#just know her teeth are all sharp and stuff

[lcec0ldheart]

i like how as time goes on frost and citrine are gradually becoming more normal (ish, they’re still weirdos ofc) while violet stays weird because she’s just like that.

[charliemwrites]

Men At Work - Part 3

I know this has been a little slow to start, but things should progress a little more quickly from here. I wanted to establish some of the groundwork for this weird dynamic they all have but unfortunately, these men don't know the meaning of slow, even in my own head.

No Content Warnings

“How are the repairs going?” you ask.

It’s just Nikto today, returning your Tupperware from dinner the other night. He’s covered head to toe once again, all that’s visible are those glass blue eyes. One way mirrors - hiding everything beneath the surface.

They remind you of… something. 

Hmm. When you figure it out, they’re sure to make an appearance in your next novel.

“On track,” he answers in that sharp, staccato way you’re learning is just his way.

Unfortunately for him, that just makes you more curious. You know it’s a bit obnoxious - you’re not entitled to information, you know that. And most of the time you curb the inquiries tapping at the back of your teeth. But he’s in your house, snuggling your traumatized cat. If he’s got a problem answering casual questions, you’re certain he’ll have no problem letting you know.

“You’re redoing the whole thing?”

“Most of it. Foundation is good. The rest - дерьмо.”

You don’t know a lick of Russian, but you can guess.

“Good bones,” you hum in understanding. As if you know anything about construction. “That helps. When do you think it will be done?”

He shifts, sharp eyes flicking between your busy hands, the door, and Rasputin holding him lovingly hostage.

Little guy is currently perched on your shoulder, face buried against your collar in abject despair that his bestest friend hasn’t come to visit. Shithead is poaching (or attempting to, anyway) the sandwiches you’re assembling. So far, she’s only swishing her tail, biding her time. You’re keeping an eye on her.

“Two months. Three if any of us are called.”

You hum, reach for the tomatoes. It’s only because you’re looking at him that you notice the slightest twitch around his eyes. Beneath his mask, you’d bet he’s scrunching his nose.

“No?”

“I will eat.”

You leave the tomatoes off. Guy mews sadly, you tilt your head to press a kiss to his little ear.

“So, two or three months. Krueger said you’ll move in then.”

“Da.”

You top the sandwiches with a final slice of bread and turn to the oven. Spin back just in time to catch Shithead’s paw reaching for Krueger’s designated sandwich. Nikto eyes the plate of brownies in your free hand; you bite the corner of your mouth to keep from grinning.

“What about the yard?”

Nikto tilts his head. If he didn’t give the impression of a particularly large predator, you’d call it cute. As it is, even spiders and snakes endear themselves to you somehow.

“What about yard?”

“Any plans for it?” You sneak an extra brownie onto Nikto’s plate. Reward and apology for wrenching conversation out of him. “Grass? Trees? Flowers?”

He blinks. Just once. Some sort of intuition tells you that even that behavioral tic is a big social step for him.

“No.”

“Oh, uh… gravel then?”

“We mean no plans,” he corrects.

“Oh! Alright, I suppose that’s a long way off anyway. There’s still so much work to do on the inside.”

But it does get you thinking. What even goes into fixing a house? And how do they know all this stuff? The electric, the insulation, the… whatever else goes into a home. Is it just Weird Things they picked up from the military?

You stare contemplatively at the house’s exterior as you walk the plates across the street with Nikto. (Ras is riding on his shoulder and Guy refused to detach his claws from yours. You fear for the state of your home with Shithead left behind, but neither you nor Nikto had a spare hand to wrangle her with.)

Nikto practically kicks the door in, shouting for the others as he goes. Guy chooses that moment to start crying - uncanny sense for appearing pathetic as possible.

Konig must hear him halfway down the stairs, because the steady boot steps get faster after a moment.

“Oh, bubchen! Why are you sad? What has happened?” Konig coos, nearly running to your side.

Of course, now that he’s gotten what he wanted, Guy’s volume lowers. He makes a pleased little “mrow” and slinks off your shoulder and into Konig’s reaching hands. You’d call him a traitor but you’re a damn sucker for a big man with a cute animal. 

“You two are ridiculous,” you laugh, setting the plates on the counter.

It’s already been replaced since last you saw it. Black granite, very sleek. You like it. (Which of them installed it? Nikto? You usually catch glimpses of him on the ground floor.)

“He is a baby, Biene,” Konig protests, “he must be treated like one.”

“He’s already five!” You reply, like you don’t have a papoose for when your hands are too full to snuggle him.

“Did I stutter? I do not think so. This is a baby.”

You have to turn away to hide your laughter, pretending that taking the foil off the lunches requires your full attention.

Krueger steps up behind you while you’re not looking. The heat of him is what alerts you, the only reason you don’t jump when his rough voice comes by your head.

“Where is the Shithead.”

“Hello to you too, Krueger. How is your day?”

He grunts and reaches past you, trying to snatch up a brownie. Without a thought, you slap at his hand - balk at the sharp whack sound it makes. He jerks his hand back in shock.

“You deny me my dearest friend and you attack me in my own home.”

You spin on your heel, mouth already open. False start as you realize he’s even closer than you expected. The height difference doesn’t seem like much until you’re eye level with his neck. You untangle your tongue and ignore the smirk growing at the corner of his scarred mouth.

“This is barely a house, never mind a home,” you scoff.

He snorts - that smirk turns to a full blown grin. A little crazed. Unfortunately, that makes it more attractive. (And the bastard probably knows it too.)

“You insult me too, now.”

“Sure, but I brought you food.”

He flicks his eyes to the plate behind you and arches a brow.

“Bring me the little Sheisskerl and I will forgive you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Go get her yourself.”

What the hell did you just say? Inviting a man into your house unaccompanied?! You may not be a true crime writer, but you know better.

You still don’t take it back.

He locks eyes with you, gives the distinct impression that he knows exactly what you just thought and he’s amused by your obstinance.

“Fine.” He reaches past your hip. Smells like sweat and something that reminds you of heat. Solder? Certainly not anything you’re used to. “Behave, eh? Konig is easy to take advantage of.”

You snort and glance at Konig over his shoulder, who’s glaring now. (Somehow no less intimidating even with Guy nuzzling at his mask.)

As Krueger turns, he takes a big bite of brownie, humming appreciatively under his breath. You shake your head, then turn to Konig.

“If you want to steal one of his sandwiches, I’ll look the other way.”

Konig barks a short, sharp laugh of surprise. It startles you a bit, but not enough to wipe the grin from your face. You know he really means it when he sounds like that.

“How are the bathroom repairs going?” you ask.

“They are going well!” he answers. Then launches into an in-depth explanation of all the ongoing projects. Replacing walls, rewirings, outlet and light installations. What doesn’t go over your head is almost too fast to understand as his accent thickens with excitement. You nod along anyway, because you asked, and he’s stupidly endearing - big muscular man getting a bit squeaky while he rambles about pipes.

He barely even notices Guy’s little paw reaching until it’s shoved into his open mouth. He sputters as you burst into laughter, gently tucking Guy’s arm against his chest.

“Why would you do this?!” he asks, only to receive a slow blink in response.

“He’s saying you need to eat,” you giggle, nudging Konig’s plate.

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for the lunch!”

Barely a couple bites in and you hear the door open again. Krueger stomps in with Shithead bundled in his arms, one hand under her bottom, the other around her tummy. She’s got her head tilted all the way back to chirp and chitter at him.

“Why are you carrying her like that?” you ask, choking back a giggle. 

“It is how she wishes to be carried.”

You blink at her - but sure as shit, she’s perfectly content being held like a child’s toy.

“Well good luck eating like that.”

“You won’t feed me?” he leers.

“I don’t want rabies if you bite me.”

His laughter is even harsher than Konig’s. You like it instantly.

All that’s left is to hear Nikto’s.

Agatha is outside when Nikto walks you back home.

(Krueger huffed that he had too much work to do for the day, but he would see you for dinner. While you were still blinking in shock at his self-invite, Konig transitioned Little Guy back into your arms. All the while grumbling at Krueger’s impatient German.)

She scowls as she notices your two-person parade. Nikto’s juggling Little Guy and Rasputin; you’ve got a firm grip on Shithead and the stack of dirty plates. You snort a bit just thinking of her paranoid comments about them being bad men. Sure, they might be in some ways, but it’s a hard sell when Ras is trying to lick at the edge of the mask around Nikto’s eyes.

“Afternoon, Agatha,” you call, just to be petty.

“When is your fiance coming by again?” she calls back. “Such a lovely young man.”

Your mirth dries up in an instant. “I broke up with my boyfriend four months ago. I thought I told you.”

You did. You know you did. Because she’s a nosy pain in the ass that was asking about your Easter plans with him (trying to invite you to church once again) when you told her that you left him. She’d even fussed about it at the time, saying that there’s hardly anything that can’t be healed with time and understanding.

(It was only your commitment to your own privacy that kept you from asking how much time it takes to smooth over someone cheating with your cousin.)

At your side, Nikto grunts. You glance sideways at him, wondering what he must think.

But his eyes are on Agatha. Even Rasputin has paused the grooming routine to narrow his one eye at her.

“Is this the one that looks in mailbox?” he asks, louder than you’ve ever heard.

Loud enough that she hears. And flushes redder than the poppies in your flowerboxes.

“That’s her husband, actually,” you answer. She sputters, and an incredibly immature bolt of satisfaction suffuses you.

He grunts again. Eyes her up and down. “Maybe we leave surprise for him next time, da?”

You press your lips together, but it does nothing to prevent you from grinning. He’s deadly serious, though, which somehow makes it even funnier to you.

“Maybe!” you reply in a tone that really means absolutely.

Nikto shuts the door on her face before Agath can get out a threat to call the police.

“You’ve got a petty streak,” you say, grinning at him.

He tilts his head. “You like.” He doesn’t even sound sure if it’s a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “I like it.”

He grunts and takes the plates from your hand. “We wash. You think about dinner and revenge. Da?”

You plop yourself onto a stool by the kitchen counter. “Da.”

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[matchpointfaist]

it will come back - art donaldson

;; dark and obsessive art donaldson

cw; aggressive art, rough sexual content, drinking, manipulation, stalking??, obsessive behavior, gaslighting, kinda icky behavior??

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

than to smile at me, smile at me like that

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

than to hold me just, hold me just like that

things with art started off with a simple, well intentioned smile across the court. you were warming up, stretching your shoulders when you caught his eyes stuck on you, drinking in the tight tennis dress clinging to your skin. his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, his gaze pin sharp and hair-raisingly intense. you had seen art before, at his matches or just around the court warming up. 

you weren’t nearly as well known, or competitive, as art. you weren’t even on the official team, you really only played as a hobby and as an excuse to get out of studying constantly. it seemed, to you, that his entire being revolved around tennis. if you saw him, it was typically on the court, or just leaving it. he always had his tennis bag slumped over his shoulder, his name ever-present like a brand. 

you brushed off his stare, trying your best to push it from your mind and continue your stretches. you were only able to relax when you saw him headed for the gate, following after his coach. your breathing calmed, and you turned to one of the other girls, gesturing to the net. “wanna hit with me? you asked her, “i only have half an hour.” she nodded, walking over to her side of the court. art’s stare was still at the forefront of your mind by the end of your 30 minutes. 

after you showered off the sweat from your practice, you headed to the library, hoping to cram in some last minute studying before your biology exam. you claimed your table, spreading out your books and walking to the vending machine in search of a red bull. 

when you returned, you were surprised, and unnerved, to see art donaldson himself seated at your table, your notebook open in front of him. “hey, uh, that’s my stuff,” you said awkwardly. his head snapped up, those blue eyes landing on you once again, “yeah, i know. sorry, shoulda asked first, i just needed the notes for bio.” his voice was confident and smooth, like he hadn’t at all been invading your privacy. “oh, didn’t know you had that class. well, i’d love to help out but i kinda need to study, so..” you trailed off, hoping he’d take the hint. “oh, no problem,” he smiled, standing up quickly, “see you around.”

you went back to your studying, but couldn’t shake the feeling of confusion finding art with your notes. you knew for a fact he was not in your class, which was only held once a week, when you knew he was more than likely practicing. you tried, and once again failed, to the push the thought from your mind. you told yourself there was no reason for him to lie, he could have just transferred into the class for an extra credit,  and went on with your reading. 

sure enough, as your bio professor handed out forms for the exam, art was nowhere to be found. you leaned to the boy on your right, your voice barely a whisper, “hey, is art donaldson in this class? i could’ve sworn he told me he was,” “nah, don’t think so. i’ve never seen him, anyway.” you nodded, going back to your own paper, mind a million miles away. 

after your exam, you went to the dining hall, hoping to enjoy a quick snack  between classes. you saw him  before he saw you, this time, and found yourself admiring the fluidity of his movement, the ease of his posture as he talked to one of the other boys you saw him with frequently. you felt crazy for ever thinking anything was off about him reading your notes. he probably took the class privately, considering his insane schedule. a few moments passed, with you continuing to watch him, and finally his eyes met yours, catching you. you smiled shyly, going back to your salad and scolding yourself for staring. 

you saw his bright white nikes from your peripheral vision, just at the edge of your table. “hey, i just wanted to say sorry for stealing your notes like that,” he said lightly, “i’m in molecular bio lab, i thought you were too. just got confused,” “oh, it’s okay! no big deal,” you replied, feeling silly for not thinking of that before. “alright, cool. hey, while i’m over here, you play, don’t you?” “what, tennis?” he nodded, taking a bite of his apple. 

your breath faltered slightly as you watched the juice drip down his chin, entranced as he licked it off his bottom lip. “uh, yeah, i do,” you stammered, “not super well, i just play for fun mostly. why?” “to be honest, i need a hitter that’s not gonna scream at me about precision,” he laughed, “love my coach, but he’s intense, and sometimes i just need to let off some steam.” “oh, i get that. i could ask around for you!” you smiled. “oh, i was wondering if you’d be interested? it’d be nice to hit with someone who’s not super competitive, and i’ve seen you play. you’re good,” he said, leaning slightly closer, “if you have time, i mean.” “oh, yeah, that would be fun! i’m really only free in the afternoons, my last class is out by six everyday,” you tried not to let your confusion show in your voice or on your face. “cool, works for me,” he said, “i could meet you at the west court tomorrow at six thirty? it’s a little more secluded so you won’t have to worry about people critiquing or anything.” “yeah, sounds good to me, i’ll be there,” you smiled. 

on your walk  back to your dorm, you ran over the conversation in your mind, examining every sentence for any deeper meaning. what would art donaldson possibly want to do with you? sure, you were fine at tennis, but you weren’t a pro by any means. you told yourself he was right, he needed someone less intense, less competitive. you were ideal for that, considering you weren’t in a position of power, or a threat, to him. 

your classes went by quickly the next day, and by six you were ready to be on the court, to see if art was genuine with his intentions. you changed into a tank top and shorts, grabbing your racket bag and jogging to the west court. you stopped yourself from entering when you laid your eyes on him. he was shirtless, back muscles flexing as he stretched his arms above his head. he bent down, touching his toes, and you watched as his toned legs flexed along with his back and arms. you could’ve stood there all night, dumb look on your face and blush across your cheeks, until your footing slipped and you stepped on a stray branch. he stilled, turning to look at you slowly, and it struck you how much he looked like a predator stalking their prey in that moment. “well don’t just stand there,” he called, a smug grin on his face. you blushed darker, embarrassed of being caught, and entered the gate. “sorry, i was just making sure it was you before i came in,” you explained, knowing he could probably see through your lie. “oh, no problem,” he reassured, “you all stretched?”  you nodded, though you hadn’t stretched, but too aware of how tight your outfit truly was to stretch in front of him, “did you just want me to hit it back? or did you want like a match?” “we can just hit for now, let you get comfortable,” he said. you nodded again, heading to your side of the net and grabbing a tube of balls. “ready?” he called over the net, racket already in his position. “ready!”

you weren’t ready for the sheer speed of art’s serve, of the way he grunted slightly when the ball left his racket, the way his muscles visibly rippled with the impact of the hit. you just barely managed to hit it back, having to jump slightly to reach the ball, and felt a sense of accomplishment watching it fly back over the net. he looked like an entirely different person than the boy you’d seen in the dining hall the day prior. before, he was all easy, fluid movement, smooth words and lazy grins. now, he was rigid, hard lines, his light eyes set with a determination you had never seen in yourself. you wondered if he forgot who he was playing, forgot that he wasn’t in the french open he had won the year before. 

art was always intense like this, it was the only time he could be himself. he could be as aggressive, as loud, as he needed to be. he could let go, not having to pretend to be polite and easygoing any longer. people asked him frequently, if he felt the pressure to perform, and he wanted to tell them he felt more pressure to perform in a basic conversation than he ever had while playing tennis. until he met you, that is. talking to you came as easily to art as swinging a racket, and that was when he knew you were both in trouble. 

i know who I am when i’m alone

i’m something else when i see you

you don't understand, you should never know  

how easy you are to need

your little practices with art continued for three weeks, with you meeting him at the west court every other day at six thirty pm. you slowly began to look forward to them, and by the fourth week, you were desperate to get out of your last class each day. so desperate, really, that you texted art at four oclock, asking him if he’d want to meet you earlier. you emailed your professor, telling him that you’d come down with a migraine and you’d have to make up any notes next week, and went up to your dorm to wait on art. thirty minutes went by, and you hadn’t heard from him, so you went to change into your tennis skirt and brush your hair up into a ponytail. a knock on your door interrupted you, and you hesitantly opened it, not expecting anyone. art stood in the hallway, racket bag over his shoulder and disheveled hair. 

“hey, sorry i came as soon as i saw your text. sorry, i fell asleep after my match,” he said, and you took in his full appearance. his eyes were still hazy, and he had slight creases on his cheek from his pillow. you couldn’t help but think what a beautiful sight it must be to wake up next to him. “oh, you didn’t have to do that, i just got out of my last class and didn’t have anything else to do,” you said, attempting to downplay your desperation. “well we can go down to the court now, here i’ll carry your bag,” he smiled, and you reluctantly passed him your pink racket bag. “let’s go then,” 

the walk to the court was oddly quiet, with art seeming to be in a bad mood and you not wanting to speak up and irritate him farther. once on the court, as always, he seemed to transform. his hits were much more aggressive than usual, his typical quiet grunts turning into full on groans as he served. you noticed how tense he looked, almost uncomfortable, and after half an hour you dropped your racket. “what’s going on, art?” you asked him, approaching the net. “nothing,” he said dismissively, serving another ball just to send it flying against the fence. “i can tell something’s up, you can talk to me,” you said, tilting your head up at him. you weren’t used to this side of him, so short and borderline angry. “i said i’m fine, do you want to play fucking tennis or not?” he snapped, and your eyes teared up in shock. “i guess not,” you snapped back, picking up your racket and rushing off the court, “i was just trying to be nice.” 

you made it halfway back to your dorm before you heard art calling after you, his tone pleading even from a yard away. “please wait, i’m sorry,” he called, and you heard his steps bounding up to you. you kept walking, desperate to be back in the comfort of your bed, and felt his fingers circle around your wrist, pulling you to a stop. “i don’t want to talk about it, art. just don’t worry about it, i’ll see you around,” you said, your tone clipped. “i am worried about it, i want to apologize. i shouldn’t have snapped, you didn’t do anything wrong. i’m just really stressed out and i shouldn’t have taken that out on you. will i still see you tomorrow?” he rushed out, looking at you intently. “it’s fine, seriously. i get it, i know you’re stretched really thin. we don’t have to do this anymore, i’m sure you get more than enough hitting practice with your coach and in your matches. thank you for the experience, though,” you said, turning away from him once again. “you can’t just blow me off,” he said, his rough tone from earlier creeping back, “i’m trying to apologize, not cancel our practices. if that’s what you want, then fine, but don’t blame it on me.” 

you walked away quickly, ashamed at the tears now slowly rolling down your face from the confrontation. you didn’t want to call off your practices, but you also didn’t want to become his verbal punching bag because he was exhausted. he didn’t come after you this time, and you felt more hurt than relieved. your tears kept coming, even after you reached your dorm room. you were so upset, you never even stopped to wonder how art knew which dorm was yours. 

three days passed, and you didn’t hear from him at all. it took almost all of your self control not to send him a text, or stop by one of his matches, but you held yourself back. on day four, there were flowers outside of your door. you rolled your eyes, squatting down to read the attached note. ‘west court, six thirty. art.’ you opened your door, placing the bouquet on your desk and throwing yourself onto your bed. your mind raced, debating if you should meet him or not, wondering what he would possibly have to say. you felt completely out of control as you changed into your tennis dress from that very first day you saw him, grabbing your racket and locking up your dorm. 

you walked onto the court at six thirty on the dot, with no art in sight. you sighed, sitting on the cold pavement and stretching your legs. ten minutes went by, then twenty, no art. at seven, you rolled your eyes and left the court, pulling out your phone to text him. ‘really nice, art. thanks for the flowers.’ you sent it, turning off your ringer and going back to your dorm, wanting the day to be over. you showered, changing into your pajamas, when you noticed your top drawer was open.  you knitted your eyebrows, sorting through the drawer, but not noticing anything missing. you told yourself you just left it open, and put on a movie on your small tv before going to sleep. 

the next morning, you woke up to a text from art. ‘i’m so sorry, i meant to come but got caught up in one of my classes. can i make it up to you?’ you ignored it, going about your morning routine and turning your phone off once you got to your literature class. when you exited, someone grabbed your wrist, yanking you out of the door frame. you gasped, your heart rate spiking, but immediately relaxed when you saw his familiar head of blonde curls. “what the hell, art? scared me to death,” you scolded, putting your hand on your chest. “you didn’t reply to my text, i just wanted to see you,” he said softly, rubbing your wrist where he had grabbed you, “did you like the flowers?” “would’ve liked seeing you more, but yeah, they were pretty. what’s going on with you? you’re acting so weird,” “i told you, i’ve just been stressed out. do you wanna get dinner or something? i feel like we’ve spent all this time together and we barely talk,” your eyes softened, and you nodded, “yeah, i’d like that. don’t stand me up this time,” “i’m not, promise. i can pick you up at seven?” “what should i wear?” “i’ll have something sent up to your dorm. see you at seven,” he said, and left you standing dumbfounded in the crowded hallway. 

at six, you climbed the stairs to your room once again, this time finding a department store garment bag hung over your doorknob. you blushed to yourself, taking it off the knob and entering your room. art had sent you a beautiful dark red dress, a silver necklace hung around the neckline to pair with it. your face reddened even more, your mind going to how much money he must have spent on this. as you pulled the dress from the bag, you saw a small note tied to the hanger. ‘you’re gonna look gorgeous. art’ you giggled to yourself, feeling like a high schooler giddy in love, and held the dress up to your body. he had somehow picked your perfect size, and only after looking in the mirror did you recognize the signature stanford color. 

you quickly straightened your hair, putting on the new dress and digging into your closet for shoes to pair it with. you sighed loudly when you came up empty handed, pacing around the room barefoot, unsure of what to do. you heard a knock on your door and ran your hair through your hair anxiously as you went to answer it. art stood in the hall once again, this time in a white button down and pressed black dress pants. your breath caught in your throat, all thoughts of your shoes gone as you took in the way he filled out the thin white shirt. “i realized i forgot shoes, and i had some time to kill so i hope these are alright,” he said, holding out a black shoebox. “oh, thank you so much. i was just thinking i didn’t have any wear,” you breathed a sigh of relief, moving back to hold your door open, “you can come in, i’ll just put these on and be ready.” he nodded, his eyes darting all around your room as he entered. you sat on the edge of your bed, leaning over to open the box. your breath faltered once again as you saw the gorgeous black heels. “these are beautiful, art. thank you,” you said, taking them out carefully. you slid one on, fumbling with the clasp. “do you mind helping? sorry, i can’t get the clasp with my nails,” you said, blushing slightly. he shot up from his seat, nodding, “yeah, here,” 

he kneeled in front of you, taking your calf into his hands gently and clasping the shoe with ease. he gently took your other foot into his hands, his thumb rubbing circles on your ankle as he slid your foot into the heel. you could feel your pulse all through your body, heart racing at the simple feeling of his gentle hands on your legs. “hey, how’d you know what size to get me?” you asked suddenly, realizing you hadn’t thought of it before. his face reddened just barely, and he said, “oh, i must’ve just noticed when you were stretching or something. i probably just guessed.” you nodded, still questioning it in your mind but not pushing it further. you closed your eyes in pleasure as he ran his hand up your calf, before standing up and holding the same hand out for you. “shall we?” 

he took you to a dimly lit, obviously expensive italian restaurant just off campus. “this is beautiful, i’ve never been here,” you said, in awe of the detailing on the walls and the subtle beauty of the design. “i’ve been once, with my parents when they were in town for a match. it’s pretty nice, nice wine selection,” he said, pulling out your chair for you. you thanked him, smoothing your dress down and sitting down. he took his seat across from you, immediately opening the drink menu, his eyes raking over the options. “do you have a preference?” he asked, peering at you over the menu. “no, i’m not much of a drinker so whatever you recommend is great,” you told him. the server came over, and you noticed how he instinctively turned toward art first, like he commanded all the attention in the room. “what wine would you like, mr. donaldson?” the server asked, and the realization struck you that art wasn’t just famous on campus, but more than likely all throughout the country. “we’ll do the 2005 pinot noir, thank you,” art replied, handing him the menu, “and you can just leave the bottle.” “perfect, i’ll be back shortly with that,” you smiled at art across the table, your eyebrows raised, “so, mr. donaldson,” you giggled. “yeah, unfortunately. nineteen years old and getting called mr. just because i won a few games,” he laughed, but you could see the tension underlying his laughter. “well, i think its cool. you’re a big deal,” you said reassuringly.

the waiter returned quickly with your wine, pouring you both glasses and asking art what you’d both like for your main course. “i’ll do the eight ounce wagyu with a caesar salad,” he replied, then nodded to you, “and she’ll have whatever she wants,” “oh, i’ll just have the ricotta ravioli, thank you so much,” the server nodded, heading to put your orders in, and art grinned at you. “you’re so polite, it’s endearing,” he said, his eyes gleaming. you blushed slightly, “i was just raised that way,” you said. “tell me more about how you were raised, i wanna hear all of it,” 

there was not a quiet moment the entire evening. you talked all about your life, growing up in the south, while art told you all about his busy upbringing in palo alto. his life was all tennis lessons, private school and flashy cars, something you were not accustomed to. you found yourself wishing you could have known him when you were both young, before the world had shaped him into the hardened version of himself he was now. he seemed calmer through dinner, like you could see the tension melting from his body with every laugh that left your lips, or every brush of your hand against his over the table. 

with all your talking, you didn’t notice his one glass of wine to your four, didn’t notice how his jokes started to get much, much funnier, how the touch of his hand started to feel almost euphoric. when he said it was time for him to get you home, you protested, telling him he couldn’t drive yet. “oh, i’m alright,” he assured you, “i had one glass before our meal even came, i promise i’m fine to drive,” you pouted your lips, confused why he had stopped but let you keep downing glass after glass. a slight pang of anxiety formed in your chest at the thought that maybe it had been intentional, but you quickly pushed it away, telling yourself that art wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, or make you uncomfortable. 

the drive home was full of laughs and his hand was on your thigh, rubbing small circular motions. you sighed, leaning your head back against the seat. “tonight was really fun, art. thank you again, for the dress and the shoes and everything,” you said sweetly, adoration in your eyes as you watched his skilled hands around the steering wheel. “of course, it was my pleasure,” he said, glancing over at you. the streetlights made his blonde hair look like a halo. “we should do it again,” you said. “yeah, absolutely. whenever you want,” he smiled, “i’d love that.” 

he walked you up to your dorm, holding onto your arm the whole way to keep you steady. “i think i’m a little drunk,” you finally admitted, halfway up the stairs. “yeah, i can tell,” he said, grinning down at you, “you gonna be alright in here alone?” “oh, yeah, i should be fine. you could stay for a little, if you wanted,” you said, focusing your eyes on his lips as his grin widened. “oh, i don’t know if that’s a good idea tonight,” he said, “but next time, of course,” you pouted slightly, but nodded, agreeing. “well here’s your door,” he said, gesturing to the doorway, “do you want me to unlock it for you?” you nodded again, handing him your keys, watching as his fingers wrapped around the key and twisted the lock. “thank you, art,” you giggled, “thank you for the whole night. no one’s ever taken me to dinner before. not a boy, anyway.” “i find that hard to believe, but i’m glad i could be the first,” he smiled, pushing a stray curl from your face, “you should get some rest. goodnight, love,” he leaned down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your cheek, and he was gone before the warmth of it had time to fade. 

you woke up the next day, head pounding, dress still on. you smiled to yourself as you remembered the events of the night, trailing your fingertips across your cheek where art had kissed you. you got dressed for classes with a skip in your step, unable to wipe the giddy smile off your face all the way through the day. you didn’t have practice with art that evening, so the thought to surprise him popped into your head. 

you approached one of his tennis friends, michael, in the dining hall. “hey, sorry if this sounds weird, but do you know art’s dorm number? i had something to give him, and-” he cut you off, smirking. “yeah, it’s 38. second floor, third door on your right. knock yourself out,” he said. you blushed, thanking him quickly and leaving. the embarrassment of his presumption stunted your confidence in your actions, but you proceeded to his dorm anyway, sure that he’d want to see you. 

when you approached room 38, you hesitated to knock, questioning yourself once again on if this was right or not. as you stepped closer to the door, you heard quiet moaning, so faint it was barely noticeable. it was definitely a man, all breathy grunts, but you couldn’t tell if it was art for sure. you told yourself he must have a roommate, surely he didn’t have a girl in his room, surely he wouldn’t do that to you. your mind raced, until all thoughts were halted by the clear moan of your name through the door. your heart skipped, and you dug your teeth into your bottom lip, confusion clouding your thoughts. you should just leave, you thought, just go and never speak a word of this to him. but curiosity got the best of you, and suddenly you were knocking on his door, cheeks red and eyebrows furrowed.

you heard some clambering inside, before moments later, a sweat sheened, pink cheeked art opened the door. “jesus, what are you doing here? you scared me,” he said, and you took note of how breathless he was. “oh, i just wanted to say hi, since we didn’t have any practice today,” you said, “can i come in?” “yeah, of course, come on in,” he said, quickly recovering his face and smiling down at you. you entered his room, taking in the tennis posters covering the walls, the dark comforter on the twin size bed. it was clean, cleaner than you’d expect a male dorm room to be, but smelled distinctly of art. “this is cozy,” you complimented. “it’s alright, about as good as one of these shitty dorms can be. i’m just waiting for my sophomore year so i can live off campus,” he said, shrugging, “i like yours much more. here, you can sit anywhere.” you sat on the corner of his bed, not wanting to make yourself too comfortable, “so, were you busy when i came? i’m sorry if it was a bad time,” you could’ve sworn his face reddened, but he quickly recovered, insisting that he hadn’t been busy at all. “did you want to do something? or were you just saying hello?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “just saying hello. i need to get home, i have a seven am lecture. i’ll see you at six thirty tomorrow?” you confirmed. “yeah, of course. i’ll see you then,” he smiled, and you gave the room one last scan before heading for the door. “well, goodnight art,” you smiled, walking out into the hallway. you couldn’t shake the feeling that the light pink panties shoved just under his bedframe had been yours.

two hours later, you were laying in bed, unable to sleep. all you could think about was what you had clearly seen in art’s floor hours prior, and your mind raced with the possibility that they were yours. he could’ve snagged them when he came in to give you your shoes, but you couldn’t understand why he would possibly do that. your imagination ran wild, filthy images of your panties wrapped around his cock, the sound of him groaning out your name as he fucked into fist, his cum all over the pink fabric. your thighs squeezed together, hot tension building between them. you wondered what it would feel like for him to touch you, for those long, skilled fingers to work their way into your core, to make you fall apart for him. you wondered if the sounds he made during tennis were anywhere near as alluring as the sounds he’d make while he fucked your throat. you couldn’t ignore the burning, intense desire anymore, and slipped your hands into your pajama shorts. you tried your hardest to suppress your moans as you circled your fingers around your clit, thinking about art, about his toned arms, his long fingers, his plush pink lips. how good it would feel to have those lips wrapped around your clit instead of your fingers, how beautiful he’d look pumping you full of his cum. you came quickly, art’s name shamelessly tumbling from your lips as you bucked your hips to meet your own hand. you fell asleep thinking of him holding you. 

don't let me in with no intention to keep me

jesus christ, don't be kind to me

honey, don't feed me, i will come back

the next day, you went to your classes, trying your best  not to let art completely consume your thoughts. hot shame burned the forefront of your mind from what you’d done, the things you’d thought about him. part of you was worried from the intensity, the suddenness of your closeness and attraction to art. part of you wondered if you should end things before they got to be too much. you weren’t used to this, to this all consuming need for another person. you told yourself this wasn’t like you, touching yourself to the thought of a man you’d only been on one date with. and you worried about why, and how, art had your things in his room. you were ashamed at how hot you’d found it, now acutely aware of how dangerous it could be, a man being that interested in you that he would stoop to stealing your panties from your room, to moaning your name behind closed doors. most of all, you were ashamed of how you didn’t care, how you wanted to fall into whatever this was with art, how you’d let him do whatever he wanted with you. 

at six thirty, you entered the court you’d become all too familiar with. art was serving to the fence again, beads of sweat already rolling off his back. “how long have you been out here?” you called, smiling when he turned to face you. “not too long, got bored waiting on you to get out of class,” he replied, crossing the court to stand before you, “maybe we could do something else, instead of practicing. i’ve worn myself out,” you found this hard to believe, but didn’t protest. “like what?” “whatever you want, we could go to dinner or see a movie or you could come to my room. whatever sounds best to you,” he said, already putting away his racket. “maybe we could go for a walk? if you’re not too tired, of course. i’ve been cooped up in classrooms all day,” “yeah, of course. a walk sounds great,” 

the two of you walked all around campus, talking about your days and how exhausted you both were. “i don’t know how i’ve never asked you this, but are you staying off campus next year too?” he asked you suddenly. “uh, no,” you said honestly, “i can’t really afford to move out of the dorms, to be honest. i’ve got my tuition and housing covered, and i really don’t mind the dorms, they’re comfy,” “you could always stay with me,” he said, and you stopped in your tracks. “i actually wanted to talk to you about that, well something like that,” you said, your anxiety almost tripping up your words, “do you think maybe we’re, well whatever we’re doing, is moving a little fast? i know we were practicing together for a while, but we’ve only just started really talking, and i’m just not used to this kind of thing,” his expression hardened quickly, his eyes darting everywhere but you. “yeah, that’s fine, it’s not really a big deal to me,” he said dismissively, “i was just being nice.” “oh, yeah of course. i feel silly now,” you rambled, laughing awkwardly, “it’s just, you know the date was really lovely and i’d love to do it again, but i didn’t want you to get the wrong idea,” “and what idea would that be, specifically?” “just, y’know, didn’t want us to get ahead of ourselves. didn’t want you to get the idea that it was more than it was or anything,” “and what is it exactly?” “oh, i don’t know. we’re friends, and i really like you, and i like getting to know you-” he cut you off, his jaw tight, “friends? that’s what you think we are? friends?” 

your brows furrowed, confused, “well yeah, i thought we were friends. are we not friends?” “i didn’t know that’s all this was, no. but that’s fine, if that’s what you want,” he backed away from you slowly, looking like he had the night he yelled at you. “art, wait, i didn’t mean-” “no, i get it completely. i’ll see you in a couple days, yeah? have a good night,” “wait, don’t go,” you protested, but he was already quickly walking away from you. you tried to ignore the irony in your position, how you had left him standing there in your previous fight. you tried to ignore the flashes of pain in his eyes when you said you were friends, the look of betrayal across his face. you focused on coming up with a plan to make it up to him, as he had with you, and this occupied your mind your entire walk home. 

art spent the next few days miserable, throwing rackets during matches, snapping at his coaches, straining his muscles to the point that he spent each afternoon with the team’s physical therapist. he couldn’t believe the audacity, the stupidity of you to say you were just friends. you had to have known, had to have felt the intensity in his feelings for you. he told himself you didn’t mean it, but each time he pictured the certainty on your face, his anger made his concern for your feelings on the situation dissolve entirely. it was like you did it on purpose, talking to him so sweetly on your date, showing up at his fucking dorm, just to claim you were friends. friends didn’t touch themselves to the thought of the other, didn’t moan friends names as they came, alone in their dorm room. granted, you didn’t know that he had seen, didn’t know that he had almost came at the high pitched moans you let out. he was sure, now, that he’d never get to hear them for himself. 

a week after your fight, you worked up the courage to send art a text. ‘hey, miss you. i’ve been trying to plan some grand gesture, but they all feel wrong after the date you planned. meet me at the court tonight? we can talk, or we can play. whatever you want, just come please,’ you sent it, biting your lip with anxiety awaiting his response. 

it can't be unlearned

i’ve known the warmth of your doorways

through the cold, i'll find my way back to you

oh, please, give me mercy no more

that's a kindness you can't afford

i warn you, baby, each night, as sure as you're born

you'll hear me howling outside your door

he responded to your text an hour later, a simple, ‘i’ll be there,’ but it was good enough for you. you once again put on the tennis dress you’d worn the first time art had noticed you, putting your hair into a neat ponytail and lacing up your nikes. at six thirty, you waited anxiously for his arrival, reapplying your chapstick to busy your hands. he walked in, a careless, lazy expression on his face, but you could see the squareness of his shoulders, the hardness of his jaw. “thank you for coming,” you said, your voice timid. “of course i came,” he said, his voice as tense as his muscles. “i thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see me, after what i said. i need to apologize, i don’t think we’re just friends, i just didn’t know what else to say. i don’t know what this is, but i really like you, and it scares me,” you rambled, your face hot. he quickly crossed the distance between you, his gaze intense. “and?” he bit out. “and what? and i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, art. i don’t want to just be your friend, i never wanted that. it’s just, you make me feel all these things so strongly and it really is scary-”

 “you don’t think it’s scary for me? all my life, i’ve only been good at tennis, at shutting the fuck up and playing the game, and that was fine with me. i didn’t care about having a fucking girlfriend, didn’t need real friends, didn’t want to spend my time hearing someone else tell me their bullshit problems, nothing. i just played the fucking game, minded my business, if i needed to get off i’d fuck some randmon fan, i didn’t care. and then i saw you, and fuck, you’re just so pretty, and you looked so oblivious, so fucking sweet. i just had to have you. do you know how that felt? all my fucking thoughts, everything, just you. i waited, i was so good and i waited but then i had you, right on the tips of my fucking fingers i had you. then you look me in my face and tell me we’re just friends? fuck that, i’m not your fucking friend. i have sat by and been patient and i’ve kept it to myself but i won’t wait anymore, i won’t fucking do it. i need you, goddamn it, i think about it all the fucking time,” 

before you could say anything, he tilted your jaw up to face him roughly, crashing his lips into yours. you were taken back by the force, your feet stumbling slightly, but his hand on your low back righted your posture. the kiss was rough, teeth clashing and his tongue searching desperately for yours. you moaned into the kiss as he sank his teeth into your bottom lip, the taste of your blood filling both of your mouths. he pulled away, his bloody lips kissing down your neck, biting roughly as you just gasped above him. his hand held your jaw still, his thumb digging into your pulse point, choking you slightly. “you don’t know how long i’ve waited for this,” he growled, kissing back up to the shell of your ear. he raked his teeth over the sensitive skin, his breath echoing in your eardrum, “wanted to fucking bruise you and bite you and make you cry for me.” he pulled away from you suddenly, pulling you over to the edge of the court, right against the fence. “art, wait,” you protested weakly, your hands coming to his chest.

“i’m done fucking waiting,” he snarled, his hands roughly grabbing your ass, “not gonna wait anymore. gonna make you all mine, see if you ever try that friends shit again. if you don’t want this, you tell me to stop,” his fingers came between your thighs, pressing into your cunt through your dress, “but i don’t believe you want me to stop, i can feel you through your slutty little dress.” you moaned as his fingers curled against you, grinding your hips into his hand desperately. he turned you around suddenly, your face pressed against the chain link of the fence. the cold air surprised you as he flipped the skirt of your dress over your ass, yanking your panties to the side. “we can’t do this here,” you protested, trying to straighten out your back, “someone will see.” “why do you think i always bring you here, baby? nobody’s gonna see a fucking thing,” he said, his tone smug, “nobody’s gonna hear you moaning under me, hear you cumming on my cock. we’re all alone out here.” 

you gasped loudly as he kneeled beneath you, his tongue sliding between the folds of your pussy. your legs immediately began to shake, your knees nearly buckling. his tongue slid inside of you, fucking you with the tip of it as his fingers came around to rub at your clit. “art, fuck, please,” you moaned, grinding against his face roughly. he pulled away, his fingers continuing their motions, “please what? you want me to fuck you against this fence like the fucking whore you are, hm? is that you want?” when you just moaned in response, his free hand smacked your ass roughly, digging his nails into the sensitive skin, “fucking answer me.” “yes, please, want you to fuck me so bad, i’m sorry just please,” you begged, your voice nearly breaking into a sob. he was behind you in an instant, his clothed hips rubbing against you, his breath on your neck. “gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna forget why you ever told me we’re just friends,” he said, biting down on your neck roughly. you knew you’d have marks the next day, could feel blood bubbling to the surface of your barely broken skin. 

his joggers came down, and your breath hissed as he teased your entrance, rubbing his cock between your folds teasingly. “tell me again you want me to fuck you,” he spat, gripping your hip with one hand. “need you to fuck me, art, please,” you pleaded, trying your hardest to rub your hips against him, gain some friction. without warning, he slid into you, both hands on your hips roughly now. “fuck, oh my god,” you all but screamed, hands clinging to the chain link desperately. he fucked into you at a vicious pace, one hand on your hip, one underneath your stomach holding up. “you look so fucking pretty taking my cock,” he groaned, leaning over to you to press hasty kisses down your back, “feel so fucking good,” “feels so good, thank you,” you moaned, near tears from the intense pleasure. “thought about this for so long, you have no idea what i’ve done, what i’ll do to you if you ever try to leave me,” he growled, his thrusts getting even rougher. his balls slapped against your clit, the added stimulation sending you even closer to the edge. “want you to cum on my dick and fucking suck it off,” he moaned,  and you could tell from the stutter of his hips he was close too. he changed his position, fucking into you faster, and you nearly screamed at the new sensation. “art, gonna cum, fuck,” you moaned out, your walls constricting around him tightly. his hand came down to your clit, rubbing harshly, desperately, and you let go. 

your orgasm hit you roughly, crying out and your knees giving way completely. he fucked you through it, holding back his own orgasm until he was sure you were through. when the spasms around him slowed, he pulled out of you roughly, forcing you to your knees in front of him. “open your fucking mouth,” he moaned, holding your jaw tightly. you opened for him, sticking your tongue out as far as you could manage, and he slid his cock into your mouth, groaning loudly as he did. you could’ve cum again just from the taste of you and him, all mixed together, a filthy reminder of what you’d just done. he fucked into your mouth roughly, hands holding your ponytail tightly. “gonna cum down your throat,” he moaned, his hips stuttering once again, “so fucking close, you’re doing so good,” as soon as you cast your eyes up to make contact with his beautiful blue ones, he lost it. he came straight down your throat, hips bucking wildly and profanities flying from his mouth. you swallowed as it came, and his hips slowed eventually, until he pulled out of your mouth entirely. “did so fucking good,” he panted, pulling you to your feet, “kiss me,” and you did, your mouth still tasting of his cum. he groaned into the kiss, his hand going to your hair once again. 

you pulled away to catch your breath, leaning your forehead against his chin. “that was so good, baby. are you okay?” he asked you, his voice softer than you’d heard it in days. you nodded, still catching your breath, and he tilted your chin up to face him. “don’t ever do that again, okay? don’t want you to ever question what we have. you’re all mine, and i’m all yours, and nothing else matters, yeah? isn’t that right?” “mhm, you’re right. i’m sorry again, art, didn’t mean it,” you said, resigned to anything but him in this moment. “it’s alright now, baby. you know better now,” 

he had you right where he wanted you.

[jpitha]

They’ll eat what?

A Telmurian is walking around the promenade on the station, talking to their family on their pad.

What was that? Your signal is pretty weak. Oh! Yes, they have humans here.

I know. Their planet has a really big moon, they won’t stop telling everyone they meet. Yes, they told me about it at least three times. I saw the photos, it’s pretty big I guess.

Yes, they’re strong. I remember the time that human from the helm picked up two Sefigans and carried them around on his arms. I didn’t tell her, but I was impressed. Why didn’t I tell her? I don’t know.

They also have odd thought processes. Remember that story about the one that learned that the water filters were the same as the outer compensator on the FlashWarp drive? They still teach us to check other parts for commonalities like that. The Sefigans are building a whole reference of parts that can be exchanged for other parts.

They walk around, oblivious to everyone else on the promenade. A Gren glares at them, and clacks their mouthparts irritatedly. They are speaking loudly. They walk on, oblivious to the disruption they are causing.

I didn’t call you to talk about any of that stuff.

I just learned about their ‘food.’

Did you know they don’t have a specific food? They don’t have one or two or even three items that they consider food, they have hundreds.

Maybe even thousands.

They stop and stare out a window and are silent for a few moments.

Not only that, but they combine them in so many different ways. Even wilder, they have modifiers to their food. Can you believe it? They have things that aren’t technically food that they add to food to make it ‘taste’ different. They’re called spices or seasonings.

I know! Have you ever heard of such a thing?

They have this thing called ‘taste.’ It’s a whole sense for them! It’s what enables them to try and test foods and discover ones they like and reject ones they don’t like.

I have a hard time with it, to be honest. Imagine, food you don’t like. It’s food right? By its very definition it’s something you consume to survive.

They clack their wing covers together, like a sigh. A Sefigan sitting at a cafe near them makes a gesture, like they’re trying to shoo them away.

Not for the humans I guess. They have whole careers, whole philosophies, maybe even whole religions about food and its preperation.

I read about the first time some humans came onboard a Coalition ship. They asked where the kitchen was and when we said “the what” it was like you unplugged them. They just stood there with their mouths full of their scary sharp teeth open in surprise.

I imagine we had a similar face the first time they showed us a kitchen. Imagine, a whole room, a whole part of the ship that was turned over to their pursuit of food.

That’s another thing! They can get bored of food. Whoever heard of such a thing. It’s food! You eat it, you feel full, you continue with your day. That’s like… like being bored of breathing.

Have I tried any of it? I mean, so much of it is straight up poisonous to us. No, you’re right, some of it isn’t.

All right fine. Yes. I tried one. There was this one, it was something they called a cookie. It was made of something like ten ingredients all in very precise measurements, then mixed together and shaped into balls and cooked at a high temperature. How did they ever come up with that?

The cookie? I don’t know, it was fine I guess. I didn’t get sick. I guess I can’t taste like they can it wasn’t much of anything, just food. I didn’t want to hurt their feelings so I said I liked it. They gave me four more! I didn’t know what to do with them. They’re still in my room.

Okay, yes, I love you too. Tell the rest of the crèche I said good evening.

They disconnect the call and look up. There’s a group of humans sitting down at a human style cafe eating. One of them looks up at them. Their large wet eyes seem impossibly deep. In the corner of them, wetness wells.

“You didn’t like the cookies?”

[wholoveseggs]

Yo I’m back. Tbh half of your anon requests are me lol. Can you write something about Elijah and the reader having a family. Kids of any age maybe living in the compound with the rest of the mikaelsons? Still smut ofc but I love that episode where Elijah is with Cami at the safe house and he acts all family man fixing the fence n stuff that was hotttt

Family Man

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Life at the compound can be chaotic with kids and family running around, but Elijah wouldn't have it any other way.

♡♡ Thanks for the request wonderful @elijahstwink (everyone go check out his fics!) & anon!I Love domestic Elijah sooo much, I truly believe this would be his dream life. ♡♡

4.5k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, unfortunately I didn't make this as kinky as requested...its just very sappy and sweet, this is just a day in the life of Elijah as a devoted father and husband, pregnant!reader, uncle Klaus being precious, toddlers, hot cocoa, kittens & so much flufffffff

ps, this is pretty much a sequel to devotion...

In the early hours of the morning you were awoken by a loud snore from your husband. You rolled over to face him, chuckling a little as you watched his peaceful sleeping form. It was the first time in a long time he was finally getting the rest he deserved.

You slowly turned, carefully sliding out of bed. You tiptoed out the room and decided to go down to the kitchen to make some tea.

You loved this time of night, being in the stillness of the house, just enjoying the calmness and being able to take in the beauty of it all.

When you reached the bottom step, you heard some sniffling and cries coming from one of the rooms down the hall. You rushed to the door and opened it, and a small figure ran into your arms, clinging onto you.

"What's wrong, little one?" you asked, scooping her up.

"I had a nightmare. There were these people with sharp teeth and they were chasing me. And then you were there but you were gone. It was scary, mommy," she sobbed, her head buried in your chest.

"It's okay, sweetheart, it was just a dream. Nothing bad will happen to you. You are safe," you said, kissing her head and stroking her hair, soothing her. "Come on, let's go get something warm to drink,"

You carried her down to the kitchen and began to prepare the hot cocoa, which was her favorite. As you stood over the stove, waiting for the milk to boil, you felt her little hands rubbing your stomach.

"Mommy, when is the baby going to come out?" she asked.

"Not for a while, sweetie. It needs to grow inside my belly for a little longer," you chuckled.

"Okay," she said, looking sad. "I can't wait to meet them. Is it a girl or a boy?" she asked, looking up at you with her big, brown eyes.

"We don't know yet," you replied.

"Oh," she replied, disappointed. "I hope it's a girl. I already have a brother, I want a sister," she said.

"We'll just have to wait and see," you smiled, placing the mug of hot cocoa down on the counter. "Here, drink up, before it gets cold," you said.

She hopped off the chair and held the mug with both her hands, sipping away. You sipped on your tea as well, feeling relaxed. You loved these quiet moments with her, and you would cherish every one of them, since she was growing up so fast.

"So, what was this dream about, princess?" you asked, wanting to know more.

"T-there were people with sharp teeth and they were after me," she said.

"And why do you think that was?" you asked, not wanting her to feel afraid, but curious about what caused this dream.

"I think I saw it in a movie or something," she said, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "An-and uncle Nik showed me his sharp teeth, but he promised he would never bite me, only use them to protect me," she said.

"Oh, did he now?" you laughed.

"Yeah, but then he bit my teddy bear," she said, giggling. "he said my teddy was a threat!"

"That sounds like something uncle Nik would do," you chuckled.

"Can I sleep with you and daddy tonight?" she asked, her eyes wide and pleading.

"Of course, sweetheart," you replied.

"Thank you, mommy," she said, smiling and hugging your legs.

"Come on, let's go to bed," you said, picking her up. She wrapped her arms around your neck and laid her head on your shoulder as you walked back up to your bedroom.

You placed her in the middle of the bed, and she quickly snuggled up against Elijah, her head on his chest. She loved having his attention. She was a daddy's girl through and through.

You slid back into bed, lying down on your side and Elijah instantly pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you, holding you both.

"Is my little one alright?" he asked sleepily, his eyes still closed.

"I had a bad dream, daddy," she sniffled, curling up against him.

"It's alright, my love. Everything will be alright," he said, kissing her head and soothing her. "No bad dreams will get you while I'm here," he said, pulling the blanket up and tucking her in.

She smiled at him and kissed his cheek, cuddling him as she drifted off to sleep. He stroked her hair, and her eyes grew heavy. Soon she was sound asleep, and he placed his hand on your stomach, his precious family safe in his arms.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Exhausted. Our littlest one is keeping me up, constantly moving and kicking," you sighed, feeling drained.

"Let's hope it's not like this for the whole pregnancy," he chuckled.

"Don't even joke about that," you groaned.

He gave you a kiss on the head, your daughter snuggled in between the two of you, and you finally managed to get a few more hours of sleep.

Elijah was woken by the sunlight shining through the curtains, and he smiled at the sight of his beautiful family.

His daughter was still cuddled up to him, her head buried in his chest, she stirred slightly and yawned.

"Do you want breakfast?" he asked, his hand on her back.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Hmmm what would you and your brother like? Gruel? Porridge?" he asked, teasing her.

"Eww no," she groaned, loudly.

"Alright, alright, pancakes it is, let's go wake your brother and the rest of the family," he said, chuckling.

"Can we get chocolate chips on the pancakes?" she asked as he carried her out the room.

"I don't know, maybe your brother wants blueberries, but we'll ask," he said, tickling her.

His son and his niece were both awake and running around, and Klaus was chasing him, laughing, the children giggling as they hid under the dining table.

"Oh, look who's here. Little Rebekah is up," Klaus teased.

"No! That's not my name!" she pouted, crossing her arms.

"Yes, it is," Elijah chuckled.

"Nooo," she whined. "It's just Bex," she said.

"Alright, alright, Bex it is," Klaus chuckled, patting his head.

"Pancakes for breakfast, anyone?" Elijah asked.

"Yes, yes, yes," the children yelled.

"Chocolate chips?" Klaus asked, grinning.

"Yes!!!" the kids screamed, all jumping up and down in excitement.

"Alright, I'll make them, the last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg," Klaus said, speeding off.

The kids squealed and ran after Klaus, and Elijah chuckled and went back upstairs to check on you.

You were sound asleep, your hair fanned across the pillow. He laid down next to you, placing his hand on the swell of your stomach, smiling and talking to the baby.

"How are you, littlest one? Have you been keeping mommy up all night?" he asked, his dimples on full display.

"Yes, they have," you sighed.

"That's my job," he smirked, leaning in and giving you a kiss. "Would you like some breakfast?" he asked.

"I'll go eat later. I just want to stay here for a little longer," you replied, holding his hand on your stomach.

Elijah hummed softly and pulled you close, kissing your head and rubbing your back. He loved the way you melted into his touch.

"How is Bex?" you asked.

"She's completely forgotten about her nightmare, Klaus is making breakfast for all the kids," he chuckled.

"They have him wrapped around their little fingers," you giggled.

"He has grown soft, it's true," Elijah said.

"Bex told me he bit her teddy bear," you laughed.

"Yes, well, that doesn't surprise me," he chuckled, his lips brushing against yours.

You sighed happily and wrapped your arms around him, feeling complete bliss in his embrace.

"What would you like to do today?" he asked.

"Stay right here with you," you replied, running your hand through his hair, making him hum in delight. You were feeling a bit needy this morning, the pregnancy hormones making you want him all the time.

"I think that can be arranged," he smirked.

You grinned and leaned in, kissing him slowly, deepening the kiss. He moaned, and rolled over, pressing you into the mattress, making sure not to put any weight on your stomach.

He loved your pregnant state, the way your skin glowed, your eyes sparkled and the way you moaned his name made him crazy. He couldn't keep his hands off you, he wanted to ravish you day and night.

He thought he knew all of his kinks, but this one took him by surprise. When you were first pregnant with Henry it was like something in his brain clicked. The possessiveness, the lust, the way his cock ached to be inside you, he was lost.

Henry was a miracle, he didn't quite know how the magic worked. You tried to explain it to him once, your witch ancestry, how the moon played a part, but all he could think about was fucking you senseless, filling you up, and breeding you.

You were the perfect partner, and an absolute warrior, but nothing turned him on more than seeing you in this submissive, almost docile state. You were his wife, his goddess, and his greatest treasure, and he wanted nothing more than to please you day and night.

His hands went to your soft, full breasts, squeezing and kneading them, making you whimper and moan. He captured your nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, his other hand moving your nightdress up your thighs.

"Elijah," you sighed, his fingers brushing over your wet panties, making you gasp and moan.

"Is my beautiful wife needy this morning?" he smirked, his fingers slipping past the lace.

"Yes," you panted, the pad of his index finger teasing your clit, making your body tremble.

"Good," he hummed, his mouth on your neck, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your wet heat.

You were both so lost in pleasure that neither of you heard the sound of Bex running up the stairs, Klaus not far behind her.

Luckily the door was locked, Elijah knew better than that with a house full of children.

"Daddy? Mommy?" she asked softly, knocking on the door.

"One minute, my love," Elijah called, his voice strained, trying to keep himself from ravishing you.

"Okay," she said, not leaving, but sitting down outside the door.

"Come back downstairs Bex, your mom and dad are a bit busy at the moment," Klaus chuckled, his voice low.

"Are they playing hide and seek?" she asked.

"Something like that," he replied.

"Can we play after?" she asked.

"Absolutely, sweetheart. Now come on, let's finish our pancakes, you don't want Henry to eat them all," he chuckled, lifting her up and taking her back downstairs.

Elijah looked down at your flushed face, laughing at the situation.

"You are so mean," you groaned, pushing him off you.

"Mean? I was just getting started," he chuckled.

"I think our daughter needs us, and Henry has probably eaten all the pancakes by now," you laughed, getting up and smoothing out your dress.

"I'll finish what I started tonight," he smirked.

"Don't get your hopes up," you chuckled, kissing his cheek and getting dressed.

Elijah watched your every move, the way you walked, the glow on your skin, and how the dress clung to the curve of your stomach. You looked ethereal. He was completely mesmerized, and completely smitten.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror, the dress a little too tight, the buttons straining against your swollen breasts.

"We are going to have to get you new dresses," he chuckled, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you.

"This was my favorite," you pouted.

"We'll find you something that fits, don't worry," he said, kissing your shoulder.

"My back is killing me," you groaned, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Let me try something," he said, his hands dipping under your belly and lifting the bump, and you immediately felt relief. "Better?" he whispered against your skin.

You let out a happy groan and leaned into him, letting him hold you. His hands were gentle, his touch making the tension and aches melt away.

"Thank you," you sighed.

"You are very welcome," he hummed.

"Let's go eat, I'm absolutely starving," you laughed, kissing him and taking his hand.

"Let's," he smiled.

When the two of you entered the dining room, Bex squealed and jumped out of her seat, running towards Elijah.

"Daddy I saved you a pancake, see, here it is," she said, holding it up.

"That's very sweet of you, darling," he said, bending down and picking her up.

She fed him the pancake, giggling and laughing, and Klaus was grinning from ear to ear, and he handed you a plate filled with an assortment of fruit, knowing it was your favorite.

"Thank you," you smiled, sitting down at the table, feeling your stomach rumble.

Hope was sitting with Henry, and they were coloring on their plates, syrup and chocolate spread everywhere, their laughter filling the room.

Bex was still cuddled up to Elijah, and his hand was on your stomach, and he was feeding you pieces of fruit, smiling at you.

"Your birthday is coming up little Bekah, what do you want as a present?" Klaus asked, ruffling her hair.

"Hmmm I don't know," she replied, deep in thought.

"Anything you want, sweetheart," Elijah smiled.

"Can we get a puppy?" Henry asked, excitedly.

"Not until you're old enough to take care of it," Elijah replied, ruffling his hair.

"What about a kitten?" Klaus asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I love kitties!" Hope squealed.

"Yes, yes, yes!" the children yelled.

"I'll have to think about it," Elijah chuckled.

"Please dad! It's all I want for my birthday," Bex begged, her big brown eyes looking at him, her little lip pouting.

"Don't let her pull that face, Elijah, it's not fair," Klaus laughed.

"Alright, alright, you can have a kitten," he replied, smiling at his little girl.

She squealed and threw her arms around him, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"I promise I'll take care of it, daddy," she smiled.

"I'm sure you will," he replied, smiling and looking at you.

Klaus could see the exhaustion on your face, and the way you rubbed your stomach. You were tired and he could sense it, he knew you needed a break and some alone time with Elijah.

"Why don't we go out and play, little ones," he said, scooping up the children. "Let's all go to the park, we can even invite uncle Kol and aunt Rebekah," he suggested.

"Yay, yay, yay," the kids cheered.

"That sounds like a good idea," you replied, yawning and stretching your arms.

"Let's go, let's go," he said, wrangling the kids out of the compound.

Once they were gone, Elijah got up and started cleaning up the mess everyone had made. The compound was bursting at the seams with his family, and it was never quiet, but he enjoyed it, seeing the children run around and play, their laughter and their love filling the rooms.

You leaned back in your chair, admiring the sight of your husband working, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair falling over his forehead.

"You are gorgeous," you sighed, making him look up from the sink.

"As are you," he smirked.

"I can't believe you agreed to get Bex a kitten," you laughed.

"She can be very persuasive," he chuckled, drying his hands and coming to sit next to you.

"She has you wrapped around her finger," you smiled, cupping his cheek.

"Like I am not the same with her mother," he laughed.

"You have a point there," you grinned, kissing him.

He smiled against your lips, his hand moving down your body, resting on your stomach, letting out a contented sigh.

You mind wandered to all the things that needed to be done for the kids and around the house, you also hadn't even started preparing the nursery. You felt overwhelmed and the hormones weren't helping. On top of all that you had a party coming up.

"Stop thinking out loud," Elijah chuckled, pulling you closer.

"I can't help it, there is just so much to do," you groaned, burying your head in the crook of his neck. "I'm already behind, the baby will be here soon and I still haven't gotten anything ready."

"We still have a few months, everything will be fine, love. We will get the nursery ready, and the party will be wonderful, I'm sure of it," he replied, kissing your forehead.

His reassurances didn't help your worries, and you knew you were being unreasonable, but the stress was starting to take its toll.

"And now we have to go find a kitten, I don't even know where to start," you sighed, shaking your head.

"We can look online, we can go to a shelter, there's plenty of options," he replied, stroking your hair.

He was always so patient, so understanding, and you had no idea how he stayed so calm. You felt like you were going crazy.

"Do you even want a kitten?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I prefer them over dogs, although their hair does get everywhere," he chuckled, cupping your cheek. "They are excellent little predators, great for catching the mice that are running around this old place," he smirked.

"You're not wrong, the mice are awful," you laughed, remembering the time you were down in the wine cellar and one of them ran across your foot.

"Why don't you go rest, my love? I will clean up here and join you upstairs," he suggested.

You nodded and yawned, standing up and heading towards the stairs, Elijah's eyes on you the entire time.

The moment you got to the bed and laid down, your eyes closed and you were fast asleep.

When you woke up you heard soft hammering coming from the other room, and you went to investigate, finding Elijah, shirtless and sweaty, fixing the nursery.

"I told you not to start without me," you sighed, crossing your arms and leaning against the door.

He looked over his shoulder, smiling at the sight of you, the sunlight coming in through the window and making you glow.

"It needed to be done. I'm almost finished," he replied, standing up and putting the crib together.

"You've been busy," you laughed, walking over and running your hands over the white, wooden furniture. He hand painted the walls and assembled everything, and you felt tears prickle at your eyes.

"It's beautiful," you sighed, looking around.

"Are you crying? Don't cry, darling," he said, pulling you close, your face pressed against his chest.

"I can't help it, these stupid hormones," you sniffled.

"It's alright," he laughed, stroking your hair.

You sighed and pulled away, taking in the nursery. There was a rocking chair and a bookshelf, filled with all the children's books the two of you had collected over the years.

"It looks wonderful," you said, smiling and wiping away your tears.

"Now, what would my lovely wife like to do for the rest of the afternoon? We have the place to ourselves, so I was thinking we could make good use of that large tub in our bathroom," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You read my mind," you grinned.

You followed him back into your room, watching him fill up the tub with warm water, pouring in some bubble bath.

"Get undressed, darling," he smiled, taking his pants off and getting in the tub, moaning at the sensation of the water against his skin.

You slowly peeled off your dress, feeling a little self-conscious about your changing body. Here was your husband, eternally chiseled, and there you were, round and swollen.

"Come, let me take care of you," he whispered, seeing your hesitation.

You slipped in next to him, the water and bubbles a nice contrast to the heat of the day.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, placing his hands on the swell of your stomach.

"There, doesn't that feel nice?" he hummed.

"Very nice," you sighed, resting your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and relaxing.

His hands roamed over your skin, his lips brushing over the curve of your neck.

"I've missed having you all to myself," he whispered, his voice low and seductive.

"Mmm," was all you could say, too relaxed and content to form words.

He gently cupped your breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you whimper and moan.

"Eli," you sighed, his touch sending shivers through your body.

"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice breathy.

You turned your head and looked at him, his gaze filled with lust and desire.

"Do you want to continue this on our bed?" You asked, your voice sultry.

"I'd love to," he replied, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smirk.

He helped you out of the tub, wrapping a towel around your body. Before suddenly scooping you up in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom and laying you down.

"I can't wait until I'm not this enormous," you sighed, looking down at your swollen belly.

"You're not enormous, you're beautiful, and absolutely radiant," he replied, hovering over you, his hand gently resting on your stomach.

You couldn't help but smile, and the tears started rolling down your cheeks.

"Don't cry again, my love," he chuckled.

"I can't help it! Just ignore me," you said, wiping the tears away.

"As if that is possible," he laughed.

He kissed your forehead, moving his way down your body, placing his hands on your hips, his lips pressing soft kisses against the curve of your stomach.

"Elijah, you don't have to do that," you whispered, feeling a little shy.

"But I want to," he replied, kissing his way down, spreading your legs.

"Oh," was all you could say, his tongue swirling over your clit, one hand on your inner thigh, the other resting on your stomach.

He hummed and moaned, the vibrations making you gasp, and arch your back. He could tell you were sensitive, and he was gentle, taking his time.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging a little, making him moan and pick up the pace.

" 'lijah," you panted, feeling the pleasure coil in your core.

You couldn't even see him over the swell of your stomach, but you could feel him, and the noises he was making were sending you into overdrive.

"Fuck, don't stop," you gasped, the orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded.

Elijah was enjoying himself, the taste of you on his tongue, the noises you were making, and the sight of you coming apart, was driving him crazy.

You tugged on his hair, pulling his face away, the sensations becoming too much, and he crawled up your body, kissing your stomach as he moved.

"Did you enjoy that, darling?" He asked, kissing you and tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Mmm yes, very much," you hummed, pushing on his chest so he laid back.

He watched you move, a smirk on his face, his pupils blown. You sat on his thighs, stroking him, seeing his abs tense and relax, and he let out a long, deep moan.

"You are such a good father and husband, always going above and beyond for us," you said, leaning down and licking his length. "Let me show you how much I appreciate you,"

You leaned down and teased his head with your tongue, enjoying the string of curses that came tumbling from his mouth.

A soft hum escaped you as you slowly, and carefully, sucked on the head, teasing and tasting.

"Love, you are exquisite," he groaned, burying his fingers in your hair.

You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, letting him move at the pace he desired. All you wanted to do was please him, you loved when his voice would crack from pleasure and the way his fingers would tug on your hair.

"Come here," he said, cupping your cheek.

You pulled off of him with a pop, moving to sit on top of him, kissing him and grinding against his length.

"Mmm, I could do this forever," you hummed, biting his bottom lip and tugging.

He ran his hands up and down your back, nibbling at your shoulder, suckling marks into your skin.

Your swell was pressed against his abs, and he could feel every slight movement, enjoying the sight of you rolling your hips.

He guided you down onto his cock, the sheets bunched up around the two of you, and he rolled his hips, his hands gripping your ass.

"You are stunning," he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts.

His lips brushed over your nipples, sucking, his teeth grazing them, his groans vibrating through your body.

"Eli- stop, they are too sensitive," you panted, running your nails over his skin, leaving bright red scratches.

"Sorry, love," he replied, grinning at the sting of your nails.

He did most of the work, gently rocking you in a steady rhythm, and the two of you moaned, the pleasure coursing through your bodies, his lips brushing your neck.

It was a slow, hot and steamy fuck, you felt like your body was on fire, the sweat and heat radiating off the two of you.

You leaned forward a little, allowing Elijah to get a little more friction, his hips moving faster, the both of you panting and moaning.

"Ah- Elijah, I'm-," you panted against his lips.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck as you came undone, clenching around him.

Elijah followed suit, the sensation of your orgasm bringing him to the edge.

He cupped the back of your neck, bringing you down for a kiss, and the two of you hummed, content and sated, basking in the afterglow.

"I wish we could stay like this," you sighed, nuzzling against him.

He laughed, and gently rolled you onto your side, pulling out of you and tucking you against his chest, both of you smiling like idiots.

"I love you," he said, stroking your hair.

"I love you too," you whispered, resting your head on his arm, letting the world melt away for just a few minutes.

Elijah watched you drift off to sleep, a small smile on his face. He kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of being next to you.

It was days like these that made him wonder what he did to deserve it. That perhaps there was some sort of higher power that had guided him to you, that brought him such profound peace and happiness after centuries of darkness.

You mumbled and cuddled up against him, he placed his hand on your belly, rubbing it with his thumb, thinking about how lucky he was.

He was living a life he never thought he would have, a family of his own, one he created. He didn't know what was waiting for him after he was done with this life, but he hoped you would be there with him.

In the next life, and all the ones after that.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡

♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana♡ @cs-please ♡ complicatedandconfusing-25 ♡ @hamiltimes ♡ @akala6670229 ♡ @yeaiamme2 ♡ @itsjulzandmydiamonds ♡ @spideysbabe ♡ @witch-of-letters ♡ @elijahstwink ♡ @rosecentury ♡ @sekaishell ♡ @ziayamikaelson ♡ @amanda08319 ♡ @starshipcookie

I've gotten a few dm's about my tags not working (yay) so let me know if its still a problem, I just re-tagged all of you so hopefully that solved it ♡

Also! If you wish to be removed from the tag list just send me a dm, you won't hurt my feelings (it's okay if you got sick of me ~lol) I don't wish to hold you hostage ♡

[thegnomelord]

Gnome, my good man, what's your thought on a trickster spirit!reader within the cod monsterverse? Like, he can be a malicious or a purely mischievous spirit who likes to mess with things and play around. As all spirits are, he's a free one, and refuses to be tied down—relationship wise. Which would probably be for some good angst in regards to one/some of the boys pinning for an unrequited!reader. Anyways, I can just see him being an absolute menace to the other boys :3

Better yet if he's a regular fuckbuddy, but even during sex he's still running his mouth, making crude jokes or some offhand comment that makes his current buddy all "???". The only way to shut trickster!reader is to stuff his mouth with some dick or ride/fuck him so good all he can get out is a bunch of whorish moans.

Just.... thoughts on trickster spirit!reader 😞😞

ooooh yessss, trickster spirit reader like anansi that's very clever but also a fucking troll. Reader that's an absolute menace to anyone in charge, a giant pain in the skull that takes every word seriously, as Price figured out when he remarked 'It's raining cats and dogs' and trickster reader literally made it rain cats or dogs, or some general said trickster reader was driving him up the wall so he ended up stuck on the ceiling lol.

Also I absolutely love love love the idea of brat reader and brat tamer 141. Like, you're a free spirit, to try and chain you don't is about as good of an idea as making the spirit of the sea stay with the sailor who loves her, and the old heartless man of the sea can tell you how well that goes.

So the boys let you roam, they let you have your fun; Holding your gaze across the bar when you're flirting with a faceless stranger, not pushing when you shrug their hand off your shoulder to go grind dance with a person you just met, biting back and resisting following you when you disappear to the bathroom for a quick fuck. You're not oblivious of their jealousy, your kin thrive on creating these emotions in others, and quite frankly it's fun to see how far you can push them.

But oh, little trickster, they may let you do as you please, but that doesn't mean your actions don't have consequences.

MDNI

Eventually you burn away all their patience, eventually, the need to show you why it's them you always return to burns too hot and you end up pinned on the bed, or the floor, or whatever semi-flat surface is around.

This time you're pinned beneath Soap who's half shifted, big burly body bruising your hips with the strength of each bounce, sharp claws digging into your ribs to give him a good hold on you. The headboard bashes against the wall every time he fully drops down on you, the springs creaking and digging into your back.

"Fuck puppy-" You moan so loudly you're sure half the base can hear but you can't give a single fuck about it when his ass is so tight around your cock. "So good- shit, you feel- fuck, fuck, fuck- really know how to chase that bone huh- hm!-" Your mouth runs automatically, the your hands sneaking out of the handcuffs easily so you can grip his hips.

Soap is beyond words, animalistic wolf brain too preoccupied with getting your cock as deep in his ass as he can. His tail wags back and forth, wide canine tongue stuck out of his mouth as he bounces on your cock harder, thick thigs tensing to drive you deeper into his velvet soft depths.

"Oh no you don't." Gaz snickers and snatches your arms. He's much more graceful than Soap when he sits on your chest, leaning over you and pinning your hands over your head. "You didn't let us touch you, you're not touching us." He smirks, the tip of his cock laying against your lips, and you could be fooled into thinking he's a trickster too.

You grin and purposely clench your teeth, looking up at him with challenge.

Gaz clicks his tongue, keeping your arms pinned over your head with one hand. His other hand curls into your hair and tugs just as Soap clenches around you. You're in no way responsible for the whorish moan that falls from your lips, eyes closing and mouth opening.

Your eyes fly open when Gaz pushes his hips and shoves half his cock into your mouth. "There you go, got your tongue." Gaz chuckles, pushing his dick a bit deeper. Another sharp tug is all it takes for your mouth to close around his shaft, eyes hooded, hollowing your cheeks as you suck on his cock. Gaz's cock muffles your moans when you get a taste of his precum as it beads down your throat, your mind melting through your cock as the two sergeants fuck all that trickster intelligence out of you.

[ryxmix]

SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY

pairings ; boothill x fem! reader

warnings ; smut smut smuuuuut, size kink if you squint real hard, robo dick, ooc boothill (made before release), censored cussing from his side, you call him "sir", use of pet names (sugar, girlie, pretty thing), he has normal human cum for some reason okay don't question me it's smut, you wear his hat (mentioned like...once), he's a huge tease, clit smacking, breeding kink, dumbification, degradation and praise???, he calls you a pillow princess, and more stuff...

a/n: i know he just got drip marketing but i need MORE- also i was thinking of sloppy seconds (ick pt2) by lay bankz while writing this so do with that what you will.

"c'mon sugar, you can do better, can't ya?" the cowboy mumbles mockingly, circling patterns into your inner thigh as you ride him tirelessly, tears staining your puffy cheeks as you try your hardest to cum.

"aw, is my pretty thing such a pillow princess that she can't do nothin unless her big strong cowboy does it for her?" he coos, smacking your clit before gripping onto your hips, still not moving, "didn't you want this? i never told you to, but you thought you could do it, dumb little girl." you sob, grinding down on him, "sir— wanna cum s'bad sir— nghaa!— it hurts, fuck—" he smiles up at your teary face, back resting against the headboard of the bed as he looks at you, teeth bared.

"oh girlie, you want me that bad? you want me to fill that pussy up so good until you can't think no more?" he coos, thrusting up into you, and for the first time tonight, you feel good, his cock touching that spot in your cunny.

"boothill—" he slaps your clit as a warning, and you whine, "sir! sir, it feels good! please, please make me feel good sir, please! fill me up, make me cum, anything!"

he grins at you, sharp teeth glinting under the dim light of the bedroom as he grabs you by the waist and pushes you down on the bed, metal-plated hands cold against your body. you squeak out, gripping onto the sides of the sheets as he flips you over.

"since ya asked so nicely, it would be too mean to say no to ya, girlie," he groans out, using his thumbs to spread your leaky cunt apart, humming at the way it glistens before he thrusts his cock back into you, eliciting a scream from your lips.

"sir! yes, sir— fu- hahnghh! it feels so good, sir, hah~ s-so good—" he doesn't respond, letting out a low growl as he thrusts into you harder and faster, feeling you tighten around him deliciously. You whimper and whine, feeling so full with his cock.

"such a good girl, my good little cutie," he clicks his tongue in annoyance when he can't call you what he wants to; when he can't call you his little slut. but you seem to get the memo, hole tightening around him before you squirt, cum gushing all over him as you fall limp, but he's not stopping, still thrusting into your sensitive hole.

"sir— sir, wait, 'm still sensitive, sir— nghyaa!??" he presses you down on the bed fully, cock thrusting deep until it kisses your cervix, and you let out a broken whimper. He lets out a delightful chuckle, a hand going around your neck until he brings you into a choke hold in his arm, squishing your cheeks until you can only let out babbles from the struggle to breathe. but it still feels so good, better even.

"sir— sir, 'm gonna cum again— sir— mphyaaa!" you gush around his cock once more and he finally spills into your hole, cum thick and creamy. he lets you out of the criminally sexy chokehold before putting his hat on you with a chuckle, admiring your fucked out face.

"that's my pretty girl, heh."

[angel-sweets666]

Kirishima as a daddy headcannons

Aged up eijiro kirishima x afab reader

warning: mention of pregnancy, female bodied person but not a lot of gender mentions, mentions of breeding kinks (1 time) SIDS mention (I’m sorry to all people who have lost their babies to SIDS, your all strong and I’m proud of you x)

• kirishima was literally jumping up and down in excitement when you told him you were pregnant

“IM GONNA BE A DAD!”

while pregnant he does not let you just walk around, he barely lets you lift a finger. He doesn’t want his precious partner gettubg hurt! Especially while carrying his baby

After this kid his breeding kink goes through the roof and you have about 3 more children after your first baby

He holds your hand when you find out the gender, patiently watching.

“ITS A GIRL! I’m gonna be a good girl dad I promise… I love you so much” he says as he kisses your cheek then belly

the most supportive man during birth, he may not know what he’s talking about but he certainly tries.

he holds your hand and kisses your forehead “cmon baby you can do I I know you can, your so strong mama…”

he calls you manly after giving birth

as you take the baby home he constantly looks behind in the back to check if the babies breathing

“whatttt I’m just worried!”

this includes checking at night, has an alarm for every 2 hours to give her a bottle and make sure she’s alive.

terrified of SIDS, that’s why he checks all the time.

Became a stronger hero just so he knows he’s coming home to his spouse and child every day.

cried when the baby learned to crawl, like man sobbed in the corner because his baby was growing up.

takes her to work and shows her off “this is my little girl!”

Helps her learn to walk by holding her little hands up and waddling behind her with a big toothy grin

panicked when your babies teeth came in sharp, kirishima passed his shark teeth to all 4 of your kids.

such a girl dad, will literally have tea parties with your daughter in a pink tutu

uncle bakugo, Denki and sero all come around for tea parties too.

you and Mina just watch from afar as 4 big men known for being strong hero’s play with plastic teacups with a 3 year old little girl 5 times smaller then them.

cried at her first day of kindergarten, his poor baby can’t go to school! What if she trips!? What if she gets bullied!

you had to calm him in the car because he was borderline sobbing

Aunty and uncle stuff

uncle Denki bursts in with his own hero merch to give the baby, which you did Infact put on the baby. Denki ends up helping your daughter become the most annoying little shit when she became a young kid “go hide daddies hair gel, trust me little dude”

Uncle bakugo secretly loves that baby to bits, pats kirishimas shoulder in like a “good job bro I’m proud of you.” Kinda way (whrn the baby grows up he teaches your daughter how to fight)

aunty Mina literally cries by the foot of your bed because the baby was just so cute in her eyes, she teaches your daughter how to deal with men. She came in CLUTCH when your daughters first breakup happens

uncle sero was late, he was busy dealing with villains. He literally stumbled in panting and panicked “IM HERE. IM HERE! WHERES THE BABY?!” He was afraid he’d drop it so he wrapped her in tape which you later had to cut off your baby. The kinda uncle to give your daughter weed for her 16th birthday.

[dobbysnotsureaboutthis]

Interrupted

Masterlist

WC: 7.1k approx.

Description:

Alastor's been wondering what all the craze around sexual pleasure is (because of Rosie) and decides to give it a single try. That's when you arrive at the hotel, becoming his assistant; and you're just always interrupting at the worst time. (Written almost entirely from Alastor's perspective)

Warnings:

Light cannibalism, torture, and stuff, NSFW (purely written for smut purposes), unintentional edging, unedited

.

.

.

“Ah, is that so?”

For the most part, Alastor considered Rosie a dear friend. Her horrific tales of marriage and cannibalism, her excellent management of Cannibal Town, and her all around entertaining manner of speech were all qualities he very much enjoyed. Yet no soul is without its flaws, and Rosie certainly had hers.

“Yes! And then he…” He does his best to tune her out, grimacing at the extreme level of detail his fellow overlord chose to give him about her sex life. “There were these new knives with beautiful handles I’d bought, and they were just the perfect size for his-.”

“Would you look at that! Our waiter friend here has brought your favorite off the menu!”

The waiter listlessly sets down a plate of fingers, all tied up with bows at the end. Rosie coos in delight, thanking him with a wiggle of her fingers.

“Seriously, you’re missing out!”

“I highly doubt there is anything new I will learn from the experience.” He sips his coffee, one eyebrow raised as he listens to his old friend ramble on. 

“Oh Alastor, you can never be too sure if you like something until you try it!” She giggles as she pierces her fork into a piece. Blackened blood oozes from the wound. “I didn’t know I had a liking for cannibalism until I ate my first husband!” 

She hums at the taste, her sharp teeth easily breaking through leathery skin and stubborn ligaments. “And I liked it so much I had the second as well!” 

“I’m sure you had a very enjoyable time.” 

She laughs, noticing the telltale sign of exasperation furrowing his brow. “I was only trying to broaden your horizons. You’ll be in Hell for a long time after all! Who knows? Maybe in one of these centuries you’ll feel compelled to test things out. Don’t think too much of it sweetie.” 

But Alastor did think about it. Unwillingly, of course. Nonetheless, the thought nagged at the back of his mind as he bid Rosie farewell, heading off to his usual stop at the butcher shop. He thought of it as the butcher plodded to the back of the shop, retrieving for him the whole carcass of a deer. Could the flesh of another, moving creature be just as delectable as a dead rack of venison?

He thought of it as he grinned his way into the hotel, half-heartedly entertaining Charlie and the others just enough that they wouldn’t bother him further. He let his gaze momentarily land on each of the hotel residents; could he even imagine the thought of laying with any of them? He feels his stomach curdle in disgust as Angel Dust shoots him one of his looks. That spider doesn’t know what he’s thinking, does he? No, of course not. He’s way beneath the caliber of mind reading.

Any person, any body on top of him would simply feel wrong. No, Alastor decided. Surely, his good friend must be exaggerating the pleasure. 

Yet still, the thought simply wouldn’t leave him as he sliced through the sinews of his venison, closing his eyes in satisfaction at the gamey, lean taste. As custom, his butcher had prepared the meat just right; so that the texture was firm yet tender, rather than resistant and too chewy from its muscle fibers. Was it possible that the pleasures of the flesh could be just as addicting as the pleasure of consuming it? 

He polishes off the last bit of meat clinging to the bone, tucking in his chair so it aligns perfectly with the edge of the table. Nevermind all that, he has a radio show to host! He adjusts his bow, humming what the people of today would consider an old-timey tune as he makes his way to his radio tower. 

On tonight’s broadcast he had prepared a last minute catch to torture, some mid-level overlord who attacked the hotel in the middle of the night. Charlie might nag him about it later, but what Charlie doesn’t know won’t hurt her. He takes a seat, flipping through the script. Announcements, jazz, a brief segment on the meat market in Hell, and of course the most infamous part of his show - broadcasting the screams of said angry demon in the far corner of his tower, bound by the power of his chains. 

“Sinners, I hope you’ve prepared your ears for a feast!” 

The overlord’s body is resisting, tossing and turning helplessly in his hold. It’s exhilarating, the feeling of control pulsing through his veins. Delicious, the way its face contorted further until it was no longer even vaguely humanoid in appearance. Mesmerizing, as he skinned its identity in one loud tear; from forehead to chin, the overlord was no more. A meaningless black hole where its mouth once sat opens in an ear-shattering scream. He feels the noise reverberate pleasantly through his spine, echoes of its cries spreading in waves across Hell from his radio tower. 

He stretches his back, then, lengthening bones making pops and snaps as they release from their prison of sinews and tendons, until he loomed over the fallen demon who pathetically clawed for an exit as though it still had a chance of escaping. He lets him crawl a miserly few feet, before easily snatching him up with one long arm, savoring the absolute forced submission in the other demon’s blood-drowned eyes.  

“A reminder to all the misbehaving, insolent souls of Hell…”

He unhinges his jaw till it’s as large as the sinner’s head, then bites it off, removing the screaming machine right off its neck. Its hair is a nasty texture on his throat, though he ignores the mild inconvenience for the incomparable satisfaction of the rush of raw power. The studio is quiet now, save for the sounds of thick, tainted blood sliding down his elongated throat, and the soft gulps as he swallowed. 

He licks his lips, which is coated with the putrid blood of that demon - ah, there’s nothing that quite hits the spot like the bitter taste of total conquest. 

“...not to cross paths with the Radio demon.” 

He laughs as he ends the broadcast, cleaning up the rest of the body by obscuring it in flames and letting it wither. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the taste of sinner meat unlike his dear friend Rosie; once the body becomes inanimate, unable to scream or shake in terror, it’s simply a slab of meat the same as any other. And he far prefers the bite of fresh venison. 

His body slowly compresses itself, returning to the usual form he enjoyed. But his blood still pulsed quickly, and his face was still flushed from the euphoria of domination. His ears twitch once, twice as he feels strangely stuck on the feeling.

That irritating worm of a thought creeps in yet again, reminding him this morning’s unsettling conversation. Missing out? It itched at him, the thought that he has yet to experience this aspect of hedonism. He seats himself at his station, blood-crusted nails tapping on his knee. 

He could give it a try. That’s what he did with television, after all. Twenty years after he landed in Hell and that imbecile Vox started rising in power - well, they were friends at the time - he had entertained the idea of video, if only in the privacy of his back then radio station. And after a mere week with the device, he had decided that radio still was the best and most refined medium. 

Hmmm. 

He sinks into the shadows, tapping his fingers on his cane as he makes his way toward his room. He stretches his grin to scare Angel Dust, who he crossed in the halls; delighted, as he grimaces in disgust at the sight. 

Although, he muses, he can hardly bear to think of sleeping with any of the demons surrounding him. The door shuts, and he finds himself seated on his bed, restless fingers never stopping their erratic tapping. 

Perhaps, he can test things out by himself first. Only if things go well will he entertain another. 

And that’s how Alastor finds his fingers slipping beneath the band of his pants, sending his shadow to guard the outside of his door. Who knows which one of those pesky fiends would come knocking for some ridiculous problem? 

He snakes a hand around the length of his member, internally grimacing at the intimacy of the action. It wasn’t as though he’s never touched himself before; but rather that the last time had been… more than a century ago by now? 

That’s right, he thinks, awkwardly maneuvering his hand up and down. He recalls the more foolish early days of his life, when he was in his teens and sex was all the craze amongst his peers. The one thing that actually should’ve changed with time, yet only grew worse.

He had found the activity disinteresting back then, much like he does now, observing the ripples across the swamp in his room as he rhythmically moves his hand. Up and down, up and down. 

He tries to summon back the adrenaline he experienced while torturing the demon, but it was slowly fading away, each stroke of his arm cooling down the pulse further. The skin on his palm was growing tired of brushing over the same crooked vein, his cock not hardening nearly enough to penetrate another’s innards. He redirects his attention toward the activity. The best he gets is a slight twitch, his member half-erect only from the arousal of torture half an hour prior, and the repeated stimulation from his hand. 

This is what people get all excited over? How laughable, really. Not that he was so surprised, considering how pitiful many of them were already, even without their questionable choice of pastime. 

He gives his arm a rest, squeezing at the base of his cock then languidly moving his fingers upward until he comes to a stop at the tip. A modest smear of precum peeks from the opening, and he watches the viscous fluid gather into a bead, which he spreads over the head of his cock with his thumb. The miniscule feeling is growing into a low-level buzz in his gut, like an itch he can’t be bothered to scratch. 

One time, he reminds himself. That means finishing the whole experience. He resumes the motion, but before he could get back into it…

“Alastor?” His eyes, which have started to shut from concentration, snap open at the sound of Charlie’s excitable voice at the door.

Now, of all times! It’s a good thing he sent his shadow to guard the door. He sighs, tucking his half-hard member back into the confines of his slacks and picking up his cane - with his other hand, of course. He swings the door open, his smile gleaming and wide as always. 

“What is it now, Charlie?” 

The blonde squeals, her hands clapping together quickly before she flourishes them toward you. “We have a new guest!” 

He notices you then, a tiny thing beside Charlie, eyes shining just as bright if not more than the princess. He could already tell, without you even speaking a word, how bothersome you were likely to be. How wonderful. 

But the show must go on, and his smile grows even wider, fixing his stare on you in the hopes of making a fearsome first impression. “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, dear!” 

You don’t flinch at all; instead, you lean in to match his smile, enthusiastically shaking his hand with glee - the hand that he used to do… that, he realizes in dread. No matter how much of a nuisance you were going to be, this was absolutely inappropriate to do to a lady, nevertheless, one he’d just met. But of course, you don’t know that. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Alastor! I’m so excited to work here at the hotel! I can tell we’re going to be good friends already!” 

“Mmmhmm, I have no doubt you’re correct.”

The subtle flair of sarcasm is immediately lost on both you and Charlie, and the two of you squeal simultaneously.

“Best friends!” Charlie cheers, holding your hand in one and his in the other. 

“The bestest!” You giggle, leaning your head affectionately on her shoulder.

He strains his smile. “Now then, aside from the friendly introductions, I assume there is something you require from me?” He directs his attention to Charlie, whose eye suddenly sparks up as though remembering something. 

“Oh yes!” She clutches onto your shoulders, presenting you to him. “Our new guest here is looking for a job! She’s brand new in Hell and found out that you don’t just get to stop working after death, unfortunately. So she came to our hotel from that brilliant ad you made, and we were brainstorming what sorts of jobs she could take here.”

“You… just got here, and your first reaction is excitement?” That… is interesting, although it’s an avenue to be explored another time. 

Your eyes sparkle at what you likely presumed to be his interest. “I’ve always known that I was going to Hell anyway! I just didn’t know it would be so cool!” 

Charlie swoons at that, taking your hands in hers. “Oh we are just going to have the best time together I already know! I should take you to Lulu World, I used to go on the rides there with my dad all the time!” 

“There’s. An. Amusement park??”

He increases the sound of his static until the two of you finally notice him. “As you lovely ladies were saying?” 

“Right! We were thinking…” Charlie wiggles her eyebrows at you, which you catch and reply with one of your own. 

“...That I could be your assistant!” 

All the static stops. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Your assistant! Charlie was telling me about how you do so much for the hotel, that it’d be better if you had somebody helping you!” 

His grin remains frozen on his face, radio-dialed eyes boring straight into yours, which never seemed to dull no matter what they were looking at. Weren’t you afraid of him in the slightest? It’s almost insulting, how you approached him so fearlessly. Perhaps it’s only because you’re new to Hell. That thought relaxes him slightly, his mind churning in delight at the picture of you a few weeks from now, much more tame as you’ve learned to stay in your lane. 

“I do not require any assistance-.” 

Charlie’s face instantly falls.

“...But, I suppose, if no other career option in the hotel is available, I will take you as my assistant.” 

“Great! Awesome! Thank you so much, Alastor!” Her face lights up so quickly that he rolls his eyes; that girl was such an open book that it hurts to look at sometimes. 

Then there’s a figure colliding into his chest, as two arms wrap around his back. “I’m so, so glad!” Your girlish voice is too loud for his sensitive ears this close, and though it takes him a moment to react, when he finally does, he hisses, flattening his ears as he pulls away instinctively. 

“Do not step out of your boundaries, my dear.” 

To your credit, you do pull away quickly; but the same unbeatable optimism still shone in your eyes, as though you didn’t take his word as a threat at all. 

“I’m sorry!” You didn’t look nearly enough sorry. “So when are we gonna get started? I hear you work in a radio tower! Oooh that sounds so fun! But I wouldn’t mind getting started on the rest of the tasks you do around the hotel either, I’m sure there’s a lot!” 

Alastor bites back another loathing groan, the corners of his normally well-practiced grin threatening to fall. He could only hope your initial excitement would wear off within a few days.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alastor, do I put in the eggs or the bacon first?” 

…It’s gotten worse. 

“Cook the bacon first, then the eggs in the leftover grease.” 

“Got it!” You zoom off, hurrying as you move to do just as he says. 

He sighs, taking the opportunity to direct his attention back to the script he was working on; but he knew it wouldn’t be long until you once again appear in front of his vision, free to help again.

He was used to dealing with irritating personalities as a public figure, but none had been as bad as this; because the difference was, that he could eventually get away from them. You, however… he didn’t quite hate you. Aside from being a naturally excitable person, you were pleasant and helpful enough. The issue was that you were too helpful. You were always around to help, finishing every meaningless task he threw your way in mere minutes. And once you finished, you would come back for more. 

Goodness, he’s never seen someone this hardworking! You worked as though you were a single mother of five fighting for a living, rather than a childless soul free to spend the bare minimum effort for the rest of your afterlife. Even at night, there was no rest! When you found out that he preferred his nights sleepless, you were eager to copy him, insisting that you had never enjoyed sleeping; it was only for the sake of living that you did so. And while it was true that he had grown used to the nights awake, your persistent presence was starting to make him tired enough to long for rest. 

The sound of the kitchen sink turning off catches his attention. His ears flick in your direction, listening for the telltale sign of your scampering feet. 

And sure enough, a few moments later, you’re here. “Breakfast is ready and served!” 

To his surprise, you actually sit yourself down on the couch next to him. You? Taking a rest? Well, it should preferably be farther away from him, but at least he wouldn’t have to do the whole act of sending you off for a task, and then waiting in dreaded anticipation for the timer to end, bringing you to him like clockwork.

“That’s wonderful, dear. Good job!” He takes a sip from his “Oh deer!” mug. “Say, you’ve been working very hard all week; does the idea of a day off entice you at all?”

You shake your head, swinging your feet below the edge of the couch. “Nah, I’m good. It’s been so fun working with you I hardly felt it was work at all!” 

“I see.” Another sip.

This wasn’t going to do. You see, there was yet another unexpected issue your constant presence brought. That little… experiment of his. He had no room to finish the experience, simply because you were always there! He supposed that he could give it up altogether. After all, he was never interested in the first place. 

But then he would also never get to check off that irksome box. He had to find some way to finish, if only just to call it a day. If you weren’t going to take the day off, then… he was just going to have to find some way to keep you busy for long enough. But what was there for you to do? There are certain parts of his workload that he simply can’t have you touching. His radio equipment, for one. You wouldn’t be going anywhere near that. Which does reduce his options by a lot. 

Perhaps he could have you assist Husker? Or-. His grin sharpens. Or! Ah, what a great idea! 

“…Alastor?” You question. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, yes, of course I’m here silly, I'm right in front of you!” 

“Oh, good. Because I thou-.” 

“My dear, I’ve suddenly thought of a task I need your assistance for!” 

“Oooooh what is it?” You perk up, back straightening as you bunch your hands in anticipation. “Is it gonna be more cooking? Sweeping? Walking back and forth in the hallways a hundred times while counting my fingers? You never did tell me what that was for, by the way.” 

“Not at all! I think it’s about time I request you do something more… difficult. Something more time consuming that I didn’t think you were ready for until now.” He stands up, guiding you by your shoulders to the bar. “-Niffty!” 

“Aw, yes, I love her! What about her though?” 

“Wonderful! Then I believe you’ll be perfectly suited to the task of entertaining her.” He snaps his fingers, drawing the one-eyed cyclops to him. “Niffty dear, why don’t you show her the bugs you’ve got there?” 

He grins even wider when you visibly cringe at the bugs, that being the first negative reaction you’ve shown since arriving at the hotel. He watches for only a few more moments before turning his back, knowing that he could leave the rest to the little cyclops. 

Now, to take advantage of the time he’s earned for himself. His steps are oddly eager for a mediocre activity, his rush to close his bedroom door out of the norm. Once again, he has his shadow watch over the outside, as he sits himself on the edge of his bed, shifting the band of his pants over his hips. 

He feels the itch come back, subtle and buzzing like a pesky mosquito, as though he were picking up at exactly the same level of arousal as where he last left off.

 Good, that should save him some time. His fingers wrap around his half-hardened cock, giving it a squeeze to tease the light pulse at his tip. The itch soothes as he works his hand down his shaft, causing him to breathe a small sigh of relief. He slowly quickened his pace, his cock becoming stiffer as his movements sent more blood to engorge it, flushing his tip with a pretty red shade. He has to admit that the feeling was becoming pleasurable. Although he has no need for such a thing when killing works just as well to get his adrenaline racing.

Surely, doing it with another would have little difference. He feels his jaw clench, grin tugging at the edges as he quickens his hand further, determined to get his high over with as fast as possible so that life could continue. 

The tightening of his abdominal muscles as he neared a climax wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to him; despite having an inactive sexual life, the thrill of a good kill was sometimes intense enough that arousal would stiffen his cock similarly to how he was now. Yet the unbearable growl in his stomach, and the almost painful sudden swelling of saliva in his mouth, always overpowered the feeling from below, leading him to satisfy that carnal desire with the consumption of another, from the irreplaceable feeling of control beneath his fingertips as his victims screamed with the regret of crossing him. 

A slight sheen of sweat gathers above his brow as he feels unpracticed muscles prepare his orgasm, stroking faster until-.

Three sharp knocks ring on his door. “Alastor? I’m back! Are you in there?” 

He has never directed the fury he currently felt toward any woman; but you were coming close to being the first. He had half the mind to just… continue, let you wait outside. But that would only work if you were literally any other person. Knowing you, you would just persistently call for him until he answered, and that would definitely disrupt his concentration on achieving his climax. He reluctantly tucks his still twitching cock back into his slacks, fumbling around as he struggles to conceal the bulge protruding there. He fixes the lapels on his coat.

“...Hello, my dear. Back so soon?”

You sheepishly look at your toes. “Yeah. Sorry if I was bothering you-.” Hmmm. Some self-awareness for once. Perhaps you could be trained. “-but Niffty got distracted in the middle of showing me her bugs. She’s by herself now, smacking her head with a broom. Is she going to be alright? I mean, you’re kind of like her boss right?” 

“I own her soul. And yes, she will be alright as she always is. Funny! I expected you to last longer with her, given how popular you’ve become amongst the residents of this hotel. Was that all, or was there something more important you came to bother me for?” 

“Yeah the thing is, I’m not that good with bugs so I couldn’t keep her entertained.” You seem to be entirely unaware of his jab, as your face brightens again. “I came to ask for another task! Aside from the bugs thing, I can pretty much do anything else! In fact, I can work all day if you need me to.” 

Known weaknesses - bugs. He’ll store that in his mind for future use. “I’m well aware of your work ethic! You… just seem to never run out of energy.” 

You beam, taking his words as a compliment. “Yup!” 

“...But I may not always be ready with a task for you. With that in mind, why don’t you check up on the other residents? I recall you taking quite the liking to our dear princess of the hotel.” 

Your face falls. Oh, if you cry at this moment, he will have truly hit his last nerve. Unexpectedly, his cock, which still sat uncomfortably hard in his pants, stirs at the thought of your teary face; sobbing as you begged for his forgiveness for being such a nuisance. He pushes that thought away. 

“I do want to spend time with Charlie, but she’s in the middle of figuring something out with her dad. And Angel Dust is always at his job, Husk doesn’t talk much, and you know Niffty…” You stop as you count to your fourth finger. “...And that’s everyone in the hotel.” 

“And what about simply spending time by yourself? You must have passions you enjoy outside of working.” 

With that, your face falls even further, your pupils downcast, lashes lowered. Must you play this act with him? “I used to, when I was alive. But I just… can’t find the point of doing so anymore after death.”

For a moment, he thinks that he’s hit a weak spot. Then you recover in record time, rubbing your hands together with an animated smile. “Because there are just so many other things to do in Hell! I want to take in everything this place has to offer!” 

And how could he turn down such a brilliant display of optimism? It would be one thing if you had broken down, weeping some sob story about not wishing to be left alone. Then he could easily spin some excuse to cast you aside, preferably forever. It was another, to have you insist with genuine excitement, how you enjoyed working for him. In this case, you would be the one in control if he were to turn you down; that would be a display of weakness from him, not you. 

It could be worse. You could be the horribly unhelpful variety on top of your constant proximity. As for his little experiment… he would just have to find a way to carry it out in the little time you were away from him. Thinking, plotting deliberately long tasks that you managed to solve in a quarter of the time he planned for you. He even trusted you with the tasks he wouldn’t let you touch at first; fine, you could touch his stuff, edit his scripts (not that he would use your edits), clean whatever! Anything to keep you busy for long enough!

And so it goes; every time his wrists moved faster, nearing that ever-unreachable climax, you were there, knocking at his door. It came to the point where his expectancy of your arrival made it even more difficult to achieve his orgasm; the thought of your interruption restrained the frustrating throb of his cock to constant level of almost-there but never-finished. 

It was beyond vexing! Every time, he came closer to the idea of ending you. Though it would be uncharacteristic, given you didn’t fit his usual demographic; that might also come with its benefits, as it would be easier to blame your sudden disappearance as a… happy accident. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Whereas he usually anticipates the feeling of victory after killing, he couldn’t help but feel like killing you meant he was losing. That it was evidence your overwhelming good cheer had finally gotten to him, and killing, in this case, means his surrender to your attack. 

Not to add that despite his recent contemplation, he really has never thought of killing a woman. It was not out of some strange moral construct, but rather the self-important disgust at the thought of becoming as pathetic as the demons he normally enjoyed obliterating. No, he wasn’t going to stoop to such a level.

So he holds on, letting your interruptions continue, figuring that one day he had to be desperate enough that his orgasm would come quicker, before you could knock at his door. Yet no matter how aroused he was, no matter how painfully strong the urge to release; he could never finish the race before you got there. 

Subtle jabs and hints flew past you. Direct expulsion would mean his loss. Threatening you never worked, and you always seemed to be strangely calm as you swung your legs back and forth, watching with utter ease his show of tearing apart his captured souls. In fact, to his incomprehension, that seemed to be the part of his day you were the most neutral about; happily humming along to the jazz he played, eyes casually fixated on his cannibalism the same way eyes normally stare at a mediocre TV show - unbothered, neither interested not repulsed. 

Just what did you do to get into Hell? 

He can feel the precum pressing uncomfortably, his pants pushing against the over-sensitive tip of his cock as he listened to you ramble on about how you didn’t mean to bother him, but you had questions about how to work certain equipment in his studio. His ears are flat, eyes narrowed as his grin threatens to actually fall. But no, he had to endure it all as he pretends to be wholly unaffected, patiently (albeit with an extra edge of snark in his voice) explaining to you the mechanics. 

“I would’ve never imagined handling radio equipment in my afterlife! I was a teacher when I was alive, you know.”

A teacher? Interesting, that was the first piece of information he had gathered about your life. Though he couldn’t imagine what kind of school would allow you near their children, especially with his knowledge now that you’ve ended up in Hell. Or perhaps, your upbeat attitude was exactly what they were looking for. 

His stream of thought is cut off by your happy humming, bending over his desk as you poke around his equipment. Unfortunately, he finds his eyes lingering on the curve of your butt, the edge of your panties peeking innocently at him from under the atrociously short hem of your skirt - were the modern people so comfortable with walking around nearly nude? It wasn’t that he found the side of your rear particularly enticing, nor was he attracted to the mere appearance of someone’s privates; but he found himself wondering, fantasizing, of how easy it would be to restrain you against his desk and take you there. How easy it would be to get this over with.

His cock strains tightly against the fabric of his pants, reminding him of his predicament. He grits his teeth, pulling at his hair in a rare display of regret, and desperation. Why did he ever take on such a ridiculous experiment? He prided himself on his composure and unbreakable self-control, yet the very sensation of his length throbbing for a release, and the uncomfortable persistent ache in his cock as he went about his day; a sensation that was usually entirely dormant, bothered him so greatly he felt he might go insane if he didn't finally climax.

He was no stranger to the idea that desperation was the root cause of many bad decisions; he just never thought that he, of all people, would fall prey to it one day. 

He thinks he must’ve lost his mind a few days later as he lets your knocks continue on his unlocked door, one hand pumping at his angry red cock. This was supposed to be the original experiment anyway, he tries to rationalize. He’s beyond caring about the consequences. One time only, he reminds himself, teeth gnashing together as he lowers his boundaries at a snail's pace, for the first time letting your voice infiltrate his activities, even fuel them. 

“Alastor…? I’m done cleaning your desk. What can I do next?” 

You quiet down. Then you speak up again, hesitantly, as though you somehow also knew you would be crossing an unspoken boundary if you were to twist the doorknob. “Alastor, if you're ok with it, I’m coming in.”

Wonderful. He can’t wait to see the pained look on your face as he fucked your womb, forcibly erasing that unshakeable mask of optimism you wore; replacing it with apology, regret, and subservience. 

Then you speak up again. “Actually, I better not. I don’t know if you’re in there but if you are, come find me when you’re done with whatever you’re doing alright?” 

He stops his movement, a feeling of absurdity taking over his mind. No! Absolutely not! Well, it was what he wanted all along, but not when he had already prepared himself to accept the feeling of your hole clenching deliciously over his cock, not when he could finally 

Against his will, he calls out for you. “You may come in if you wish, my dear. The door is unlocked.” 

He hears your footsteps stop again, unsure and slow. Were you already aware of what was going on behind the walls? “Oh ok. Only if you’re sure though.” 

What happened to your lack of respect for his boundaries? He rolls his eyes at the door, impatiently waiting for you to crack it open, waiting to see your reaction as you see the depraved motion of his hand now moving languidly across the length. What shameful look would cross your face?

“I’m coming in!” The door opens. 

If he wasn’t so against the technology, he would’ve wished to capture your expression with a camera; your smile drops, eyes widening as you stood there absolutely frozen, always-running mouth still for once as you look between his face and hand, brain short circuiting at the sight of him. It was rewarding in a near mouthwatering way, to see you finally react the way he wanted you to. He feels superior, the way he was always meant to, as he sits perched on his bed grinning, never stopping the motion of his hand as he watches your face start to take on a red hue. 

…That satisfaction doesn’t last long though, as you seem to regain your composure, the only hint of your prior expression being the flush on your cheeks. He’s taken aback as you yet again regain your usual beam, albeit a bit more bashfully. 

“Is this a new type of task for me?” 

…Oh, fuck it. He extends one of his tendrils to slam the open door, eyes glowering as he collects you by the waist with another. Up close, he sees your bravado waver; your eyes glued to the now furious red head of his cock, which rubs against your stomach as you land on his lap. 

“My dear assistant, do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused the last couple of weeks?” 

He wasn’t going to let you respond, but in yet another turn of events, you press yourself closer to his throbbing cock, coyly smiling up at him through your lashes. “Have I? Well I can always assist with the trouble I caused.” 

At any other time, he would’ve jumped on the opportunity to dig deeper into your motivation; but right now, he’s beyond caring to decipher your intention. All he wants is to sink his cock into your waiting hole, which warmed his length teasingly through only the thin separation of your underwear. 

He digs his hands into the sides of your hips, the sharpness of his teeth glistening from the low light in his room. “I’m afraid your assistance isn’t needed at the moment.” 

Your brows raise in confusion, temporarily caught off guard by his statement. “What-.” 

Before you could finish your sentence, he’s torn off your panties with a skilled claw, grin straining as he prods the tip of his cock into your already wet folds. Were you waiting for this? The thought, which should irritate him, only intensifies the guttural desire to ruin you. You let out a breathless squeak as he pushes his cock into your walls in one go. He feels blood collecting between his teeth where he bit himself to stop the utterly humiliating sound of relief that would otherwise fall out. You, on the other hand, gasp for air as you attempt to adjust to the shock of his intrusion. 

He presses your body into his pristinely folded sheets, grin straining as your back collides with the headboard, the jolt of the motion rocking your pussy flush against the base of his cock, where your clit smacks wetly against his abdomen. 

“You can just watch me do my job.” 

He does one experimental thrust, feasting on the sight of your head throwing back as he hits that spongy spot inside you, licking up the gratifying sounds of your cries. He pins your arms to the headboard as he pulls back, then thrusts again. Oh… this does feel phenomenal. 

If only for the pure fact that he had been denied his release since you’ve made your entrance, he could barely think as he picked up the pace, moving his hips back then slamming them forward in the way he’s only heard of until now. You moan with every thrust of his hips, the pathetic little sound vibrating from the vigor of his movements. 

He realizes, mortifyingly, that he can already feel his orgasm approaching. That isn’t supposed to happen this fast, is it? It certainly never was that way the few times (well, recently many times) he experimented with his own hand; but the moist, gummy heat of your walls seemed to coax his length, beckoning him to release and paint them white. 

He grits his teeth, refusing to give in. Were things always destined to end this way? So that no matter which way he took things, you would be the one to win? 

He speeds up his pace then, mind attempting to focus on anything but the depraved ache of his pent-up cock, balls tight with a torrent of cum, despite how his release was the only thing that the animal part of his brain craved. If this was your plan all along - no, even if you were unaware and it was simply your nature to be devious - he’ll ensure that he at least makes you come first, make you fall apart on his cock before he ejaculates. 

Your eyes are hazy, bottom lip caught succulently between your top row of teeth, as your back arched up so your nipples would graze his suit each time he sunk into your deepest spot. By the looks of your trembling thighs and quickening breath, it wouldn’t be long until you cum, his wanting brain reasons. 

He has one knee digging into the bedsheets, his other leg working to powerfully ram into you; and he tightens his own muscles, willing himself to contain his long-awaited release. 

“Alastor! A-A-lastor!” You call out his name, and he feels a surge of satisfaction rushing through him; your submission like a hefty meal that feeds straight to his starving gut. 

Then your eyes roll back, stilling as your walls convulse rhythmically around his cock. His nails rip into the bedsheets, prepared to resist this climax, wanting to wait until he fucked you into a second orgasm. 

But your unpredictable little mind has other plans, and as you suddenly bite down on his shoulder, teeth sinking all the way into the muscle there; he groans in surprise, the first noise he’s let escape during the whole session, cock twitching as it releases his sperm in lengthy ropes against his will. 

Your sweaty face is smug, smiling up at him as you playfully flick at his hair. He forces himself to recover, the irritation crawling back into his heart twofold. 

He’s going to fuck that look right off your audacious face.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It was amazing! I simply didn’t know one could do such a thing with a rope! Especially with how tight-.” 

Alastor nods, tuning out and sipping his coffee as Rosie droned on about her latest escapade. It seems she’s found yet another man to toy with; and although he wasn’t particularly interested in this story, he was looking forward to her inevitable follow up on disemboweling him. 

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes! It’s important to prepare your meat well, as in the case of any dish. But sinner meat requires a different type of preparation. It’s unfortunate that you’ll never know the taste.” She giggles, stirring her cup of tea. 

“I might’ve taken a sample since the last time we spoke.” 

Her eyes light up in recognition, excitedly leaning forward in her seat. “You have! And tell me, how did it go! Was it everything you hoped for?”

He sets down his mug. Was it all that great? Well he supposed that while it wasn’t anything near the surge of primal power murder gave him, he certainly didn’t dislike it. 

He certainly hasn’t minded the new change to his routine; when sometimes, after a broadcasting session where his adrenaline is rushing particularly high, after he solves the growling of his stomach, he also tends to the ache of his cock by fucking your womb. As usual, you didn’t mind providing him with your assistance, pliantly spreading your thighs on his table whenever you recognized the look of raw hunger in his eyes, that look of hunger that differed from his usual craving for meat. The craving of flesh. 

But he hasn’t turned into some… lustful creature. He merely gave an unventured avenue a try, and it turned out to be more pleasurable than he expected. 

He widens his grin, static buzzing with threat as a warning to her not to question further, and Rosie takes the hint, smiling knowingly as she backs down. 

“It was alright.” 

.

.

.

A/N: It's up to you whether the reader did it on purpose LOL. Anywho definitely don't be expecting me to always post this often, this week I went through some weird writing craze. I have no idea when I'll post next but when I do it'll probably be a series (we'll see how that goes) cuz I want to try long-form writing (oooooo intimidating). I wrote this fic cuz I've heard that the way serial killers choose their victims is closely related to who they're sexually attracted to. & cannibalism is often used as a metaphor for love. And I thought that it was so interesting Alastor is this cannibalistic serial killer who's also asexual! I speculate that the adrenaline rush they get from killing might somewhat mimic arousal. And I thought that might be true for Alastor as well, he just doesn't project those feelings onto another person cuz he's asexual... BUT WHAT IF HE DID? Well, I wrote a fic to find out and thought Tumblr might like it lol. Not that I'd know about how all that feels cuz despite my amazing wonderful extremely realistic writing skills it might surprise you that I've never killed anyone or done a sex... My author notes are more like author short essays (that's why I put them at the end)

Taglist:

@angeldustharmony, @littlebluefishtail, @cryssyd, @reath-solia, @speedycoffeedelight, @mo-0-o Comment below if you wanna be added!

[see-arcane]

Jonathan is escaping just as the beginnings of brain fever and far worse things are roiling in him. Making him more ill and haggard as he traverses the Carpathians in search of a train. Running, burning, withering. Dying.

The closer he gets to death, the more he can feel Dracula's poison trying to overtake him. It's a trap waiting to spring. He knows it. Dracula knows it. Just as the Count knows the Brides let him slip away--

Ah, well, their loss. It seems you are to be mine alone after all, my friend.

--and dreams little visions his way when Jonathan dares to sleep.

Flashes of dark water and mist. Men screaming like sheep before the butcher. Slaughtered with less mercy than any farmer ever showed his livestock before being discarded like trash.

What loss are they, my friend? I have tasted the finer things. A sweet English vintage; I shall savor more of the same in time. But these? Bah! I have seen a thousand of their paltry kind come and go. I would no sooner cherish their meal than you would swoon over a cut of shoe leather. What difference is it if I play with this coarse fare? You shall learn the same habits in time.

"No. No, no, I won't, I can't. I have to go home. I have to get to her. My life is there. My life is her."

What home is that, my friend? Who is she?

He does not answer. He cannot answer. His head is all fire, burning holes through mind and memory. No, God, he must know! He must remember! He has come all this way, he must know where he's going and who is there! His nightmares fill with as much saccharine sympathy as cutting laughter. The most sincere comment he receives in the mire of it is a single reassurance:

You will recall it all, my friend. Sickness makes no mark upon us. You will know. You will be well. Some night, in this year or the next, perhaps we can go and meet her together. In the meantime, cease your struggling. I can feel your fatigue, poor boy. Put down your head. Stop running. Let it take you. Let it help you. Rest.

"No."

Rest.

"No!"

Rest.

"No, no, no--,"

He stuffs himself with berries and a hare and handfuls from a river. A ferryman takes pity--he thinks? a river, he remembers a River, the Ferryman telling him where to go, how soon the sun will rise, he doesn't know, his head, his chest, everything burning, dying--and a blur passes between himself and the train station. He was loud there. Did he scream? Sob? Bare his teeth? They shoo him away with a ticket.

(Sharp. Why do his teeth feel so sharp? Why is he so thirsty when the fluttering shapes of the nuns keep forcing water down his throat?)

(Quiet now. He cannot get through the walls here. Ha. Could not even open his journal if he tried! The crucifix is wrapped around it! Ha!)

(Stings to hold. Why? God, God, please, not now, don't don't don't, please do not do this, the nuns, they think him mad! They are of faith, but they do not believe! They do not know! They won't understand what he is when they put him in the cemetery they won't know what they invited in unawares they won't know until he is up and out of the dirt and oh O God the Cross and the Son will not save them not entirely not when he feasted on an entire mountain range of the faithful whose prayer saved no one and soon he will not need their necks only whatever meat his teeth can reach and no no no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO--)

Something is different.

A white light twinkling in the red inferno. He knows it. It has brushed him more than once. She found him in the graveyard, weeping over the stones of his parents. How did she know then that he was there? He'd never told her.

Her.

Her who?

(Love. Darling. Soul. I know this. I know...)

Even if he cannot pierce the veil of a holy place, her presence can. It fires through his eyes--he is caught mid-kiss, the girl's head is hanging down, familiar sunny locks, who..?--and into Jonathan Harker's.

Jonathan Harker. Yes. Yes, that sounds right. And she is...

Running to him, to the nodding girl, a wisp under the moonlight coming to throw herself into danger for the sake of another, as ever and ever amen, she is--

"Mina."

"Pardon?" asks the attendant refilling his pitcher. She watches him carefully. "Did you say something young herr?"

"Mina. Mina Murray." His bloodshot eyes roll to the window. It faces the west. It faces her. Within him, something blessedly cool turns over, quelling an irate blaze. "I should like to write to her."

"I can speak with Sister Agatha about this. Who is Mina Murray, if I may ask?"

"My fiancee. And my name is Jonathan Harker. We live in Exeter." He offers a weak smile. One without sharp teeth. "My apologies for taking so long to remember it."

[thebearer]

PLEASEEEE write about carmy trying to put a baby in reader 🙏🙏🙏

minors dni 18+ also i'm doing two versions of this, this is just the first one since i had another ask for this lol

Carmen barely looked up, seeing you walk through the swinging doors back into the restaurant. Normally, he'd be worried that you were here, coming in unannounced before the dinner rush, his mind would race and tell him something was wrong. Today he knew better, he knew exactly why you were here.

"Hey, Sydney." Carmen muttered, scraping the prepped vegetables into the container, his eyes locking with yours. "I need you to cover for me, Chef."

"Ok..." Sydney muttered, looking from you and Carmen. "Are you good, Chef?"

"What? Yeah, no, yeah. I-I'm good. I just... Gotta order some stuff, and-and I just got a lot of office stuff I need to do." Carmen rambled, cheeks heating with each stammered word.

Sydney was suspect, especially with the way you were looking at each other, but she shrugged it off. "I got it, Chef." She nodded, checking off his prep on her clipboard.

"Good. Uh, if you need me just uh, knock and I'll come out." Carmen nodded, ignoring how her face contorted into disgust, practically sprinting to his office.

You were already waiting inside, dropping your purse on the couch, eyeing Carmen hungrily when he shut the door, twisting the lock behind him. "We don't have long." Carmen muttered, tearing off his apron.

"I don't need long." You hummed, pushing your shorts to the ground, letting them puddle around your ankles.

"You gotta be quiet, baby." Carmen looked at you, eyes glued on your puffy lips, drooling and teasing him when you bent over the couch, nose practically touching the wall.

"I can't promise that." You grinned, looking over your shoulder at him. "Hurry up, Berzatto. Before they need you. I need you."

Carmen snorted, palming himself through his boxers, shuffled steps over towards you with one last look over his shoulder. "I got ya, honey." He muttered, pulling himself out and stroking his length. "You sure this is supposed to work?"

"They said as much as possible when you're ovulating." You huffed, wiggling impatiently. You and Carmen had decided to try for a baby, ditching your birth control only last month. Truthfully, you were using the baby making as an excuse to fuck as much as possible, not that you needed much of one when you were ovulating.

"Never thought I'd hear you complain about having sex." You grinned.

Carmen snorted lightly, letting the head of his cock glide between your folds. "Not complaining." He muttered, teasing your entrance gently. "Never complain, baby."

You started to reply, a sharp, witty reply on the tip of your tongue, cut short by him sinking inside you, pushing into you with one long stroke, stretching you out for him. You gasped, pushing your head into your hands, hopeful to muffle the sound coming out of you.

Carmen's hand sunk into your waist, gripping the fat of your hip to bring you back to him, hips rocking slow and steady against yours, the sound of skin slapping skin one he hoped was muffled through the thick walls.

"Fuck, baby, you feel good. So fuckin' good." Carmen grunted lowly, fingers curling around your hip, jaw clenched to keep himself from groaning.

"Oh! That's the spot, Carm, fuck." You whined, back arching further at one particularly hard thrust, jamming that sweet spot inside of you that had your vision blurring, mind blanking in pleasure.

"Shh, be quiet, baby." Carmen hushed, leaning forward, one hand propped on the wall beside you. "Gotta be quiet. Can't let them- shit- can't let them know what we're doin'."

Carmen's hands curled around your waist, cradling your lower belly, feeling the way it flexed when you clenched around him. He could see it, see you all swollen and big with the baby- his baby. The baby he put inside you. It made Carmen's teeth grit, fucking you harder and harder with a new found vigor, a free hand covering your mouth to muffle your cries.

"Can't let them know I'm fuckin' a baby into you." Carmen rasped, hot breath tickling your ear, leaving you shivering. "Gonna put a baby right in here, hm? That's what you want right?"

"Yes." You whined, tears pricking your eyes. He was making you feel so good.

"You want a baby? Want me to give you a baby, huh?" Carmen growled, his hips snapping further and further, pinning you against the couch.

"Please, Carm. Please gimme a baby." You cried, letting your head fall back against his.

"Since you asked so nicely." Carmen smirked, hips snapping up into yours. "Shit, I- you close? You close, baby?"

You nodded, reaching to move his hand, pushing it further until it was cupping your mound. Carmen got the hint, pinching and rolling your clit until you were gasping and writhing in pleasure, his free hand cupping your mouth while his thrusts got sloppier around you.

Carmen pulled you back, pressing on your spine so you were face first into the couch, ass up and high for him while he pounded into you, chest pressed to your spine, until he was spilling inside of you. Pressed so he was flush to your ass, Carmen emptied his load, hot and filling deep inside of you.

"Hang on, hold on," Carmen muttered when you started to move, hands pressing softly to your side. "I didn't... Fuck, we didn't think this one through. You gotta put your legs up, right?"

You nodded, eyes still glossy, skin still flushed and glowing. Carmen snatched the pillow from the other side, setting it in front of you. "Ok, I'm gonna pull out, and I'm gonna catch it, ok? You just, you lay down. Hips on the pillow."

Carmen pulled out slow, pointer and middle finger catching any dribbling release, pushing them back inside you. You whimpered at the sensation, still sensitive, while you moved to lie on the pillow, his fingers still inside you, propping your legs up on the edge of the couch.

"Shit, I forgot a towel. Fuck, let me just, uh, let me go grab one-"

"-'s alright, Carmen." You hummed, looking at him through fluttering lashes that made his heart skip. "I'll just keep it in. The longer the better."

Carmen tried not to gawk, but he knew he was given away by the rise in his cheeks, heat flushing his skin. His groin ached, a dull throb that had him twitching with heat at the idea. "O-Ok." Carmen muttered, pulling his pants up fastening his jeans.

"Let me grab your clothes, baby, I'll put them on for you." Carmen muttered sweetly, gently putting your panties and shorts on, trying to keep your body as still as possible.

Later, the two of you were walking hand in hand into family, giggly and touchy- you could feel him leaking out of you with every step. It made your tummy trill with heat.

"This smells good." You grinned, eyes batting up at Carmen.

"Yeah? I'll get you a plate. Don't worry 'bout it." Carmen muttered, nodding towards a seat for you.

The room had stilled, eyes on the two of you, suspicious and a little questioning. Carmen looked around, blue eyes darting furiously.

"Oh no fuckin' way." Richie cackled, breaking the silence in the room. "Cousin, no way-"

"What? What are you-"

"-Look at you! Both of you!" Richie leaned back, clapping his hands in laughter. "You're sick, cousin. Sick!"

You blushed, the snickers from Fak and Sweeps, the knowing glances from the others. Carmen blushed furiously, glaring at Richie fiercely. Tina smirked, shrugging when she looked at you.

"I'm sure this building's seen worse with Mikey." She muttered.

"That obvious?" You mumbled, looking around the room, shrinking into your seat.

"A little. You got the glow, honey. At least that's a good thing." Tina grinned, nudging you gently.

When you announced your pregnancy three months later, the entire staff swore baby Berzatto was conceived in the office. "Right there, on that fuckin' couch, cousin!"

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Could i please request something with reader getting a large slice on her arm and daryl has to stitch it shut as best he can because they’re on a long run?

Stitches and Kisses

Summary: He'd meant to take her on a date in the woods, well no, he'd meant to ask her on a date in the woods. But now she's bleeding and he's panicking, and is romance always this hard?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Blood. Medical procedures. Angst. Fluff. Nervous!Daryl. Friends to lovers. Prison-era.

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. The idea staff in the crumbling factory that is my brain have gone on strike so I'm so grateful to everyone who's sent in requests to get my cogs turning again!

-

They’ve learnt, as a collective, never to say ‘it’ll be a simple run’, but he just fucking had to, didn’t he? Had to try and convince her to come out to the woods, because he thought he was ready to tell her he loved her. He’s never been romantic, has never had the opportunity or the inclination, but women liked this stuff, right? That’s what Merle had said, ‘chicks dig all that mushy shit’, and it’s not like he has access to candles and music and…teddy bears, maybe. But he had the woods, and she likes the woods, the birdsong and the flowers, the lack of walls. So he could take her to the trees and he could ask if maybe she likes him too, and shit asking was so much easier in front of the mirror in the prison showers.

It’s going great. So far he’s snapped at her because he was nervous, tripped on a stick of all things and spilled a full bottle of water all over the ground, they’ve been ambushed by an unexpected herd and now she’s gashed her arm open trying to pry the door open with the knife. He’s fucked it, royally, sideways and without a shadow of a doubt. You just can’t confess your affection for someone whilst covered in their blood and pouring alcohol into a wound, can you? It’s not the done thing.

In hindsight the knife thing might have been her fault, but when has that ever stopped him taking the blame? At least she’d gotten the door open, barricading it behind them before she realised how deep she’d sliced.

She sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth as the liquid hits the cut, and he flicks his glance quickly up to her face to catch her eyes squeezed closed. He’s never been okay at this part of runs, not really; he can sort an injury out, sure, he’s stitched himself up numerous times, he’s not bad at it, but even if he knows logically that its necessary it feels too much like inflicting harm. It eats at him for the rest of the day, every time, longer when its her.

“’M sorry” he mumbles, hovering his spare hand above her knee as she perches on the bench in front of him. He likes touching her, finds comfort in it usually but he’s never the one to initiate. She’d put her hand on top of his and hold it all day if she wasn’t squeezing her own fist closed quite so hard. The pain is awful, stinging and pulsing at the same time, but the look on his face is almost worse.

“If you apologise every time this hurts we’re never going to get it done”

He scoffs, blowing the hair out of his eye as he does so. It’s a deep cut, mere inches past where it could have hit something major, and he has to swallow hard around nothing as he puts the bottle down by his side. Walkers are groaning outside the door, unaware of their presence but far too close for him not to be concerned, he needs to get her stitched up. The bag rustles as he rummages with one hand for a needle and thread, he knows they’re in there somewhere, but a murmured curse leaves his dry lips as his panicking fingers fail to locate them.

“Daryl” finally pressing her palm to his knuckles, bringing his hand down to her leg with a gentle squeeze as if he’s the one that’s injured. His fingers still inside the bag, locking his eyes with hers, clocking the pained but confident determination on her face. “We’re going to be fine”

Nodding, he moves the hand off her knee with a brief pat before turning fully to the bag, reaching into it to locate the small plastic case that holds a sewing kit. Now still hands thread the needle carefully, gripping it firmly as he snaps his lighter, holding the end under the flame to sterilise.

“’S gon’ hurt”

“I know the drill” She smiles, reassuringly, and if he wasn’t so besotted with her he’d berate her for it, the overwhelming need she has to placate him, to work out his feelings before he’s had a chance to feel them. He usually finds comfort in it, relief that someone understands him well enough for him not to always have to explain himself. But now he’s irritated that she seems to be so set on how he’s doing when she’s bleeding right onto his fucking jeans.

He wants to smile back like he always does, but he hates it, can’t stand that she knows the drill, there shouldn’t be a drill, she should be warm and protected and happy in a normal world, far away from all of this. She’d be away from him but at least she’d be safe and he thinks maybe that’s a sacrifice he’d make it he could.

The thought is shaken away from him as the needle hooks under her skin and she lets out a low whine of pain, dragging an expletive under her breath. It burns. A different pain from the slicing of her flesh, which was at least quick, stitching a wound is slow, like fire poking at the surface in a drawn-out pierce.

“I know, ‘m sorry”

She slumps forward, resting her head on his shoulder so she doesn’t keep looking down at the needle going in, her body is hot and cold all at once, nausea coiling at the back of her throat, why did she have to look? He works as fast as he can whilst still being gentle, it’s impossible not to cause pain but if he can limit any of it he will. Maybe if he’d have told her he loved her this morning, before she’d hopped on the back of his bike, she’d know he didn’t mean any of the hurt he’s currently inflicting.

He turns slightly, voice low as he whispers in her ear. He can’t afford to get distracted now, but he can’t stand the way she’s whimpering against his collarbone so he pauses as he speaks, trying to ignore how it feels to have her cradled so close into him.

“’S’alright, almost done”

A punched chuckle against his shirt shoots from her when the needle pierces her skin again, its synced with a tight grip on her own knee, the kind of laugh that comes out instinctively with pain, the same one he heard when he had to pop her shoulder back into its socket once. On bad days, when his brain is somehow too busy and too quiet, he can still hear the crunch.

“Sorry, I’m being pathetic” she breathes against the fabric of his shirt, trying hard to resist the urge to bite the material for something to ground her.

“Nah, shit hurts, ya need t’ take a break?”

“No, keep going”

He wraps her arm in a spare bandage when he’s finished, watching her sway a little on the bench. Arms out in front of him in case she falls, he watches as she sips the small amount of water he’s handed over. She’s lost a fair amount of blood, not enough to kill her but enough that he’s worried about getting them back safely. Her fingers brush against his when she hands the bottle back, and he’s briefly thankful for the walkers that make him turn to look at the door, hiding his blush.

“We gotta get back t’ camp”

She hops off the bench with a slight wobble in her step, looking down to see if her arm is bleeding through the bandage; she’s unsurprised when it’s not, Daryl’s adept at a lot of things and anyone surprised that he’s as sufficient in care as he is in battle doesn’t know him very well.

“Daryl, we have stuff to get, there’s still at least three places that haven’t been raided”

Her face is pale and drawn. He knows she’s faking feeling alright because he’s been studying her every expression since the moment they met. He knows the way her face moves with each emotion, the arch in her brow, the set of her lips, the way her eyes change colour ever so slightly. He knows that she needs to see Hershel.

“Nah, ya need to get this sorted. I can come back”

“Daryl-“

“No” his voice is short and sharp, accent lost under the clipped insistence as he shoulders the bag of supplies, readying to take on the meandering walkers that remain between them and the bike “Ain’t risking ya, not for nothin’”

“People are relying on us, we need supplies”

He turns towards the door, takes three strides forward before stopping, fighting the battle in his head, he knows they need to keep going, but he’s almost out of water and she’s lost enough blood for him to be worried. Tense shoulders tighten.

“If it’s ya, or supplies, or anyone else, I pick ya, every time” His voice lowers as he turns, body stiff as he faces her, holds her line of sight in a way that should make him nervous but there’s something close to anger in his face, the resentment that she could possibly think he wouldn’t put her first “Dun’ ever make me choose”

“Why?” She studies him for a moment, eyes softening in realisation as she finally understands the way he looks at her, the way he’s always looked at her, the way she’s looked at him and been so blind not to notice. Hope starts squashing the insecurity she’s had over her feelings “Oh”

When he doesn’t move, eyes flicking full of panic between her and the floor, she steps towards him gingerly, one foot slowly treading the ground at a time to make sure he’s not about to turn and run the other way.

His eyes are wide as she rests a hand on his cheek, thumb running tentatively over his cheekbone. She feels him release a breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

He nods, a stuttering shake of the head that has her almost laughing, she’s gotten used to his acerbic wit in the face of discomfort, he hasn’t been quiet with her in months, not like this. His breathing stutters, swallowing heavily as she kisses his jaw, slowly, unwilling to spook. She moves her lips across; never leaving his skin as she trails kisses all the way along to his lips, pausing at them.

She can feel his breath against her lips and she flicks her gaze up slowly to look at him, pupils blown dark and wide as his body stays stock still, as if he is afraid of scaring her off, afraid of running himself.

“I’d pick you too”

She’s wanted him for so long the moment her lips touch his she’s pretty sure she’s actually died and is well on her way to thanking her lucky stars when his hands settle against her hips, pulling her against him firmly. It’s the shake in the arm that she tries to move around his waist that makes him pull away; breath heavy and lids drooping but his demeanour is firm when she tries to lean back in. He doesn’t want her to regret this when she’s not worn out from injury so he stops her.

He brushes a strand of hair out of her face, other hand giving her hip a gentle squeeze, thumb resting on the waistline of her jeans. A small, quirk of a lip smile graces his face.

“Nah, ya can kiss me ‘gain when ya got all ya blood back, c’mon”

[wintersera]

Can you make a fic about vampire!karina? Her fangs in supernova mv got me dizzy😵‍💫

not so much of a fic but maybe a short little imagine/drabble thingy? cause yk yuh eslayyy

tw: blood 😰

anyways she looks like a little brat here it’s actually driving me a little insane CAUSE HOW DOES SHE LOOK SO CUTE WHEN SHES WREAKING HAVOC IN THE STREETS (and in the sheets ifykwim)😭

the typa vampire girlie to be so desperate to feed on reader bc shes so pretty and shes so so hungry ;;

lets say one day you woke up in the middle of the damn night, had a singular thought- the thought being explore the forest, at what? 2am. what a great idea 😭

so you prepared essentials in a backpack; some food, water bottle, a torch, lighter, batteries and thats about it.

you weren’t too big of a believer in the supernatural, you thought the concept of it was cool yk, warewolves and vampires- all that interesting stuff that you’d see in movies and books. obviously all that stuff was fake, so really, coming across a vampire wasn’t on your list of ‘what to do and encounter at a forest’. and now you’re aimlessly wondering around in the butt fuck of nowhere ignoring the obvious signs as to why your ass should NAWT be in the fucksss forest at this ungodly hour. you could’ve chosen any other time but naaurrr,,,

anyways, as you were strolling around without a care in the world, you heard the snap of a twig and something rustling around in the bushes. it could be a bear, or a man… the idea of that was worse by tenfold.

was the right option run back home and go back to sleep, yes! did you do it? NO, you know what you did? move towards the bushes… any reasoning? “what if its a cat? the cat distribution system could be in my favour today” :]

WRONG.

out from the bushes came a pretty tall girl. she bared her teeth at you, a clear warning so you could back up before anything bad happened. yet you stood there observing her instead. ngl you were pretty terrified none the less, pretty girl with sharp fangs that could rip through your skin. you were convinced she wasn’t real, maybe she was a hallucination??? idk bro maybe you were on shrooms or something.

“what are you doing here all alone in the woods pretty girl?”

tbh you were pretty shocked to the point of not being able to talk, so you stood there.

“aww too scared to speak? that’s okay, come with me” she grabbed your hand, grip pretty tight since she didn’t know how strong she really was. now all of a sudden you’re in an empty cabin log “dont be alarmed but… im hungry- can i get a bite? just a little. i promise i’ll only drink a little” you thought this was a big ass lie but let her bite you :( she’s so hungry.

her sharp fangs pierce into your neck, moaning at how good you taste. she couldn’t help but to embrace you as she was savouring your blood. the pain only lasted for a mere second before your body was engulfed in warmth, you thought that maybe you were gonna pass out but you were fine. i guess she figured out how nervous you were, your body tense and everything?!?2)2! she pulled back “i’m sorry did it hurt too much? it’s okay i can make it feel better” kissing your neck and whispering how happy you made her “i’ll return the favour” trailing bloody kisses from your neck down, to your collarbone and further down. ngl you thought it was pretty hot at how messy and how inexperienced she was at this. her hands would be all over you at first, on your tits mostly playing with them through you clothes “feel any good…? c-can i still taste you?” you nod hesitantly, but it did feel good though!

maybe because you were her first victim, she didn’t know what in the hells she was doing :,( obviously as a new vampire spawn she was trying her very best to make you feel good after she fed off of you. ripping your clothes off with ease, she wasted no time :] she made sure that every inch or your body felt good— leaving bloody stains wherver she kissed you, yes shes a messy eater 😭 the blood is all over her mouth leave her be-

after a long time of being kissed and having your boobs played with, she finally takes off your panties- soaked ofc! and blushes at you, looking up with her darkened puppy eyes,, awww how cute ;; you give her a slow nod and she just goes for it. so desperate and needy to make you feel good, she wouldn’t be lying if biting you made her so turned on. she fr eats you out like you were her last ever meal on earth 😊 like she gets so pussy drunk, lapping up all your juices, sucking and licking your clit so harshly earning a whimper from you.

she just thinks you taste so good,, your blood, your pussy? her heads spinning from your scent,, ouh girl she’s feeling dizzy, but that only drives her more insane. gripping onto your thighs, digging her nails into them. she wants more- moaning loudly as she continues to eat you out vigorously, her tongue circling around your clit so fast that it brings you to tears- are you sure she’s inexperienced bc this feels way too good “mmmhf is.. is this good? does your pussy feel good pretty girl?” that sentence alone brings you towards your climax- thighs squeezing together, essentially trapping her inbetween your legs 🫣🫣

so know if you’re ever feeling bored, you’d know where to go to find a certain specific desperate vampire waiting for you in the log cabins at 3am 🤩

IGNORE IF I MADE ANY MISTAKES PLEEKKKK 🙏🙏🙏🙏

[whereserpentswalk]

There's an orc attending your college. Your city is pretty diverse, there's a lot of human cultures represented there, and even harpies and dwarves are common. But an orc is still a really rare sight. And she's not assimilated at all, she wears the symbol of the dark lord around her neak, and the strange black cloths from the wastelands she came from, and she always seems to have a gun somewhere on her. It's strange just to see an orc in person, she's not like the green skinned monsters you see in movies, her eyes are pitch black, and her skin is so pale you can see veins, she's muscular and tell but also strangely skinny, and her teeth are sharp and spiked like a sharks, this one doesn't have tusks, just these rows of serrated teeth.

Everyone avoids her at first. There's something creepy about her. She doesn't move like a human. She emotes weirdly, being stoic during conversations, but sometimes smiling or laughing at odd times. In class it becomes clear that she lacks knowledge anyone growing up in your society has, but has extensive knowledge on things most humans will never know. She also very clearly supports the dark lord and the demons who serve him, and gets mad when his narrative of conquest and strict genetic hierarchy is challenged in class.

You end up paired with her for a class project. It's weirdly awkward. But you end up spending more time with her then most. It still takes awhile to get used to her mannerisms, and you have to convince her of evolution in a long debate (but eventually you do convince her). She seems strangely naive to a lot of things. Every time she does something that she considers a failure she goes into self loathing, and she gets really afraid she's going to be punished. You have to explain to her things are going to be ok sometimes.

You try to spend time with her. She supports the dark lord but out of a strange sense of fear more than the type of ideological support humans in nations not under his control have. When she does something that she thinks is heresy agaisnt him she becomes afraid. And while she's angry at people who follow gods other than him (which is basically everyone here) she's more afraid of them than everything. When a holy symbol you own touches her she's surprised it doesn't burn her, you have to tell her it's ok.

She has a lot more freedom here than she did back in the wastelands. You slowly help her realize she doesn't have to worry about being punished for sinning agasint the dark lord. She's able to go on the internet for the first time, you help her get everything set up. You also introduce her to your freinds, only some of whom feel safe around her, but those who do seem to like her.

It's weird just hanging out in her dorm. She can be weirdly laid back and introspective at times, at least when she's not nervous or paranoid. But when she's just relaxing she'll tell you about things, about the beauty of the desert sands, about what it was like to observe the rattlesnakes and condors and wyverns of her homeland. How she likes to observe the city, the way the diffrent people flow through it, she was scared of it at first but now she likes to explore it, and the way it lacks stars at night but the lights from the buildings replace it. She says she wishes she could stay here forever, that she wishes she could be an artist but that she was sent here to learn skills useful to the dark lord's empire.

There's something nice about showing her new things. You get to take her to a musical for the first time. Get to show her neighborhoods you like. Get to explain to her what public transport is (though she got scared feeling trapped in a subway car). You get to show her stuff she never got to experience because orcs are never really children, she loves getting to hold a plush for the first time, or watching cartoons for the first time, it's like she's finally getting to live an experience she never had. Even though she's a well armed adult she really likes plushies once she finds out about them, they weren't something she was allowed to have back home.

Over time she starts meeting people and learning things that go against her worldview. As she makes more friends, understands new things, slowly learns that she shouldn't be punished for mistakes, she slowly comes around to seeing how fucked up the world the was raised in is. She tells you she doesn't want to worship the dark lord anymore, she cries just from saying it. You hug her, and realize she's never been hugged before, she seems to really like that feeling. She bathes in the waters of a healing goddess, and she worships something out of love instead of fear for the first time.

Eventually the spawning warlock who spawned her and her siblings comes to visit her. You told her to be careful but she ended up spilling that she doesn't worship the dark lord, she ends up spilling all the things a warlock like that considers a sin. When he leaves she tells you she can't go home. Not ever. Never again will she see the shifting sands, or flying condor, or flowing serpents of her homelands. She's trapped where she is now.

You know it hurts her a lot. She says she feels like she's in a small pocket of safety. Back home she'd be hurt for being an apostate. In human lands outside of the city she'd be hurt for being an orc. But she's safe here. She stays in her apartment for awhile, while you try to make things work. She's finally changing her major to art, and despite everything she's finally free, free to watch the starless sky, free to not be punished when she makes a mistake...

[spacedace]

Dannys graduation class is especially liminal thanks to the portal and frequent ghost encounters/ Their overshadowing. Which means, that they subconsciously prefer places with high ecto ambience.

Gotham University already had their fair share of students from amity park, one of the only people outside from Gotham who would actually stay for the duration of their studies (thanks to them being used to ghost shenanigans). But this year its more than usual + even for Gothamites these Amity Parkers seem to be rather unhinged.

(I just need more liminal!Amity Parker shenanigans :D and thanks to WE Gotham has great scholarships available)

I had a lot of fun with this one! Thank you for the prompt!

-

Robert’s hands shook as he brought the chalk to the blackboard, letter’s jagged and words illegible as he attempted to write the day’s lesson down.

Behind him was a silence beyond what the human mind was ready to comprehend. A room full of people, the sense of others in the room, and yet utter stillness. No soft scratch of pencils on paper, gentle taps of nails upon keyboards, no shifting of bodies or crinkling of snacks or soft murmur of voices of those at the back of the lecture hall whispering to each other.

It was something Professor Robert Herne hadn’t truly noticed before this semester. How much noise humans made even when they were sitting very quietly. Little things the brain filtered out so terribly noticeable until it was gone. The almost imperceptible hush of breaths. The absent hum of a chorus of heartbeats. Things you didn’t realize you were used to hearing until they were suddenly, horribly gone.

The chalk broke beneath his hand.

The students sat in impossible, unbearable stillness, watching him.

They were always watching him.

Unblinking eyes, fathomless and deep and knowing knowing knowing. They looked at him and saw. Empty voids that threatened to swallow him whole if he made the mistake of meeting their terrible, all consuming gazes.

His hand shook harder, the broken chalk in his hold crumbling to fine dust. His breathing came harder, heart pounding. Behind him figures stretched long, twisting and unnatural, more and more unblinking eyes opening to stare at him, mouths stretching, faces warping, skin mottling to impossible shades, sharp teeth and pointed ears. Still as death, unmoving, he could feel the weight of them pressing down upon him from all sides and, and, and -

He screamed.

-

Miriam Schuster, Dean of Gotham University, sat with her head in her hands at her desk. Outside on the quad yet another of the school’s professors was being carried away on a stretcher, screaming and frantic as his class of students all milled about worried for him at a distance.

Herne was the third one in the past month.

Amity kids, she swore, they got weirder and weirder every year. And unlike some members of the University staff, she was qualified to say that. She was an Amity Park kid once upon a time, she knew her home town was weird. Even before the ghost stuff started happening they had a reputation for being odd. She’d certainly creeped out more than a few of her own professors over the years as a student, and still put some people on edge whenever she forgot to make an active effort to appear more…for lack of a better word, normal.

This year’s batch was weird even by her standards though. Far more ecto-contaminated than the students that had joined the university in previous years and it showed. The entire non-Amity half of several courses had dropped in the first week of the semester. They’d had more dorm-room transfer requests than they’d ever seen before. TAs were refusing to work in classes that had Amity Parkers in them. And the professors…

Herne gave another scream of terror outside, shrieking about silence and eyes and being watched. Miriam sighed again.

The professors were not able to cope with the freshmen class at all.

Scrubbing her face in her hands, Miriam leaned back in her seat and looked down at the papers spread out before her. Transfer paperwork to group all the new batch of Amity kids into the same classes so that they weren’t quite so spread around. Keep them contained, as much as it was possible to do so. The problem with having them all in one place though was that the effect of them being so…well, Amity, was far more intense. Which left her with the question of just who she was going to be able to get to teach these classes.

Gotham was more up to Amity Parker strangeness than just about anywhere else - outside of Amity itself of course - and even the Gothamites where having trouble keeping up. It was going to take a special kind of person to be able to handle them.

Miriam glanced out her window again to where the ambulance was trundling away with Herne aboard to Arkham. The civilian mental facilities hadn’t been up to the kind of psychosis caused by direct contact with this year’s batch of Amity Parkers.

Hmm, she considered. That might be an idea.

She’d have to make some phone calls.

-

“Alright settle down! I know you’re all a rowdy bunch, but I’m gonna need yous to sit pretty for me for the next hour so we can go over the new syllabus.”

To anyone else, there wouldn’t have been any kind of perceptible difference to the utter stillness of the room. The rows of seated students were as still and motionless as they’d ever been, not even their chests seeming to move as they sat and stared, unblinking.

The new professor smiled widely. “Thank you! And hear I heard yous were all a bunch of troublemakers, ha!” A deft hand snatched up a piece of chalk, drawing large looping letters on the board with plenty of flourishes. “Welcome to Psych 101! You can all call me Professor Quinzel!”

Harley spun to face her class, smiling brightly at the eager gleam in the eyes of her new students.

The class, with eyes a little too bright and teeth a little too sharp and shapes a little too wrong when viewed from the corner of the eye all smiled back brightly. It was such a relief to finally have a professor that actually had her shit together.

[rs-hawk]

Your Fey Wife has made your life very comfortable. She dotes on you, giving you all that you could ever want or need. Your friends and family comment on how happy you seem. Everything in your life seems like they’re better when she’s around. Especially with how your Fey Wife can manipulate The Veil, she can even come with you out places. Meet people. They just see a tall, slender, elegant woman. They don’t see the tinge of green to her skin, or the way her mouth opens a little too wide. How her teeth are a little too sharp. The way that her eyes reflect light like a cat.

You don’t mind that secret though. You like knowing you’re the only human that gets to see her that way. You like feeling her sharp teeth dig into your skin when she buries her cock deep inside of you. The way that her too long, spindly fingers stuff themselves down your throat, making you drool and gag as your eyes roll back into your head. Her wings shielding you from the sun when she pushes you to the forest floor, pumping in and out of you.

You’re so lucky to have a Fey Wife.