real until we came along.

And then of course Eris came to him in Arrivals and that just strengthened the deal. There were people who needed him, people who believed in him, people he could help. Permanently! Hope for a better future was real and it was worth investing into. Light is not the be all end all, we can use Darkness as well to our benefit and he excels in that, but he uses it on our side. There is no other option. He tested them all out and the only one that makes him not feel afraid is our side.

I find his journey absolutely fascinating beyond any other and his development to be one of the best arcs in the whole game. I definitely enjoy Drifter being schemy and shifty, he was a fascinating change of tone in the Tower when he showed up. But I think that keeping him locked into that role would've been a stagnation of his character and not really compelling. Keeping him shifty just for the sake of having a shifty character would just get boring and it would've led nowhere.

It's definitely a change that makes a lot of people miss the old him, but also remember that all of his shifty acting up was mostly a scam. He was meant to pretend to be shady in order to draw people to Gambit and to enact the scheme of figuring which Guardians will fall to corruption. In truth, everyone in the Vanguard knows about the purpose of Gambit and it's been approved.

Either way, for Drifter in particular I will always say that not only was his change necessary for his own benefit (so he could stop being miserable and afraid all his life), it was also the natural conclusion to every hint about his inherent desire to help and his belief in hope. Definitely made us miss the shifty scammer extraordinaire, but I am primarily interested in seeing my fave get better and achieve what he's been looking for for so long.

Could we have gotten some other characters like that after? Possibly. But as I said at the start, super hard to navigate that type of a person when we're dealing with, basically, the end of a story. A shifty character right now would have a hard time fitting in. Spider is still there, but with much less influence. And Clovis is of course Clovis, but his inability to pick a side is what now makes him potentially incredibly dangerous. That's the problem with being shifty right now; even casual flirting with our enemies is lethal.

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

[steddiealltheway]

Steve looks at Eddie and takes a deep breath. He can ask this. He really can. It's not that big of a deal.

"Hey, Eddie?"

Eddie glances up from the small book he's writing in and raises his eyebrows.

"Can you give me a hickey?"

The book shuts quickly, but, other than that, Eddie remains relatively frozen in place.

Steve shifts to sit up a little straighter against the wall of Eddie's bedroom as he explains, "There’s this girl who keeps coming into Family Video who is really persistent. I've tried to drop hints that I'm not into her, but she isn't getting it. And Robin suggested that I needed to appear to be in a relationship so she would stop."

Actually, Robin had told him that he needs to be direct and reject her, but he didn't want to be cruel. So, he suggested that the two of them should pretend to be in a relationship. But Robin only looked at him in disgust and told him that she would not be taking the fall for his problem.

"Why don't you just reject her?" Eddie asks.

Steve sighs. Why do people keep having to ask him that? "It's not the Family Video way."

Eddie snorts and glances away, pausing for a moment before turning back. "Why me?"

Steve shrugs. "You're the only friend my age that I can ask. It would scar me and Robin for life, and there's no way I'm asking Nancy."

"You know who would do it with no questions asked?" Eddie asks.

"Who?"

"Argyle."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, but I don't really know the guy."

Eddie softly smiles and nudges his shoulder. "So you're saying I make you comfortable?"

Steve looks at him, wondering why he's phrasing it like it's a question. "Yes," he confirms.

For some reason, it seems to fluster Eddie, but he quickly nods and sets down his book. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll give you a hickey," Eddie says.

Steve swallows and runs a hand through his hair. "Cool. Cool. Uh, I guess we should do that now?"

Eddie nods, but neither of them move.

A few seconds pass before Eddie clears his throat and asks, "So, how are we doing this?"

Steve shrugs. "However you're comfortable with, but you should probably be in front of me."

Eddie nods and says, "Right." Then, he shifts and swings a leg over Steve's lap, straddling him on his bed.

Steve's heart beats a little faster. He hadn't thought this far into his plan, and he certainly hadn't expected Eddie to make him feel this way.

Eddie slowly leans his head down to Steve's neck then sits back, biting his lip in thought but not saying anything.

"What?" Steve asks.

Eddie fidgets with his rings and says, "This will be easier if we're standing up or laying down. Sitting like this is going to hurt my back."

Steve knows that either position is going to kill him, but the thought of his knees buckling while standing up has him deciding, "Well, we're already on the bed, so..."

Eddie nods at him and moves so Steve can lie down.

As he gets comfortable, Eddie climbs on top of him, hovering in a way that must be a damn workout.

Steve laughs, "You don't have to do a plank over me. You can get comfortable."

Eddie blushes a bit then settles his weight over Steve's body. And oh. Yeah, that feels nice.

Steve reaches up to hold Eddie's hair back so he can look at him. And shit, he didn't realize this is an angle he wants to see Eddie at more often.

"You're still okay to do this?" Eddie asks, voice slightly rougher than before.

Steve nods quickly. "Yes."

Eddie nods back and leans down as Steve tilts his jaw to expose the right side of his neck.

Eddie's breath is hot against his neck, mouth hovering but not touching yet. "Where do you want it?"

Steve tries not to sound so strained when he says, "Right under my jaw."

Eddie's lips finally brush against the sensitive area almost like a kiss before he opens his mouth wide and presses his lips firmly against the skin, tongue brushing lightly against him before he begins sucking. Steve's eyes squeeze shut when Eddie's teeth brush slightly against him. He slaps a hand over his mouth and fists his hands into Eddie's sheets.

This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not a part of it.

Soon, Eddie pulls away, and cool air makes contact with the wet spot against his neck as Eddie breathes out.

Steve's hand clamps over his mouth tighter before he opens his eyes, thankful that Eddie is staring at the mark and not at his face. But he's confused about why he's frowning.

Then, Eddie's hand comes up to lightly tilts his jaw back to him, but he still stares at the mark with his brows pinched.

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, a little more breathlessly than he wants to sound.

Eddie finally looks him in the eye and says, "It's...it's good. Like, a solid hickey... but it's right under your jaw like you asked so it's not extremely visible." He crawls off Steve and grabs a small mirror off his side table.

Steve grabs it, trying to ignore how flushed he looks before he stares at the hickey. Eddie's right. It's nice and red, standing out against his skin, but only when he tilts his head just right. Hell, someone could brush it off as a hit to the jaw.

Steve sighs. He doesn't know if he'll be able to survive Eddie giving him another hickey.

"I can give you one on the middle and bottom of your neck if you really want to sell it," Eddie offers.

"Sure," Steve says without thinking. Because shit, if he doesn't think he can survive one more hickey, how the hell is he supposed to survive two??

But Eddie takes the mirror back and is on top of him again before Steve can really think.

Luckily, Eddie looks him in the eye and asks, "Are you sure you're okay with this? We could just put makeup on you to make it look like hickeys."

Against his better judgment, Steve shakes his head and replies, "No, it's okay. I want this to look as realistic as possible. But, hey, are you okay with this?"

Eddie nods quickly and enthusiastically in a way that makes Steve feel like maybe he's not the only one enjoying this a little too much. Honestly, it makes him feel much better... but also knowing that Eddie's into it makes him feel h-

His thoughts are cut off when Eddie's hand fists into his hair and gently pulls to expose his neck more. Without thinking, Steve's hands come up to grip onto Eddie's back tightly as he sucks another hickey into his neck.

Steve pinches his lips together as best as he can, but he's sure his heavy, quick breathing gives him away.

Then, Eddie moves on from his neck to the junction between his neck and shoulder, pulling at his shirt to get better access as he trails his lips over his skin, never losing contact as his wet lips leave a trail connecting the two areas.

But when Eddie starts sucking a mark into his neck again, something about the area sets something off in Steve causing him to moan loudly. He slaps a hand over his mouth again, but the damage is already done.

Only, Eddie doesn't pull away. He sucks harder.

Steve's back arches off the bed, and his hands fist into Eddie's hair pulling him off of him.

Eddie's lips are red and wet with his own saliva and his pupils are blown wide in juxtaposition with the panic filling his eyes.

Steve breathes out, "Please tell me I'm not the only one who wants this."

Eddie shakes his head quickly and rasps out, "Fucking hell I thought you were going to murder me."

"Eddie, the last thing I want to do to you right now is murder you."

He leans down, brushing his nose against Steve's, and whispers, "And what do you want to do to me right now?"

"First, I want to kiss you," Steve confesses, heart hammering in his chest.

Eddie leans down, lips brushing against his as he asks, "And then?"

"I'm thinking something that involves a lot more hickeys."

Eddie smiles. "I like the sound of that."

Finally, they both move together, kissing deeply in a way that makes Steve think that maybe Eddie's lips are magic everywhere.

And shit, he's going to have a hell of a time explaining the hickeys to Robin and the kids, but it'll be worth it.

Now including an Ao3 link :)

[hvlcy0n]

being in a relationship with chika takiishi would be interesting, because in my brain, he doesn't see it as an equal-footing relationship but more as an opportunity to possess you. all that matters in his mind is that you're his. he never really considered being yours, but truthfully, he is, since you're one of the only two people in existence that intrigues him and he would give the time of day to. now, that's not to say he treats you horribly. in fact, he treats you better than anyone else--although, that's not particularly difficult to do, considering how he treats everyone else like a chewed wad of bubblegum stuck to the sole of his shoe.

you're the only person who can get away with touching him without being pummeled into the ground or receiving a cruel backhand to the cheek. he doesn't flinch when you reach to hold his hand or glide your fingers through his fiery ombre. endo almost pities you when he first sees you wrap your arms around chika's waist or throw your arms over his shoulders, fully expecting for you to be shoved to the ground or have your arm twisted behind your back until your shoulder pops out of its socket. but, he's rightfully stunned when chika remains still and lets you cuddle up to him, the only acknowledgement of your presence being a mere glance at you or a hand briefly placed on whatever part of your body he can reach first.

he knows how much chika loathes being restrained, so how you're not only still upright but now pressing your cheek against the wiry muscle of his shoulder, endo doesn't know. but i'll tell you one thing. baby, when chika says let go, you LET GO😭 he may not strike you, but if you don't listen the first time, he'll resort to physically prying you off him or shaking you off so that he can do whatever it is that he wanted to do.

to touch on the possession thing i first mentioned, he'll do whatever he pleases with you. it isn't often that the desire for sexual gratification or even just physical affection strikes, but whenever it does, he doesn't think twice about indulging. if he wants you cage you against a filthy alley wall and kiss you stupid, he will. if he wants you to sit in his lap instead of standing behind him or sitting next to him, he'll beckon you over with a jerk of his chin. if you're moving too slowly for his taste and he doesn't feel like listening to you whine when he abandons you, so he has the idea to yank you up and toss you over his shoulder, he will. he'll be silent unless you ask questions, and even then, he might stay quiet, depending on whether or not he feels they're worth answering. don't think of trying to get down, either.

if he wants to do or say something, he'll do it. because who's gonna stop him? who's gonna whoop his ass? who's gonna be bold enough to see chika with his hand on you and think that trying to approach or kidnap you would bode well for them? exactly.

he's still not super talkative, but you're more likely to get a response or be approached of his own volition than the wide majority of people, so that counts for something, i suppose. he just kind of exists in your vicinity--or rather, you in his. if you were to tell endo that a day would arrive where someone is genuinely comfortable and unguarded when in chika's presence, he would've thought you were full of shit. but, here you are.

he doesn't get jealous, per se, but he does get possessive. you are his, and the wide majority of people are aware. however, that doesn't mean that you don't have the occasional guy who've either never heard of chika or don't know that you two are together.

chika has never been one to meddle in other people's affairs, often passing by conflicts or shady behavior without even batting an eye. and at first, when he hears the usual spiel of some guy trying to chat up some girl around the corner, he ignores it, uncaring. but, just as he's about to tune out the background noise, the man says something that piques his interest.

"that's a pretty necklace ya got there. what's it say? chika? lemme see."

"don't fucking touch me! that's my boyfriend's name!"

chika's footsteps pause, his attention drifting in the direction of the sound. it's you. that's all he needs to know before he's rerouting himself and making his way toward the source. his blank expression doesn't waver even as he rounds the corner and comes face to face with a broad, muscular back clad in a faux leather jacket. whatever guy is speaking to you hasn't noticed him, preoccupied with towering over you and trying to weasel his way into pawing at the sparkling pendant resting on your chest. you're shuffling backward, forehead creased apprehensively and hands drawn up to your chest protectively.

"hey."

it's only one word, yet it shatters the atmosphere like a whip crack, splitting apart your harasser's control at the seams. chika can see the goosebumps that prickle over the back of his neck as he whirls around to face him.

"the fuck do you want?" the stranger, still attempting to save face and scrape together his dignity despite having been rattled by chika's aura, brazenly steps up to him. "can't you see we're talkin' here?"

but, chika isn't even looking at him, his attention focused just past his shoulder at where you're standing. at the sight of your boyfriend, your eyes gleam with relief, and your muscles visibly relax. "chika!" you beam.

"ah, so you're chika." your harasser muses. "stupid move, lettin' your bitch wander off on--"

chika breezes forward without bothering to let him finish. in the process, his shoulder collides with the man's, knocking him off balance and leaving him teetering haphazardly on one foot before he quickly steadies himself.

"hey!"

his objection falls on deaf ears as chika clutches your wrist and tugs you toward him, his grip so tight that it's nearly bruising. you stumble, narrowly avoiding bumping into him.

"i'm fine--" your reassurance is cut off when chika abruptly seizes your face, fingers dimpling the skin of your cheeks and consequently puckering your lips as he angles your face this way and that. his eyes roam your face, dark with that same unreadable shadow you've grown accustomed to seeing. you whine in protest, hands lifting to rest on his forearm, but you don't push him off.

the strange man reaches for chika, eyes alight with flame. "what the hell do you--"

you don't even have time to process chika's arm being ripped away from you before there's a sickening, dull crack and a spatter of blood sailing through the air. all you can do is stand there in shock while your harasser slumps to the concrete in a pitiful heap, eyes fluttering as his consciousness slips and scarlet pouring from his smashed nose. chika casually lowers his hand back to his side as if nothing were amiss. he spares his handiwork a single glance before calmly stepping over it and heading back in the direction he came.

"let's go."

you don't hesitate to follow.

[roanofarcc]

ONE DANCE, PLEASE?

pairing: trevor lefkowitz x ghost bride!reader

summary: since your death, weddings at Woodstone have been a source of bitterness for you but that doesn’t stop trevor from attempting to cheer you up with a dance

word count. 1.6k || masterlist

warnings: fem!reader, mentions of death, dead!reader

a/n: this is my first ghosts fic so please be gentle! I love the idea of a ghost bride and debated on making it into an OC or reader story. I think I like having it be in little one-shots! it’s a crime more hasn’t been written for trevor (or any of the show’s characters). feel free to request for trevor or any other ghosts characters <3

“Are you going to mope around for eternity?” Sasappis asked you, standing arms crossed in front of a beautiful garden decorated to the nines. The backdrop to your sulking was stunning flowers tied in bunches and pastel dresses moving around the patio-turned-dance floor. 

“Is that not the point of being a ghost?” you replied, jutting out your feet forever stuck in kitten heels and skin-colored pantyhose. Sass lightly kicked your foot with his and nodded his head to the corner just off the dance floor where the rest of the ghosts danced and laughed. A part of you was jealous of how easily they enjoyed themselves at weddings and how they were not plagued with an eternal hatred for them and what they represented. 

It always felt like a cruel joke, even though it never had anything to do with you, when Sam and Jay hosted a wedding at their B&B. As much as you loved the couple, you couldn’t stand what most considered a joyous event. The union of two people in love, not tainted by tragedy, grew your restatement each time. Weddings were a part of the business and helped Sam and Jay bring in the money they desperately needed to fix up the mansion, but that didn’t mean you had to enjoy yourself. Instead, you spent each event sulking on the sidelines, ignoring the pang in your chest, and avoiding your ghostly counterparts' advances to cheer you up. The only thing that would’ve cheered you up was a do-over of your big day that was ruined by a strike of unluckiness, resulting in your untimely death.  

Sass narrowed his gaze at you but decided against saying whatever he wanted to. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed back to the ghosts. You adverted your gaze back down to the beads sewn into your dress, picking at them with the wish you could pull the garment apart with your hands, but since it was what you died in, it would forever stick to you. 

A slow song played through the DJ’s speakers as the sun slowly began to set over the yard. Strung lights glittered warmly, bathing the attendees in a golden glow. The bride had looked radiant since she arrived at the mansion days ago, and all day you had to watch her and her husband’s love run circles around you. Your malice wasn’t aimed directly at the happy couple, but rather at what they represented and the reminder of what you almost had. 

Someone appeared beside you, their presence clouding your solitude-sulking. “What a bunch of losers,” the person said, causing you to turn your head and meet Trevor. “I mean, seriously, this song was lame when I went to weddings and people are still dancing to it? I get the appeal of throwbacks but let’s pick this snooze-fest up a little, am I right?” 

You rolled your eyes. “What do you know about weddings?” 

“I happen to have been invited to a lot of them, thank you very much. Well, the receptions and bachelor parties, usually. Those weddings had a lot more alcohol and single bridesmaids.” You said nothing in response, hoping your dimly lit mood would shoo Trevor away. You were mistaken, though. If anything, your silence only encouraged him further. He moved in closer to your side, standing with his hands on his hips as he gazed out across the crowd. “I think they may need some help livening things up a bit. Care to join me?” 

He often tried to do that, brighten your mood by offering to dance with you. And every time you turn him down, not because you didn't want to, but because you’re worried that the second you start to enjoy yourself at a wedding, tragedy will follow a second time around. You liked Trevor and couldn’t stand the thought of enjoying yourself only to hurt yourself, again, or him. In your head, as long as you moped around, everything would stay the same as they were, which you loved more than you’d admit aloud. You liked your ghost-mates and you liked Sam and Jay. If you somehow brought some unfortunate curse upon any of them because you enjoyed yourself just as you had on your own wedding day, you weren’t sure you could cope with that a second time around, not when you hardly coped with it from the first time. 

“Trevor…” you sighed, defeated and slumped-shouldered. 

Normally, he dropped it after that. He usually sat quietly at your side until his excitement and urge to join the party overwhelmed him and he resumed dancing with Flower or attempting to play pranks on the livings with Thorfinn. That time, however, he took you by surprise. He moved directly in front of you, face set with a certain tone of seriousness that was odd. 

“Nope,” he said, simply. “You are not moping for eternity. I won’t let you.” 

“That’s not your choice.” 

He smirked, cheekily and annoying but stupidly charming. Those three words suited him too well. Trevor extended his hand out, making a grabbing motion with his hand. “One dance, that’s all I’m askin’. That’s all I need to change your mind.” You tightened your grip on the skirt of your dress, unbudging at his request. “One dance. Please?” His voice was a little lower, pleading almost. 

One dance. You never got to dance at your wedding. Something bad could happen, it probably would. 

Trevor’s fingers grazed your knuckles, tapping them lightly and looking at you in a way, underneath the golden light, that made you consider it. He noticed your hesitation and dropped his hand back down at his side. 

“Okay,” he said after a beat before he turned away with a little frown on his lips that made you feel even worse. 

There was something wrong with you, maybe it was some kind of ghostly side effect of dying on your wedding day; perhaps you were doomed to live in the murky waters of what-if and why. 

The bride and groom were in the middle of the patio dance floor, spinning each other around in quiet fits of laughter and bodies pressed as close as they could get with the bride’s fluffy dress. They were married, dancing as two halves of a whole with nothing bad lingering over their heads. There was no impending doom, aside from you sitting on the outskirts. The doom was you and your mind, rippled with jealousy, sadness, and a million questions of what exactly you could have done differently that day. But the truth was, there was nothing you could have done. Fate was fate, as Flower had once said in one of her more insightful conversations. Fate was messy and included bear attacks, arrows in necks, and accidents. Fate found you there, at the Woodstone mansion forever a fiancee but now entangled with the fates of your ghost friends who also found themselves there forever. 

Forever was such a long, made even longer with eternity hanging on your shoulders. How many more weddings would you sit there, watching and sulking in your own unhappiness that others wanted to fix for you? 

Something between a groan and a sigh left your lips as you stood up, letting your wedding dress fall back down to the ground in the pristine condition you had died in it in. “Trevor,” you said again, louder as you called after him. He stopped, slowly turning around with a confused quirk of his brow. You nervously picked at the beads again, but that time wasn’t to pick them off but rather settle them back in place in a similar way to how you had picked at them awaiting your turn to walk down the aisle. A dance was not nearly as monumental as that, but it carried a weight that pressed down on your chest. 

“One dance,” you said. He stared at you for a moment like he wasn’t sure he had heard you right. It wasn’t until Thor punched him in the arm with a hardy laugh and Hetty pushed him forward towards you. 

Trevor approached you, smoothing out his tie. “Really?” he asked. 

You nodded. “If anything bad happens, I’m blaming it on you," you said only half joking.

He smiled, wide and toothy and the way that made you subconsciously want to copy it. “The worst thing that’ll happen is me stepping on your feet. I haven’t slow danced since prom.” Despite that, he dramatically bowed and extended his hand. “May I have this dance,” he said in a terrible accent. You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, some of that weight lifting from where it hurt your chest. 

Once you accepted his hand, he all but dragged you to a quiet corner of the dance floor, away from where any livings would walk through you two, and away from the other ghosts and their suggestive smirks and comments pointed at the two of you. 

When you danced, with his feet clumsily trying to avoid stepping on yours and hands rested on your waist, nothing bad happened. You did not die a second time around, nor did tragedy strike in the way you feared. The only thing that occurred was dancing, peppered with occasional laughter and a quick apology when Trevor stepped on your skirt and halted your movements. You recovered with a shake of your head and a slight lead in the dance, which he didn’t voice but silently appreciated.

[redcoralpot]

Tougher Than Nails - Mike Schmidt X M!Reader

Warnings/Details: NSFW content, implied substance abuse, alcohol, cowboy!reader, hankie/cowboy hat code.

Summary: Mike goes to a bar downtown in hopes of getting his mind off of court, but instead finds something much healthier.

A/N: Everyone should thank my boyfriend for this idea; he's always the one that reminds me that I am technically a 'cowboy'. He saves a horse very often.

Word Count: 1.8K

-

-

Bars weren’t really Mike’s thing. Any alcohol he’s ever had tasted like crap, and becoming an alcoholic would just be another check on Aunt Jane’s list to prove to the court that he wasn’t suitable for custody. Hell, he swore her perfume was still clinging onto his nose hairs, and all he wanted to do was escape her. Escape reality, too. Mike remembered when his father used to do just that after Garret disappeared, drowning himself in the bitter liquid at night, his speech slurred. That’s why he was here, at a bar in downtown Afton, while Maxine stayed with Abby. He was desperate.

The building was crowded, delightful chatter and jazz music filling the air. Lights were strung along the wooden walls, narrowly dodging the black and white photos hanging by themselves. More customers squeezed in behind him; Mike frantically searched for any open spot in the room. Hallelujah– a single stool was left vacant near the serving counter, and Mike shuffled into it, shoulders tense. The bartender seemed to notice his presence, as she leaned towards the man, still shaking another person’s drink. 

“You’re a new face,” she rattled, “may I see your license?”

Mike fumbled with his wallet, sliding the card for her to see, “Uh, sure.”

“Right, you’re all clear; would you like to open a tab?”

A man cut in before he could answer, and for the first time, Mike got a good look at the person sitting beside him, “Just add whatever he orders to mine, Molly.” 

She shrugged, the key hanging from her left pocket jingling, “Easier for me.”

You chuckled, the brim of your hat covering your eyes. It was decorated with embroidery and leather, complimenting your purple button up shirt, though that was partially hidden by a black vest. Two hankies hung out of your back, left pocket, similar to Molly’s keychain. One was rust colored, but the other was a complimentary gray; Mike thought it was an interesting stylistic choice. 

“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”

As the bartender turned, scribbling in a notebook, you inquired, “So, what’s a fine boy like you doing ‘round these parts?”

Mike grabbed the foaming beer that was placed in front of him, “I live nearby.”

“That’s not the only reason, is it?”

He hesitated to answer, instead choosing to take a long sip of the beverage. It burned down his throat, the flavor making his lips curl and his head a little more dizzy. Somehow, it loosened his will, and he found his lips moving without his permission. Your energy was just hypnotizing; he felt himself being pulled in.

“Needed a break from stress,” Mike admitted, picking at the glass’ label.

You cocked your head to the side, your hat tipping upward, “Just ‘cause you’re in a hole, doesn’t mean you gotta keep digging. Alcohol isn’t the cure to what you’re feelin’.”

“What am I supposed to do? Not even my medicine works anymore.”

“I go here for stress relief too,” you assured, downing a shot, “but not necessarily for the drinks.”

Your hand hovered over the small of his back, looking at him for consent. When he didn’t move away, you settled your fingers there, feeling a shiver run through Mike’s body. Some of the previous tension released from his shoulders, and he almost leaned back in relief. Many of the customers in this bar were paired with the same sex, unlike most of the movies he’d seen that included the subject. So, he supposed it wouldn’t look too weird if he did.

You elaborated, “People can be cruel, can’t they, sweetheart? Comin’ to a place like this, where everyone’s like me in some way or another, is a damn good bonus.”

“Like you?”

“Y’know,” you gestured to your handkerchiefs, “queer and such.”

He paused, “Ah.”

“You didn’t know this was a boy bar?”

Mike replied, “I kinda just looked up the closest bar to my house.”

…

“Good to know.” Your hand fell away from his back.

He almost chased it. Mike liked the feeling, the weight of your fingers pressing into such an intimate spot. However, he wasn’t tipsy enough for that, and controlled himself. He watched as you spoke to Molly, the lady’s eyes flicking towards him and back, and you slipped her the money needed to cover the tab. You tipped your hat towards Mike, a respectful way to put distance between you, before disappearing into the suffocating crowd. Molly side eyed him, sweeping away his bottle, before leaving as well. Mike swallowed, pulling loose skin from his bottom lip with his teeth. It was now, or never– perhaps alcohol wasn’t the only way, after all. You were right. 

Mike could still see the very top of your hat swerving above the crowd, and he trailed after it to the best of his ability. A random girl almost elbowed him in the face, and he was sure his shins would be bruised after tonight. Your shadow was reflecting in the glass door, growing fainter and fainter as you walked further away, your hips swaying. Mike pushed it open, the vision dissolving, and cold air stung his cheeks. The moon reflected off of car hoods, the only way he was able to see where he was running. His hand reached out and grabbed your arm, as you flinched.

Mike’s ears were red, probably from the alcohol, and you stared at him, “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer you got before your collar was jerked forward.

Your lips crashed violently with his; your teeth clicking as he struggled to pull you closer. Mike was still fisting your shirt as you brought your hands to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, trying to gentle the kiss. 

You mumbled against his mouth, “Better not be some experiment of yours, pretty boy.”

“Nope,” he whispered, the aftertaste of whiskey on his tongue.

His back hit the side of your car, and his hands moved from your collar to swinging his arms around your neck. Your knee found its way in between Mike’s thighs, pressing against his crotch, and his groan was swallowed by your lips. Mike whined when you trailed down, aiming instead for his neck. Dark marks and bites soon decorated the pale flesh, his blood dripping a contrasting splash of color. 

Tugging on his earlobe, you challenged, “Gonna come back to my place?”

Mike doubted he ever agreed to something so quickly.

The drive was long, too long in his opinion. Though, it was most likely only fifteen minutes, at most. Mike didn’t even have to walk up the driveway to your cabin; his legs were locked around your hips as you carried him through the door and up the stairs. He ground his groin against you, searching for any possible friction. You tossed him onto your bed, unbuckling your belt, holding it taut. The man in front of you wiggled back and spread his legs to make room for you. You snickered at how willing Mike was, considering his hesitation when you first met.

You regularly kept lube on the bedside table, just to be prepared for when you brought men home from the bar. However, this one was different in a way you had trouble putting into words, other than positive. His thighs shook as you massaged the liquid into his hole, a hand covering his mouth to prevent you from hearing his noises. Ah, now that wouldn’t do, would it?

In response, you tugged his hand off of his mouth, “Lemme hear you.”

Such pretty sounds from a pretty mouth, it was truly a shame. When Mike immediately went back to covering them up, you slid your fingers out of him, instead reaching for your abandoned belt. His eyes trailed after your hands as they bound his wrists together in front of him, almost akin to handcuffs. Mike couldn’t see much of your expression after your head dipped down, only the shit-eating grin playing on your lips. Of course, that was before you took your hat off by the crown and placed it firmly on his head, though it was a tad too big for him.

“Why don’t you keep that safe for me, sweetheart?”

For a second, Mike was confused. Keep it safe? Just what were you planning on doing? He felt a grip on his waist, right before his world spun around him, and the positions were practically reversed. The guard was now sitting on top of you, or more so your crotch, his thighs caging in your hips. Mike’s hair was disheveled and the light on the ceiling created a sort of halo around him, and fuck, did you think he was pretty. Only a few select people had ever gotten to wear your hat, and you could confidently say that he was the most beautiful in it.

You unbuttoned your jeans, letting your cock slip through the opening, “You ready?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

You had a grip on his waist again, slowly guiding him down. You didn’t thrust, didn’t force him to go fast, and allowed him his proper time to adjust, “How’s that feelin’?”

“G-good,” he shuddered, precum leaking from his tip, “think ‘m ready.”

“You haven’t seen the brunt of it yet, boy!” You grunt, thrusting the rest of you inside, brushing against Mike’s prostate. 

The man on top of you moaned, and the sound was so uncharacteristically loud that even he seemed surprised by it. Mike leaned down, resting his tied fists on your chest in order to keep his balance. His sweat dampened your collarbones, his drool smearing on your neck, and the pathetic excuse of a guard tried leaving kisses over the areas he could reach. You soon found a rhythm to your thrusts; groans were punched out of your throat on their own.

Mike could feel heat rushing through his brain, bringing tears that stuck to his eyelashes, covering any thoughts or hesitance he may have had before. That wasn’t enough for it– it spread like wildfire down his body, down to where your fingers were leaving bruises, and down to his red, leaking dick. Something deep was brewing inside of him, nothing he’s felt since his hormonal teenage years. Hell, he didn’t even have time to process it when you kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that he’s such a needy slut; it exploded.

When he finally came to, he could feel his thighs twitching and your heaving, sticky abs below him. His eyelids felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was stay there with you. You were rubbing circles into his back, attempting to pull out, but a grumble from Mike made you stop. In fact, you were saying things, but it sounded muffled and far away. He took great comfort in your voice, no matter what you were talking about. It was getting farther and farther away, yet still managed to follow him into his dreams. For the first time since the incident with Garret, he did not have a nightmare. 

-

Taglist: @cannabrisano @kai_beanz @fandomz-brainrot @slimemakermas

[camilledlc]

I think Wade Wilson is way more intelligent than people give him credit for. Or, another character essay no one asked for :

This will be based both on comics and movies. Also, spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine.

I think it's often said that Wade doesn't know how to read situations, as he often acts inappropriately during them. He doesn't seem to sense the mood of the person he's talking to, angering them more often than not, and he doesn't really care about watching his mouth around children, etc. There are tons of examples of Wade being 'stupid', and 'immature', blah blah blah. But I don't think that's quite true.

Wade has also numerous moments where he perfectly reads a situation. He is extremely aware of how others may perceive his scars, he figured Negasonic Teenage Warhead pretty easily during the first movie (when talking about sarcastic comments or whatever, if I remember correctly). He knows how people act and think, and he definitely knows how to assess a situation. When he got Johnny Storm killed, he knew what he was doing. He was into a dangerous situations, just having been kidnapped and he couldn't fight, not even knowing how strong and what powers Cassandra Nova had. But by turning her against Johnny, not only was he able to assess her, but also prove that he wasn't here to cause her trouble. It was a cruel and ruthless action, but it was smart nonetheless.

Besides, people often forgets very important facts about his skills. Wade is an extremely good fighter, and that's partially due to the fact that he's a master at almost every martial arts. He knows a bunch of them, and he is capable of practicing them with impeccable form. He's also a master at espionage, infiltrations, cover missions, etc. He knows how to handle a lot of different weapons, and he is canonically one of the best fighters in the entire Marvel Universe. All of those skills require a certain level of intelligence. Fighting demands to remember the different styles and techniques, as well as enough practice to switch between them easily. Espionage, infiltration, and cover missions demand someone who is capable of discretion and and ability to judge a situation, notice details that no one else would and invent on the spot creative ways to do things. All in all, he has to be extremely smart to be able to do all of that. That's also without counting the fact that he knows how to speak fluently five different languages.

With all of these proofs, it's impossible to say that Wade is dumb. But why does he acts like it?

There is no official answer as to why Wade is this way. The most you can get is that he is extremely mentally unstable. This is the result of both a bad childhood and very traumatizing experiences as a superhero. It is said he was already mentally unstable during his childhood, so I'm inclined to believe that it also has something to do with his brain in general.

What I personally believe is that Wade is someone who gets bored extremely easily. He has ADHD (not really official in the movies, but canon in the comics), and he always seems to jump from one topic to the other. His mind is often considered a mess, and he himself sometimes has trouble keeping up with it. I think that someone like him has to be stimulated at all times, because boredom is definitely the worst thing that could happen to him. Even in the last movie, he seemed to hate his job because of how boring it was, not hesitating to go back into action and becoming more and more himself again as he just do exciting things. He has always been like this, even before he got his regenerating factor. When he did his job, he wasn't always careful and often loud-mouthed. It didn't interest him to just kill people, he wanted a fight. He wanted a back and forth, a sort of game. He needs to feel in danger, needs the thrill of it.

But then he gets his mutation. Suddenly, he can't die, he can't be seriously hurt, nothing has any real consequences. And so the games became boring. What is the point of putting himself in dangerous situations if he's never really in danger? How boring it is to do a job where you're perfectly safe? The only kind of thrill he can find anymore is by having the back and forth verbally. That's when it has consequences, and people actually able to surprise him, to beat him even. Attacking by talking his is one way to not feel bored. He surprises, he shocks, he annoys, but it's always different. Even during the last movie, when he was with Logan, he clearly said they didn't need to fight, yet he couldn't stop edging him verbally, always finding ways to push his buttons.

Wade is a very bored person, with a great understanding of where the limits are. And because he's so good at finding the limits, he's even better at crossing them willingly, sometimes at the expanse of the people he loves, because he can't be bored.

(I also like the interpretation of him just needing to be at the centre of attention, but I think it's a bit more classical and has already been done and re-done. So, this one is a bit trickier and way funnier for me.)

[digital-domain]

Written in Blood

Alastor x Reader // Word Count 2.2k

In which you’re given a lasting reminder of who should be on your mind.

tags/warnings: dark content, yandere, violence, branding, scratching, blood, alastor definitely wanting to taste said blood (but holding himself back), implied sexual content, power imbalance, abuse, absolutely fucked relationship dynamic, reader clearly has no control over what happens to her (therefore dubcon/noncon implications)

A/N: this exists because the wonderful @absolute-flaming-trash planted this idea in my head. Let us all take a moment to bow down to our queen <3

As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut (or into my inbox). Thank you and enjoy.

Alastor’s hand slides gently up your back, the soft touch contrasting ominously with the brutal way he’d slapped you just moments before. Your clothes are strewn haphazardly across the floor (while his all remain on, and intact), but the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with your lack of cover. His gloves, which he’s never removed before, now lay discarded along with the rest of the scraps, two fingers slick with the residue you’ve left behind.

“What’s my name, darling?” 

The pet name feels underhanded, cruel as the sting of his palm that still burns on your cheek, but you don’t take the time to ponder it. This is not the time for resistance - the way his hand pressed against your bare skin, trapping you between his palm and your bedroom floor, is enough to remind you of that. “Alastor…”

“That’s correct! Very well done.” The charm lingers in his voice, barely betraying a hint of the malice underneath. “And why, pray tell, did I feel the need to ask you such a simple question?”

“Because…” Because you’d been stupid, and let your mind wander, as it often does, to the life you’d led before. The people you’d loved. The time when being… intimate felt real, when it wasn’t just another piece in some twisted game whose rules you’ve never been told. “Because you want to make sure that I remember it.”

It was in one of those warped, vulnerable moments, when you’d felt everything and he’d seemed to feel nothing at all, besides a sick sense of amusement at seeing you lose yourself. That was when you made your mistake. Let go a little too much, and sighed a name that wasn’t his. One that you missed, one that you often closed your eyes and pictured above you - you’d been too deep in your reverie to realize how deeply you’d betrayed yourself, and by the time you’d come back to your senses, it had been far too late to do anything but beg for forgiveness.

“I do want you to remember.” He sighs. “Such a shame that you would rather forget…”

You don’t protest. He’s not wrong, at all. How desperately you wish you could go back to the life you had before. At the very least, you could have chosen to go somewhere else - anywhere else - in the wake of your death. You’d give anything to rewind the clock, now, to forget him entirely and start anew, go down some other path that didn’t end with him. With this.

You’re surprised when his hand pauses on your upper back, beside your shoulder. Truly, you’d believed that he was going for your neck, that he was going to clamp his fist around your throat and cut the air off from your lungs until your vision went black. Instead, his free hand finds your own, and clasps over it, locking his fingers with yours. He gently squeezes into your palm, a gesture that would be comforting if it didn’t come from him.

“Let’s make sure you don’t forget again, shall we?” He sounds calm, almost soothing, a sudden shift from the rage you’d been subjected to just a minute before. He turns on a dime like this often, and you’re never sure which side of him to trust. Never sure what’s an act, or what’s real.

“I won’t.” You mean it, more than anything you’ve ever said to him. There’s a knot in your stomach, pulling tighter with this sudden change in demeanor, and you want desperately to unravel it. To have peace, if only for a little while. “It was just a mistake. I won’t ever do it again.”

“Of course you won’t.” His head drops, distorted static pressing into your ear. From out of the corner of your eye, you can see that familiar red glow pulsing out behind him - always a sign of worse things to come. “Not after this. ”

The hand on your back tenses, and you tense along with it. Unnaturally sharp nails dig slowly into your flesh until, with an agonizing jolt, your skin breaks beneath them. At this, three of his fingers lift, but the fourth - his index finger - burrows deeper into your flesh, and yanks down, ripping a diagonal gash inches long.

You scream. Truly scream, your mind ripping from pain and shock, just as awfully and tangibly as your skin. He’s hurt you before…but he’s never drawn blood, and certainly never sent it dripping in rivulets down your back. 

He sighs, and brings his finger back up to the opening point of the fresh cut. “Oh… this is going to be a long few minutes for you, isn’t it?” Without any more preamble, he tears into you all over again, yanking out another cry of pain as he pulls away at the opposite angle, drawing out a deep scratch the same length as the first.

There are tears in your eyes. Normally, you’d try to hold them back, but this time you can’t pull yourself together, as hard as you try. You let them fall, let yourself cry out loud. Somewhere in the haze that your mind has become, it occurs to you that there’s something very deliberate about the placement of these scratches. Something methodical.

“Do you even know what I’m doing?” He cackles over you, a luminescent red glow fading into the corners of your vision. “Perhaps after this one, if you still haven’t figured it out, I’ll give you a hint…” 

He delves into you once more. This slash stings most harshly at the ends, where it connects the two lines already drawn, halfway down, digging again into already-broken skin. Slowly, your mind forms an image, connecting the strokes…when the pieces fall together, a sob, loud and raw and hopeless, plummets out of your mouth.

“You understand.” He presses his thumb into the blood pouring from your back, and gently runs it over the A he’s carved into your skin. “No need to despair…that’s one letter done already.”

“I…” You squirm, shaking violently beneath him. “I can’t…”

“ Don’t be ridiculous.” He slides his hand down, already preparing for another stroke. “I’m not going to leave my art unfinished…it would be such a waste. And very confusing to anyone who happened to get a glimpse - not as if I intend to allow such a thing to happen.” 

His name - it’s going to be written diagonally across your entire back. He’s left just enough room for the remaining letters, while taking up as much space as possible with each cut. 

“Stop shaking, my dear. You’re going to mess this up…and I’m sure you don’t want me to have to do it over again.”

You try to figure out how many more times you’re going to have to take this, how many more scratches before you’re done. Two for the L, another three for the next A…

He slices into your back, straight down, and the numbers disappear from your head. It’s hopeless. You bite your lip, hard, but you can’t keep yourself silent.

“ Poor thing.” The condescension is palpable, dripping cruelly from his lips. “If only you’d controlled yourself to begin with. It takes just a moment to ruin everything…I do hope that you won’t do it again.”

Oh, you know that that’s a lie. He loves having a reason.

Another slash, and a hum of satisfaction from behind you when you go still, recovering just a bit quicker than the time before. “Two down.”

He says it like it’s a good thing, and not a reason for you to sob harder. Two down means five to go….means you’ve barely started.

His mouth is close enough to a fresh tear that you can feel his hot, hungry breath against your torn skin, his macabre smile burning into your spine. 

And - oh god. Something wet and warm hits your back, slides down and mixes with the rivulets of blood trailing over your skin.

“So tempting …” He sighs raggedly, and slowly, oh-so-reluctantly pulls himself back. “But I know myself well enough not to go down that path with you …it would be far too hard to stop once I started.”

Even the pain of the scratch that follows isn’t enough to push away the pure horror that curls in your gut.

Neither is the next.

Or the next.

He’s dragging it out, each time insisting that you still your shaking limbs before he continues, giving your hand an awful, gentle squeeze before moving on. Your eyes are screwed shut almost the entire time - but with each stroke, there’s a moment when they flicker open, and take in a bit of that terrible red light before you manage to wrestle them close.

It doesn’t get better. If anything, you think it’s getting crueler as it goes on, but you pull yourself together enough to start apologizing again, whimpered “ I’m sorry ”s gasping almost inaudibly from your mouth.

“I’m not convinced.” The pad of his finger traces up, readies his next stroke. “You’d say anything to get out of this, my dear. It’s only when I’m done that I’ll be satisfied.”

You bite down on your lip until it breaks, scratch at the palm of your free hand, the floorboards beneath. It’s only been a few minutes, but this is beginning to feel like your entire existence - you can’t conjure memories of a time before it, and you certainly can’t imagine a time after. Least of all looking in the mirror when this all over…

He pauses for an extra moment before this next letter, as if he’s giving time to let the dread sink in. You’ve lost track of where you are - but the O is unmistakable. One long, unbroken stroke that requires him to twist his nail against your skin. 

He laughs indulgently, almost sweetly, as you gasp and writhe helplessly beneath him. “Almost finished, darling…try to be patient.”

Oh, if his affection felt twisted before, it’s a  thousand times worse now. And yet, he somehow manages to make it sound genuine. Like he feels bad that he has to do this to you. It would almost be easier, you think, to let yourself believe it.

His voice is soft, the static almost entirely fallen away. “Now, tell me again - what is my name?”

You choke back your tears, force what little air you can into your lungs. You’re almost done, but everything hurts so much that it barely matters. His voice sounds so far away, hovering above you, reverberating strangely in your head.

He presses his lips to your ear. “ Answer me.”

“A”-

As soon as you attempt to speak, he slashes down once more, and your voice dissolves into something between a sob and a scream.

He laughs, and doesn’t bother pausing before finishing off the R of his name,grinding his talon deep into your back, grin spreading wide in the corner of your eye as you shriek. “Not quite.”

You’re sure that there’s a pool of your tears on the floor, but you’re too out of it to see with certainty, even if you did manage to open your eyes.

“Hm.” He sighs, gently tracing the pad of his finger over the final scratch. “And…what about your name? Surely, you can at least remember that.”

His nails suddenly dig into your torn skin, sending a fresh shudder of pain curdling down your spine, leaving you gasping - not to speak, but to quell the churning in your stomach.

“Shame.” He gives your hand another squeeze. “But I’m sure it will come back to you, before long. You’re very resilient…I think that’s why I always have so much fun when we’re together.”

Your head spins. It’s been spinning for what feels like an eternity, numbed and stretched out by his torture. You want him gone. Now, and forever. But once he leaves, you’ll be just as miserable. Playing what just happened in a sickening loop in your head until the pain finally goes away. Until you wash every stain from your skin. And even then…

Oh, even long after that. Just like he said - you’re never going to forget. 

He rises to his feet, collects his gloves from where they lie on the floor, and slides them into his pocket. For some time, he stands silent and still above you. Even with your face pressed to the ground, you know that he’s staring, eyes flashing bright and red as he surveys the results of his work. 

“I’m sure you’ll do better next time,” he sighs. “Until then…”

His hand slides under your jaw, forcing you to look up. He bends down at an angle that truly doesn’t make sense, uses his bloodied fingers to swipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks, pushes back your hair - and kisses you oh-so-softly on the forehead. 

You don’t move. Don’t speak. The tears are still coming, and you’re not even sure if they’re still from the pain. 

“ Take care, my dear.”

You wait until he’s turned away before you allow yourself to react, nails digging into your palms as your face falls back to the floor. Shaking. You stay there until long after the door has shut behind you.

[nicoliine]

The night Lucifer became your god.

☆彡 Your god had abandoned you; the devil stayed by your side.

Whose your devotion is with?

☆ Disclaimer: I'm an atheist myself but was raised Catholic, so I understand that some people may find this disrespectful. Please, if you find the religion subject as a taboo to write about, don't continue reading.

☆ G/N Reader—no pronouns or y/n used.

☆ English isn't my first language and I wrote this drunk, so if there is any mistake please excuse me <3

Religion as a metaphor for love 🛐

 

—"Eli, Eli, lema sabachtani?" Matthäus 27:46.—

In Lucifer's eyes, you were an angel.

There were few things that he considered pure in hell. His daughter, the love he once had for his wife, and the joy he felt when his last rubber duck wasn't a fiasco.

 

You, however, were the purest thing that ever stepped on hell.

 

It made him sick. It was like heaven had taken pity on him and decided to send you to bring love and comfort to his shattered soul.

 

The first time he ever stepped on your room, he almost thought you two weren't in hell, but in a church, your room resembles a presbytery. He was met by a big cross on the wall in front of him and a lot of candles around; the final straw was a bible on the nightstand.

 

Where did you even get that?

It was creepy.

It gave him chills; surely he was uncomfortable at first; he hated sacred places; it made him feel dizzy. But the way you talked to him and how you looked at him in the eyes made him feel as if he were in heaven again.

Except that both of you were in hell.

You were in hell. With him.

Your looks weren't any different; you often had a kind smile on your face. When someone made a gross comment, he never failed to see you putting your hands together in a praying motion. He got a glimpse of your scarred knees one time, and a thought came to his mind: you on your knees, praying to God countless nights instead of going to parties.

 

He felt jealous; oh, to be adored in that way, how would it feel?

 

And you were so sweet; you always knew what to say and how to react. Even when he felt like getting back into his depression hole, kind words came out of your lips as you held him.

He wanted you; he never, in thousands of years in hell, ever prayed to God, but he would do it for you to be his.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

If you are an angel, then how did you end up here? He often wondered: surely God wouldn't be so cruel as to send you to hell, right?

 

A scoff left his lips; of course he would.

 

It was dark outside, and the pouring rain could be heard from outside your room. In the comfort of your room, he couldn't help but ask. You just finished your prayer, an old but well-conserved rosary on your hands.

You don't really know what to say.

 

"I just guess that I deserved it."

 

Hearing you say that broke him, how could you say that you deserved to be down there? How could you be so cool about it? You even laughed it off. He didn't deserve to have you there; please don't be so mean to you.

You tried to change the subject almost immediately; you don't want to go on about the many nights that you stayed awake calling for your god to take you out of there, just to hear you. You think that Lucifer wouldn't like to hear you say that you don't want to be there.

 

Oh god, my god, why did he forsaken you?

 

Truth be told, you often questioned it yourself; you didn't want to. Guess that's why you're down there; you asked so many questions? how you spent your whole life following his rules, praying until your knees bled, and giving all your life to him, just to be thrown into hell forever.

 

It wasn't your fault.

You were so young and so naive.

Please, how can you leave me here?

How could you let me down even when you said you loved me?

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

When you woke up in hell, you felt your heart shatter. Somehow,  you managed to make it to the Heaven Embassy, looking at the building and hoping for them to come back for you, you stayed there for days. But it never happened.

It should be a mistake. You couldn't have failed; what had you done wrong?

 

When you arrived at the hotel, you wanted to cry. Everything Charlie told you would take for you to be redeemed has been everything you did in life.

Then why are you there?

 

Every passing day, your chest hurts a little more. It was like pieces of your soul were falling apart.

 

"I feel guilty, Lucifer; I know I shouldn't question his actions, that I would never understand," you said as your eyes were fixated on the big cross on your wall, "but he abandoned me; he doesn't love me anymore. I highly doubt he ever did."

 

You later felt guilty for breaking the rosary in your hand. Lucifer, however, felt excited about it.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

It hurts to see you like this, it made Lucifer feel so bad.

I mean, he understands how you are feeling; he used to have so many dreams that were taken away from him the moment he talked to his creator. He just wanted to be heard.

But he wasn't heard.

He remembers how it happened—the court spat on his face in his trial. They didn't even let him talk. He remembers how he felt the air leaving his lungs, so humiliated and despised by his father. He grabbed a fist of his shirt while they brought his sentence. His chest hurts a lot. He looked at his father, asking for forgiveness that he was never granted.

So he understood your pain; he felt your pain as his while you looked so hurt. You two weren't so different.

Except you were, you are a pure soul who did everything right, no questions asked ever. It makes his blood boil.

 

How could God treat you like this while Lucifer could break hell apart just for you to be on your knees for him?

He wanted to bring you comfort, but what does one say in a moment like this? What could he say that could give your heart rest?

 

You felt guilty; you felt remorse, wrath, pain, sadness—you didn't know what to think or how to react. You felt like your own father had abandoned you, leaving a hollow in your soul that couldn't be filled.

 

Everything left was for you to wait.

Wait to find something else to live for.

Something to pray for.

Someone to believe.

 

"If you were mine, I would never abandon you." Lucifer felt no remorse to say that; he wasn't taking advantage of your state. He just was showing you the right way, by his side you would never feel neglected or hurt. This is how it must have been since the beginning; if you had given him your heart since the beginning, you wouldn't have felt so much pain.

 

He would take care of you forever.

 

To have you on your knees before him was strange. He dreamed about this exact moment for so long, but he never thought it could really happen.

But it was happening.

You were there, with so much devotion in your eyes that it was impossible to look away.

He could see in your eyes that you would do everything he asked for.

How could God let you go when you were so devoted?

 

He wouldn't let you go.

Never.

You are his now.

You are his loyal believer; he's your god.

 

Like it always was supposed to be.

 

About where the inspiration for this came from:

There's a Mary statue in Spain that I absolutely loved the work of the sculptor, it's called: "María Santísima de la Quinta Angustia." —love the name!Her hurt face gave me chills and I thought about this writing. Please take a look at her, she looks like a doll! ✨

 

Likes and reblogs are appreciated. 💞

[lenaswritingandstuff]

All I had - Mattheo Riddle x f!reader

Requested: No well I lowkey did

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x f!reader

Summary: After his girlfriend y/n is killed, Mattheo has to deal not only with pain and sorrow, but also cruel accusations (complete original prompt here)

Word count: long as hell 2.4K

Warnings: mentions of death, lost, and grief

A/N: When I had this idea a few weeks ago I didn't think it would actually be so hard to write and I hate it lol :) I can't remember for the life of me if people in universe know Voldemort wants to be immortal, so for this one be an angel and pretend they do :) Might write a part two with a certain someone if many people ask 👀. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

Hogwarts, 1997.

The two Aurors were walking right behind him, firmly holding his arms to prevent him from running. Run where? he thought. Not that he had somewhere to go. Snape, who had always looked at Mattheo and his brother with an annoying suspicion, was walking ahead of them, his robes floating behind him. Mattheo didn’t know where they were going, or why. Not that he actually cared. Even though the Auros were leading his movements, his legs still seemed to be carrying him on their own, and if he didn’t try to resist, protest or at least ask questions to the silent Aurors, it was only because he didn’t have any energy or will to do so. Everything, including his body, felt numb and his mind was clouded, not functioning properly at all, barely noticing or hearing what was happening around him, instead full of the events of the night, as if it was trying to look for a reason. The only thing he could feel was the grip of the Aurors on his upper arms, the painful dryness of his blurry eyes, his throat sore from crying, his still wet cheeks, and this feeling of unbearable pain, anguish and confusion inside his chest.

After walking through countless corridors, they finally arrived in a smaller corridor, where Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were apparently expecting them. It often came as a surprise to those who didn’t know, but Mattheo actually held great respect for the old headmaster. How could he not? He was the only person his father had ever feared. Dumbledore was still the same as usual, looking calm and serene, while McGonagall looked at Mattheo with what seemed to be sadness. As they came closer, Mattheo saw a simple gray door on the right, which suddenly opened. 

“Mr. Riddle,” Dumbledore said with a calm, almost kind voice, and Mattheo only raised his eyes towards him for a quarter of a second before looking at the ground again, “I will have to ask you to sleep here tonight. If you are in need of anything, please feel free to ring the bell. But I assure you, everything will be alright.”

‘Alright’? Mattheo would have laughed if he could. Behind him, the Auror snigged. Mattheo didn’t speak a word, and when he turned to pass the door, he saw Snape give him a more suspicious look than before. He managed to enter the room, which was a rudimentary bedroom with a bed, two chairs around a small rounded table with a small golden bell on it, and a sink. No window whatsoever, only a few candles floating in the air and drawing shadows on the walls. 

“If you wish to turn the candles off, just ask them to sleep,” Dumbledore told him.

“We will be back in the morning,” one of the Aurors told the Headmaster, and then the door closed abruptly, leaving Mattheo completely alone with his thoughts and the cold silence of a cold room. 

After a long, boring day of classes, he had spent the evening in y/n’s dorm, talking and cuddling, enjoying the comfort and peace only her could make him feel. Then Theo texted him, asking him if he fancied a smoke. Mattheo initially wanted to refuse, not wanting to leave y/n’s embrace, but she told him to go, that she didn’t want to keep him away from his friends. And so Mattheo went, going to one of the darkest corners of the castle where he and Theo knew they wouldn’t be caught by any professors and especially Filch. But the smoke break lasted much longer than usual, and when Mattheo went back to y/n’s dorm, planning on continuing their night together and eventually falling asleep with her in his arms, he walked by the castle’s courtyard and, in the dark of the night, saw something strange on the courtyard’s ground. Frowning, he had hesitated before slowly walking towards it, curiosity leading his mind. The closer he got, the more the strange “thing” on the ground, the clearer the mass on the ground got, and soon it appeared to be a body. Despite the fear that it might be someone he knew, Mattheo had quickened his pace, and barely a few meters later, he recognized whose body it was.

Oh, God. No, no, please, no. Not this. Anything but this.

At the second he recognized y/n’s body, he ran towards it and fell beside her, immediately holding her to his chest, gently shaking her despite his panic which grew every quarter of a second. 

“y/n?! y/n, can you hear me? Baby?” 

But he didn’t get any answer, and when he checked her pulse, he had almost felt his heart break from the pain. 

“No, no, no, y/n, please! Fuck!”

Tears had started to feel, and he was now screaming. He didn’t know how long he spent here, holding her body as tight as he could, crying like he never thought he ever would and begging her to come back, to not leave him alone, but at one point, someone had seen him, had a loud gasp, and had ran to tell someone. Soon, Professor McGonnagall and two Aurors were here, and they tried to take her from him. He screamed and protested, not wanting to let her go, but they managed to separate them, and Mattheo was then led there, his entire being shattered in pieces and his mind unable to work knowing she was gone. 

Not caring to take off his shoes, Mattheo laid on the bed, and tears started to run down his cheeks. She’s gone, she’s gone, his mind kept screaming, and yet, it refused to accept it.

This is just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. I’m gonna wake up soon. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink or eat, Mr Riddle? Professor Dumbledore insisted.” 

Mattheo barely looked at the Auror sitting on the other side of the metallic table, and kept silent. He could hardly keep his eyes open, too tired from not sleeping at all the night before - and yet not feeling sleepy at all. 

“Well,” the Auror continued, putting a long, thin black bow on the table. “I guess we can start, then. Mr Riddle, do you know why you’re here?” 

Mattheo shook his head. 

“Really?” the other Auror asked, sitting next to his colleague. “No clue? At all?” 

This time, Mattheo raised his eyes towards the two men for a few seconds, and tried not to find weird the way they were looking at him - with disdain, coldness, and something he couldn’t quite get yet - as, after all, a lot of people looked at the son of the Dark Lord with suspicious - Snape included - or even fear, and he got used to it. Why would their eyes matter, when y/n’s eyes looked at him with nothing but love?

And now I won’t ever see them again. Mattheo felt his eyes becoming watery, and tried to fight tears as much as he could. 

“Because y/n is gone,” he said, looking at the table. 

“You’re right,” the Auror on the left said. “But allow me to be more precise, Mr Riddle. Miss y/l/n is gone… because you killed her.”

Mattheo’s mind, still as cloudy as the night before, suddenly cleared up like and working like a machine being turned on. He looked at the two men, and suddenly understood the reason they had been looking at him like that ever since they came into the room a few minutes earlier. They think I’m guilty. 

This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare. This isn’t real. I’ll wake up any moment and see her sleeping next to me. 

Shock, anger, and a bit of panic and confusion came into him like a gigantic wave. “What? I didn’t kill her! Why the hell would I kill her?” 

This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare.

“Oh, you would be surprised at all the reasons why a man could kill his girlfriend. She caught him cheating, he caught her cheating, she saw something she shouldn’t have seen…” the Auror stopped, and looked at Mattheo with malice. “Or maybe he wants to prove himself to his father.”

If he could, Mattheo would have laughed. Here it is. The “son of the Dark Lord” bullshit. He ran his hand through his hair, and sighed.

“You think I killed y/n because my father asked me?” he asked, trying his absolute best to remain calm. “Why would I have accepted?” 

“Well, you’re the second son. The spare. Your father likely planned for your brother Tom to be his second in command, and, if he were to die, his heir, didn’t he? And then, what do you have left, Mr Riddle? At best, you remain the spare and then your brother’s second in command your whole life, and in the worst case… Nothing.” 

y/n. I would have y/n. 

“Dumbledore told us your father tried to contact you last summer,” the second Auror spoke. 

Mattheo felt annoyance growing inside of him, “and did he also tell you that I refused, and hid from him the whole time?” 

“Yes,” the first Auror admitted. “He did say you told him that. But how can we be sure you didn’t lie?” 

Mattheo closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. 

“So, you guys think I’m a murderer just because my father is? For no other reason than that?”

“Actually, Mr. Riddle, the main reason we do believe that, is because…of that.”

The Auror took the long, thin black bow he had put earlier on the table, and opened it before showing the inside to Mattheo, whose eyes opened in surprise. 

“My wand?” 

“Yes, Mr Riddle, we-”

“I lost it,” Mattheo interrupted with a louder voice, feeling his heart beat faster, “I lost it yesterday sometime after class. Where did you find it?!”

“You lost it?” the Auror asked while crossing his arms, sounding amused, “Well, did you tell anyone? Any teachers?”

“I went to tell Professor Snape,” Mattheo answered, “but he wasn’t in his office. I waited for him for almost an hour but he never came back. My friend Lorenzo saw me, I asked him if he knew where Snape was.”

The Auror shared a look that told Mattheo they already knew Lorenzo had seen him - and yet didn’t believe him.

“Now,” Mattheo continued, more annoyed by the second, “where did you find my wand?” 

“Why, near you, Mr Riddle. When we found you near your victim’s corpse,” the second Auror said as if it was obvious.

The dark-haired boy stared at them in disbelief. “What? No, you’re…You’re lying.”

“And when we used Prior Incantato, we saw that the last spell your wand used was the killing curse.”

“That’s why he brought you here, Mr Riddle”, the second Auror continued immediately. “If we didn’t find your wand near you, our theory wouldn’t be based on anything. We might even have believed you when you’re telling us you didn’t kill miss y/l/n.” 

“I did not kill her!” Mattheo screamed. 

The Auror sighed, “Mr Riddle, please. Out of respect for miss y/l/n and her family, do tell us the truth. They deserve justice.”

“You’re lucky, you know?” the second Auror went on, “If it wasn’t for Professor Dumbledore, you’d be in Azkaban, awaiting your trial.” 

“I’m innocent!” Mattheo yelled, feeling himself going mad. “I told you the truth!”

“Alright,” the Auror said with a loud voice, putting a clenched fist on the table. “If you didn’t do it, then who did?” 

“How would I know?” Mattheo snapped. “I found her body in the courtyard, and I didn’t see anybody else.”

“See? You can’t give us a second option. Our talks with teachers and students told us Miss y/l/n had no enemies, was loved by both classmates and teachers alike, and her parents are good people. No one had a reason to kill her, except for you.”

“We don’t need to know the reasons on why you did it, Mr Riddle,” the first Auror said in an almost kinder, more patient tone. “Even though we have some ideas about the ‘why’. Just admit you did it.”

“Admit you did it because either your father asked you to do it, or because, despite your best efforts to make people believe you’re different from him, the truth is, you’re just like him.”

“I didn’t do it!” Mattheo screamed. “How many do I have to tell you?! I didn’t kill y/n! Someone must have taken my wand and killed her! How can you not see that?!” 

The first Auror sighed, meanwhile the second clenched his jaw. 

“Mr Riddle, y/n-”

“DO NOT USE HER NAME!” Mattheo shrieked. 

But the Auror ignored him, closing his eyes for a second, “y/n had a family, friends, people who loved her, and a whole life with a bright future ahead of her.”

Yes. And all I had was her.

“You took enough from her. Do you take away from her grieving parents the satisfaction that their daughter’s killer is not in prison, paying for his crime.”

Mattheo put his face in his hands, feeling tears burn his eyes. 

“I want to see my brother.” 

“Your brother?” the first Auror asked, and this time he sounded genuinely surprised.   

“Well,” Mattheo spat, raising back his head to stare at the two men, “someone should find y/n’s killer if I’m going to be in Azkaban soon, don’t you think?”

“So you admit it? You killed her?”

“No! For fuck’s sake, no I didn’t kill fucking kill her!” 

They didn’t understand, Mattheo thought with desperation and frustration, putting his head back in his hands. Mattheo couldn’t even remember how life was before he fell in love with y/n during their third year. All he remembered is that two years ago, in their fifth year here, he finally gathered the courage to let her know how he felt, and, by some miracle, this beautiful, sweet witch with a heart of gold felt the same way about him. Ever since, all that was inside his mind was y/n, how his heart, life and soul belonged to her and her only, how she was the only one to not see him as Voldemort’s son but how he really was instead, how she was always there for him, especially when he started feeling anxious when his father came back after the Triwizard Tournament, and how their kisses, their hugs and cuddles and sleeping with her in his arms were the most important things to him. And now, he had lost it all. 

The two Aurors suddenly rose from their chairs, and left the room, leaving Mattheo alone with his broken heart and nonfunctioning mind. 

This is a nightmare, this is a nightmare.

PART 2

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Masterlist

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> choi san x reader x jung wooyoung warning(s) -> mention of abuse words -> 1.2K

abstract -> "...like you’re wanted. It's a sense of security that you have a home"

san's perspective

I’ve been under her care for about a month now… humans often were cruel creatures. She was a saint though. 

The way she cared for others over herself was obvious. The amount of people who come over to check up on her shows how many care for her. 

They were all cautious of me though… of what I did to her. She’s healed by now… luckily she didn't scar. I didn’t want to be reminded by a scar of what I’d done. 

She did prove to want to spoil me and Wooyoung. 

The black card in her hand would pay for everything… I've seen people have their card declined but she constantly picked things out without a worry. 

She is a trust fund kid… but she made money herself too. “San how about this?” she asked me and I shook my head. I didn’t want to show off my arms. 

“San you need some short-sleeved clothes,” she said as she put it back. “Ooh! y/n how about this!” Wooyoung yelled as I saw him pull out another piece of clothing for himself. “If you like it, put it in the cart,” she said happily. 

“y/n?” he asked, looking nervous. 

“Yes?” she said waiting for him to speak… he was fidgeting and not looking at her anymore. “Why haven’t you given us collars yet?” he asked and I groaned.

Collars weren’t something I wanted. 

“Hmm? Oh… well I guess we haven’t had that conversation” she said while looking at me. “We’ll do that at home okay?” she asked and he nodded. 

She wandered off while me and Wooyoung guarded her cart with the mountain of clothing. “Why do you want a collar so badly?” I asked and he sighed. “It's not necessary but… to hybrids, it's almost like you’re wanted. It's a sense of security that you have a home” he said

“Then why hasn't she gotten us one yet?” I asked now feeling agitated at the thought of not having one. “Well… collars are also seen as oppression. Some hybrids don’t like it because it could be offensive” he explained and I nodded. 

“Maybe she hasn’t caused your past? I heard her speaking to our doctor about triggers you have” he said and I knew that made the most sense. 

“I never really had a collar…” I said and he nodded. 

“You should also have some short-sleeved clothes…” he said and I sighed. “I’ll choose some but I doubt I'll use it,” I said and he chuckled. 

“Well it looks like she's looking for some,” he said as we saw her looking at short-sleeved clothes… “Miss?” I heard as I saw an employee get closer to her. “Do you need help looking?” they asked and she pondered before shrugging. 

“Sure,” she said. “Do you know your boyfriend’s size?” they asked and I felt my face heat up. “Huh?!” she let out clearly flustered. Wooyoung laughing at the situation… “Yah, when did you become her boyfriend ~” he teased and I growled. 

“No fair though… I wouldn’t mind being mistaken for her boyfriend” he said softly. The fox had a huge crush on her; it was painfully obvious. 

He was also a big pervert… always when she was out he’d go to her room and leave with her scent on him. I don’t want to know what he does there…

“I think i'm ready for the next store,” she said, quickly coming over to us with a pink hue across her cheeks. 

It was cute how flustered she became. 

“So much,” y/n said as we were now all on the floor lying down surrounded by bags. I don’t even think the floor was visible anymore. 

“y/nnie! We still need to go grocery shopping!!” Wooyoung said and we groaned. He was now the appointed chef since y/n burned lunch one day. He scolded her and kicked her out of the kitchen. Not like he lets me in there either though…

“Does that mean we order food today?” I asked and she chuckled. “What are you craving San?” she asked and I thought about it… “Anything with meat with it,” I said, and the two chuckled. 

I hate the time I wasted being too stubborn to let her in. I’ve never felt happier than by her side and playing around with Wooyoung. 

Everything was perfect. 

“Do you guys want collars?” she asked and I liked the way Wooyoung explained it. A feeling of being wanted… I wanted to be someone like that for her. 

“I do… when my owner died they sold my collar. I never got one again after” Wooyoung said and I sighed. 

“I still can't believe them. I tried visiting you… but they denied us all from visiting saying it was bad for a pregnant woman. Eventually, I just gave up trying to accommodate. I’m sorry Woo”  she said and I noticed he sat up. 

“I’m just glad you never forgot about me,” he said with a grin. “How about you, San?” she asked as she sat up. I looked at her and she always asked me questions with pure curiosity on her face. 

“I wouldn’t mind it,” I said. I think in fact I wanted to be wanted by her.

“Wait here! I have something to give you two!” she said as she stood up quickly and made her way out of the bags and toward her room. 

“What do you think she has?” Wooyoung asked and I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said and he chuckled. “You really are becoming domesticated,” he muttered. “What is that supposed to mean?!” I asked confused and he laughed. 

“You’ve grown closer to her!” he said and I nodded. Before I could say anything I heard her footsteps. We saw her excitedly coming over to us with two bags. 

I didn’t recognize this brand… not like I recognized most but from the looks of it, Wooyoung didn’t either. 

“Before you open it, I got you the second day I went to buy stuff for San,” she said and I was confused. “I also got you one after San told me to adopt you both” she explained. to Wooyoung 

We took the tissue paper out of the bag to reveal a velvet box. Mine was black and Wooyoung’s beige. 

I opened it to reveal a collar… has she got me a collar ever since then?

It was pure black with black jewels around it. “Thank you!!” Wooyoung yelled as he hugged her. I was in shock… she got this on the second day of my being here.

I looked over to Wooyoung. y/n was helping him put it on. It was a beige collar with white jewels around it. “San?” she said as she looked at me nervously. 

I stood up and picked her up. I hugged her tightly…

“Your tail is wagging like crazy!” Wooyoung said and I don’t think I've ever felt this happy. “Do you like it?” she asked and I chuckled. 

“You’ve completed your promise,” I said and she pulled away to look at me shocked. I noticed her eyes turned glassy and she smiled happily at me.

“I hope you’re always happy with me,” she said as she hugged me tightly. 

“I know I will, if I’m with you” 

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

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[jumexju]

TEFUTEFU

Pairing !! : Uchiha Madara / Fem Reader

Fic Type !! : One-shot / Fluff / slice of life / Drabble

CW !! : none !

Summary !! : You ask him if you can braid his hair.

Note !! : It came to me in a dream /hj

✦ MASTERLIST

If you were to ask anyone what the most memorable feature that Madara possessed, most would surely say his Sharingan. And you couldn’t exactly argue, it was the genetic trait passed down to all Uchiha so of course, they were all bound to have it — But that didn’t make it something unique to Madara. Some people would say maybe his strength, they could call it godly and unmatched ! — If it wasn’t for Hashirama, who was the only shinobi who could ever match Madara in strength. People could state all the features they would deem memorable about your lover — but they often forgot about his long and spikey black hair. Over time, as you grew fond of Madara, one thing that had always stood out to you about him was his hair. 

You loved the feeling of it slipping through your fingers whenever he allowed you to comb through it and the way he leaned into your touch whenever you lightly scratched his scalp as you played with it. Madara was many things, but only you were allowed to see his soft side. Which is why you now sat behind him in bed, brush in hand as you combed through all the knots and tangles that had appeared in his hair. 

“Your hair’s really long..” your tone was doused in quiet fascination. 

“Stating the obvious, as-” 

“Can I braid it?” A wide smile spread across your lips as you imagined it. 

“What.” Madara looked back at you, shooting you an incredulous look. As if it was an outlandish thought to want to braid his hair. 

“Pleaseeeee??” you dragged the word out, pouting at him to convince him to allow it. 

He turned away from you, “Your pouting will not have any affect on me, woman.” He sighed, smirking to himself as he thought about how you’d still try to convince him. You were relentless when you wanted something — he knew that all too well.

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” You rested your chin on his shoulder, making your presence unavoidable as you pleaded with him in the hopes that he’d say ‘yes’ to your request. 

“No.” 

Your face fell, shooting him an unamused look before taking your chin off his shoulder and going back to brushing through his hair, “You’re cruel.” 

“You’ve finally realized,” He chuckled at your statement as he let you brush through his hair. 

“-and insufferable.” you added. 

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” He rolled his eyes, ever the sassy man, before smiling to himself. You could do nothing but stare daggers at the back of his head, still brushing his hair. You were at his ends now, almost done with it, when he glanced at your face through the mirror. You were pouting still, clearly dejected at the fact that he didn’t let you braid his hair. Before you could finish brushing through it, he turned around, staring at you blankly as you looked up at him with gloominess still in your eyes. 

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” 

“Turn around so I can finish brushing your hair,” You crossed your arms at the man, ignoring his attempts to ‘cheer’ you up. 

“I’ll let you braid my hair-” 

Your face lit up at his words, a smile blooming on your lips like a flower in spring. 

“-If you stop giving me that depressed stare.” he finished, feeling his stomach flutter at the sight of your bright smile. 

“Okay! Now turn around,” You commanded, happy tone in your voice and eager to finish brushing his hair so you could braid it. 

He scoffed at how your emotions went from depressed to beaming in a split second. “Foolish woman..” he murmured to himself. 

“Yeah but you love me though,” you teased him as you separated his hair into three parts and began to cross them to make the braid. 

“Unfortunately,” He sighed in defeat. In the end, he really couldn’t bring himself to say no to you. Maybe Hashirama could match him in strength, 

but only you could bring him to his knees. 

[yorsgirl]

Love is a Curse

Trope: Angst

Warnings: none

Word Count: 818

He is perfect.

Fingers threads through your hair, abruptly stopping when you question: would you be sad if I die?

His eyebrows knit together, he stares at you with confusion - you aren't dying.

You want to smile, if I do?

I won't let you.

He is a man of few words, it's often not he expresses himself but when he does, your chest rumbles with an emotion you certainly know about.

I am never letting you go. You're stuck with me forever.

You know he's right. You truly are stuck with him forever.

.

He is like dopamine.

Touches aren't what you expected them to be. You know the touch even with his presence or absence.

They belong to you after all.

It's his name you chant, his name you say. Whether they be alone or in middle of a crowd. Your mind screams his name, always. The fantasies you stage revolves around him, always.

Everything he does leaves you wanting more.

You tell him this one very night, lying in your bed. He listens, he knows. He is there every night, every time, every second. He knows.

But he doesn't answer.

You close your eyes, then you hear him say.

So do I, for you.

.

Distraction doesn't work.

You try to. You really do.

You try using apps, moving to your people, your friends, your teachers, your family. They don't help at all. And you are down the rabid hole again.

Then you are running to him.

He scolds you, still taking you back with open arms. Chiding you for even trying to believe what they said.

Arms wrapped tight against your body, you cry silent tears hearing words so endearing. You don't deserve this.

He knows what you are thinking. You deserve everything, my love. The stars, the moon, the sun, the world... I will give you what you want. I am yours.

Why does he do this? Doesn't he know it has you falling for more?

He is cruel.

.

It's on days you want to comfort him.

You see him again. You read him again. As always.

There is a smile on your face and your chest is rumbling with that emotion again. You almost can't stop your squeal.

But then you see him in despair, in pain.

And it hurts you seeing him hurt. Emotional or physical, it doesn't matter. It hurts seeing him hurt.

You want to reach out and comfort him. But you can't.

.

Everyone tells you, you shouldn't be this devoted.

You can only answer that you can't.

Your devotion can never measure up to his. His affection, his tenderness, his devotion... his love. They are immeasurable for you.

But he is consumed with darkness. They say.

They fail to understand that you love his darkness as much as his light. For in your darkness, only he sits with you. Only he knows about it.

The parts they see as ugly and unlovable, are the very parts he said he loves the most about you when you said it to him.

Plugging the earphones on, you hear his voice again on the other end.

Did you forget me, pretty? You aren't calling lately, or did you find someone else? Nah, can't be. You have to get rid of me before that.

And getting rid of me isn't that easy.

You hate how he knows so much about you.

.

The men around you are... nice.

And it's just that. They are nice.

Some of them better than the other, some worse. And you know, you can live with one of them, one day.

But it feels wrong.

Thinking about other guys feels wrong.

Its foolish of you to even think you can ever replace him with one of them. Even when the touch of another on your skin repulses you.

And at the end of the day, its just that - they are nice.

Then you question:

Can they ever understand you like him? Can they ever know you like him? Can they ever accept all the darkness about you like him? Can you ever love you like him? Can they ever be him?

The answer is clear.

Hence, you are running back to him. He accepts you with open arms.

He is your home, regardless of what he does.

He tells you that, It is fine. I will never let you go, pretty. You are mine.

And that's what you want to be. His.

.

You open your eyes.

You see the ceiling, you are in your room.

Love is a curse. It has you falling for him in every way possible. And it's him, that you want. You wonder if you'll get over him.

You want to laugh. Who are you kidding? It's been years.

You smile, a single tear rolls down your eyes. The realization hits you again, like every other day.

You love him. You want him. But you can't.

You exist. He doesn't.

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Sukuna Ryomen, Gojo Satoru, Kageyama Tobio, Shoto Todoroki, Bakugo Katsuki, Son Hak, Loid Forger.

A/N: uhm, this is very close to me and the characters mentioned are just my faves with whom fantasize the most, you can imagine your other fav in place of them too

+

Thank you for reading.

[joocomics]

Dinna, I'm here presenting to you preppy!jiseok, who's very cocky and has a corruption kink🤭 He absolutely loves it when you wear a short tennis skirt and a tight top, he looks at your ass when you walk by him after practice or something. You give him a look, and he knows what you want. All his friends want you, and they all want to take your virginity; they even made bets with each other. Jiseok took part in the bet too, but no one knew you were already dating him and you told him to take the bet so you both can rob his rich, posh friends from their money🤭 I say you'll fuck at his family beach house or something like that😌

money on my mind

pairing: preppy!jiseok x preppy fem!reader

genre: smut wc: 3.3k

contains: sub!reader, established (secret) relationship, enemies to lovers trope, forbidden romance trope? (nothing serious), light corruption kink, mentions of virginity, semi? public sex, pet names, (+ slut used once), fingering, oral sex (m!rec), multiple orgasms, overstimulation (f!rec), creampie, squirting, dirty talk, filming, jungsu cameo

a/n: you didn’t ask for this many words ok i’m sorry >< but no matter what i tried it just kept getting longer, because your idea IS SO GOOD. there’s no way i could just answer it with three sentences… no way. it’s jiseok, and the idea is genius. hope you enjoy it and sorry for the wait <3

Jiseok was your secret for a while.

He didn’t care about you being the daughter of the people his parents are rivals with, but you were hesitant about showing up in public as his girlfriend until wanting to be with him everywhere, all the time, clinging onto his arm, was the only thing you could think about.

And you found the perfect way to make it official in front of your friend group. None of them would’ve ever thought they’ll see the two of you together as something more than the two brats who always make faces of disgust when they are forced to sit next to each other.

“You should participate in the bet.”

“What—“

“The bet,” you repeat as your voice shakes. A moan slips from your tongue before you try continuing your thought with a distracted glance at Jiseok’s face. “Take it and win the money.”

He looks directly into your hazed eyes as his hips move against you slowly. The gentle gliding through your walls barely keep them open, and he sees the pretty fluttering of your curled lashes. Being in each other’s arms with bodies connected into one always makes the two of you look high; like you’re slowly losing grip on reality.

“Faster,” you plead in one quick breath before pressing your head back against the pillow.

“You’re cruel.” He grins before burying his mouth into your neck. “I like it… so hot, baby.” His speech turns more tense as you pulse with stronger vibrations around him. He doesn’t speed up though; he enjoys having you melt down underneath him. “I’m so fuckin’ in love with you, you know that, right?”

Your right hand gets lost in his blond hair, looking to tug on his dark roots so you don’t completely lose control over yourself.

“Make it worth it.”

Jiseok peers at you with a mischievous smirk that makes it clear he’s already looking forward to seeing his friends’ expressions after he claims his reward.

“Let’s pick up the pace, pretty girl,” he says, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“When did you get so big?” You lay eyes on the exposed bicep. “Are you working out, Jungsu?”You feel the firm muscles against your palm as you squeeze it gently.

His arms have earned a nice golden tan from the summer sun and the white fitted shirt looks really good on him; complimenting his broad figure even more.

“Yeah,” he smiles flustered so quickly that you almost missed the reaction. “I’ve been going to the gym more often these days.”

You notice the way his cheeks instantly earn a pinkish color from the unexpected attention, causing him to avoid your stare. He’s definitely going to bet double after this. That’s what you want after all, and you’re going to put in the work.

“I’ve been thinking of going too, but I can’t seem to motivate myself enough to do it.” You sigh with a fake pout, running your hand along his broad shoulders before positioning yourself in front of him with the goal to show off your legs. “Maybe we can go together? Some company will be nice, I don’t wanna be just by myself there.”

You can feel Jiseok lifting his gaze up from the ground. He’s behind you, sitting on the chair across from Jungsu with his tenis racket in hands, but the intensity of his stare is warm on your skin like the sun. His eyes skim your figure up and down, stopping right where your short pleated skirt ends as he concentrates on your conversation.

He’s determined to not miss a word.

“I’d like that.” Jungsu blinks up at you with a genuine curl of his lips and eyes partly closed from the bright sunlight.

“Cool.” You smile back, tilting your head in a flirtatious manner. “Gym buddies?”

“Gym buddies.” Jungsu gives you a high five, and you’re just about to add something when you hear the deep voice coming from behind your shoulder.

“I thought you shouldn’t put pressure on your ankle for at least a month or two more,” Jiseok calls out.

“Oh, it’s fine.” You lie nonchalantly after turning around. He fixates his gaze on your chest, dressed in a tight cropped top with no straps, and you know it’s because if he looks into your eyes the real emotions may slip out from his face. However, he seems just as tense while staring at your boobs. “The doctor said I can start working out again, I just need to be careful not to overdo it.”

Jiseok responds with a crooked smile watching you take a seat on the table. As you take out the novel you’re reading for your english class, Jungsu stands up, stretching his arms for the next round.

Jiseok grabs the tennis ball, and a sigh of relief calms his frustration, when he walks pass you and feels your fingers discreetly brushing his as he heads towards the tennis court of his parents house.

“Will this book ever get interesting?” Jiseok scoffs. “Jesus, I’m so bored…”

“Will you stop interrupting me only to complain?”

Not only are you doing him the favour of telling him all the important things he needs to know about the novel, and helping him out with the assignment, more than you should, but you also have to bare listening to him complain like he doesn’t have someone else doing his work for him.

“If you read to me naked, I will.”

You roll your eyes at the comment, but you don’t succeed at fighting back the urge to grin, as you bring back your attention on the open book in your hands. He’s blessed with the most enticing smile in the word, and it never fails to make your stomach swirl. It’s boyish, smug, but so attractive.

“If we weren’t dating…” Jiseok rests his head in his palm after turning on his side, “who else would have a real chance except me?”

“Jungsu is cute.” You reply calmly without looking away from the page.

“Cute?” Jiseok blinks confused. His face scrunches from your quick answer. “Since when do you like cute guys?”

“Why did you ask if you’re just gonna get jealous of my answer?”

“Is this why you’re gym buddies all of a sudden? Cause he’s cute?”

You close the book and put it aside with a deep sigh.

“It’s like you missed the whole point of this bet. I have to get their hopes up a little bit so they can bet more money, baby.”

“I know, I know…” Jiseok whines, turning on his back. His eyes gaze up at the tree which leaves move discreetly from the light breeze. “It’s just annoying having to listen to them talk about you… they really think they have a chance.”

You move closer to him, putting a hand over his chest.

“This means we’re winning.”

Jiseok takes your wrist and guides your hand to his lips, pressing them against your knuckles. A moment later, you sit on his lap and his palms go underneath your skirt; it’s like an automatic reaction and it makes you chuckle.

“I can be cute too.” He says.

“I don’t want that.” You reply quietly before leaning down. The minty scent of the gum he had in his mouth earlier invades your senses as you stare at his plump lips. “You didn’t win me over with a cute attitude.”

You both smile at each other, because it’s true. He’s always been a gentleman, but he never tried to impress you with cute compliments, princess treatment or anything like that… The way you challenged yourselves in class, the games of cat and mouse and the bickering in between pulled you closer till he couldn’t handle it anymore. After realising the hatred you feel towards each other, or more specifically the hatred you’re supposed to feel towards each other was actually lust, attraction, desperation to know each other in more ways than one, Jiseok came up to you and straight up told you he wants you. “Right here, right now,” he said. No pick up lines, nothing.

“But we hate each other,” you stated even though it didn’t sound believable, because it wasn’t true at all. You said it just because you couldn’t think of anything else that wouldn’t make you sound easy.

“I don’t believe it, do you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I actually think you’re good for me, Y/N.”

He fingered you in the library that day. It felt so inappropriate, so… filthy; but most importantly - exciting. Jiseok saw something shifting in you that day, and it made him realise that he was right about you. You had a secret filthy side that’s hiding behind that pure obedient smile of yours, and it was waiting for him to discover it; to make it his.

Two days later he fingered you in the restrooms, that’s when you returned the favour although he said you didn’t need to.

He ate you out in the dressing rooms before his basketball game, and days later he asked to sit next to you for your English lecture so he can sneak his hand under your skirt. He likes doing that to this day - sitting next to you when you’re out with friends and touching you under the table. He enjoys it, because nobody has to know you’re in a relationship especially your parents. Another thing he likes about this is how you let him do it despite this well known fact.

He took your virginity at his house when his parents were out of the country and you got the chance to wake up next to him for the first time.

“What do you want then?” Jiseok keeps shifting his gaze from your eyes to your lips. His hands, hidden from your skirt, are gripping your ass cheeks beneath it. “Tell me, doll.”

He presses his lips against yours into a soft kiss. Once, twice… You remain silent while the contact from his mouth floods your body with adrenaline. The only sound around you is from the nature of the park where you found yourselves a nice secluded spot.

“Why are you suddenly shy, baby?” He smirks after you break the kiss. “I already know how filthy you can be for me.”

As he speaks Jiseok’s one hand moves your panties to the side while the other pushes a finger inside your welcoming arousal. You moan into his mouth as he glides it through your tight walls.

“It’s why you wear these little skirts and tops, right? You let me get what I want whenever I want to…” His finger speeds up, and you hide your face into the crook of his neck. “You don’t really care who sees. You never did.”

“I think it’s time to end the bet.” Jiseok tosses his phone on the table between you and glances in your direction. “It’s been over two weeks now.”

“Hmm..” You’re lounging on the sunbed enjoying the sight of the calm beach as the sun is almost about to set meanwhile Jiseok is sitting on his, hunched over with a certain tense expression.

“It’s perfect.” He exclaims. “Not too late, not too early either.”

“Wouldn’t it look like I’m easy?”

“No, baby.” He disagrees immediately as he walks up to you. “It would look like I’m just too damn good at flirting which I am.” He sits on the edge, stroking your bare leg up and down. “I’m too hard to resist.”

“You’re getting all cocky, Kwak Jiseok.” You tease him with your foot ghosting over his crotch. His hand catches your ankle gently. “Not cute.”

“What do you say?” His eyes fixate on your contemplative expression. What’s there to think about so much? As you stay silent, just maintaining the eye contact with him, Jiseok feels his heartbeat quickening.

“If you insist.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He blurts right away.

You cannot help but laugh while peeling your back off the lounge.

“I’m just messing with you! God, your cheeks got all red.”

You cup his face, smiling at his cute frustrations, but he grips your wrists, speaking out in an even more serious voice.

“I’m putting an end to this, you hear me?”

You pull back to drag down the straps of your light summer dress which is enough of an answer to his words. Jiseok watches you with half parted lips, finally laying eyes on the new pair of Victoria’s Secret lingerie you got.

You’ve talked about this - that you’re going to film just a few minutes as a proof, - but you’ve never discussed how, when, where or which minutes exactly - the beginning, the middle or the end. You completely let Jiseok guide you, but he seems too excited right now. He moves quickly, and kisses you roughly as if he hasn’t done it in weeks. You try to catch up with his speed, but all you can do is gasp and moan at every next touch.

“You can’t stop me, doll.” His tone comes out more intense and raspy. “I’m done listening to them thirsting over your ass, goddamn it. It’s driving me crazy.”

His fingers are already pumping against your g-spot, spreading your wetness and causing even more.

“J-Ji… Jiseok, fuck—“

Your legs dangle in the air as his arm flexes, moving steadily in order to make you cum as soon as possible.

“Slow down,” you whisper in a rush, squeezing your eyes, but Jiseok is too immersed into the fact you’re becoming even tighter than a moment ago.

“C’mon, baby, when have you liked it slow?” He smirks and a second later he feels you clench intensely around his fingers. “Yeah, there you go.”

Your jaw drops in a silent scream as Jiseok thrusts few more times till your climax fades down. Your chest drops heavily as you pant from the overwhelming feeling, it came so quickly and suddenly.

You’ve never cummed so fast before.

Jiseok pulls out his fingers slowly, all coated with your essence and drags them up to your clit. It causes your flushed face to scrunch up again which makes your boyfriend smile. He gives you a light smack.

“You needed this, huh?”

“I did,” you say already feeling relaxed and slightly lightheaded. Jiseok sneaks his fingers through your lips, doubling the pressure in his shorts by making you clean them up with your tongue. “Don’t you need something too?” You ask when you’re done sucking his digits.

Jiseok stands up, getting rid of his clothes. His tanned fit figure positions itself in front of you after you get comfortable with knees planted on the lounge. He looks stunning in this setting with the beautiful sea behind him.

“You can film me.” You say before you lick the side of his cock.

“Not yet.”

That’s all he says, as he stays with eyes shut due to the pleasant rush that's spreading wildly in his veins from your lips wrapped around his tip. You twirl your tongue around his oozing shape, but a moment later Jiseok gets impatient and slides himself all the way in, holding your head steady.

“Fuck, baby…” He groans with his deep voice. He commands his hips to move back and forth a few times, pushing as further as possible into your throat before emptying your mouth. “Give me your wet pussy now.” His soaked cock smacks your cheek lightly as a sign to turn around.

You feel him entering with ease. The pleasure is familiar, but it never feels exactly the same as other times. Every time your bodies connect you get dizzy with even more intense delight; with even stronger lust that only grows your addiction to Jiseok.

His fingertips dig into your hips, threatening to leave marks as the pace of his thrusts increases. He found your sweet spot and he doesn’t plan on slowing down until the knot in your tummy snaps.

“Fuck, b-baby—“ you call out with your weak voice; it keeps shaking from the immense pleasure and Jiseok’s rough pounding. “… gonna c-cum…”

Here at his parents' empty beach house, you can scream as loud as you want, so you don’t force yourself to be quiet nor discreet. You let out a deep wail of emotion that towards the end becomes just a shaky whimper as Jiseok fucks you through your second orgasm. He groans at the same time as you while doing his best to endure the pressure in his cock.

You collapse on your back, squeezing your trembling thighs together, but your boyfriend quickly separates them.

“I want to fuck you all night long,” he utters before his mouth sucks on your neck that’s sticky from sweat and the breeze around you. His body weight settles on top of your chest as his cock shoves into you again, making you whine beneath him. “You feel so fuckin’ good…”

The soothing sound of the waves clashing together blends with your moans as the rush starts doubling inside your core again. You feel how all the energy you had disappears from your body leaving only the overwhelming thrill from his cock turning you more and more sensitive.

“C’mon, my pretty girl, give me more.” Jiseok grunts. “I know you can.”

“Jiseok—“ you begin to say something, but he rises up, placing his thumb on your clit.

“I’m not gonna film shit until you start squirting, baby.”

He reaches for his phone, but the device stays locked in his free hand as the other stimulates your bundle of nerves causing you to squirm with each rub.

“You can do this, doll, look how needy you are.” Jiseok’s voice sounds lower than before as your clenching grows stronger.

His hips are not moving at all. He’s standing steady on his knees, feeling his cock being gripped tightly by your warm walls. He’s trying so hard not to keep his focus on this, but it’s impossible. His fingers speed up on your clit, and he pants heavily while you on the other hand cry out desperately with your silhouette convulsing in front of him. However, Jiseok doesn’t see a flinch of yours, because he cums inside you, and his eyes close shut.

Your clenching during your climax was enough to get him off.

“Shit,” he sighs, meeting your hazy gaze. You look completely washed off, but you still manage to smile after feeling how he spilled all that he had.

Jiseok unlocks his phone and guides the camera at your cunt so he can film the way he pulls out of you. His white cum starts seeping out in a slow thick trail and he makes sure to catch that too.

He keeps the video going as he pushes two fingers inside your hole tempted to fuck his essence back into you. His cock is still too sensitive, and he wants to get one more orgasm out of you.

“One more, pretty doll,” he whispers while pumping his digits, “this pussy is doing so well for me, keep it up.”

The camera memorises all the lewd squelching you do; all the messy juices emerging out of you as Jiseok’s fingers furiously bump against your deepest spot. Each and every whimper that slips from your lips in addition to your boyfriend’s praises.

“… can’t—“ you choke in the middle of your hitched breaths. “J-Jiseok, I can’t.. can’t…”

“Don’t say that, baby,” Jiseok fakes a disappointing look while keeping up the pace. “C’mon, you’ve been acting like a slut so many times for me, don’t get shy now. Show them what I thought you.”

You don’t realise when it happens; you feel too high to recognise anything else except your own crazy heartbeat and the burning in your core that makes you feel like you’re going to explode any second.

Jiseok’s phone gets sprayed when you succumb to the pressure and let go. You don’t even have the energy to let out a proper moan, you just gasp as the juices make Jiseok’s arm wet along with the lounge chair and the camera that catches everything.

Now, all that’s left to do is to send the video to the group chat, and get your money.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[raynesbunny]

WHAT MAKES THEM EMBARRASSED?

Mashle headcanon!

💌: GN!reader, fluff

⚠️: Ooc and maybe cringe, slight suggestive on Orter's part?

Requested by: @rainee-da

Characters: Orter Madl, Rayne Ames, Abyss Razor

Others: Guess who's back! I was thinking of finishing all the short stories before going back, though— but I don't want to keep you guys waiting! I'll feel very bad if I do so｡:ﾟ(;´∩`;)ﾟ:｡ Angst Rayne A. x reader coming soon! Still fixing a lot of errors<33 Enjoy reading, pookies!(≧▽≦) (this is my first time writing a headcanon so please do leave a message if there are errors!)

—

Orter Màdl

♡ It's almost impossible to make this man feel embarrassed; he hardly shows any expressions regardless of what others do—always wearing a straight and serious face! Many have attempted to make him laugh and smile, but their efforts have always been in vain, no matter how much they've tried. It almost seemed like expressing emotions is against the rules to him!

♡ And then there's you, his dearest, his partner, his beloved, his darling, his sweetheart, his sunshine, his angel, his lover, the one who melted his icy heart and kept it warm—the only one capable of evoking emotions within him that he never thought he would experience someday. (although, this rule-obsessed man cannot bring himself to admit it openly!)

♡ If there's one thing that can make Orter feel embarrassed, it would be your unexpected, sneaky and quick yet soft kisses and pecks!

♡ Whenever you peck his cheek, his brain momentarily stops functioning, and his heart flutters. His body freezes (and a faint blush is visible on his cheeks) at the touch of your soft lips against his skin.

♡ Your innocent and delicate feathered kisses drives him wild, but he would never dare to utter a word about his longing for more of those adorable little kisses!

Extra:

♡ Today was another busy day for the young man, Orter Màdl. Well— busier than usual that he had forgotten to bring his lunch with him.

And here you are, now in his office to deliver the homemade lunch to your hard-working lover, along with an encouraging letter you poured your heart into creating!

Upon noticing your presence, Orter averted his gaze from his work and looked up at your approaching figure with a small bag in your hand.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"You forgot your lunch at home, and I won't allow my man to work with an empty stomach, so I decided to bring it here to you," you replied.

Orter remained silent, choosing to turn his focus back to his paperwork. However, his shoulders seemed more relaxed now, and his facial expression had softened. That sight alone was enough for you to know that he was grateful, and he doesn't need to express it through words or pay you back.

(The pile of paperwork on his desk bothered you. You seriously wanted to help, but this stubborn boyfriend of yours would not let you, and you were left with no choice.)

(Last time, you tried helping him, but it only ended up with you wrapped in his sand magic.)

"Here's your lunch, by the way. Don't forget to eat it at lunchtime," you said, placing the small bag with his lunchbox inside on his desk. When you heard no answer, you glanced at him, seeing that he was focused on his work.

This seemed to be the perfect time to take the chance and sneak a kiss.

As your lips were about to reach his cheek, Orter turned around (on purpose), causing your lips to meet his instead.

You were about to pull away immediately, only for the desert cane to grab your wrists, pin you down on his desk and deepen the kiss, preventing you from moving and keeping the kiss from breaking. Leaving you breathless and blushing, a flustered mess.

—

Rayne Ames

♡ Just like the rule-obsessed divine visionary, he's often cold and serious. But believe me when I say that he isn't cruel! He's just having a hard time expressing that he actually cares for the people, especially those whom he's fond of, interested in, and of course- you.

♡ Speaking of you, you are his everything. He'd do anything to keep you safe, make you feel loved, respected, and comforted! Even with his busy schedule, he'll find a way to prioritize you, no matter what. (You matter the most in his life, aside from his rabbits and Finn, of course he'll prioritize those who are important to him.) Though, there are times that he must attend to his duties first, but he'll be sure to make it up to you! It just takes some time, and hopefully you'll understand.

♡ And when I say you're his everything, I mean; you're his joy, his comfort, his warmth, his flower, his world, his dream, his reason to smile, his strength, his motivation, his star, his light—

♡ If there is something that makes this man embarrassed, it's the way you know or understand what he wants (sometimes mentioning it) and letting him know that you have given him your consent!

♡ He will hesitate at first, but will give in as soon as he knows that you are certain. Like those days where he was staring down at your lips with a troubled expression, and this will never go unnoticed by you.

♡ You held yourself back from laughing, it was truly an adorable and amusing sight!

♡ You would press your forehead against his, your lips parting to mutter the words that you have given him your consent.

♡ Rayne's face would turn bright red, his gaze snapping to you with a look of embarrassment. He cannot believe he got caught again!

♡ You chuckled at the expression on his face, but your laughter died down when Rayne immediately brought his lips to meet yours in a gentle yet firm kiss, the contact sending a warm shiver down your spine.

Extra:

♡ You were playing with Rayne's pet rabbits in your shared room, wearing the comfortable rabbit hoodie that matched with your boyfriend but in your favorite color.

"There! All done!" You chirped and stroked Usao's fluffy fur, staring at all the rabbits decorated with ribbons in awe.

"[Name.]"

At the sound of his voice calling your name, you turned around to face him. Once you did, you're met with himself close to you, the sudden closeness making your eyes widen in surprise and confusion. "Is something the matter?"

(It was hard reading him this time, not even a single clue was visible! Is he doing this on purpose?)

Said boyfriend shook his head before gently taking your hand in his, caressing it tenderly.

He closed his eyes and brought your hand up to his lips for him to place a soft and long kiss.

The kiss lasted for a while and it took you some time to process what just happened. When you did, you found yourself stunned and flustered.

—

Abyss Razor

♡ Believe when I say THAT THIS MAN GETS ALL FLUSTERED WITH EVERYTHING YOU DO. (You were just too much for his heart to handle, he might explode in embarrassment.)

♡ Even the simplest, smallest things you do, like getting close to him, holding his hand, or even a gentle poke on the cheek, headpats, or your compliments, cause him to freeze in embarrassment or leave him trembling and a stuttering mess. (Even your smile and voice!)

♡ The last time this happened was when you were combing his hair and you stopped when you caught a whiff of the scent of his hair.

You drew closer to him, hoping to smell that pleasant fragrance again.

"Say, Abyss, what shampoo do you use?"

♡ He responded with silence, you were just too close to him! Close enough that his brain stopped functioning!

♡ Abyss.exe has stopped working.

♡ You are welcome to shower this lover of yours with affection, but please have mercy! He has zero experience when it comes to this! (Your affections for him might be the cause of his death /j)

♡ He is so adorable, please don't ever hurt him. Cherish him with all your heart, for goodness' sake! He deserves all the love and care.<33

Extra:

Your fingers brushed the silky strands of your lover's hair, tucking it behind his ear before clipping it with a ribbon. (I live for the coquettish display<33)

Once you were done, you gasped at the sight of your lover with his hair neatly down and a ribbon clipped in place.

"My goodness! You look beautiful, my love, as always!"

"Even with my cursed evil eye?"

"Nonsense! I find your evil eye unique and beautiful! Even with or without that, you will always be a beauty in my eyes, both on the outside and the inside!"

Just as he was about to respond, you gently placed your finger on his lips and embraced him, burying your face in his stomach.

"Hush! Don't even think of saying those words. Your cursed evil eye has nothing to do with who you are! You have done nothing wrong! If no one else will accept the whole of you aside from Abel, then I WILL. I do not care what that evil eye of yours will do to me, I am willing to embrace everything in you. I will always love you, even with all your flaws. Nothing and no one can change my mind and my heart—"

You stopped yourself from rambling when you felt a sudden drop of liquid fall on top of your head.

"Abyss?"

You sat up to check on him, only for panic to rush through you as your eyes met his face that is soaked with tears.

"Did I say something wrong? Please, don't cry and tell me what's wrong! It pains me to see you in tears!" (You might cry too /j)

Receiving no response from him, you were left with no choice but to embrace him in a hug, hoping that it could provide him solace.

Abyss wrapped his arms around you in return, his tears soaking the fabric on your shoulder. (Which you did not mind at all.)

He could never be more grateful than being accepted despite the flaws he bore, especially his very own evil eye.

—

I'll add a few more characters for this headcanon after writing the second angst I'm planning to write! I hope you enjoyed reading my first headcanon! Have a great, wonderful day or night, lovelies!💌

[lavendermin]

Ououghhhh vampire Jing yuan jndjejdjcjr

The soft intimacy paired with the bitter twist that comes with it, in the way he holds you so softly as his teeth press into your neck-

There’s equal parts dread and anticipation when your neck is waiting for that familiar prick of sharpened fangs. The momentary few seconds of pain is something you’ll never get used to. But Jing Yuan feels the way your scent grows thicker—heady with the rush of adrenaline pumping through the veins in your neck.

He gulps almost audibly. Parched.

But he needs to keep up this little ritual, for the sake of keeping sane and not devolving to the monotonous cycle of feeding over and over and over like an animal driven by the brink of extinction. He needs to feel.

cw | blood, suggestive

Not human, no. That’s something he’s long given up on.

Just Jing Yuan is enough. To feel like he was, or who he could be, or who he wants to be. Just… him.

Intimacy, longing, exhilaration—he holds back the primal instinct to feed on the crimson life that courses through you. The very essence that keeps him sane for a few spare nights.

Perched on his lap you lay against him, his hands wandering the plush of your thighs so warm and fragrant. There’s still a bandage wrapped around one of them where he sunk his fangs into their inviting delicacy a couple weeks ago. He had his fill in blood and body, his shame put to rest as you gripped his hair and urged him to where you need him—mind high on adrenaline and blood loss.

His breath is hot on your neck as he licks a stripe along the pulse that quickens under his tongue. A tender kiss pressed just under your jaw. His affections—or his preparation as he likes to call it—made you squirm in his lap. It earns a deep, velvety chuckle from him, vibrations you feel against you where you lean further into him.

“I’m beginning to think you look forward to this little rendezvous more than I do, songbird,” Jing Yuan teases. His fang just barely grazes your skin, pulling a stuttering gasp from you.

“Being the general’s lifeline does things to one’s ego,” you bite back with a breathy laugh. A shiver courses through your body as he teasingly presses his fangs just enough to feel discomfort but not enough to break the skin.

“Noticeably, with how you wear rather… enthusiastic outfits to these meetings. What would the people think?” The question is sarcastic with a playful glint in his eye.

“The general I know doesn’t care for rumors as long as peace is long-standing. Besides, I hear the general is quite fond of my daring little red dresses.”

He chuckles at your quick witted arguments. And this is what he most craves. The faux normalcy—the way you never miss a beat, never treat him significantly different with conversations. Just you. Just him.

He nuzzles his nose along a prominent jugular vein, arms hugging you tighter against him. And he breathes in deep, grounding himself and taking in the sound of your pulse that is all too apparent for him. His hunger is progressing.

Jing Yuan acknowledges he is greedy. Definitely needy. It’s a cruel intimacy he seeks from you often. But this is sound company he’s made with a little unconventional transaction between you both.

Of course you love him. You wouldn’t be baring your neck for him every few days if you didn’t. Going through special diets for blood quality and too many doctor appointments to count—your selflessness was your self-destruction. But you wouldn’t put your fate in anyone else’s hand.

He doesn’t envy your humanity. Nor does he wish to make you his equal in this vampiric curse of abundance. It’s simply you and him and these vulnerable moments before he feels less than himself as he takes from you.