#not to mention i have a cold or something and it is physically draining me

[justareallyboredfangirl]

man i am STILL recovering from the wedding on friday

[beskarandblasters]

A Dwindling, Mercurial High

Part Two of Time, Wondrous Time

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Cooper Howard Masterlist | AO3

Series summary: You’re California Crest Studios’ newest production assistant, getting the opportunity to work on the hit movie, The Man From Deadhorse. But when you meet the movie’s lead, Cooper Howard, you fall head-first into a secret affair. Enter a war, a cryogenic freezer, and a two-hundred-year time jump. And yet despite all that, you just might run into him again.

Chapter summary: You have another encounter with Cooper in his trailer, proving that this is more than just a fluke.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: unspecified age gap, infidelity, reader is able-bodied, workplace romance, finger sucking, nipple play, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, begging, praising, pet names (sweetheart), sir kink, mentions of food, no use of y/n

You don’t remember much of the drive home. It felt like you were having an out-of-body experience, watching yourself cruising down the highway. Just when you think the disbelief has left you, something reminds you of him again. Whether it be the wetness leaking out of you, his scent lingering on your skin, or the dull pain of where he nipped your neck. His scent only goes away once you take a hot shower, letting the physical remnants of your affair wash down the drain. But one thing remains; the shame. 

That night your dreams are filled with him. 

You’re not so sure if that’s a good thing. 

-

You head to the studio in the morning with a pit in your stomach. You wonder how your work relationship with Cooper will change. Will you continue to eat lunches together? Will he talk to you? Will he even look in your direction?

Your daily routine starts like it always does– getting people’s coffee. Emil was right, you don’t need to write the orders down anymore. You leave for the cafe without talking to anyone, anxious for the moment you’ll see Cooper today. 

When you return with the coffee, you save his for last, passing them out as the anxiety swirls through you; and then you lock eyes with him, blood running cold and your heart sinking to your knees. There’s recognition on his face but it’s different than before, it reads darker like a sworn secret. A language only the two of you speak. But then his face softens and he treats you as normal, accepting the coffee with his gracious smile. 

Normal. Uneventful. Business as usual. 

And then it’s time to shoot. You view his acting differently now. 

-

At lunch you linger by the table of catered food, hoping he’ll ask you to eat lunch together again. But to your dismay, his wife shows up, waiting around by the table for him. You can’t bring yourself to introduce yourself; let alone even look in her direction. 

But then Cooper appears out of nowhere, walking over to his wife first, of course. He pulls her in close by her waist, giving you flashbacks of last night when you were sitting in his lap. You can’t stand to be around the two of them anymore so you start to walk away. 

Until he calls your name.

You look over your shoulder and he beckons you to come to him, same dazzling smile as always. Reluctantly, you walk over to them, standing awkwardly by them as Cooper says, “I never introduced you to my wife the other day. This is Barb.” 

She smiles and holds out her hand but her smile is like she can see right through you. But there’s no way she knows… Right?

You introduce yourself and Cooper says, “She’s one of Emil’s new production assistants.”

“Congratulations,” she says. She leans into Cooper again and kisses him before saying, “I have to get back to work. See you later tonight.” 

She bids you goodbye and leaves. It isn’t until she’s out of sight that you can start to relax a little. 

“Why would you do that?” you ask. 

“Do what?”

“Introduce me to her after what happened-”

“Shh,” he says, putting his hand on the small of your back and ushering you away. He takes you behind his trailer and says, “To pretend like everything is normal. She knows almost everyone on set.”

“So now what? Are we just supposed to carry on like nothing happened?”

“Right now, yes.” He takes a step closer to you and whispers, “But the second I get you alone, you’re mine.”

“Cooper!” you gasp. “Not now.”

“I know,” he groans. “I don’t think I can swing another late night tonight but maybe on Monday.”

“That long?” 

“Believe me. If I had it my way, you’d be bent over in my trailer begging for me to fuck you.”

Fuck. 

“But I suppose we should get back to set.”

“We should,” you nod, poking your head around the corner to make sure no one’s watching. You walk back to the soundstage, more flustered than ever with excitement brewing between your legs. 

That man’s going to be the death of you. 

-

As the workweek wraps up, you find yourself craving him. But not just sexually. You want to be held by him. You want to listen to his life stories. You want to just be with him. 

And yet he spends his nights with his wife while you’re left feeling more jealous of her than ever. 

-

On Saturday morning, you get a phone call, ripping you out of your pining. You pick it up and hear your friend Reina’s voice on the line, excited about something. 

“Are you free this afternoon?!”

“I am. What’s up?”

“Let’s get lunch!”

“Sure.”

“I’ll pick you up in about an hour. I have something to tell you!!”

“Oooh, I’m excited. See you then!”

-

After getting ready for an hour, Reina picks you up, giddy and smiling like a kid. You’re barely sitting in her car before she says, “So I thought we’d get together to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well for one, we’re celebrating you and your new job.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“But I wanted to tell you in person that… I got a new job!!”

“Congratulations!! Where?”

“Vault-Tec.”

“Shit, really?? That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you!”

“I’ll be working in one of their labs. I start on Monday. I can’t wait.”

“Look at us, movin’ on up in the world,” you say as she pulls away from your place. 

You go to a cafe in your neighborhood, spend a few hours doing some much-needed catching up. She asks you all sorts of questions about working on a movie set. A tempting feeling tells you to bring up Cooper but it’s against your better judgment. 

Once you’re home alone again, the lonely feeling returns. You think about Cooper and what he’s doing. Maybe he’s spending time with his daughter. Maybe he’s at dinner with his wife. 

…Maybe he’s fucking his wife. 

God, the thought makes you sick. Isn’t that fucked up?

Whatever. All you know is that for once, you can’t wait for Monday. 

-

Monday morning. Wake up. Drive to work. Grab everyone’s coffee at the cafe. It’s muscle memory at this point. 

You hand Cooper his coffee and smoke innocently, asking, “Hey Cooper. How was your weekend?”

“It was alright. How was yours?” 

“Not too bad. I’m excited for work today.”

It’s an innocent statement to the wandering ear. But he’ll catch your drift. 

“You and me both, swee-”

He cuts himself off and your eyes go wide. He almost called you sweetheart in public. You playfully slap him on the bicep and say, “Watch it, Coop,” before walking away with a sway in your hips. You feel his stare practically burn a hole into you. You glance over your shoulder and look at his flustered stare; cheeks flushed and wearing a dumbfounded expression. You giggle and give him a playful wave, somehow even more excited for tonight than you already were. 

-

You expect to eat lunch together like you normally do. But when it’s time to break he comes up to you and says, “Hey, I was thinking…”

And for some reason the cadence in his voice has you set up for disappointment. 

“Yeah?”

He lowers his voice and continues, “If we’re going to continue this… thing we have going. I think it’s better if we stop eating lunch together. You know… to avoid any suspicion.”

What he’s saying makes perfect sense but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less. You try your best to mask your disappointment, telling him, “I get it.” 

“Thank you,” he says. “Don’t worry, you’ll have me all to yourself later tonight.”

“I know,” you nod. “I’ll catch you later.”

You force a smile and turn to walk to the parking lot. You’ll let your disappointment show there. Once you’re alone, you let the tears flow and feel fucking stupid about it. What he’s asking for is logically sound. You’re having a fucking affair with him for crying out loud. And not only that, he’s your coworker. This type of relationship is not one that he can flaunt proudly. And yet… You find yourself wanting that. But for that, you feel crazy. You’ve barely been seeing him for a week and you’re already developing the desire to be exclusive no matter how unrealistic and unattainable it is. 

If anything, it’s a testament to your attraction to him, that it far surpasses just a physical connection. 

-

Once shooting is wrapped up for the day, you hang back at the studio for a while, waiting for people to leave. Finally what you’ve been aching for for days is here. And you couldn’t be happier. 

You meet him at this trailer where he quickly pulls you inside. He locks the door and immediately pushes you up against it, kissing you passionately. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Really?” you ask, followed by another quick kiss. 

“You’re driving me crazy, sweetheart. I’ve been thinking about this all weekend.”

“I’m honored,” you joke. But you quickly drop the smug facade and add, “I feel the same way.”

Inhaling his scent reminds you how much you missed over the past few days. He pulls you over to the couch, sitting with his thighs spread in a wide, inviting stance. He pats his lap and beckons for you to come over to him. You take it a step further. Unlike last time when you just slipped off your underwear, this time you shed all your clothes. 

His jaw falls to the floor as he takes in your form. Every beauty mark, scar, freckle, birthmark– you name it, he’s admiring it. The cool air in the trailer makes your nipples form into stiff peaks. You straddle one of his thighs, resting your hands on his shoulders. One of his hands holds your waist while the other caresses your cheek, brushing his thumb against your face. His calloused hand is a stark contrast to your soft skin. You close your eyes and revel in the feeling of just being here with him. 

“My pretty girl,” he says softly, hand migrating to your chin. Your lips curve into a gentle smile as you open your eyes. You meet his gaze and notice his pupils are blown wide, just like last time. 

“You’re heaven-sent. You know that?”

“You don’t mean that,” you say, turning your head and looking away from him. 

He grabs your chin and directs your head back towards him, telling you sternly, “Swear on my heart.”

You lean in and kiss him, wrapping your arms around him as his hand on your chin joins his hand on your waist. You roll your hips into him, your cunt rubbing against his thigh and creating a wet spot on his pants. 

“So needy,” he teases, hovering over your lips. 

“I’ve been waiting so long,” you whine.

“Poor thing,” he tuts, pulling back and looking at you with a smirk. He brings his pointer and middle fingers to your mouth and says, “Open.”

You oblige and take his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them like a good girl. But once you’ve done enough he pulls his hand away and teases your cunt. When he finally sinks his fingers inside you he caresses the outline of your breast with his other hand. Both hands work to build up your pleasure, one curling his fingers against your walls and the other taking your nipple in between his fingertips. You grip his shoulders harder, using them as leverage while you rock your hips back and forth, fucking yourself on his fingers. 

He silently watches you, in awe of you and your beauty. He doesn’t speak until you cum, letting out a strained “Oh fuck,” as your wetness runs down his hand. You cum with a string of soft moans and whimpers, aching for his cock to be inside you already. He pulls his fingers out of you and gives you a swift slap on the ass, “Alright, now get up. I meant it when I said I wanted you bent over.”

You move off his lap and bend yourself over the couch. He stands up and takes the opportunity to get undressed. He takes his belt and slaps it against your ass. Your nerves sting as the leather collides with your skin. He tosses the belt beside you on the couch, leans forward, and whispers, “And I meant it when I said I wanted you to beg.”

“Please fuck me,” you whine.

“You can do better than that.”

“I need you to fuck me, sir.”

“Sir??” he says, sounding taken aback. 

Your stomach sinks, fearing that you said something to turn him off. Instead, he gathers the remnants of your spend with his hand, leans forward, and says, “Good girl.”

You feel his lubricated cock enter you, splitting you apart as your knees buckle underneath you. He holds your hips as he slams into you repeatedly, his cock hitting the most perfect angles inside you. Moans force their way out of your throat, filling up his trailer with your choked-up sobs. He slaps your ass and showers you with praise, telling you how you’re such a good girl for taking his cock like this. You hold onto the back of the couch for dear life, feeling your orgasm threatening to break loose. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whine.

He leans forward and whispers in the shell of your ear, “Do it. Let me feel it.”

With one last thrust inside you, you come undone around his cock, wetness running down your thighs. He wards off his own orgasm, letting you ride out your high before pulling out and coming on your ass. You collapse against the couch, feeling the aftershocks of your eventful night. He grabs a tissue and wipes off the beds on your back. He lies down on the couch and pulls you into him, limbs intertwined and bodies slick with sweat. You rest your head on his chest and feel his wild heartbeat. He sighs, prompting you to poke your head up and ask, “Everything alright?”

“I just… I needed this.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been so stressed lately.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Barb works for Vault-Tec and I don’t… I don’t particularly care for them.”

“No? My friend works for them, too.”

“Oh yeah? What department?”

“She works in the labs. What about Barb?”

“I’m not even sure. Every day she tells me less and less about what she actually does there.”

“I see.”

“I just can’t shake the feeling there’s something more sinister going on.”

“With Barb? Or Vault-Tec?”

“Maybe both? I’m not sure. She wants me to shoot a campaign ad for them in a few weeks and I feel like I can’t say no.”

“An ad for what?”

“To advertise the vaults, I guess.”

“I just don’t get it… Do you really think we’ll have to live in these vaults one day?”

“I sure hope not, sweetheart.”

The uneasiness on his face is undeniable so you change the subject. 

“Let’s focus on something else… We’re almost done shooting!”

“Thank God. This shoot’s gone on for too fuckin’ long…” he trails off. His face softens into a smile. “But at least Emil’s poor time management led me to you.”

“I did think it was weird when he hired me so late into the shoot.”

“Well, the rumor is the last production assistant got fired because he was a Commie.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

You rest on his chest again, staring up at the ceiling of his trailer. 

“Everything’s so uncertain lately… I hate it.”

“At least we have this moment together, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head. 

“You’re right,” you whisper back, feeling yourself drift off to sleep. 

-

You wake up with a gentle shake from Cooper. You open your eyes to meet his, expecting him to be frantic. But instead, he’s unusually calm. 

“What time is it?!”

“About three in the morning.”

“Oh my God?! What are you gonna tell-”

“I’ll just tell her I fell asleep in my trailer.”

“Is she gonna-”

“Yes, she’ll buy it. I’ve done it before.”

You stretch and sit up while he gets up and grabs your clothes. The both of you get dressed before leaving his trailer. You’re still shocked you fell asleep for that long and you’re paranoid Barb won’t buy his excuse. He walks to your car, kissing you on the cheek before hastily walking to his own car. Part of you feels guilty for putting him in this situation. But it takes two to have an affair. 

You go home and crash into bed, dreaming about him like always. 

Part three

End note: I originally planned for this story to be three parts but it’s grown to four!! If you’d like to be added to the tag list, comment or shoot me an ask!! And thank you to @clawdee for beta reading!

If you like my work, consider supporting me on Ko-fi 🤍

Check out the series playlist! 🎶

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

Tag list: @widowmakerow @bisasterbisexual @wowitsem @vegetarianvamp @celestial-vomit @ghoulsimper @anyzandy @justfoxymuffins @hobnob2020 @fallout-girl219 @ipostwhtifeel @awhoresjourney

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

comfort | kmg

i am feeling icky (physically and mentally and basically in all the ways, send help lol) and as always mingyu is my comfort human so i guess i was just feeling it. reader is mentioned to be an introvert. also reader is in a bad place mentally, lowkey is implied to be a depressive episode (self-insert? hi). kinda sorta from mingyu's pov. pet names used (honey, baby, my love). kinda sorta based on this song (How to Love You Today by Son of Cloud).

mingyu understands the difference between being introverted and being quiet -- after all, he's friends with hoshi, an introvert, who can blow his eardrums at a moment's notice. he's also dating you, and while you're no hoshi, you're definitely not a wonwoo, either.

more than understanding the difference between quiet and introverted, though, he knows you. so he knows that look you have in your eyes -- the hollow, dull look that steals over your features, sometimes for weeks at a time, while you struggle to feel anything at all. he sees it in you now as you stare out the window at the gloomy clouds gathering over the hills.

it's getting bad again. he knows it. you're usually so still when you sleep, and so splendidly expressive while you're awake, but recently that has switched -- your dreams are restless and your sleep-talking more vocal, and you spend more time sitting and staring than you do normally, your face blank and empty, your hands cold whenever he reaches for them. these are the kinds of days that sap you of your saturation, leaving you feeling listless and drained -- times when mingyu has to remind you in gentle tones to eat, to come to bed, to join him in the shower. your mind is not always kind to you, so mingyu has made it his personal mission to be so.

the worst part is, you've stopped singing. when you'd been "just friends", sometimes your constant humming and vocalizing would peeve mingyu when he was trying to concentrate, but after living with you for almost two years, he barely notices it anymore. in fact, he only really notices when you stop, and it's one of his first indicators that something is off about you.

he's been waiting for you to tell him what's going on. usually he can tell you're in a bad state before you can, but mingyu also knows that if he tells you he's noticed, you'll start trying to hide it from him. because you don't want to be a burden. (the thought of you ever being too much for him is laughable to mingyu. he loves you like it's breathing -- just an instinct, something he never even needs to think about, because it's just that easy. every person is heavy sometimes, so why was it so unreasonable for you, his most beloved and treasured person, to believe that he'd willingly carry you, no matter how heavy you got?)

so he waits, staying aware of you always, noting how the dark circles under your hollow eyes get more pronounced. and he worries, of course he does. but he also knows that one day, soon, you'll --

"mingyu?"

he's in the kitchen shredding lettuce for a sandwich for you when he hears it: that tiny voice you use when you're sort of kind of hoping he doesn't turn around to look at you. because you're on the verge of tears, or you look like hell, or a million other reasons that he couldn't care less about. so he turns around. "hey baby. what's up?"

"i...i don't feel good."

that's really all he needs. that's really all it takes, if he's being honest with himself. he goes to you where you hover in the doorway, afraid to take up space, and pulls you into his arms. "i know, honey. i've got you."

there's nothing like the feeling of having your tense muscles relax into him, the way your body releases all that angst as he runs a warm hand up and down your back. you lean your head against his shoulder and repeat, "you got me?" softly, almost embarrassed.

but even as mingyu's heart aches for you -- even as the tears prick the back of his eyes as he thinks of how you must've been suffering -- he feels so grateful. grateful that you trust him. grateful that you feel safe enough to do what he knows is so scary for you. grateful that you choose to do it despite everyone in the past who has made you feel inadequate for needing a hand.

he presses one, two, three kisses to your temple. "i've got you, my love. i've always got you."

[live-love-be-unique]

Misery’s your master

Summary: After an emotionally and physically draining mission Ghost finds you alone at the barracks.

This is my first attempt at writing angst, please be gentle!

Parings: Ghost x f reader

Warnings: mentions of death.

The mission should have been routine. Except intel had mentioned nothing about hostages; women and children that the cartel had locked in the warehouse. You’d tried to open the door before Gaz had shouted that it was rigged with explosives, and someone grabbed you, pulling you away just before the explosives were detonated. Killing all inside.

You’d been back on base for over a week now and everyone was treating you with kid gloves. Soap had tried to check in with you but at that point you were so sick of everyone asking how you were that you took a swing at him, after that Price insisted it was time that you speak to the base therapist. It wasn’t a bad idea, you hadn’t eaten or slept in days; the nights were the worst, you stayed awake replaying scenarios in your head, hearing the explosion over and over again.

For the first time in a week you had left your room, making your way to the mess hall and taking a seat as far towards the back of the room as you could find. Pulling your hood over your head and trying to eat something, anything that you could keep down, you felt the eyes of your teammates burning into you.

The hall suddenly became too much. The lights were too bright, the sounds and the voices overlapping each other was overwhelming. Your blood pounded in your ears, heart thudding in your chest. You had to get away. You couldn’t stay in that damned room anymore. With your breath heaving in your lungs, you push your way through the door and make your way towards a terrace at the end of the hallway. Standing in the open feeling the cold air against your skin you gasp, visions of civilians; of the women and children you couldn’t save replaying in your mind. Your hands trembled as you pull your lighter out of your jacket pocket. Clicking the lighter as hard as you can, it wouldn’t light. Frustrated, you sigh around the cigarette between your lips.

“Thought you didn’t smoke” a deep voice came from beside you. Glancing over you spot Ghost leaning against the railing, holding his own lighter under the cigarette still dangling from your lips.

“I don’t, generally” you mutter, inhaling and blowing the smoke into the night air. Watching for a moment, the way the smoke rings curled through the sky.

“How are you?” He questioned, pocketing his lighter.

“Nothing a shower and a good night’s sleep can’t fix” you shrug, avoiding his eyes.

He stared at you, “I’m going to ask you again how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly”

You don’t answer, turning your eyes back to the stars as you take a shaky breath. A warm pressure settles across your hand, looking down you see Ghost’s gloved hand resting atop yours. You let it settle there, his thumb tracing circles on your skin, anchoring your body as you took a shaky breath “I can’t get it out of my head, I can hear them screaming for me to help them. I should have…”

“Come on” He grunted, stepping back from the railing.

“What?”

“Hit me”

“I’m not going to hit you”

“You wanted to take a swing at something. You took a shot at Soap the other day” Ghost shrugged.

You stared at each other for a moment before you balled your fist and struck Ghost in the chest. “Again” he said.

Ghost kept saying “again” as he let he you hit him until you were gasping for breath and fat, heavy tears streaked down your face. You drew back your fist for one final hit but Ghost easily caught it; pulling you close against his chest as he held you tight, one large hand securely against your back holding you firmly against him and the other cradling the back of your head.

“The door was rigged. You were never going to get it open, the cartel had eyes on it the whole time. They wanted us in the warehouse when they blew it up” his voice was low and deep, you could feel his breath against your ear. “You tried to free them. Remember that, hold on to that”

You don’t know how long the two of you stood there like that. He let you cling onto him like a life raft as you cried out everything you had.

“…Thank you” you mumbled, pulling away whipping at your eyes with your sleeve. A door opened and the two of you watched as a group of recruits spilled out of the doorway.

“Don’t blame yourself for what happened” Ghost said, his eyes boring into yours.

“I’ll…I’m trying”

Ghost’s eyes soften at your response, you can hear him breathe out one word, with all the kindness in the world.

There is something so comforting about the simple phrase.

“Good,” he says quietly.

His hand moves to your face, to gently trace the skin on your cheek. A tiny muscle by Ghost’s jaw twitches as he watches you.

Almost as if he is suddenly realized what he was doing, his hand drops from your face and he steps back, glancing towards the door where the recruits came from.

“Make sure you eat something” he said before turning and heading towards his room. You stood alone in the dark for a moment before returning to the mess hall, a small plate of food in front of you almost as if Ghost’s words were the balm your soul needed.

[bowieandqueen11]

Love For You / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: I just found your ao3 account a few days ago and your writing style is excellent! Legitimately some of the most visual and evocative writing I've seen on that website, and I've been devouring your izzy hands fics since I caught up on season two! Can I request another izzy x reader post-amputation and just the reader caring for him while he's pining hard? Maybe the reader has some medical experience so they've been able to help him a little better than the rest of the crew, making sure he's taking time to heal in a difficult moment (physically as well as emotionally, god knows he needs that.) Letting him know he's loved and him realizing he hasn't...heard someone say that to him or treat him this gently in a long time

Thank you so much that's so kind of you to say, it's so lovely people finding me from AO3!! Honestly one of the best feelings, and goodness knows Izzy needs this :)

Okay so I haven't been able to watch the new season so all my knowledge is coming from Tumblr gifs and posts, so I really hope this isn't too ooc my lovely!! Anyway let's get this man some comfort!

I spent all day writing this, so all comments are much appreciated! Thank you! :)

Warning: mentions of blood/injury, mentions of physical abuse, mention of smoking, kissing and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Something monstrous seemed to be creeping up the shuddering walls.

No, it wasn't the stifling silence that had seemed to envelop those of Blackbeard's crew still left, hiding their heads between their legs and closing their eyes as they felt the quicksand drain out through the fingers. Nor was it the creaking organ snore of Wee John thrumming up the timber; the rest of your usually upbeat crew grew despondent as they wracked their brains together and came up with a way to save you all from imminent demise, having flopped onto their sides and fallen into fitful sleeps just before sunset. Sadly it wasn't even the feel of Lucius' finger stroking yours through the cold grates of your jail, his smile lost and forlorn as he thumped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as well, feeling even more entrapped in himself than you did.

It was, in fact, the hard glare Izzy Hands was shooting into the side of your face. He hadn't spoken a word since Stede had left, choosing instead to let out the odd sniffle from his corner bucket and busy himself by watching you like a man possessed: like something wild, something smothering itself in the shadows to stop its howling heart from devouring the light around itself. From tearing his dagger out of his scabbard and devouring his heart himself with clawed hooks. He looked ghastly, and he looked gargantuan as the life seemed to convulse within him, leeching out and darting its tongue around the creaking wood until it filled up the room and began to fill your heart up with a hope you thought had been lost weeks ago.

He looked beautiful and proud and defeated and assured in spite of it all, and you were finally beginning to understand why Zheng Yi Sao had locked him away in this cage.

And in a way, it terrified you that this cataclysmic, lucent shadow was creeping its merry way straight for you.

The tenebrosity was quickly broken by Izzy's shining eyes gliding across the bridge of your nose to land instead on your top lip. He wasn't entirely sure why exactly he was feeling so timid. It wasn't as if Frenchie was still awake, as he was too busy hugging his free arm around the remaining muscle of Izzy's thigh and burying his head into the muscle with a soft murmur of contentment. Yet the idea of being caught leering at you like a dopey boy was enough to make him judder with embarrassment, and enough to send Frenchie's head keeling sideways so his lips were rammed up against his trousers.

Thankfully, it was exactly Frenchie's floppy head that gave away the fact that he was fast asleep, and allowed you to steal Izzy away for yourself. With a gentle lift, you were quick to replace your friend's cheek with your own hand, giving the side of Izzy's thigh a reassuring squeeze.

'You look like you're bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders', you sighed as you took in Izzy's harrowing form. It wasn't his paleness that worried you, or the redness that cracked and splintered around his irises. It was the way he was watching you, eyes trained steadily on your face for the last hour and a half, as if he were doing his best to memorise everything he could before he ran out of time. As if he would never have the chance to look at you again.

The edges of his lips curled up, and he thumped his head back against the wall. 'Me? I'm feeling fucking fantastic. Never been better. Why do you ask?'

'Well', you began as softly as you could, straining to reach the vials in your hip knapsack to retrieve some salve for the scarring that had begun to pucker around his skin. 'We are about to be executed. I guess I just wanted you to know this is a safe space to let it all out before we are. A confessional of sorts, if a little makeshift.'

He wet his bottom lip as his eyes darted down to you, confused.

You pointedly looked him in the eyes, before unscrewing the vial and dipping your pointer finger in. Making sure he didn't seem too uncomfortable, you leant forwards as innocuously as you could, trying not to startle him anymore than he already had been. With a swipe, you began to rub the herb mixture around the sore looking welts left around his cut leg, making a point to run your fingertips soothingly over the goose-bumps that began to rise at the feel of you against him.

'I wanted you to know- to know that you're always safe around your crew.' You did your best not to let your voice tremble, no matter how much your throat tried to choke you. You turned your head back down to his leg, trying to hide the fact that your mouth was crumpling in on itself.

He winced as your hand brushed against a tender point, and you ran the back of your knuckles over his skin in apology. He felt like he was burning alive: a fire blazing so furiously in the pit of his stomach he was sure it was gushing out, swinging around the room and warning everyone of his impending falter as he fell upon the crags of your fingers below. He had no idea how, in all the seas, you couldn't possibly see how ecstatically devastated he was to be sitting here with you.

He didn't mind dying. He wasn't scared of it. As long as you were there to enhalo his misty light in the end. As long as you were there to love him until his last breath. As long as, no matter what form he took, you were still enclosed around his heart.

'Who says I have anything to confess?', he glanced at you with heavy eyelashes, eyes bleary but sharp as he started straight into your soul. I don't have to confess it, he thought, it's so fucking painfully obvious.

How could he confess something so inexplicable? Something that wrapped around all of his bones, that wormed its way into parts of himself he thought long numb: long lost. How could someone ever articulate the feeling of life itself? It was insurmountable, far too transcendent, too impetuous for mortals to to unsnarl into words.

'Oh Izzy', you said, mouth falling into a frown at the way his hips reflexively bucked up at the feel of a new cream being slathered around his leg to try and numb the pain. He moaned, trying to mask the sound by clenching his fist into his mouth and biting desperately into his knuckles. One more touch, and he was about to fall apart. 'Your eyes are drowning in so many regrets I can barely see the stars in them anymore.'

He huffed out a laugh, looking at you with incredulous, wild eyes. He willed his hand to stop shaking as he let it rest, still clenched, by his quivering chin. 'Not in my eyes. You never could. That's not possible. Not me.'

'I could.' You were quick to reply. 'I always could. You're our guiding light, Israel Hands.'

Oh boy, if he wasn't devastated before he sure was now. His face fell immediately, and for a moment you felt your heart ache with a sore regret at the silvery tears that began to cloud in the crinkles of his eyes. But then he does something that surprised even you.

The way he opened his legs up was almost miniscule: too small for anyone who didn't know this man's quirks and intricacies and giveaways to notice, but a well aimed shot that sent a rush of heat prickling up your cheeks. Before he changed his mind and retreated into himself again, you were quick to scoot your backside over and come to rest far too intimately between the tightening leather of his inner thighs.

'You can't be surprised that we care about you', he started after a moment of comfortable silence, leaning the side of your head to rest gingerly on his intact leg. 'That the whole crew has always cared about you. Look, someone even got you a mop-', you gestured to his side, trying to make him laugh before the sun rises, and thankfully you succeeded.

He shook his head out as if trying to refocus himself as his chuckle died out in his chest. He didn't want to laugh right now. He wanted to focus on the weight on his leg: on the feel of your nose brushing on the length of seam running up to his groin. He blinked back heavy tears that spread along his lashes, sniffling coarsely. He probably should laugh, he thought. He should be fucking howling, spitting, going rabid at the irony that the one thing he had been yearning his whole life was lying right there on his lap, and he only had a few hours left in his pathetic life to savour it.

'How are you doing, by the way? Seriously', you jolt your head up to watch him quizzically. He did his best not to meet your eye, choosing instead to stare at the black grains above Jim's slumped head. 'After, you know, everything that happened with Ed-'

'You don't need to worry about me', he sniffed, but his hand twitched as he lifted it up to rest on his thigh, just above the top of your head. 'It's my job to worry about all of you. Not the other way round.'

'When are you going to get it through your thick skull that we want to worry about you. This isn't some kind of weird mandate or self-preservation tactic on our part Izzy. You may be a fucking idiot, but you're our fucking idiot. Let us take care of you too, like you've been looking out for us.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head beginning to shake furiously enough to send his stray silver locks clambering over his eyes. He was glad for their cover, so he wouldn't have to see the way you had lurched forward: the way you were pleading with him with your eyes, as you rose onto your knees and pressed your hands firmly around his waist, just where the joint of his legs met the soft squish of his tummy.

'Don't you shake your head at me. We all know you've been trying to direct Blackbeard's anger your way. We do!' You cocked your head, trying to follow his face as he squirmed in your grasp. Losing your patience, you gripped his jaw with your thumb and pointer finger, directing Izzy's widening eyes back your way. 'We do, Izzy. We know what you've been doing for us. What you've been sacrificing. And I'm sorry - I'm sorry that none of this is fair. I'm sorry that any of this happened at all.'

One. Two. You tapped your finger a third time, your fingernail swirling over the fine nuances of the holster running over his sawed leg.

It had always been your little secret: a shared confidence, between you and Izzy. One tap. Two. Three on each other's arms after battles, three taps there on your shoulder before you went down to your bunk, three fleeting touches burning at the back of his spine to let him know that you were alright: to let him know that he was alright.

You only stopped when you heard a brisk inhale: a sharp whistle that broke through your indulgent repose and made Roach roll over. Thankfully, a moment later, the cook's arm was splayed out across the floor again, and his leg kicked out backwards with a swift jolt up poor Button's behind. Izzy, though. Izzy, despite the surprising tenderness of the moment, was almost smouldering. The muscle by the side of his femur began to writhe underneath just the point of your fingertip, the feeling of just your warmth making him feel too feeble. Too needy to even control the rest of his body; he desperately tried to reach out a hand to shove your shoulder back and push you away, but his mind was too busy swimming with the concentration of trying to remember how to inhale.

The sharp breaths he dragged in painfully were starting to worry you, as were the wracks of his spine as he seemed to writhe backwards and forwards, back arching off the wall before collapsing back down on itself painfully again.

He felt your hand clench around his back, guiding him to sit still again. You were close, far too close - your noses almost touching, as you took a risk and used your free hand to slowly.... god, so fucking slowly he felt like he was going to split in half. He looked like a wounded animal: something terrified of being hurt as his eyes stayed trained on your approaching fingers, face wary until your fingertips touched his hair and tucked it behind his ear.

And then he felt that warmth. That warmth against the shell of his ear. He bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood, and for once, he was glad for the taste. It was comforting. Familiar. Deserved. He wasn't one for the fucking heartache of tenderness. And god, how his heart ached.

'Come on,' you nestled yourself between his legs again and perched your elbow up on his left leg. 'People must have cared about you before. Might as well get it all out in the open. Be honest with each other now.'

He paused, before the stubbornness wormed its way in again. 'No, they haven't-'

'Well, what about your parents? Your parents must have been kind. Besides, the crew obviously cares about you. I obviously care about you. Stop being so pig-headed.''

He startled you with a laugh: he seemed to choke on it, his teeth baring as he barked it out, yet he still couldn't seem to look at you quite yet. That's alright. You had an eternity left in these few hours.

Kindness?

He couldn't remember a time before joining Stede's crew that he had ever felt such a thing, let alone let it fester in the crevices of his ribcage until he felt the dreaded thing was going to claw its way out. Perhaps, if he let himself fester in the silence for a moment, an image of his mother would squirm its way out of his long repressed memories. Clawing and scratching and digging her pointed nails to dig her way out. No, his mother had never offered him a jot of comfort. She could stay buried in that coffin he had stuffed her down into, instead of rotting inside of him. He had enough barnacles to scrape off his body as it was.

It wasn't as if he had any surprisingly sweet memories of his life before. His mother had never been one for grace: her words always bit at his brain like a frenzied tempest, his actions never good enough. Once, when he was six years old, he had tottered up before the sun rose and followed his older brother down to the docks, trying to please his mother. Even so young, he had spent most of his years yearning to be seen as anything but the 'nuisance' or 'pest' his mother used to spit at his feet, and yearned to return with a line full of fish to please her. To help her with the chores that she always yammered his father had left her to rot with. Had left him. That he rotted away her youth. When he came slinking into the doorway, a nervous smile twitching at his ruddy cheeks, his mother had taken one look at the muddy, damp fringes of his trousers and had slapped him clean across the face for his troubles.

Another part of him remembered her warmth. The same that radiated off your palm as you spread your fingers across his knee; the way she would sometimes scutter into his bed at night, and he could smell the harsh sting of alcohol on her breath as she curled up and hugged him close against her chest. Of the way she would sometimes let him sit on her knee once the three of them had returned home after service, and she would brush back his growing hair and he would curl himself up to chase the stray ray of sunlight that glowed against her neck.

It had left him a Gordian mess of a man. Simultaneously spending his life seeking any kind of validation, any kind of affection, while his stubborn self-preservation did its best to push everyone away.And yet here you came, watching him with those sweet, sad eyes. Swinging the sword to undo him.

'I don't remember much about them', he replied curtly, but not unkindly. 'My father left us when I was young. I was... mainly left to my own devices.'

You nod slowly, letting his words thinking in. Letting the misery drenching every seething heave of his tongue wash over your head. 'Well', you began to rub your thumb in circles against his trousers, 'at least you have us here now. One good thing to add to the pile.'

There we go. The knot's slowly being undone.

You tried to smile, but the intensity of his gaze falling on you again unsettled you.

'You're right.' His voice was far too earnest for his own good. 'I have had one good thing in my life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

You nearly jolted when you felt his hand smack down on top of yours. He had closed his eyes to try and hide himself from his discomfort, but his gloved fingers still slid between yours and squeezed despite himself. Once he was assured they were firmly intertwined: his own grasping tight enough to bust the leather at the stitching, he dared himself to finish his train of thought before he lost his nerve.

'I do... I do care about the crew. None of this was their fault, and they shouldn't have been fucking blamed for it. But I- I, I care about someone else far more than all of this twatty lot put together.'

It's a whisper into the darkness. A despairing yell of defiance against the solitude. A smothered light, long lingering and far longer forgotten. A spark of hope against the threat of ruination. It was a silver tear, glinting like starlight against his iris and falling with a content plop onto the back of your hand.

'I-I-', he stuttered out, clenching his teeth as he wills himself not to cry. 'I-'

The words refused to unlatch from his throat. Luckily, you were adept enough to notice the longing that drew a sad ache across his face.

'Izzy, I-'

'Let me finish', he stumbled out, his whole face now contorting as he struggled with the weight of it all. His bottom lip began to wobble against his will, face falling in on itself.

'I have-I have... love. For you. 'What I'm trying to say is'-, he shakes his head, chiding himself.

'Izzy, I know, it's alright. I know. I understand.' You grabbed tighter onto the back of your hand, enveloping it with your free one until his stopped shaking, begging him to realise you could see him.

'No-. No. If I don't say it now, I'm worried I never will.'

'Take your time, take your time. We have all the time in the world'. A sob finally gasped out from Izzy, chest heaving as he felt you draw his hands up towards your mouth. Still safe. Still warm. Still firmly cupped between your own, but the feel of your lips brushing against his knuckles was enough to send him reeling. The gentle peck that followed, though, was enough to finally let him break free.

A tentative finger reached out, checking for any signs of repulsion before landing awkwardly to point into the blade of your shoulder. He seemed to freeze: immobile marble frozen in fear as he seemed unaware as to what to next. After a few wary blinks, he clumsily spent a few seconds trying to manoeuvre the rest of his arm to cross across your back, before tugging your torso to lean closer towards him.

For a moment, it finally seems as if the world has skittered upright on his axis again. It felt normal. It felt right, feeling him grow comfortable with affection again as he melted, for the second time that week, into your hug. For his sake, as he burrowed his head into the pulse point of your neck until his stubble began to tickle your collar bone, you pretended not to hear the maimed whimpers that struggled past his closed lips.

The only time he moved was to raise his head up towards your nose, bumping it playfully against the tip of your own. Then another graze. A rub, and then another one, his eyes the whole time languidly drawn down to stare at your cupid's bow, until he slowly brought himself down to breathe unsteadily against your mouth. After a final moment of contemplation, he blinked placidly before closing his eyes and tilting his head to close the miniscule distance between the two of you.

His jaw was tense as you ran your finger down it, so busy trying to commit to his memory the pressure of your lips against his bottom one that he was forgetting to breath. But he didn't pull away. In fact, his hand clamped around your neck, digging almost painfully into your back as he stumblingly latched onto you, forcing himself further against your opening mouth. His hand found solace by cupping the back of your skull, chest squeezed against your breasts as he opened his lips and almost devoured you whole.

A loud 'awww!' erupted from your side, making the two of you jolt apart. The only problem was, Izzy's bottom lip had been rather firmly attached to yours. This meant that as you drew back, Izzy, in his stubborn unwillingness to let you go, let his bottom lip drag down along your inner mouth until a line of saliva connected your bottom lips, which only made the person the other side of the brig giggle even louder.

'You guys are cute', Black Pete yawned with a wakening stretch.

'Yes!', Roach chimed in as he teddy bear rolled his lanky legs round in front of him. 'I swear!', he continues, ostentatiously wiping his finger underneath his eye, 'I must be crying! I'm two seconds away from going up there and commencing our escape myself.'

With a tilt of your head that hit Izzy's chin, you looked at the cook incredulously. Izzy only gazed down at you past the crook of his nose, wonderstruck as the he let the words wash over his head.

'You. You really think you can take on all those very competent pirates up there.'

'Of course!'

'You cried for twenty minutes earlier about soup!'

Roach waved his hand unconvincingly in front of his face. 'Broth, it was broth! But I'm great with knives, remember! I have one hidden in my underwear right now!'

'Why... why is it in your underwear?', Oluwande piped in as he rested his head on the side of a barrel.

'Yeah, you weren't captured', Archie added, shuffling her own head off Jim's shoulder to look out past the bars. 'Why isn't it, I don't know, in your pocket or something.'

Even though Roach has opened his mouth to answer, his train of thought is broken by the tired grumble of another one of your friends. 'I hate to admit it, but that was actually very sweet', Lucius chimed in, twisting his lips into a shit-eating grin as he eyed the both of you up, another cigarette now firmly tucked in and freshly lit between his fingers as he took a drag.

'Is everyone on this fucking boat awake?!', Izzy cried, wrapping a hand protectively around your shoulder joint.

You snorted, burying your head protectively against the soft skin of his bellybutton. The sound of the crew beginning to argue with an increasingly impatient Izzy was like music to your ears; the monster was beginning to retreat.

No longer did it hang and shake and pierce the walls with its talons until it bled umbras. It retreated: chased away by the comely love of your crew. Of your family. Of the man who held you protectively against him, blinding you with his tender love.

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 6

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: Took a wild leap with this one...

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring. 

Warnings (so far): mentions of physical abuse, mentions of SA, major sexisim, SMUT, dirty talk, angst.

Word count: 3557

(all photos are from pinterest)

“And if they win? If my brother and Beron get their way?” I ask Rhysand who is clearly lost in thought, but it’s Mor who answers.  

“Then you would be forced to marry Eris. As fucked up and sexist as it is, they’re going to call into question who had claim of you first Eris or Rhys.” Mor answered clearly, hating the words  coming out of her own mouth. 

“Oh,” I murmured, it was all I could say, the thought that all of this could have been for nothing. Those days spent in a cell, weeks keeping Rhysand and I a secret it didn’t change the outcome of my life. 

“I won’t let it come to that,” Rhys said, walling over to me and pressing his forehead to mine. “I won’t let them take you from me.” 

“You’re right I’m sure we can figure this out,” I reply, not trusting my own words.  

“Let’s go shopping girl, it will give brooding old Rhys here time to think of a plan.” Mor said, trying to lighten the mood. “You can borrow something of mine while we shop.”

“Mor’s right we should get me some clothes,” I giggle looking down at the too big shirt of Rhysand’s that I was wearing. I press a chaste kiss to his lips trying to bring a smile to his face but it doesn’t work. I move towards Mor but I feel Rhy’s hand pull me back. 

“Not without one of these,” he says, pressing his lips to mine passionately. I nearly moan at the way he is always able to kiss me into submission. I swear I’d do anything he asked me if he just kissed me like this. 

“I love you,” I smile, pulling away from the kiss. 

“I love you too,” he smiles, running his thumb over my lips. “Take care of her Mor.” 

“Like she was my own mate,” Mor smiled before leading me to her bedroom.

“This wasn’t just a shopping trip you know?” Mor says, holding up her glass of wine to her lip. “I wanted to thank you.” 

She had insisted that we go out for a drink and for dinner before turning in for the night and given the long day we had I was more than willing to do just that. 

“Thank me for what? I hardly think I’ve done anything but cause problems for your cousin and your court,” I sigh popping another grape into my mouth. 

“Yet I’ve never seen him so happy,” she sent me a knowing smile. “I’ve known Rhys my whole life, never have I seen him so at peace, so willing to live. When his parents and his sister died he was given the title of High Lord, one he never felt like he was ready for. It made him unhappy, but all that has changed because of you.” 

“How did Rhys’ family die?” I ask sipping my own glass of wine. All of the color drained from Mor’s face.

“You don’t know?” she asks bewildered. 

“No he never told me,” I answered, afraid of whatever answer she might tell me. 

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she said, trying to resume sipping her wine. 

“Mor please, tell me.” I beg her. 

“Okay but don’t let Rhys kill me,” she starts. “200 years ago Rhys and your brother were friends, but your father figured out that Rhysand would be the most powerful High Lord and sought to bring him down a peg. So one night he and Tamlin as well as your brothers went to the Illyrian Camps and slaughtered his mother and sister in cold blood. When Rhysand’s father found out both went to the Spring Court only leaving you and Tamlin alive.” 

I could hardly believe what I was hearing Tamlin had always told me that the agents of the night court had killed our family for stealing their wings, that they were to be an enemy of our court. If I ever asked him to tell me more he would refuse. “But why would Rhys and his father leave us alive?” 

Mor let out another sigh, “Rhys was supposed to kill you. That night he stood over your bed with a dagger, the mating bond snapped into place. He told me that he fell to his knees before you. It was too late for him to rectify what he had done to your family, but when he found his father holding a dagger to Tamlin’s throat Rhys begged for him to live and he did. But Tamlin took Rhysand’s fathers own dagger and drove it through his heart anyways.” 

I nearly felt my knees give out, he had known for 200 years and said nothing. I couldn’t stop myself from reeling. My heart rate began to pick up and suddenly this dress was too tight, this room was too hot and the walls were closing in. 

“I need…I need some air,” I gasped. It was all I could say before taking off. 

I heard Mor calling for me inside the tavern but I couldn’t stop, not for anything. The chill of the night air did little to calm my heart rate down.  I wove through a sea of people, all of them balking at the unfamiliar face. I even heard murmurs of ‘that’s Tamlin’s sister’ and my gut churned. All that was going through my head was he knew, he knew, he knew. 

So I ran, and I ran, and I tried to outrun the feeling but it didn’t matter how far I went, I couldn’t escape the shocking truth I had just heard.

I found myself sitting by the edge of the river about a mile outside of town. Something about the sound of the water flowing by and the crickets chirping gave me time to think. It wasn’t agents of the night court that killed  my family, it was the High Lord, and Rhys. I supposed I should be mad, but given the events of the last few days, what Tamlin did to me, what he’s still trying to do? I’m almost glad Rhys nearly put an end to it all. But it doesn’t change one thing. He knew we were mates for almost 200 years and didn’t tell me. I had heard him calling down the bond for an hour now, but I shut him out. I needed time to process this. 

Behind me I heard the flap of massive wings and then a thud, I turned to find Azriel standing behind me. His face was kind. Not angry or upset like I thought it would be. He looked friendly. 

“It’s a bit cold out tonight, mind if I join you?” he asked, gesturing to the spot beside me. 

“I’m afraid I’m not the best company, but be my guest.” I reply, patting the spot next to me. His massive frame came to sit beside me and as the breeze floated in from my right he curled a wing around me shielding me from it.  

“So you found out how to shut Rhys out of the bond?” he smirked. 

“I guess so,” I shrugged, not taking my eyes off the river before me. 

“Nice,” he smiled like he was proud of me for doing so. 

“Is he mad?” I ask, cringing slightly. 

“No, but he is worried. The second Mor came back and told him what happened and he sent all of us out to find you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has the whole of Velaris doing search and rescue by now.” Azriel explained casually.  

“I’m sorry. I just needed time.” I said picking at the rocks on the ground. 

“Don’t be. It was a big blow,” he started. “Are you mad at Rhys?” 

“I know I should be, but I’m not. I just wish he had told me.” I sigh.

“You know I was there that night. I was at the townhouse when he returned from the spring court. He was a wreck, an honest to gods wreck. He was so stricken with grief over what he had done that he disappeared to the Illyrian mountains for a week.” he explained. 

“But why didn’t he tell me?” I plead.

“I don’t know. I think he wanted to, but the timing was never right. He spent nearly 200 years loving you from afar and then you finally felt the bond snap. I think he was so happy that he was scared he would lose you. That you would reject the bond.” he said. 

“I suppose I don’t know what I’d do in that situation either,” I sigh.

“One thing you can be sure of is that he does love you. I’ve never seen a person love another person more. Hell he’s trying to claw into my mind as we speak but I’m not letting him,” Azriel chuckles. 

“I suppose I should go back then,” I laugh beginning to stand up. 

“I’ll take you. Do you want me to winnow you there or do you want to go the fun way?” he says, cocking an eyebrow. 

“What’s the fun way?” I ask nervously, dusting the dirt off my dress. 

He snapped his wings out in answer. 

“Oh definitely the fun way,” I smile. “I’ve never flown before.”

“Rhys will be pissed that I’m taking your flying virginity but he’ll get over it eventually.” Azriel smiles before scooping me up. “You ready?” 

“Yes!” I squeal in anticipation and excitement. 

“Hold on tight princess,” Azriel laughs, launching off the ground into the sky. 

My stomach bottoms out and my grip on his neck tightens as the river below us gets smaller and smaller. All the air leaves my lungs as we continue to ascend and then we’re soaring through the sky.  

“Oh my gods this is amazing!” I shout with joy into the night and I feel Azriel’s chuckle reverberate through my body. 

“Do you trust me?”  he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I smile, still unable to  hide the joy I feel.  

“Let go of my neck, I'm going to let you free fall,” he instructs me. 

“But you’re going to catch me right?” I ask just to be sure. 

“You’re going to be my High Lady one day, I will always catch you,” he says nonchalantly.

“Okay let’s do it,” I say, removing my hands from his neck. 

“See you in a second!” he laughs before letting go. 

I feel myself falling through the sky and it’s the most freeing feeling ever. I can’t help but let an excited whoop out as the wind whips my hair about. I have never felt more powerful, more invincible than in this moment. Every worry about my brother, about Beron and the council are gone, for once my mind is clear. 

I see Azriel tucking his wings in above me diving down to meet me and in mere seconds I feel him scooping me up again. 

“That was so fun!” I shout. 

“Don’t ever tell Rhys we did that he will have my head,” Azriel laughed and I could see the townhouse below us. 

We land on the terrace and the sound of our laughter brings Rhys out to meet us. 

“Thank gods I was scared something had happened to you,” he said, rushing over to press a kiss to my forehead.  

“I’m fine you overbearing mother hen,”  I laugh putting my  hands on his forearms.  

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Azriel said backing away. 

“Wait!” I shout before running over to throw my arms around him giving the biggest hug I possibly could. For a second he doesn’t hug me back, in shock from my sudden action but then I feel two arms wrap around me. “Thank you for everything, for the talk, for the ride.  All of it.” 

“Of course y/n any time.” he smiled. I backed away and took Rhys’ hand as he began to lead me inside. 

“Oh and Azriel!” Rhys called making Azriel turn around. “I saw that,” he smirked and I know he meant the free fall. 

“Damn,” Azriel cursed before taking off into the night. 

Rhys turned to me, mood more somber now. “I think we need to talk,”  he said quietly, like the words would hurt him if he spoke them too loud.  

“I think we do too,” I replied. 

We walked upstairs to the bedroom, everything was just as we left it this morning. Bed unmade, sheets thrown everywhere. The only noticeable difference was my new trove of dresses hanging in Rhys’ closet. My heart warmed at the sight of it. Something so small yet so meaningful at the same time, so domestic. Something I had unknowingly wanted for a long time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask turning around to meet his violet eyes. 

“Please believe me when I say I wanted to tell you. I never planned on keeping you in the dark about it. That night I went to kill you I had such hatred in my heart, I had lost my mother and my sister and I wanted revenge. I was young and stupid and following my father blindly. But when I saw you  the bond clicked and I had never known such love. I remember it all. I fell to my knees before you and I realized what I had done. I had killed my mate's family. When I saw my father and Tamlin fighting I begged them to stop, begged my father to let him live. I couldn’t tell them why for fear that Tamlin would kill you just to hurt me. But eventually my father gave in, but Tamlin still stuck a dagger in his heart. When I got back to Velaris I had become High Lord and I couldn’t cope.” he explained, stepping closer to me to cup my cheek. “I have spent the last 200 years in agony knowing what I did to you.” 

He paused taking in my face like he might never see me again, like I might reject the mating bond, and his eyes started to glass over. 

“The day the bond snapped for  you was one of the happiest days of my life. But you were already so hesitant to let me in, you wouldn’t even let my name pass your lips. I knew I couldn’t tell you then for fear of losing you forever. I had to make you see that I wasn’t the monster Prythian paints me to be. Even though I acted like one that night. I was selfish in not telling you. You deserved to know the truth. But please forgive me, and I will spend the rest of my life making up for it in every way I know how. They might seem like empty words, but I love you so much, I don’t think I can live without you.” he finished and I saw a tear slip from his eye. 

“Rhys, I’ve already forgiven you.” I say wiping the tear from his face. “And maybe that makes me a terrible person, forgiving and loving the man who killed my family. But look at what they would’ve done, what they stood for. Tamlin locked me in a cell and was ready to sell me off to be Eris’ breeding vessel. The way my brothers and father always treated me they would’ve done the same, maybe worse.  Who knows what miserable fate you might’ve saved me from. Your true character is reflected in people like Azriel and Cassian, in this beautiful city you’ve kept secret and protected for years. I see all of you Rhysand and there is not a part of you that I don’t love with all that I am.” 

Rhys lets out a sigh of relief before smashing our lips together. I can taste the salt of his tears and the salt of my own. I throw my arms around his neck pulling him impossibly close 

“I love you so much,” he cries between kisses. 

“I love you too,” I say back smiling. I sit down on the bed and pull him down with me. 

“Wait we can’t your still hurt,” he protests. 

“Rhysand, if you don’t get on this bed and fuck me right now I swear on my life I will get myself off.” I gripe at him. 

“While I would love nothing more than to watch you play with your pretty pussy. I think I’d rather do it myself tonight. But you need to tell me if you’re hurting at all okay?” he fusses. 

“I will, I promise! Now please touch me!” I whine taking his hand and placing it on my breast. 

“With pleasure mate,”  he says, squeezing my breast. He snaps his fingers and our clothes are gone. 

“That’s a fun little trick,” I laugh pulling him down, needing to feel his skin on mine.

“Only used for times where I desperately need to be inside you,” he purrs and chills coat my body. 

I kiss him hard letting my hands caress his shoulders and arms, all of him pure muscle, lethal and totally at my mercy. He pulls my hair back to give himself access to my neck and I feel a wave of arousal flow through me as he finds that sweet spot that drives me wild. 

My hand drifts down his front  grazing every muscle on it’s way until I find his cock already hard and dripping with precum. I wrap my fingers  around it and begin stroking it. My hand feeling incredibly small compared to the size of him. His hips buck fucking himself into my hand at the contact. 

“Fuck mate,” he lets out a low groan in my ear. “How is it that even your hands feel perfect around my cock?” 

“It’s because I was made for you,” I muse nibbling his ear. 

“Hmm,” he hums in delight. “You know what was really made for me?”  

“What?” I ask as he pulls his cock from my hand. 

“This,” he smirks before plunging himself inside of me. I arch my back off the mattress in pleasure as he lets out a guttural moan. “Gods your so fucking tight!” 

“Oh fuck Rhys!” I moan, scratching my nails down his back. 

He starts fucking me hard, the mating bond glowing brightly between us. If this is how badly we need one another before the mating ceremony I shudder to think what will happen after. If he thinks a few weeks will be enough he’s dead wrong, I could do this for the rest of my life. 

He snaps his hips at an angle that hits a particularly sensitive spot and I can’t help but moan even louder. 

“Gods I love the sounds you make when I fuck you,” he says with a feral grin before sinking his teeth into my neck. 

“Oh gods Rhys I’m close!” I groan, running my hands through his hair. 

“I’m right behind you mate, make a mess on my cock,” he grunts and it’s enough to send me over the edge with his name on my lips. 

“Fuck y/n!” he screams, spilling his seed inside me.

As I feel his warm cum coat my walls he collapses on top of me and though he’s crushing me it’s an welcome weight. His skin on mine is the best feeling I’ve ever known. His shallow breaths coat my neck as I rub soothing circles on his back. We spend a few minutes catching our breath as I continue to hold him close to me. 

“Did you talk to Cassian and Az about Beron?” I ask. 

“I did and I think we have a solution.” he answers without moving his head from my chest. 

“What is it?” I inquire further, dying to know. 

“We toyed with the idea of having the mating ceremony early but with the meeting so soon it wouldn’t be safe. If we were to walk in there as a newly mated pair I would have Beron’s head ripped off within moments of him talking about you like you’re an object. It’s too dangerous,” Rhys said. 

“Agreed,” I chuckle nervously. “But if we can’t mate officially then what do we do?”

Rhys rolls over from his spot on top of me so that he can see my face, no doubt wanting to gage my reaction to his proposed solution. 

“I make you my High Lady,” he says with pride in his voice. 

I knew that Azriel had said it earlier but at the time I didn’t believe him. It didn’t seem possible. I bore no real powers besides winnowing, I had no political knowledge. How could I possibly be High Lady.  

“But do you really want that?” I ask. “I mean you’re not just doing it to make sure Beron and Tamlin don’t win right?” 

“I’ve always known you were going to be my High Lady y/n. But I knew that the title came with responsibilities. I didn’t want to pressure you into it.” he explains. “But to answer your question more directly, yes, I want it. I want you to be my equal in every way possible. Why do you think I brought up Kallias and Viviane when we were on the Summer Court terrace?”

I smile remembering the interaction.

“Then I guess I’m High Lady of the Night Court now.” I smile triumphantly. 

(I was debating wether or not to put this sort of plot twist in here so please leave some feedback because it helps me to know what you guys like and how I can write better for all you beautiful stars!)

Taglist: @crystalferret202 , @heyyitsnat21 , @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson , @randomperson1234sblog , @local-fangirl09 , @bleh-81, @annaaaaa88 , @tenaciousperfectionunknown , @judig92, @aunicornmademedoit, @sharknutz , 

 @slytherintaco , @isa1b2h3 , @nickishadow139  , @sarawritestories , @coisas-da-dani ,  @lovemesomevesey ,  @graceshifts , 

[saintkiri]

summary: you felt numb after eren walked through your apartment door. you thought you would never find love again..well..eren wasn’t love. it was everything BUT love. he used you and ended up cheating. you have so many questions that you know you’ll never get the answer to. after a night out drinking with friends..you ended up finding love just outside the door where you watched eren leave.

content warnings: cheating, smut (begging, multiple orgasms, spanking, unprotective sex (wrap it before you tap it!), aftercare) toxic!eren, mentions of therapy, praying to God, anxiety, throw up (?). if i miss anything, lmk :)

wc: 5.6k

author note: …so it’s been 2 years since I’ve actually written and posted something. I meant to post this almost 2 years ago & I promised you guys I would post it & I never did. but, life was crazy and I am still adjusting. Anywhos, don’t expect much from me writing. I am glad to be back even tho I’m not 😭

part one (pls read so this can make sense)

taglist | aot masterlist

When Eren walked past that door, you felt like you lost a piece of you. The last thing he told you made you feel even more stupider than you have ever felt. 

‘The moment I laid my eyes on her, I stopped loving you.’

That sentence kept repeating over and over again. 

You closed the door, and fell. Your back sliding against the door until you were sitting on the ground waiting for the tears to come. But, they never did. You were so numb and shocked, that you couldn’t shed a single tear. 

Your life and emotions relied on him. He made you feel everything you craved. 

It didn’t make sense. He stopped loving you the moment he laid his eyes on someone else. 

What made her so perfect? 

Eren would always made comments saying that you were the girl of his dreams. How could he say all the right things just to cheat? 

You lost track of time, you sat against the door in silence, watching the apartment go from dark to light. You were so numb, you couldn’t sleep. It felt like he drained every emotion out of you with a sentence. All it took was one sentence to change you. 

The memories of you and him kept running pass your thoughts. As you watched time go by, it was as if the ghost of you and him were running through the apartment. It hurt. You remembered all the laughs, all the times where he made your heart feel so warm and full. 

But now, how can your heart go from that feeling over never ending lust to feeling cold and empty?

~~

It’s been about six months since Eren. It’s been hard to say the least. For the first month, you couldn’t even recognize yourself. You couldn’t stop thinking about him all day. It was always either you replaying his last words to you, replaying the argument, or all the times you should have realized he was cheating on you. 

Slowly, you grew. It took you a while to get back up on your feet. It took you a while to get used to a life without him. You never really realized how much you relied on him. Your friends helped you move on and get back to your life. 

You would gradually throw away Eren’s stuff during the first three months. First, it was the pictures and little momentums. You burned and threw out all the polaroids, all the gum wrapper hearts he would make, all the receipts, and every physical memory. It was weird because when you and Eren broke up, you would randomly find those hearts wherever around the apartment. You would keep them in a jar on your dresser, and slowly throughout the relationship, the jar kept getting filled to the point where you needed a new one. After the breakup, when you would find one, you would throw it out. 

Every time you threw one out, a little piece of your heart went with it and you couldn’t explain why. 

The day you finally decided to move on hurt you just as bad as the day Eren and you broke up. You were burning away not only the bad memories but the core memories. The polaroid picture from your first kiss, the rose he got you for your first date, the first movie ticket. Every single physical memory was being turned to ash. Jean and Mikasa helped you light the match and watched everything burn with you. You didn’t cry at first, and you didn’t start crying until they both left. 

You closed the door, thanking them for being there for you..and for pushing you to move on. Although your heart was breaking, you still managed to smile. As soon as the door closed, you were back at the same position you were six months ago. Your back against the door, still somehow wishing that this was just some sick joke. 

Tears were running down your face. You would wipe them just for there to be more. You sobbed in the same position. At this point, it felt like a routine. You would try your hardest to get over Eren, no matter what you would do to get over him, the memories haunt you. 

Slowly, you stopped crying. You don’t know how long you sat there, it could have been minutes or hours. You eventually stood up, then you walked to your kitchen as if nothing happened. The first thing you grabbed was to go to your cabinet to get a glass when suddenly you heard someone talking on the phone outside of your apartment. The voice sounded familiar, it was deep yet somehow smooth. 

You put down the glass and walked back to the door. You then looked out of the peephole to see Jean sitting on the ground across from your apartment. Your eyes widened slightly, wondering why he was there. You opened the door, seeing Jean’s facial expressions. He looked tired, concerned, mad, everything you were feeling right now. 

“Jean?” You say softly, while you were watching Jean slowly get up. He walked towards your door not saying much. But yet, the silence says it all. “H-How long were you sitting there for?” You opened the door some more to let him in. “Just long enough so I know you stopped crying because of him.” Your heart dropped. 

How long has he been doing this? That was the first question that came to mind. You were having mixed emotions right now. How were you supposed to feel? Although your heart felt somewhat warm, you were also feeling untrustworthy. 

Jean walked to your dining table and leaned against it. He then crossed his arms. You walked to your kitchen, "Do you want something to drink?" It was the least you offer, especially since he was sitting outside for who knows how long. "Do you have any alcohol?" He joked, and a small chuckle left your mouth. You grabbed another glass, then walked over to your counter to grab some alcohol.

You opened the bottle, then poured some for you and Jean. You handed Jean his glass, "Why do you wait?" You asked while taking a small sip. Jean stayed quiet, most likely trying to think of an answer. There was this moment of awkward silence. 

Before you and Eren started dating, you and Jean were best friends. You and him have been friends for years, but when Eren came along, your friendship changed. Eren became possessive and toxic. He didn't like how close you were with Jean. So eventually, you stopped talking to Jean. 

But, when you and Eren broke up, Jean came running to be right by your side. Although you and Jean stopped talking, Jean never stopped wanting to protect you, he never stopped watching over you, and never stopped loving you even after seeing you with another man. 

Jean has had feelings for you since he met you. There's always been this little spark between the both of you. Eventually, that spark grew to be something more. He always tried to protect you. He would try to tell you what Eren was doing behind your back but you wouldn't listen to him in fear of Eren seeing you two together. 

"I wait because I'm worried, y/n." 

"Why are you worried, Jean?"

Jean took another sip of his liquid courage and walked towards you. You walked backward until you reached the counter. "Because you were crying over a man who didn't deserve you." Jean softly confessed. Your heart skipped a beat. Slowly, your eyes locked with Jean's hazel eyes. His expression was gentle with a mix of protectiveness..and a mix of love. "Then who deserves me?" You responded, feeling a rush of emotions come over you. 

Your heart started racing as Jean leaned in closer to you. Was it the alcohol? Was it the fact that Jean is right about you getting over Eren? 

Jean's hands were placed on top of the counter, cornering you. His right hand found its way to your hip. His lips inched towards yours, “You deserve someone who takes your breath away every time you look at him. Someone who makes you laugh, smile, feel every emotion that Eren didn’t.” Your eyes lock with his, feeling his breath against your lips. “I-I’t’s you..” You whisperingly confessed. Suddenly, he kissed you with passion, feeling sparks fly. Your noses bumped into each other as little giggles left your mouths. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. His lips tasting like the alcohol you were just drinking a moment ago. Your lips move with his, for the first time in what felt like months, this was the kiss you've been dreaming of. The kiss that makes you feel like you're on cloud nine, the kiss that makes time go by slowly, the kiss that makes all the others seem non-existent. 

You felt Jean's hands pick you up and place you on the counter, "Are you drunk?" You asked as his lips found their way to your neck, gently kissing and leaving hickeys. Jean stopped his movement, as a small smile spread on his face. The smile you missed, the smile you practically dreamt of, the smile that never failed to make you smile. "No." He answered, as he slowly dragged his thumb across your bottom lip, "Are you?" He asked in return, you nodded, not knowing how to respond. 

Jean's free hand moved towards your buttoned pants, "No answer?" He asked with a sly smirk on his face. Your mind went blank. His fingers played with the button as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I'm going to ask one last time, y/n. Are you drunk?" You coughed out a response, "N-No. No, I'm not, Jean." A laugh left his mouth. 

"Good, because I don’t want our first time to be while you're drunk." He whispered again. Just like that, his lips were on yours. This time, that once soft kiss was now a kiss full of meaning. You don't know what came over yourself...and right now you weren't thinking about that. You were thinking about how soft his lips were, how his lips were on yours, and how you felt at that moment. 

Jean picked you off the counter, and for a moment, all emotions that you had left for Eren had left your mind and all you can think about was Jean. 

That kiss made you realize one thing. 

It's always been...him. 

It's always been Jean since the first day you laid your eyes on him. You were blinded by Eren. You were blinded by the fact that a very popular guy finally chose you. You were wrong..and now you want to spend the rest of your life making it up to Jean. 

As he walked into your bedroom, your legs were wrapped around Jean's waist. He gently placed you on the bed, his lips finally leaving yours for a split second, "Finally, you're mine." You could cry with pure happiness. It was the happiness you never felt with Eren..but only with him. 

You gave him a small and gentle peck, whispering softly, "Finally." You both smiled as you went back to kissing. His lips never left yours. If they did leave yours, they would end up moving and peppering kisses on your neck, as he slowly ripped away each item of clothing off of your body. 

The tip of his index finger teased the top of your panties. You roll your hips, "J-Jean.." You moaned out softly, hoping he would get the hint. A sly smile grew on his face, chuckling slightly at how much you were begging for him. "God, y/n." He whispers in your ear as his lips move at a slow rate.

His fingers inch more and more towards where you wanted him to touch you most. You were getting impatient, all you wanted was to feel him. You moved your hands when suddenly Jean pinned them above your head. 

The sexual tension was so thick. As much as he wants to fuck you, he wants to take his time. 

Your eyes meet, "Please touch me, Jean." You begged. His eyes read yours, and that's when he lost all control. Fuck taking his time, he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He moved his hand from pinning yours to taking off your panties. 

It all happened so fast. One moment Jean was taking his time, devouring you inch by inch, finally getting what he's been dreaming of since he realized he had a crush on you. 

Jean moved to the edge of the bed, and in one sudden motion, your thighs were wrapped around his neck. His lips peppered kisses on your inner thighs, moving closer to your aching clit. 

He flatted his tongue and in one lick, he had you melting and moaning his name. That one moan sent him over, he wanted to hear you say it over and over again. This moment will be embedded in his brain for who knows how long. 

Your fingers brush through his brunette locks, highly tugging at the roots, "Fuck, Jean." You moaned out as Jean's tongue circled your clit, making your mind and body melt. You felt his fingers add into the mix, moving slowly, pressing against the spot that makes you lose control. 

He was in between your legs, lewd noises were the sound that was echoing in the room, pleads, begs, screams and moans.

His long, slim fingers thrust into you, making you moan louder and louder. Jean was loving the way your moans sounded. It was like music to his ears. 

Over and over again, you were chanting Jean's name. It was every time he hit that spot, you would scream his name in pleasure. 

Jean replaced his tongue with thumb and admired the view ahead of him, "God, you're so fucking hot, y/n." He said as your eyes met with his. A sly smile spread on his face while watching your reaction to his compliment. Your lip slid between your teeth, trying your hardest to hold back your moans.

He replaced his thumb back with tongue, and your head fell back onto the bed, feeling his tongue explore your cunt again.  Your hands then roamed your body, finding their place over your mouth. You then began to slightly ride his mouth.

A familiar feeling began to stir in your stomach. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your toes curled, feeling his finger movements begin to speed up. 

You were speechless, you couldn't spit out a word, it felt that good. Finally, you spit out the words, "W-Wanna cum, so-so bad." Jean sped up his movements, moving his mouth off of your core, then crawling in between your legs, moving up until you were face to face. 

His fingers didn't stop moving as he kissed you. Your moans were muffled by the kiss. "Cum on my fingers, y/n." He didn’t have to tell you twice. You came on his fingers, and instantly, your legs started shaking. 

Jean got off the bed, and you held yourself up with your elbows, watching him pull down his boxers, and your jaw instantly dropped. His dick was big, probably the biggest one you've seen. He was mesmerized by your reaction to his size. 

Your eyes locked with his as you sat up. You grabbed his arm and immediately pulled him into a kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, feeling Jean slowly spreading your legs. 

His lips left yours for a split second, "Are you on the pill?" You nodded, "Are you clean?" You asked as his hand inching towards your aching cunt. He nodded, kissing you back in response. 

"Good, now I want you to beg for it, y/n." You smiled slightly because thought he was joking. You wanted him obviously, your body was practically begging for him. The tip of his dick teased your sensitive clit, and a quiet moan left your lips.

You lifted your hips, trying to get more out of him. Your smile disappeared when you realized he wasn't kidding, he was dead serious. You looked into his eyes, and his sparkle was gone. 

"P-Please." you said desperately. Jean raised his eyebrow, "That's all you got? C'mon, y/n. Your body is practically begging for me..." His lips inched towards yours, "But, I want to hear you beg for my cock." His words hit straight to your core. "Please, Jean. Please fuck me. I-I want you so-so much." 

Jean chuckled as he moved the tip of his dick in between your folds, “Where do you want it, princess?” He said as he kept teasing your aching cunt. You buck your hips against the tip of his cock, begging for some sort of friction. You look up and all you see is his desperate eyes on yours. “I want you to fuck me with your cock.” He chuckles, “Good girl.” he praised, and in one swift motion, he finally slid into your cunt. You both moaned. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and the bottom of your lip slid in between your teeth. 

He bottomed out, hitting the spot that made you scream his name. With each thrust, came a moan. "F-Fuck, Jean!" You said as he pounded his cock into you. 

You dug your fingers into his back, slowly moving them up, making sure to leave a mark. Jean inhaled sharply, "So fucking t-tight, y/n." Jean said as he kept bottoming out into you, hitting your g-spot over and over again. 

Jean's lips found their way to yours, the kiss was deep. It was almost like he was trying to devour you as if you were his last meal. Although the kiss was deep, it had a meaning. You were his, you belonged to him. And, you were okay with that. Jean moved his lips from your throat and then moved to his next position. He grabbed your ankles and placed them on his shoulder, hitting your g-spot at a different angle. 

He kissed your ankle as he kept pounding into you. The view in front of you looked so hot. He was hitting all the places that made your mind go blank. “Fuck.” Jean moaned. His moans made you want to exploded right then and there. He moved your legs and by habit you wrap them around this waist. 

“This pussy was made for me, y/n.” Jean expressed in the nook of your neck, peppering kisses, sucking softly. Your fingers raked through his locks, lightly tugging. “J-Jean..harder.” You begged. You wanted him to fuck you like no other could. You wanted him to make you forget about Eren. 

His thrusts slow down making you whimper. Jean flips you on your stomach, “Grab onto the headboard.” He demanded. You wrap your fingers around the cold metal bars, “Please.” You begged. Jean chuckled as you felt his dick slam into you again. You practically scream, feeling the bed shift slightly. Jean’s hands find their place in your hair. His finger wraps around your hair, making a make-shift ponytail, tugging at your roots. You moan feeling his dick hit a new spot from the new position he has you in. 

You suddenly felt a harsh slap on your ass, you wince from he pain..but, you wanted more of it. Sounds of slapping skin fill the room, “Keep milking my cock, y/n.” You clench around his cock with every thrust. 

You could feel your orgasm building up, feeling Jean’s hand leave your hair, then snaking to your clit. “You gonna’ cum, princess?” You nod, not being able to find the words. You felt another harsh slap on your ass, “Words.” He warned. Jean’s movements on your clit made your toes curl, making you moan loudly. 

“Yes, I-I need to cum..so so bad.” You felt his thrust fasten, knowing he was close too. He instantly flips you over again, feeling his lips on yours. You wrap yours around his neck, “Cum for me, princess.” That’s all it took. Your legs started trembling as your orgasm unraveled. Jean emptied his load into you, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

His lips found yours again as he pulled out. This kiss was different. This kiss felt like you were home..with him. 

Jean’s lips left yours as he got up and walked to your bathroom, leaving you absolutely speechless. You couldn’t believe that just happened..but yet, you were so glad it did. You turn your head to see Jean in the bathroom, running a washcloth under some water. 

Eren never did aftercare. He would just fuck you, and leave you hanging. Most of the time, you didn’t even finish..it was always about him finishing, his pleasure before yours, and that’s when your handy vibrator came into your life. Looks like you wouldn’t be needing that anymore with the way Jean just fucked you. 

You thought sex like this belonged in porn.

Jean walked out of the bathroom smiling, “What are you smiling about?” You questioned him as he bends your still trembling legs. He kisses the top of your knees as he cleans your most sensitive area, you wince feeling the washcloth on your clit. 

“You.” It was a simple one word..but, it made your heart melt leaving your very dirty thoughts behind. His fingers find your clit again, as that smile turned into a sly smirk. You moan, “Jean.” You warned softly, as he rubs it slowly.  His fingers slip into your hole, “Just cleaning you out.” He says, as his fingers hit your g-spot. Your hand wraps around his wrist, “Do you want me to stop?” You shaking your head, never wanting him to stop. 

He continues his movements, your legs squeezing together as his long, slim fingers continue to pump into you. You could feel your orgasm bubbling up. “Let go for me, princess.” And that’s all it took for your third orgasm to unravel, leaving you in a moaning mess. 

His fingers left your cunt as his eyes locks with yours. He licks his fingers cleaning, “Now, I’m actually going to clean you up.” A giggle leaves your mouth as you feel the washcloth sliding over your skin again. You could get used to this. 

You started thinking about life with Jean. “So, now what happens?” You ask out of curiosity. You were absolutely terrified of losing him. You didn’t know what was going to happen. Were you guys going to pretend this didn’t happen? Were you guys going to start a life together? Were you guys going to stay as friends? You had so many questions that were fueling your anxiety. 

He stops his movements, looking at you, “I said that I was never going to let you go, y/n. You’re mine.” Tears start to form in your eyes, “Losing you to Eren was my biggest mistake, I should have never let you go..I felt like I hurt you. If I would have kept pushing you, and telling you everything he was doing behind your back, I thought I would have lost you permanently.” He stands up and walks across the room, throwing the used washcloth into the hamper. Then walking towards the bed, laying next to you. He places his hand on your cheek, “I will never ever let you go..And I mean it. I will spend all this lifetime and the next proving it to you.”

As a tear escapes your eye, Jean’s thumb catches it, “Why are you crying?” And suddenly, there were more tears..too many tears for his thumb to catch. You roll over, placing your head on his chest. “I’m sorry.” You say in the midst of a broken sob, Jean doesn’t say anything, he just caresses your head and lets you cry. 

You wrap your arm around his chest, hugging him so tight, as if he was going to leave went you woke up. All this time, Jean waited for you. For all the years that you were with Eren, Jean was there waiting to help you when he left. 

The day that Eren left the apartment, you called Jean, and he ran to your apartment. You didn’t know who else to call, you wanted the one person who knew how to comfort you, your best friend. Jean helped you through all the stages of your break up. He was there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, he was there when you couldn’t find yourself. And now, here he was yet again, being the shoulder you cried on. 

“It should have been you, Jean.” You said through the soft sobs, “It shouldn’t have been Eren, I should have never been with him..it was supposed to be you.” Jean kissed the top of your head, comforting you. 

Jean kisses the top of your head, as you looked up at him, “Now we can make up for lost time.” His lips inched towards yours, “Starting now.” His lips connected with yours. 

This is what loves feels like..and it’s how it should have been from he start. 

Jean is your forever.

Jean is the missing piece to your broken puzzle.

Jean is the person you prayed to God for everyday instead of Eren. 

Jean is your other half. 

____

2 YEARS LATER:

“Here’s to your last day being engaged!!” Mikasa exclaimed as she jumps into your arms. You were out for brunch with all your girlfriends, celebrating your last day being an engaged woman. You never thought this day would come. 

Jean ended up proposing a year ago..and it was so romantic. You both knew you wanted to get married. Jean wanted it to be a surprise though. He had taken you to a romantic restaurant..which would have been very cliche of him. You and him would always joke about the cliches. He knew you wanted everything but the cliches. 

He ended up getting on one knee when you least expected it. He wanted to catch you off guard. You and him were going house hunting when he proposed. You guys were looking at a house and the moment you step foot into it, you saw your life with Jean flash before your eyes. Every corner you turned, you could imagine kids running around. When you went into the kitchen, you saw family dinners..just the thought alone brought tears to your eyes. 

It was when you guys walked into the backyard when you looked Jean in the eyes and told him exactly how you felt. That was your forever home, the place where you wanted to grow old and gray with Jean, the place where you wanted to start a family..that was where your future was. You turned around for a split second and when you turn back to face Jean, he proposed. 

You didn’t even let him finish talking. You knew you wanted to marry Jean for years. Even before Eren. 

Even after a year of him proposing to you, you still think about every single word Jean said. He said the same exact thing you were thinking while walking through the house. His dream was your dream. 

The wedding was around the corner and you couldn’t wait. It was going to be a small wedding. You and Jean just wanted something simple. You both agreed that the memories were more important than the big wedding. 

As you, Mikasa, and the rest of your friends leave after drinking one too many mimosas, you accidentally bump into someone. You instantly apologize, looking up to see the man who broke you in ways you thought couldn’t be fixed. This was the actual time you bumped into him. “Y/N?” Hearing your name leave his lips sounded like poison. It’s the one voice that still haunts you. 

You started to feel sick, feeling bile rising up your throat. His eyes inched towards your taken hand. You couldn’t find words. There were so many things you wanted to say..but, it wasn’t worth your time. Jean helped you move on, he put you back together when you couldn’t find the pieces. Eren took a piece of you that you were still trying to find..even after all these years. You slowly back away, calling out his name once. 

You walk past him linking your arm with Mikasa’s, “I’m sorry.” The two words stop your movement, you turn around for a split second, feeling Mikasa giving you and encouraging squeeze. “You’re not sorry, Eren. You never were..you ruined me. Y-You used me, cheated on me, fucking tore my heart into pieces.” You walked closer to him, “You don’t get to apologize, you piece of lowlife scum, I hope you rot.” 

Before he could say another word, you turned away linking your arm with Mikasa’s. You feel good. A smile spread on your face, “You feel good, y/n?” You nod, feeling a sense of relief fuel your veins. 

You never really got closure and that was something you struggled with for the longest. You still don’t understand why he cheated on you. The countless therapy sessions helped for a short period of time. But, this is your closure. You said what you said, and you feel good. This is what you needed to open the next chapter of your life. 

As you walk into your stunning house, you were immediately greet by the newest addition to your family, Remi. She’s a french bulldog you and Jean adopted when you moved into the house. She lights up your world. You and Jean are so grateful for her. After greeting your pup, you were greeted by your fiancee. 

You give him a soft kiss, feeling his hands on your waist, instantly feeling like you’re home. “How was brunch?” A smile spread on your face as you take off your coat, “It was a lot of fun! I wish you were there though.” You said as you were taking off your heels. 

“Yeah, I wish I went too. Connie is having a late dinner later to have a pre-celebration for tomorrow.” You roll your eyes with a smile, “Make sure you don’t drink too much, Jean.” A chuckle leaves his throat, giving you another kiss on the cheek. 

As you both walk towards the kitchen, you were thinking about how to tell Jean about your interaction with Eren. 

He opens the cabinet when you broke silence, “I bumped into Eren.” 

Jean turns around, placing both of his hands on the counter, “What happened? Did he do anything?” You shake your head, as a small smile spread on your face, “I got closure, Jean. I feel good.” You went onto telling him what you said and you both ended up laughing. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. So, telling him what you said made the both of you laugh. 

“I’m proud of you, y/n.” The four words made tears run down your cheek. Yet again, even after all these years, Jean is there to catch every single tear. “I’m glad you finally got the closure you’ve been searching for.” You wrap your arms around his waist, “Me too. I feel like I can let go of that chapter of my life.” 

Tomorrow was the start of a new chapter. 

Although you know your next chapter won’t be picture perfect, you were okay with that. As long as you had Jean on your side, you knew that it would be your version of picture perfect. And, that’s all you needed. 

__

As you’re walking down the isle, you think about everything you (and Jean) have been through to get to this moment. 

In a sense, you were grateful that everything happened, because it led you here, marrying your best friend, and you couldn’t imagine life go any other way. Jean has taught you that love is real, you just have to find the right person. Life has a funny way of showing love, it’s like a road to describe it the least. 

Life and love are both bumpy roads, there’s all these bumps, cracks, unexpected turns, things that get in your way. But, once you get past that, the road is smooth and clear. 

Today, you’re marrying your soulmate, your other half, your best friend, & you couldn’t wait to finally be Mrs. Kirstein. 

Jean didn’t lie when he said you were his. Since that day, he never left your side. He was there for everything. Every doubt, every cry, everywhere you least expected him to be. 

The six words you’ve been waiting for years for finally approached, “You may now kiss the bride.” Jean kissed you like your life depended on it..just like the first time he kissed you. The kiss that makes you feel like you're on cloud nine, the kiss that makes time go by slowly, the kiss that makes all the others seem non-existent. 

“I told you, you were always mine, y/n.” He whispered against your lips. A bright smile spread on your face. It was just you and him. You zoned out the crowd, as if time was going in slow motion. You stare into his eyes and see your future. You place your thumb under his eyes, collecting the tears that he’s always done for you. 

Inching your lips towards his, feeling the same emotions as his. You whisper, “Forever and always yours.”

The end. 

🏷️: @betterwinter @moonlight445sblog @linglingisyutabiased @takspv @imaninfjbiherself @levisstainedunderwear @cafesho @Unicornlover25 @mocha-focha @Mochaxfocha @szna @yeagerfushiguro @twiixiies @haitanihime @Crazytyphoon @the-sun-baby

Finishing note: thank you so much for all the love in broken promises! It’s been two years since I posted it and it’s still one of my favorites. I am very happy with how it ended. There were some bits and pieces in here that I took from my actual life. Remi is true!! She’s my baby🫶🏻..plus some breakup scenes were from my breakup😭. Anywhos, I hope to be able to get back into writing soon :)

[oonajaeadira]

I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T. 

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war. 

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute. 

Now power, that could fill the void. 

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[justmeinadaze]

Children of the Night Part 5 (Steddie X You)

Warnings: Vampire Daddy Eddie/ Sub Human Steve & Sub Human Fem Reader (Camboys and now cam girl :) ), SMUT, of the threesome variety (of course), lingerie (male and female), dirty talk, biting (obviously), grinding in sleep, FLUFF, they love each other <3.

ANGST, Eddie feeds from Y/N and Steve, he gets a bit too carried away with Y/N where Stevie has to step in, Eddie is a bit more forceful (passionate and possessive) in this chapter but they both keep him present so the vampire doesn't take over too much. These three talk about traumas. Steve mentions his dad finding out about him and Eddie and getting physical. Y/N talks about past abusive relationships (Domestic Abuse and Child Abuse triggers) very briefly though. Kinda cliff hanger ending :)

Word Count: 5337

Series here

Eddie silently takes in the hotel around him as Steve throws the bags of new clothes he bought with the money Dustin gave them onto the bed. 

“Ok, now, uh, why don’t you go ahead and take a warm shower. When you get out we can crash and then get back on the road.” The man’s eyes scan his boyfriend’s as he continued to stand there in silent contemplation. “Do, um, is there anything you need?”

“Hungry.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I have no idea where to get you some more food. Maybe…maybe there’s a hospital nearby…or…” His honey-colored irises find his as he pauses for a moment. “You can feed from me till we find something.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve stepped forward and cupped his cheeks in hands. “And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or die because you didn’t get to eat. I don’t…fully understand how this works, Eddie. I just don’t want to lose you again.”

The vampire’s gaze shifts to his partner’s neck and his mouth begins to salivate with need. Steve’s beautiful throat that he’s kissed and marked up so many times in the past looked so much more delicious now under his blackening eyes. 

“I trust you, baby.”

As Eddie mewled at the man’s words, his arms extended out to pull him into his embrace and hold him tightly to his broad, cold chest. As the metalhead tenderly placed kisses along his flesh, Steve threaded his fingers through the man’s still wild hair as he ran his lips along his own neck and shoulders, breathing in Eddie’s smell that he missed so much. 

Something almost predatorial over came Eddie as an animalistic need coursed through his veins. Practically throwing Steve back onto the bed, he sloppily pulled down their pants just enough to free what he wanted. Spitting into his hand, he stroked it along his length before lining himself up and sliding into the man underneath him.

Steve groaned loudly at the feeling of the person he loved and had missed so much stretching him out again. His eyes rolled back as Eddie thrust into him, his lips kissing along his neck, a gentle contradiction to how rough he was being between his legs. 

His eyes shot back open when he felt something sharp pierce his skin as his fingers gripped Eddie’s hair tighter. 

“Fuck, ho-honey what…what’s happening…”

Eddie growled in response, his palm clinging to Steve’s head just below his ear to hold him still. The man’s body tingled as he felt the blood draining from his body and fully caught fire as his boyfriend aggressively pounded into his sensitive spot bringing him hurtling towards the edge. 

“FUCK! Baby, I-I…”

Your eyes opened right as Steve’s did as your orgasm washed over you. He grunted as his palm dug into your hips and his own stopped grinding against you as his spend hit your thigh. Eddie grumbled behind you, his own release hitting your lower back.

As you became more aware of the situation around you, your breathing began to steady. 

After Steve’s initial panic had subsided, you three spent a quiet, calm evening in bed just holding each other with gentle touches. As daylight began to paint the sky, you had fallen asleep and into another memory. As it got more heated, they both had begun grinding against you in their sleep; Steve sliding his cock between your dripping folds allowing his shaft to rub along your clit as Eddie did the same with your ass. 

“Fuck… I’m so…so sorry.”, Steve stammered as he scooted his body away from yours. 

“Hey, hey, wait. It’s ok. I don’t mind.”, you comforted. “Plus, that one was really strong. I wonder if it’s because we’re both seeing it.”

Nodding, his head fell back against the pillow as he covered his eyes with his arm. You could still feel Eddie’s breath steadily breathing once again as he continued to sleep behind you. 

“Wow, didn’t faze him at all.”, you giggle. 

“Yeah, he’s always been a sexual deviant so I’m not surprised.”

“Oh, oh my. Steve Harrington, did you just make a joke?”, you teased lightly, smiling when you noticed a small grin paint his face. “Hey, I have an idea. How about when he wakes up we get out of the house and have some fun.”

Dropping his arm and turning his eyes to meet yours, his smile grows at the light he sees shimmering behind them. 

“I’d like that.”

***

“This makes me think of Lost Boys.”, Eddie jests as he looks out into the ocean in front of him from the rock wall you three were sitting on. “All we need is some trashcan fires and we’re set.”

“Don’t forget a Cory or two.”, you laugh as you lick the ice cream cone in your hand. “Is anything from that movie factual?”

“Yes. Kiefer Sutherland is totally a vampire.”

Lightly smacking the long-haired boy’s arm, you grin as you lean on his shoulder. 

“This was a good idea, Y/N. I’m glad you suggested it.”, Steve smiled as he took a sip of the soda he was holding before offering you some which you accepted eagerly. 

“What DID make you suggest it? Did you guys have another dream?”

“You don’t know?”, you asked as Eddie shook his head. “No, I mean we did but I just thought we’ve been cooped up inside for a couple of weeks and quite frankly haven’t been on a date or anything. Not that I need one I just…I’m just saying…ok I’ll just stop talking.”

Both men chuckle when you stop babbling while Steve leans over to kiss the top of your head. 

“Do you come to the pier a lot?”, he asked. 

“Uh, not a lot. I had a foster family once bring us here but that was to get us out of the house so they could do something illegal. I, uh,…” When you paused they both turned their bodies to face you; Eddie crossing his legs while Steve still let one dangle over the side. 

The vampire beside you could feel the struggle within you; that pain mixed with guilt and a bit of shame. 

“Hey, you can tell us anything, ok? We want to know more about you but of course there’s no rush.”, he soothed as he tenderly reached out to pet your head.

“I, uh, ran away for a time and lived out here on the beach with another guy I knew. He actually got arrested right over there.”, you announce as you point past Steve towards another end of the area. “He beat the shit out of some guy and stole his wallet. Cops found me when they came looking for him but thankfully my mom had finally reappeared from whatever bender she had been on so I got to go home.”

They didn’t miss the sarcasm in your tone especially Eddie who felt your pain worsen at the memory. 

“Did that guy hurt you?”, Steve asked causing the vampire to growl in his throat when you nodded.

“Sorry.”, he mumbled. “I don’t like the idea of someone hurting you…either of you.”

“Hm. Well, my dad was just an emotional dick.”, the pretty boy replied in a lighthearted tone that you both knew was fake. “I mean, minus the fucking the freak incident.”

“The fucking the freak incident?”

“Remember how I told you about those rumors that spread in our tiny town about me ‘fucking the freak’?” When you nodded he continued. “When my father heard them, he confronted me and I told him the truth. He threatened to cut me off and I told him I didn’t care. I told him that I loved Eddie and I wasn’t going to leave him.”

Steve softly grinned at his boyfriend who did the same as he reached across you to caress his face. 

“In response, my dad punched me and threw me out of the house. I showed up at Eddie’s trailer and Wayne took me in.” A question passed through your mind that he saw through your eyes before you turned your head away and pressed your lips together. “Because I was at the Hawkins High Championship Game.”

Both you and the metalhead’s gaze shifted towards him at his response.

“You were wondering why if I lived with him, why wasn’t I there when Chrissy died, right? Yeah… Mr. Nerd here had a club meeting with his friends where they played D&D together while I went to the game. Afterwards, he went home while I hung out with one of our friends and ended up crashing at her place. The next morning, we went to work and that’s when I found out what happened.”

Eddie heavily sighed as he glared at Steve but it wasn’t in anger… 

“Steve Harrington, how many times do I have to tell you what happened wasn’t your fault? No, don’t argue with me.”, he scolds as the other boy starts to defend. “I can feel your guilt. It’s actually very interesting to me how guilty you both feel about things that aren’t your fault.”

“You never felt that way?”

Steve’s eyes widen in playful mocking as the vampire hangs his head and growls. It wasn’t the many angry rumbles you had heard from him but more like faux annoyance of being caught. You’d be lying if you didn’t say you found it kind of cute. 

“I did but I did the thing I felt guilty about.”

“You didn’t kill her, Eddie.”

“Yeah but I left her there. I should have stayed with her till the cops came. I shouldn’t have let my uncle see her like that.”

“But then you would have gotten arrested.”, you added trying to help ease his own pain. 

“Maybe… doesn’t matter much now though.” He softly smiles in your direction as he reaches out to touch your face. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go walk around a bit more.”

****

Stopping suddenly, you block their path causing them to run into your back. 

“Woah, Y/N. You okay, honey?”, Steve asks as he lets go of Eddie’s hand to check on you. 

“Yeah, I just…can we go in here?”

Above your head was a bright colored red neon sign that read “The Naughty Corner” with an arrow that pointed towards a front door that windows on either side were blocked by curtains. 

“Of course.”, he grins as he takes your own hand and tugs you in as the metalhead trails behind with a small smile as he watches you both. 

As you entered the building, on the other side of the display windows where mannequins dressed in very skimpy lingerie for both men and women. Along the walls and aisles were a plethora of sex toys, outfits, erotic novels, and everything else in between. 

“My ex wasn’t very…open minded with this kind of stuff.”

“Is there something in particular you wanted to look at?”, Steve inquired, following your finger when you point towards the teddies and nighties. 

“What does Eddie like?”

“He’s really into anything red or black for sure.”, he smirks as his eyes scan over the inventory in front of him. 

“And what about you?”

“Um…”, he grins as he chuckles nervously. 

“Yeah, Steve, what about you?”, Eddie teases as he wraps you in his arms and you lean against his chest.

“I mean, I like anything really especially if it’s on you.”

A little aw sound escapes your lips and the vampire behind you grins softly when he feels your energy light up at Steve’s compliment. 

“What about this here? It has a matching set for a guy and a girl.” Reaching for the black teddy, you display it for him against your body as a heavy sigh of pleasure escapes his lips. 

“Oh pretty girl. He likes that one a lot…so do I.”, Eddie whispers in your ear as he lowers his grip to your hips and pulls you flush against him making you lick your lips when you feel his cock press against your ass.

“What about this for him?”, you ask as you hold up the sheer underwear against the other boy’s waist.

“We’ve never…I’ve never…worn anything like that before.”, Steve stutters, trying to control the growing need to take you right here in the store. 

“Would you want to?” Your eyes lock with his as they flutter while the vampire’s hands roam along any part of your exposed skin he can find. “I thought…maybe…the next time you stream…I can join and we should be matching. I mean…since we’re both Eddie’s.”

The human boy’s eyes flick towards his boyfriend’s silently asking for permission before the vampire nods. With a wide grin, he kisses your cheek before taking the garments and heading for the counter. 

“This is the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. You calm his mind.”, Eddie reveals tenderly kissing your shoulder. “Even before I changed, he was always on edge; prepared for anything that could happen in our town.”

“With everything you both have told me so far, I’m not surprised. What about you? Do I calm your mind? I’ve honestly never seen you smile as much as you have since I’ve been staying with you.”

The metalhead blinks a couple of times, kissing your body once more before gradually guiding you towards the counter Steve was waiting by. 

“You do. You always have. When he and I would talk about you and I could feel you… there was a love there I couldn’t explain so I didn’t. I think… I think I always felt you. When we first got here I remember feeling so protective. I thought it was just over Steve but holding him tightly to me never removed that fear or urge like something was wrong.”

“Then I saw your name pop up on our feed… I told Steve I wanted to talk to InnocentLittleMina.”, he grins when he hears you giggle. “More than anything I wanted to see if he felt something to and he did. Oh, sweetheart, boy did he ever especially when he saw your beautiful face.”

Eddie’s hands suddenly held you tighter to his chest as his tone deepened.

“I felt that protective urge again a few days later and then we saw your face… your lip was busted. I knew. I knew that fucker was hurting you. You said you fell but I knew. My mother used to say shit like that when people would ask what happened to her…” He closed his eyes as he exhaled trying to control himself and only calming when he felt your lips kiss his cheek. 

“I wanted to come get you.”, Eddie whispered. “Steve begged me not to. He thought our life would be worse for you.”

“I can understand that to but I’m here now and I’m safe with you two. Right, Daddy?”, you murmur into his ear just as the other man finishes paying.

“That’s right, princess. You’re safe with us.”

##############

“Are you sure you want to do this?”, Steve asks as you both sit on the end of the bed waiting for Eddie to come back from the kitchen. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I trust you both.”

“Holy shit.”, the vampire sighs when his eyes land on you both in your lingerie. 

Your black teddy was made of the same sheer material as Steve’s but unlike his crotch area, yours was covered. Your breasts were visible under the garment as it hung perfectly from your shoulders. The boy beside you was vulnerable from head to toe with his cock easily seen under the lingerie style underwear you guys had bought, threatening to fall out fabric that was barely big enough to hold him. 

“What do you think, Daddy? Do you like it?”, you beamed as you stood to allow him a better view. As Steve did the same, something in Eddie’s demeanor changed as his jaw tightened and his palm adjusted the growing bulge in his pants. “Eddie?”

“I don’t think we should stream tonight.”, he growled, fangs barred whether he was aware of it or not you weren’t sure.

“Eddie, we have to. It’s been a few days plus you need to eat something.”, Steve countered.

“N-No. You are mine. No one should get to see you two like this.”

“Baby—”

“MINE!”, he snarled as his eyes blackened. 

Steve pushed you behind him knowing this is what he feared when it came to you; seeing the vampire take over. You don’t know why but he didn’t scare you like this. Maybe it’s because you had seen much scarier things in humans your entire life. 

“Y/N, no—“, the human boy warned as you came around him and slowly moved towards the vampire in front of you. 

“Everything’s ok, baby. Can…Can you bring Daddy back to us so we can play and feed you?”

“Daddy is right here and you…are…mine.”

“I am, baby. I’ve always been yours remember? Me and Steve. Can you feel us? Can you feel how much we want to please you, Daddy?”

Eddie’s head ticked to the side as his eyes closed and his breathing picked up. 

“It’s ok.” Carefully, your hands reached out and he didn’t move when they landed on his shoulders. Gliding them down his arms, you captured his palms in yours and placed them on your sides. “It’s alright, honey. I trust you.”

Glancing towards Steve, your head gestured towards the computer and he quickly ran that way, pressing a button as the cameras came to life. 

“Come on, Dracula. It’s time to eat.” 

Leading him slowly towards the bed, you sat him down on the side and fell to your knees. Steve watched you cautiously, prepared should he need to step in as you unbuckled the vampire’s pants and slid them down his legs. 

“May I suck your cock, please?”

Without saying a word, he nodded his head, groaning when your tongue darted out to lick his slit. 

“Come here, Renfield. We need you to.”, you coo causing Steve to shakily sigh as he came to sit beside Eddie. 

Taking your lead, he reaches for his boyfriend’s hand and places it on his bulge as he leans in close to the other man’s ear. 

“We are yours, honey. Come back to us and take what belongs to you.”

Eddie mewled as he turned to kiss the boy’s lips as you fully descended his length, taking him as far back as you could and then some. When the vampire opened his eyes again, Steve smiles when chocolate-colored irises were reflecting back. 

“I’m sorry.”, he whispered. “You both looked so sexy. I just…”

“Lost your mind for a second?”, his partner chuckles.

“Something like that.”, he grins. “Fuck. Come here, baby.” Lifting under your arms, he pulls you on to his lap and kisses your lips. “How about I make it up to you, my good boy.”, he cooed as you continued to kiss down his jawline to his neck. “Do you want to fuck Daddy, sweetheart?”

Eddie’s grin grew when he felt Steve’s dick get harder against his hand.

“Yes, sir. Please.”

“Ok, give me a second.” A giddy giggle leaves you as the vampire takes you fully in his arms and spins around till your back is flat on the bed. Gentle kisses land on your forehead till they find their way to the shell of your ear. “I’m sorry if I scared you, princess.”

“You don’t scare me.”

Kissing your cheek, you feel one of Eddie’s arms rest near your head as the other reaches between your bodies before guiding his cock into your core.

“Fuck, baby girl. So fucking wet already.”, he whines, thrusting slowly into you and allowing you to feel every inch him sliding along your walls. As he groans, you peered over his shoulder, watching as Steve tossed the bottle of lube behind him, and gradually pushed it into his boyfriend’s hole with his fingers. 

“Does that feel good, Daddy?”, you whisper as you lean up to kiss his lips. 

“So good. My good boy knows how to use his hands.”, he smiles cheekily. 

After a few quick pumps, you watch their faces intently as Steve slides into the man in front of him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. Are you fucking kidding me?”, Eddie whimpers as he falls flat on top of you. 

“Are you ok?”, you ask, kissing his shoulder when you feel him nod. 

“You both feel—shit—so fucking amazing.” Thrusting his hips forward, you groan and the other boy soon follows as the vampire pulls back, pushing into him. 

Steve’s soft palms hold your legs open as he steadily picks up his pace causing Eddie to do the same. The metalhead was completely lost in you both, keeping his head beside yours for fear of losing control. 

“Go-Go ahead, Daddy. Take what you need.” You can’t help but be startled when he shakes his head. “Baby—”

“Don’t…wanna…hurt…you…”, he hissed through gritted teeth. 

“Eddie.”, you whisper low enough so only he can hear. “I trust you.  I know you won’t hurt me—mmm—I know. Please, Daddy. I want you to feed from me. I lo-love you.”

When his fangs grazed your skin, he hesitated only for a second before puncturing your flesh and draining your blood. Your fingers clung to his hair while Steve gripped his hips as your eyes rolled shut and he thrust his cock harder into your cunt. 

Eddie took over, slamming deep into you, and abusing your g spot over and over while roughing coming back onto his boyfriend’s length at a much faster rhythm. 

Your orgasm hit you like a fright train as you screamed and shuddered underneath him. 

Something was wrong.

As you began coming down from your high, the room began to spin. He was draining you too quickly. 

“R-Ren-Renfield…”, you slurred as you tried to reach for the man’s hand. 

His concerned eyes shot your way and he hastily leaned over Eddie’s back, gripping his jaw in his fingers, and pried him off your neck. With hazy vision, you scanned the vampire’s face as his mouth fell open, fangs still bared, and blood tripping down his chin. 

The last thing you remember is hearing them grunt and feeling warmth release into your core before everything went black. 

############

“Steve? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Steve, baby, wake up!”

The human boy groaned as he rolled to his side and nuzzled his face into the palm that was on his cheek. 

“You scared the hell out of me! I thought I killed you.”

Steve’s eyes fully snapped open as he took in his surroundings. They were still in the hotel and still in bed with Eddie now straddling his waist, both hands cupping his face.

“What happened?”

“You passed out after you came. I thought maybe I took too much blood or…”

Shaking his head, he sat up and wrapped his arms around the vampire’s waist which frightened him a bit more. Steve could be clingy after sex but right now he seemed more vulnerable. 

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

“Hey look at me. We’re not playing right now. Are you ok?”

Again, he nodded before falling back against the pillow.

“I should leave. I’m going to end up getting you killed and I won’t allow that.”

As Eddie rose to his feet, Steve fumbled over his own as he did the same and blocked the door with his slightly limp frame.

“Don’t you dare leave me again, Edward Munson!”, he cried. “I already died the day I lost you. Do you really think you accidently draining me too much or some other fucking asshole coming after us is going to be any worse?!” 

Steve collapsed to his knees and circled his arms around his boyfriend as he began to sob. Eddie sat beside him and collected the man in his arms, holding him tightly to his chest.

“And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.”

The vampire softly grins when he hears his partner lightly chuckle at his singing. 

“When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am.”

“Y/N!? Wake up, honey. Come on now.”

“She’s dreaming so she’s not dead.”

Steve flashes him a quizzical look as a tear falls down Eddie’s face before he hears you groan. 

“Thank God. Are you alright? What happened? Here try and eat something.”, he coos as he hands you a small bag of cookies. 

Nibbling on the treat he gives you, your gaze shifts to the vampire’s glassy eyes.

“It’s ok, Eddie.”

“It’s not but I know you two are going to disagree so…”, he responds sarcastically.

“I agree with Steve. After everything I’ve been through nothing you do could be any worse. I’m not afraid of—”

Eddie laughs, cutting you off as he stands and turns to face you both. 

“You should be! I’m not a good guy, sweetheart. Not anymore and even he knows that.”, he shouts as he points to his boyfriend. “These are the risks of loving me. Steve was right. We never should have brought you here. Just…get dressed and he’ll take you home.”

“No.”

His brown eyes narrowed down at you as he squared his shoulders. 

“Say that again, little girl. Because I don’t think I heard you right.”

“I said no.”

“Eddie—”

“Sit. DOWN.”, he commanded in a deep voice that Steve immediately listened to. As soon as he turned his attention back to you, your palm collided with his cheek. Because you were weak after him feeding from you it wasn’t very hard but it was enough for him to rear his head back and have his now black eyes penetrating yours. 

“Eddie, my entire life has been loaded with bad people…especially guys.” You knew he couldn’t see your memories like you could with his but he could feel them. Concentrating hard, you ran through all the worst relationships you had in your life knowing he’d feel them and your emotions. He flinched, cringing away from you as he felt all your fear, pain, and devastation course through his veins. “I know you’re a good guy because everything you just felt… I’ve never felt that with you or Steve. When I say I trust you, I mean it. I’ve met monsters and you aren’t one.”

Becoming dizzy again, you started to fall but Eddie hastily caught you and placed you on the bed. The wind blew around you both before he returned with a bottle of water, delicately holding the back of your head as you tipped it back and allowed the liquid to fall into your mouth. 

Once you finish, you lean your head onto Steve’s shoulder and in the blink of an eye the metalhead is gone.

"Are you alright, honey?”

“Yeah, just heavy.”

“Finish eating this here and then I’ll clean you up so you can go to sleep.” His eyes follow your own as they look towards the door. “Yeah, that’s not new for him. That particular argument we’ve had a few times especially when he accidently goes too far. He’ll be ok though, baby. I promise.”

Once you finish the bag of treats, Steve takes you into his arms and brings you to bathroom. His beautiful honey orbs focus on the task at hand making you smile as you watch him work. 

“Y/N? May I ask you something? What did you ‘show’ him?”

“Monsters.”, you sigh. “My mom screaming at me while she was drunk calling me a whore at 10. My boyfriend I mentioned from the beach burning me with cigarettes because I ‘wasn’t listening’. John hurting me before Eddie saved me…”

Steve’s fingers gently caress your cheek before leaning forward to softly kiss your lips. Once you both were clean, he wrapped you up in one of the metalhead’s shirts making you beam. 

“Hellfire?”

“His nerdy D&D club in high school.”, he answered, laying you under the covers and crawling in beside you. “Y/N, if anyone understands what you’ve been through it’s him. Eddie’s dad was awful. Of course, he’s nothing like him but I think when he slips like this he feels he’s living up to the Munson name. I told him that’s not true but, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, he’s stubborn. Maybe now that you’re here…maybe he’ll finally start believing it.”

Curling up into his chest, you both wrapped your arms around each other as you fell asleep. A little before dawn, you stirred to a familiar wind whipping through your hair. The bed behind you dipped and you listened to what sounded like someone sucking their thumb before the appendage carefully ran along the wound on your neck.

Any ache or pain you had been experiencing from his bite suddenly disappeared and his thumb was replaced with his hand delicately petting your head, moving your hair away from your face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”, Eddie whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry. This will never happen again. I promise I’ll be more careful. I…I hate the vampire so much sometimes. When he pushes forward…he’s so hard to reign in. You both deserve so much better. I promise I’ll do whatever I can, baby.”

After lifting Steve’s arm and pulling it over his waist as well, the metalhead pressed his body against yours, grinning when you intertwined your fingers with his and brought his hand closer to your chest. 

############

“Uh, boys?” Hearing the concern in your tone, Steve grabbed a chair and placed it beside where you were sitting at the computer. “We may have a problem.”

“Oh, fun.”, Eddie teases as he stands behind you both with his arms crossed.

“I’m not quite sure how to say this so I’m just going to. Your site is gone.”

“What do you mean our site is gone?”

“I mean, I came over here to look at things and do my job but when I went to your site it’s not coming up.” They carefully watched as your fingers flew across the keyboard in front of you. “I did some research to see if maybe there was an outage or something and…”

You pull up an article with a grainy video pasted near the top and press play.

“While we are still unable to find the exact source of the feed from these people known only as ‘Dracula’ and ‘Renfield’, we were able to intercept their traffic this morning and remove the site from the internet.”

“Is this permanent?”, a reporter asked. 

“Uh, no. I imagine that it won’t be hard for them to get up and running again but now that we know how to remove them I’m sure we can find them and do it again.”

“Find them virtually right? Because you still don’t have a lock on their identities?”, another reporter cut in.

“That is correct. We do, however, have a whole team working to find them. While the footage isn’t 100% clear, we’re working on ways to grab anything we can to pinpoint who they are so we can stop this sadistic material once and for all.”

“Oh, Harrington, they have a team.”

“Eddie, stop. This is serious. Shit… if I had known about this I wouldn’t have let you stream with us last night, Y/N.”

“I moderate your site to, Steve. Depending on what they’re looking for they can probably find my footprints in your system.”

“Nerd.” 

You giggle at the metalhead’s joke but the other boy wasn’t amused, concentrating hard on the monitor in front of him. 

“Do you think Henderson is free?”

“Even if he’s not you know he’ll come here to help.”

“Who is this?”, you ask.

“Our friend. Ok, he’ll be asleep right now but I’ll call him in the morning before he heads to school.”

Eddie smiles as he sits on Steve’s lap and obnoxiously ruffles his hair. 

“We’ll be fine, babe. You worry to much. He’s taken care of us for two years; he’ll do it again.”

################

@chelebelletx @mandyjo8719 @nailbatanddungeon

[oatmilk-vampire]

steddie suspense for my lovelies <3 tw: panic attack, mention of death // ~700 words

-

Steve feels the exact moment the blood drains from his face.

Of course his mind would find a way to ruin this, using an innocent conversation between the two of them against him to prove he will never be okay.

“Did you give ‘em hell, baby?” Eddie had asked with a crooked grin when Steve was talking about the unruly customers he had to deal with earlier.

He bites his cheek hard as the lights flicker and dim around him, as the four walls of his room shift into the cruel expanse of the Upside Down.

He wants to run. He doesn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

“No.” He breaths out, voice just as shaky as his limbs.

“No? That’s okay. Maybe next time.” Eddie shrugs, as if Steve wasn’t struggling to breath.

He has to get away.

“Steve, where are you going?”

Why is he so cold? My God, he’s freezing.

“I gotta go. I gotta go. I can’t be here.”

“Steve, wait!”

He’s using that voice again, the one from earlier that makes Steve squirm. He doesn’t know why, though. Not yet. All he knows is it’s too much. His chest physically aches at the intensity of emotion.

Steve starts breathing fast and shallow.

It’s too much. He’s too cold, and he can’t breathe, dry ice invades his lungs.

The room starts to close in on him. His heartbeat races so fast he’s scared he may die, thinks maybe he already has. His breaths turn ragged as he tries desperately not to suffocate. He doesn’t know how to make it stop. He can’t make it stop. All he can do is reach out for the man in front of him. All he can do is try to get away from him.

“Oh shit. Come on, Stevie. I’m sorry. I was teasing—I didn’t mean to—”

Whatever tone Eddie was using before is gone, instantly replaced by something closer to his normal voice, only maybe a little softer.

“Hey—hey it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He wraps his arms around Steve, dragging him down, down, down until he’s sitting. Pulled so close he’s practically in Eddie's lap.

Steve feels himself melt into Eddie’s touch, throwing his arms around his waist and gripping the fabric of his shirt in his fists. He buries his face against his chest as he continued struggling to breathe. Steve is horrified to realize it’s warm and sticky, slick with something he doesn’t want to look at. Can’t stand to see.

“Shhh It’s okay. I’ve got you Steve, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Eddie murmurs, cradling his head and petting his hair in soothing repetitive motions.

“Try to take some deep breaths, okay? You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

Steve is still shaking in Eddie’s arms, and may or may not be making pitiful noises as he hyperventilates and cries, but he does try to slow his ragged breaths by matching them to the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest. Being held so tightly, and having the steady rhythms of Eddie’s heartbeat and breathing to focus on helps tremendously. It takes him a while to realize that was the whole point.

“I’ve got you, Steve. You’re doing so good. Keep taking deep breaths with me.”

Eddie’s voice is so gentle, so caring, and his exaggerated breaths are so soothing and easy to follow, Steve almost can’t remember why he’s so scared. Eddie’s here. Eddie’s here with him. Why did that feel so wrong?

It takes a few minutes, but eventually he stops shaking.

Eddie keeps comforting him, whispering soft praise against the top of Steve’s head.

“There you go. Deep breaths. You’re doing so good. Just stay with me. This will end, I promise.”

That’s when the dam breaks.

Steve lifts his head from Eddie’s chest, blinking away his tears.

“You’re not here, you’re not here. You’re not real.” Steve backs away, tries to shield himself, tries to get away.

Eddie follows after him, quick to pull him back into his arms in a tight embrace, preventing Steve from going anywhere.

“You’re okay, Stevie. You’re right here. I’m right here. It’s okay. Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real. Just me. Focus on me.”

“You?”

“Me.”

Steve shakes his head, a new sob rips through his constricting throat.

“No, Eddie. You’re dead. You died.”

Steve squeezes him tight, knows the moment he lets go reality will come back to him. The false memories and imaginary conversations his consciousness had conjured up will be revealed as exactly that: fake.

He’ll be all alone.

“You’re not real.”

[believesthings]

Down The Drain// Ted Lasso x Reader

Summary: After a day of training, you decide to help your boyfriend unwind during his nightly shower. 

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Oral Sex 

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re abiding by the new shorts policy.” 

Ted jerks his head up and flashes you one of his sweet smiles. 

“New shorts policy? What are you on about?” 

You widen your eyes at him in mock surprise, “How quickly you forget, Lasso. You’re supposed to get rid of all your pants and only wear shorts from now on.” 

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” He chuckles lowly at you. 

You shrug at him nonchalantly, “I agreed for you.” You make your way to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Besides, why would you even want to wear pants? It would be an absolute crime to cover up these legs.” 

“Oh, come on now. These old things?” He jokes, twisting his leg around and in the process, flashing you a particularly nice view of his calf under the fluorescent light. 

He leans in and kisses you and once he pulls away he seems - flustered. He mumbles something into your ear that you almost couldn’t hear. “I might need you to help me pick out some new clothes. I wouldn’t wanna go breakin’ any rules.” 

You reach your hand up and run your fingers through his hair, pushing back the little tendril that has a habit of falling in front of his forehead. “I can do that, baby.” 

He turns his head and gives a kiss to your wrist. 

A knock on the office door breaks both of you out of your bubble. 

“Time for training, coach.” Beard is there in the doorway, he gives you a wave, seemingly unfazed by the PDA between the two of you. 

“I’ll see you at home, honey.” 

You give Ted one final kiss and turn to Beard in the doorway, giving him a little salute, which he returns. 

“Have a good practice!” You yell at the two men behind you on your way out the door.

________________________

“Ted! Are you all alright?” 

There was your boyfriend, standing in the doorway, soaking wet. As he started to undo all the layers, you noticed him slightly shivering. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m alright. I’ll tell ya, we had such a great practice - shoot - training today. On the walk home, it started raining-” 

“Yeah, I can tell. Why didn’t you get a car?” You make your way to him, running your hands up and down his arms in a feeble attempt to warm him up. 

“Well, I figured walking would be good, you know. Gives me a chance to really clear my head and I’ve never minded the rain too much - You know it rains an average of 78 days in Kansas? Henry told me that he learned that in his science class.” 

He seemed to break out of his own rambling with his own mention of his son. “Oh shoot! What time is it? I’m supposed to have a facetime with the little man tonight” 

“Ted - there’s plenty of time until your call. For now, I think we should focus on getting you in the shower, washing this rain off of you and getting you warmed up.” 

He stills, stares at you and seems to be really drinking you in. “Well, now that you mention it, I don’t think I realized how truly cold it was until now and it probably would be nice to freshen up before I hop on the call.” 

“Come on. I’ll join you.” You pull him by the hand into the bathroom. 

Once inside, you took your time stripping him of his clothes that you watched him slip into just this morning. Ted kicked off his shoes and took great pleasure in having you remove his shirts, pants, then underwear. He stood before you without a hint of shame - not that he had anything to be ashamed of. But towards the end of his marriage with Michelle, the physical aspect was no longer really there. Plus, when he got together with you, someone at Nelson Road had made a quip about how Ted would have to work extra hard to keep you around since you would be exposed to all of those tanned, toned and sculpted footballers and he was embarrassed to admit that it bothered him more than he expected. It was quite a long road to unpack those insecurities and you’re both still not completely over your doubts, but over time, you had made him feel so incredibly loved and he hoped he was doing the same for you. 

You lifted his legs one at a time, so you could remove his pants and boxer briefs from around his ankles. You gazed up at him and you swore you could see his eyes darken. You couldn’t help but become heated at the implications of your position. You were, after all, kneeling in front of your naked boyfriend. You leaned into him and placed a kiss on his hip bone. Ted let out a low groan as he noticed your mouth moving closer to his growing erection. His heart was racing at the feeling of your warm breath on him, but when he looked down, you were standing back up. 

You give him a knowing look, “I know, honey. But I promised you a shower.” 

He peeled off your clothing - or rather his clothes that you had snuggled yourself into once you got home. He let his own hands slide over your body. He trailed kisses from your shoulder to your neck as you prepared the running water, getting it at just the right temperature, and then steering the two of you underneath the showerhead. For the first few minutes, the two of you held on to each other while the warm water washed over both of your bodies. You helped him wash his hair, taking great care to massage his scalp and press your body against him. He was running his hands over your back and gently massaging the soap into your skin when you finally broke the silence. 

“Ted?” 

“Mmm?” 

You turn to look him in the eyes. “Would you like me to continue what I was doing earlier?” 

He squints his eyes in confusion at you, taking a couple seconds to register what you were referring to. “Oh - I.. Yes, please.” 

You press your lips to his neck and begin sucking on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Ted seems to relax then, accepting your actions and he repositions your bodies under the running water. He doesn’t have a ton of sexual experience in this particular location but he’s heard so many stories about how shower sex can be dangerous because of the slippery surface and the last thing he wants is either of you getting hurt. 

You, on the other hand, seem to show no signs of slowing down. You lick and kiss the wet skin of his neck, running your hands over his chest and down to his stomach until you are once again keeling in front of him. Just like you did before, you run your mouth and tongue over his hip bone. As your mouth works closer and closer to his erection, you put your hands to work, gripping the base of his cock and stroking him. 

Ted groans at the contact and tries to will his eyes to stay open and on you. Partially, because, ever the gentleman, he wants to watch out and make sure you’re not having second thoughts - but also because he was thrilled at the prospect of watching you perform this incredibly intimate act on him. 

You began by tentatively kissing the tip of his erection, not too much but given how aroused Ted was, it was enough to make him tilt his head back and groan. Taking his actions as a sign of encouragement, you start taking less innocent kisses up and down the length of him. After he was sure your lips had made contact with about every inch of him - you finally put your tongue to work. You slowly ran your tongue over his cock from base to tip and back again, which earned you a deep moan from an increasingly aroused Ted, who ran his fingers over your hair as your name escaped him in a rather breathy whisper. This only seemed to spur you on more as you gripped him more firmly and began to slip the tip of his cock between your lips. 

Ted balled his hands into fists and he fought the urge to thrust further in your mouth. He used one hand to brace himself on the shower wall and kept his other hand firmly on you, stroking your scalp gently. 

Ted loved going down on you and did it quite frequently over the course of your relationship, he had told you how arousing he found it, to have his mouth on you and every time you returned the favor, you could easily understand what he meant. There was something about hearing those noises come out of the man you love and knowing that you were responsible for them that aroused you so fucking much. Being in control of his pleasure was definitely satisfying for you and for him. You found yourself moaning with him, the sound reverberating against his cock, which only caused him to moan more. 

You swirled your tongue over the tip of him and could briefly taste the precum. You looked up and were once again met with his darkened eyes peeking out from under his shower soaked hair over his forehead - with his mouth open, gasping and moaning, you watch as he spits out the water that makes its way into his mouth. He gives you a little nod of encouragement and you briefly break away, catching your breath. He was, after all, the biggest man you had ever been with. You knew he was close though so you didn’t make him wait long before you began moving your head back and forth and sucking him off. At first your actions were fairly tender, only really focusing on his tip, but as your actions went on, your confidence grew, and you took more and more of him in, swirling your tongue as you moved in and creating a tight suction against his cock as you moved out. Once you settled into a comfortable rhythm, you brought your hands into the mix, moving the hand you had at the base of cock in tandem with your mouth. 

To Ted, the world had completely faded away. The only thing that existed in this moment was feeling your mouth and the pleasure you were giving him. As your actions became more confident and less gentle, his pleasure became even more intense. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his body in check. Once your hands entered into the equation, he was well and truly, a goner. He began involuntarily pumping his hips forward to meet your mouth. As he felt his climax reaching, he tried to speak to warn you but you seemed to be more in tune with his body than he was. You noticed his ragged breathing and gathered he was closely approaching his end. 

Instead of slowing down, you only seemed to redouble your efforts, bringing as much of his length into your mouth as you can handle. As you felt him thrust in your mouth, you continued to suck and swirl your tongue harder. Ted, threw his head back and groaned. You could feel his cock pulsate as his warm wetness filled your mouth. You began to swallow and were gearing to stop until you heard the words above you - 

“Don’t stop, baby please.” 

At his words, your hands and mouth resumed their previous actions until his hips slowed down and stopped moving entirely. His arms were braced on either side of the shower walls, at this point he was sure it was the only thing keeping him vertical. He focused on catching his breath while you were beneath him, wiping the excess wetness from your mouth. Doing this for him, making him feel this way always gave you a sense of exhilaration that you loved. You took a few seconds to catch your own breath before looking up at your lover again. His eyes were closed this time, but the look on his face could only be described as pure bliss. 

“Was that okay?” you ask in a small, teasing voice. 

Ted opened his eyes and looked down at you on the shower floor, “You kidding me? That was amazing. Out of this world, Darling” 

He embraces you into his chest once again, “Come on, let’s finish up in here so I can return the favor.” 

He rinses you both off quickly and you get to work brushing your teeth, he seems ready to whisk you away into bed the minute you put down your toothbrush but you stop him. “Ah - not yet, Romeo. You have a facetime call with Henry, remember?” 

“Right. Yes -” 

And as if on cue, his phone is ringing with an incoming video call as Henry’s picture fills the screen. 

“As soon as this call is over, Darling, I just want you to know that I am taking you into bed, and I’m going to spend my night taking you apart.” 

Your face heats at his words. “Noted, Lasso. I can’t wait.” 

[jungk0oksthighs]

Pi Gasu | Damned If We Do, Dead If We Don't

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - smut, angst, E2L, vampire!jungkook

Word Count - 6.5k

Donating blood for Jungkook is physically draining you, in more ways than one. Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, needles and masturbation, jk & oc argue, light violence

SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s Tuesday, you’re mindlessly tapping a blunt pencil against the desk between your fingers, feeling uninspired and drained. In more ways than one. Donating blood for Jungkook has changed from a fortnightly occurrence to a minimum of twice a week. Truthfully you don’t know how much longer you can keep this lifestyle up, while your bank account has never looked healthier your body feels the complete opposite.

You’re sick. Feeling constantly light-headed and drowsy, similar to last year when you had a nasty chest infection, even getting out of bed is a daily struggle. But with every donation comes a tonne of money, money you’ve been sending straight to your mother to cover the cost of Eddie’s medical bills. Jungkook doesn’t know truly how desperate you are for the money, he’s never asked and it would be fair to assume he doesn’t care – as long as you’re donating.

Your relationship with the vampire in question is equally as unstable as your blood pressure. He invites you over, you get yourself off in front of him while he's chained to the bed he has to replace every time you go there – giving that he breaks at least two of the bed posts each time you go, thrashing around like a handsome shark attempting to be freed. Once you’re finished you head up to his kitchen, donate and leave. The two of you don’t speak between your sinful, morally grey rendezvous, only amplifying your confusion toward the situation. Amplifying your confusion toward him.

College work can wait, you decide you need a nap before you’re capable of conjuring any coherent thoughts. It’s been a while since you felt this ill, your entire body is heavy and weak, simultaneously burning hot and shivering. Maybe it’s the flu? You’re Googling your symptoms when the weight of sleep drags you into unconsciousness, succumbing to slumber quicker than you thought humanly possible.

It's the knocking sound on your front door that wakes you a few hours later, actually, when your eyes flutter open with a lot of effort you register it’s dark outside. You’ve been out cold for at least six hours. Tired footsteps drag on the floorboards as you make your way to the door, using the peephole to ensure you’re not going to be drained of blood as soon as you unlock it. Thank god, it’s just Yoongi.

He's standing on the other side of the door with arms folded over his chest, brows raised and an unimpressed-looking expression. You sigh, unhooking the chain before you greet your next door neighbour. You’re not exactly dressed for company right now, having fallen asleep in nothing beyond an old, oversized Twilight t-shirt you wear to mostly dye your hair. Oh the irony.

“Hey…” You croak, throat feeling full of glass shards and head banging louder than thunder itself when you open the door.

Yoongi’s features shift to concern instantly, he uncrosses his arms and softens his profile into something almost caring when he speaks. “Are you okay…? You look… Are you sick?”

“Mhm, think it’s the flu.” You admit with a cough to backup your claim, covering your mouth, “Don’t get too close to me, what’s up?”

“I-, I uh-, I came for the lasagne dish back…” Yoongi runs a slender finger through his long brunette hair, pushing it away from his gentle features. “Do you have any medicine? You look really sick…”

At this you offer him a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine. Hang on I’ll go get the dish for you, probably best you don’t come inside…” You trail off to nothing while searching your cupboard for the dish in question, but much to your surprise Yoongi follows you inside, closing the door behind him all while he ignores your pleas. “No seriously!” You turn to face him with wide eyes, well, as wide as your eyes can physically get with the weight of the flu resting on your lids, “I don’t want you to get sick, go wait outside!”

“Y/N it’s just the flu, I’ll be okay.” Yoongi chuckles, veiny hands finding your kettle on the countertop before flicking it to boil, “Go sit down, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Yoongi—”

“Sit. Down.” He emphasises his words with a low, assertive tone, pointing to the sofa with raised brows. “Are you always this stubborn?” A small smile briefly tugs the corners of his pink lips, until the kettle flicks back off signalling the water’s boiled and he heads over to your small, makeshift hot drinks station.

You smile back, “Are you?”

Yoongi doesn’t look at you, too focussed on searching for tea, “I’m not gonna ask you again, sit down. You look terrible.” He murmurs, picking out your favourite mug straight away.

“You didn’t ask me to begin with.” You mumble in defeat, finally doing as he says and sitting on the sofa in front of the television. A large, cotton-candy pink blanket is haphazardly thrown onto your frame and the weight of it almost knocks you clean out. When you glare at your unexpected guest he’s grinning ear-to-ear, peeling his gaze away from you.

“Shit, is this rose thorn?” Yoongi gestures to your mom’s homemade tea bags, immediately rinsing his hands below the cold tap after touching it. Though he doesn’t look to be in any discomfort.

“I don’t know what she puts in there… My mom makes her own tea, she sent me some not long ago.” You hum, mindlessly flicking through the Netflix selection, internal organs knotting with shame when you scroll through the ‘Recommended For You’ section:

The Vampire Diaries, The Twilight Collection, The Lost Boys, and one that catches you off-guard so much so that laughter bubbles in your throat, Vampires Suck.

Correct Netflix, vampires do suck. It's refreshing to be at home in your modest apartment with blush pink and mustard furnishings for a change. It's bright, light and homely. The complete opposite to Euphoria's dark seductive overall aesthetic. But even Euphoria is tame in comparison to the hidden sex dungeon in Jungkook's otherwise seemingly normal home. You frown, wondering if the vampire has even noticed you haven't reached out in a couple days. Probably not.

“Sounds like mom’s very paranoid.” Yoongi mutters, choosing to give you a green tea instead. As well as a bottle of water. He places both onto the white coffee table in front of you and before you have time to question him he speaks again, “When did you last eat?”

You sigh, “Seriously Yoongi I’m fine, thank you but—”

“Y/N.” He cuts you off, “Do you have any idea what I do for a living?”

“No…” You admit sheepishly, unable to hold his strong, judgemental eye-contact that's unwavering despite choppy brunette locks tickling his almond-shaped eyes. “I don’t know anything about you, actually.”

Yoongi nods in response, slowly, “Exactly. Trust me, you’re sick. I bet you’re burning up right now-“ You don’t have a second to think before the back of his large hand is on your clammy forehead, he’s frowning when he pulls away, “Shit, you’re really sick. I’ll pick up some medicine for you tomorrow.”

“What do you do for a living?” Curiosity takes over, heart racing in your chest when Yoongi’s adjusting the blanket over your body, tucking every part of you beneath it apart from your bare ankles and feet.

“Keep your feet out, it’ll help regulate your temperature.” He’s completely focussed on making sure you’re comfortable, it’s when his hands graze the swell of your ass over the blanket that you clear your throat uncomfortably and he keeps talking, you assume it's his way of overcoming the sudden awkwardness, “I’m a medical journalist, used to be a paramedic before that.”

“Oh really? I’m a nursing student.” You smile, a genuine smile despite the ache in your body and pounding in your brain… It’s nice to have something in common. “How come you switched from being a paramedic to a medical journalist if you don’t mind me asking?”

At this Yoongi shrugs, eyes his expression almost bored-looking, “I helped a lot of people but it was never satisfying enough for me… Now I expose the people who don’t help others. Medical malpractice is something I’m passionate about, was an easy decision to make.”

“Hmmm…” You nod along with his words, seemingly impressed that he followed his passions and is still helping people by exposing the wrong-doings of others, “That’s really interesting.”

“So,” Yoongi stands in front of the television holding his hips, winning him your complete focus. He’s wearing acid-wash blue jeans, a white t shirt and a grey oversized cardigan today and once again, you can’t help but notice how he doesn’t seem out of place standing in your apartment. “Do you have any soup?”

The next four days are filled with Yoongi coming over and taking care of you, bringing you comfort food and medicine or even just his company. You learn that he’s a very sweet guy, though his external walls are tough and hard to penetrate – on the inside he’s much gentler than you’d expect, much more. It’s day five of riding out the confirmed flu when once again Yoongi is standing in your kitchen area, having just tucked you up on the sofa.

The pounding in your head has dulled, the aching of your joints and muscles has lessened. You still don’t feel 100% but you’re a hell of a lot better than you were, and it’s all because of Yoongi. It’s strange, one minute you didn’t know much about him and the next it was as though you’d known him forever. He’s scanning the contents of your cupboard with pinched brows, but you’re way more focussed on how his slender fingers trace patterns on the cupboard door while he searches for what he wants.

“Shit, no green tea left.” He sighs exasperatedly, “I think I’ve got some at my place…”

You’re smiling, attempting to show indifference when Yoongi closes the cabinet door and zones in on your face. You cough, looking away, “What’s wrong with my mom’s homemade stuff? It tastes nice, you should try it.”

“No can do,” Yoongi chuckles, slipping his shoes back on to head out into the hall and back to his apartment, “My roommate is allergic to rose thorn.”

You frown, prodding the inside of your cheek with your tongue to showcase your confusion, “But your roommate won’t be the one drinking it…?”

“Not directly, no.” Yoongi sighs, brushing fingers through his long brunette hair. Today he’s wearing an all-black outfit consisting of a very tight fitted t shirt and loose baggy jeans, all tied together with a leather jacket that’s currently hung up on your coat stand. “But you can never be too careful where allergies are concerned. I’ll be right back.”

After ninety minutes of waiting for Yoongi to come back to your place the drowsiness of the medication is in full swing and you drift off to sleep on the sofa. It’s an unknown amount of time later when you feel your limp body being shifted around, until your head is resting on something warm with a beating heart and there’s an arm loosely draped over your waist. The familiar woody scent of Yoongi’s cologne is the last thing you pick up on before you fall back to sleep, completely oblivious to your surroundings save for the comforting hold of your next door neighbour.

-

It's been a week since Jungkook last heard from you, if he had a heart it would be yearning for you to reach out to him right now. This is the longest the two of you have gone with zero contact since the night you met, even his employees Jimin and Namjoon haven’t seen you around your college campus or your neighbourhood. Which is unusual to say the least considering they’ve memorised your scent and know where you live. It’s like you’ve disappeared.

The only thing that has stopped Jungkook from directly reaching out to you himself is his pride, that and the fact Jimin and Taehyung have grown suspicious of his recent behaviour. It’s not that he’s in love with you or anything, vampires aren’t capable of such humane complexities. But he’s addicted to you, to the taste of you, to the sight of you, the scent of you. Everything about you lingers in his soulless being like an ache, he misses you. He misses your blood.

He’s due to run out of your donations any day now, giving that he’s being rationing himself to one test-tube per day of the euphoric rush your blood provides. He has three tubes left, and the fact he hasn’t heard a single peep from you in a week makes him feel… Well that’s just it, you make him feel.

Sitting alone in a private dance room at Euphoria he dials your number, wanting to schedule another… meeting with you as soon as possible. It’s when a voice he didn’t expect to hear answers, whispered and smug, that Jungkook stops breathing.

“Hello?” It’s a guy speaking, sounding every bit arrogant which ignites a fire of fury inside the vampire.

“Where’s Y/N.” Jungkook bites, immediately sitting up right on the leather sofa, almost crushing his cell phone in his strong grip. “Who the fuck is this?”

“She’s sleeping.”

Jungkook’s fangs double in length when his question is ignored, angering him further, “Who the fuck are you and why do you have Y/N’s phone?” He spits venomously, nostrils flared and eyes wide, rounded yet still fierce. His voice is bleeding with unsaid threats, anyone in their right mind would be terrified of him in this moment.

“I didn’t steal her phone if that’s what you’re implying…” The voice laughs sadistically, still remaining quiet and albeit unphased by Jungkook’s tone, “She’s here, she’s asleep on me right now—”

“Who the fuck are you?!” Jungkook growls, rushing to his feet, the leather sofa he was sitting on moments before flying back and crashing against the ground, smashing to pieces. His chest is heaving up and down, breathing ragged and mind clouded by the idea of you cosying up next to someone. “Are you in her apartment?! I’ll see you there in five—”

“Good luck with that,” The man sighs, bored-sounding as though this is the most mundane conversation he’s ever had, “Place is drowning in rose thorns.”

Jungkook’s features drop until no emotion remains, “A hunter.”

“Not exactly,” The man audibly shifts, a low delicate hum can be heard in the background and Jungkook’s chest tightens, he knows that’s your voice, “But you don’t belong in Y/N’s world. Stay away from her.”

“Stay away from her?! You think I—”

The call ends, pissing Jungkook off to the point where he’s launching his cell at a wall-length mirror that stands opposite him, smashing it to pieces. He catches sight of his reflection, his profile is tense and seething, equal parts disgusted and angry. His favourite leopard print shirt barely covers his chest, the top four buttons undone at least exposing his taught dewy skin. Tied with black slacks and bare feet, the club hasn’t opened yet and he knows he has to calm down and screw on his business head before customers arrive. But that’s going to be somewhat impossible now.

Who the fuck is in your apartment?! That guy is probably poisoning you with rose thorn. Jungkook’s entire body stiffens, fuck this, why does he care so much?! If you want to fuck around with men—, no. He can’t even bring himself to think about you being intimate with anyone else. Not that he’s fucked you, he’s never even kissed you because every time he entertains the mere thought of it the smell of your blood floods his senses and all he can think about is killing you.

Kissing a human, a few months ago he would’ve felt physically ill at the thought. But now? Kissing you is something Jungkook wishes he had the strength execute properly.

--

As soon as the flu passes you find yourself standing outside the familiar door adorned with a golden ’97’ on the front. You haven’t been to Jungkook’s place in almost two weeks now, you haven’t communicated with him at all but this conversation is something that has to be done face to face. You want out. Out of the donations, away from the vampires.

It’s nothing personal, there’s no bad blood between you and Jungkook but frankly you can’t keep doing this. For whatever reason your blood is special, you understand that, well at the very least you’ve accepted it. And Jungkook wants to know why, rightfully so – it’s just the constant donating is taking a toll on your body, you still don’t feel completely recovered from the flu and there are new aches and pains in your limbs every day. You’ve been to the doctor, mostly because Yoongi forced you to go to the doctor, and they confirmed your bloodwork is all over the place.

You have low iron, borderline no B12, your haemoglobin levels are dangerously under what medical professionals deem to be normal. Truthfully you’re exhausted, the mere thought of gifting any more blood to Jungkook makes your knees buckle under your weight. You feel weak, you feel tired. Which is precisely why you’re standing at Jungkook’s front door, wearing a rich burgundy off-the-shoulder sweater and black skinny jeans, tied together with a pair of black military style boots.

The dark front door swings open before you’ve even had the chance to knock, revealing Jungkook’s wide doe-like eyes shocked and confused to see you here. You swallow, having forgotten how… ethereal he is.

Today he’s wearing a fancy white shirt with plentiful ruffles gathering at the front of his chest, the first to buttons undone and revealing his tattooed dewy skin. The trousers he wears are similar to yours, black and tight fitting, except his are made completely of leather and shine beneath the November moonlight. It’s not a moment later when Jungkook’s features drop into a tight scowl, thick dark brows furrowed and nostrils flared.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is threatening, a little dangerous and lacking any trace of concern.

Awkwardly shifting your weight between your legs you sigh, looking him dead in his faintly stained crimson red eyes, “Can I come in?”

Rather than verbally responding he steps to one side, granting you access to his home. It’s still surprising to you how not gothic and creepy this place is, instead it’s homely and warm. At least this level of the house is, what lies in his basement is far from homely…

You slip onto a barstool in the kitchen, noting how Jungkook is keeping a large distance between your bodies. Right. He’s not tied up this time, he’s probably resisting the urge to kill you right now.

“It’s not because of that,” Jungkook reads your mind with a whispered scoff, “You stink of him, that’s all.” He folds his strong arms over his chest and you have to try not to stare at the bulging muscles flexing and moving beneath the very thin fabric of his shirt. The material is so sheer in fact, that you can see the tattoos that lie beneath.

“Him?” You frown, heart pounding in your chest as the realisation dawns on you – he means Yoongi. “Oh… Yeah, my neighbour has been looking after me… I’ve been sick. That’s actually why I came over…” You swallow again, mouth suddenly feeling very dry when Jungkook makes his way over to you in a few long strides, until he’s at the opposite side of the kitchen island.

His tattooed hands rest on the marble surface either side of his body, arms straight and stare stuck on you. “You should’ve told me you were sick, I could’ve helped you.” There’s zero emotion in his tone, no clues as to what he’s feeling etched onto his face, nothing.

“Helped me…?” Your brows are pinched together again, flaunting your confusion, eyes wandering to the swell of the vampire’s shoulder muscles, round and inviting. In an ironic way they almost look biteable, like large succulent pieces of fruit joining his arms to his equally as enticing body. His taught, big, beefy—

One of Jungkook’s eyebrows raise, the pierced one, his stare is intense and doesn’t falter from your for even a second. “Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?” You blink at him, a little anxious.

“Stop staring at me like that while you’re thinking such obscenities.” He says bluntly, the usual glimmer of flirtation nowhere to be seen.

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away quickly, clearing your throat, “Sorry.”

“If you were sick you should’ve called, you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you know all about what a drop of my blood can do.” Jungkook cracks his neck, eyes fluttered shut as though he’s actively trying not to look at you. “I’ve never let a human feed from me, but if you really were sick I would’ve made an exception.”

“What do you mean if I ‘really were sick’?” You scoff, pursing your lips, “Do you think I’m lying about being ill? Why on earth would I do that Jungkook?” You shake your head in disbelief, fucking vampires and their stupid sexy brooding faces and thoughts.

Of course he doesn’t believe you, probably thinks you spent the week avoiding him to hook up with Yoongi since you ‘stink of him’. Sighing, you mirror his movements, planting your hands down onto the countertop, cocking your head to eye him curiously.

“That’s exactly what I think, actually.” Jungkook looks scary, the tinge of red to his eyes has taken over his whole irises, the once faint stain of colour is now opaque and unmistakably deep ruby. Burning with something indescribable, boring into your soul from across the countertop. “Look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t touch you, tell me his scent isn’t all over you for the reason I think it is.”

You’re laughing, the sound empty and absent, “Stay out of my head! Are you asking if he touched me, or if he fucked me?” You fold your arms over your chest, subconsciously pushing the swell of your breasts up without trying, “Because they’re two very different questions.”

The vampire’s stare darkens, flickering to your chest for a moment so brief it could pass as an accident, “And yet the answer is the same for both, isn't it?”

“You’re right.” You hum, “He didn’t touch me, or fuck me. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Silence.

“Lets say for arguments sake he did fuck me… What could you do about it?” You scoff, frowning at him when you stand, “You don’t own me Jungkook, stop acting like you do. If I want to fuck my next door neighbour who the hell are you to stop me?! You’ve never even touched me yourself—”

“How fucking dare you,” Jungkook’s standing next to you in the blink of an eye, sharp fangs and familiar face bruising dominating his chiselled features. He’s looking down at you as though you’re everything wrong with the world, as though he despises you to your very core and his voice is equally as disgusted. “Show up at my home, drowning in another man’s cologne and try to pick a fight with me. Are you frustrated because I haven’t touched you myself, is that it?” He spits, lowering his head until you’re both nose-to-nose, “You want me to touch you, don’t you? You’re either very brave, or very foolish.”

Jungkook’s breath is hot on your face but you don’t fold, looking up at the familiar monster he’s become with unwavering, strong eye contact, despite the hammering of your heart inside your chest, “Are you jealous that I was with another man?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Of course I’m not jealous. I don’t own you, remember.” He scoffs, wetting his lips. The way his chest is heaving with each and every angry breath he takes is all the confirmation you need to know he’s lying, “The supplies are in the basement, make your donation and get the fuck out of my house.”

At this you try to push him away, the apple of his shoulder is rock hard beneath your palm when you attempt to move his body away for yours. But of course, as to be expected, he stays exactly where he is. A frustrated sound escapes you, similar to a whine or maybe even a defeated whimper. Whatever description it falls under, it has Jungkook smirking when you step away from him.

“Not so brave now, are we?” He chuckles, eyes raking the spans of your bare shoulders when he swallows.

You stand your ground, “The reason I came here is to call off our… arrangement, whatever you want to call this. It’s making me sick, my blood work is messed up and frankly I can think of better ways to spend my evenings—”

“Stop seeing him then, problem solved.” Jungkook barks, edging closer, voice louder, “He’s the one who convinced you to stop this arrangement, isn’t he?”

Your mouth falls open in equal parts shock and rightfully placed, albeit a little delayed fear, “N-no… Yoongi doesn’t even know about what we’re doing… I haven’t told anyone.” You silently plead with him, nervous of what he’ll do to you if he thinks you’re lying, “I need to stop doing this for my health…”

“I can fix that. I can make you healthy again.” He’s calm now, the fury behind his eyes softening with each passing moment.

“I don’t want to feed from you, Jungkook.”

“Think of it as medicine.”

“Except it’s not medicine.” You sigh, growing agitated.

“A drop of my blood will rid you of any human illness—”

“It’ll also turn me into a monster!” You blurt, immediately regretting that decision when every hair on your body stands to attention as you’re being hurried downstairs into his basement, faster than you can humanly process.

The familiar scent of warm amber and ginger hits you like a train and in the next breath your back is firmly pressed against a brick wall adorned with leather sex accessories. Paddles, floggers, whips, ball-gags, collars, everything a person can think of is pressing against your back. Tears stab at your vision, clouding it entirely when you catch sight of Jungkook’s strong arms caging your body in either side of your face, keeping you in place.

“You’d only turn if you died with my blood in your system…” The calmness, the consideration and purity of Jungkook’s voice surprises you. He doesn’t sound mad, he doesn’t appear to be anything related to angry. Instead his tone is sincere and offers solace. “And you’re an even bigger fool than I thought if you haven’t figured this out by now…” He whispers, lips tracing up your jaw until his fangs are pressed against the shell of your ear, “But I would never let that happen.”

“I’m s-sorry…” You whisper back, dizzy from his words, “I didn’t mean to call you a monster…” Your breath is shaky, eyes fluttering shut in an attempt to calm yourself down. He's going to fucking kill you down here.

“That’s exactly what I am Y/N.” Jungkook’s head is still dipped, lips grazing your ear as the words roll off his tongue, sending a hot shiver down your spine that you can’t even describe. “But don’t do this, don’t stop making donations.”

He pulls his face back on instinct when your eyes open, leaving you staring at each other with open mouths. Your heartrate picks up, until the sound of your pulse is deafening your ears. Your voice is quiet, cautious and calculated when it tumbles from your lips, “…Jungkook, my health comes first. I can make one final donation but after that you’re gonna have to find someone else to test—”

“Except there is nobody else. If you’re sick because of me, let me fix it.” Inked fingertips find their way to your bare shoulder, you tense beneath his touch and you register him wetting his pierced lips, his face is less than arms-length away and it’s enough to make you nervous. He’s not chained up this time, there’s nothing stopping him from killing you in an instant. “Please.”

“Why…?” You exhale.

“If I wanted you dead you would be already, don’t you trust me?” His voice is hoarse.

Your breath catches in your throat but you find yourself nodding, “Fine… But-, I’m… We’re not going to be like bound forever if I do this, right? If I-, if I drink your...”

At this Jungkook’s gaze deepens with hope, flashing with something a little sinister, “That’s not how it works. You’ll be restored to full health and your body temperature will burn it off in a couple days. You only need a drop.”

“That’s it?” You snort, undeniably confused, the media has always made the exchange of vampire blood out to be something akin to injecting heroin. “That’s all that happens? I don’t get addicted or anything?”

“That’s all that happens…” Jungkook smirks, his fangs extending two inches longer than his other teeth, one hand rolling the sleeve up on his other arm in preparation. “You have my word.”

You should be frightened, uncomfortable and scared shitless when his fangs pierce the tattooed skin of his wrist, until a tiny amount of blood gathers round his lips and drips from the open-wound. You should be running for the hills, you should be screaming, crying, throwing up or having an anxiety attack from what you’ve just witnessed.

But the only emotions coursing through your veins are… Curiosity. Bewilderment. Excitement. Is this a good idea? Definitely not. Do you trust Jungkook? You shouldn’t. Are you really going to do this?

You are.

Jungkook’s pierced plump lips are stained red, the skin surrounding his mouth tinted pink, you’ve never seen his lips look so inviting before. Almost swollen and begging to be kissed. Your gaze flickers back to his eyes, they’re crimson in colour and glowing beneath the dim lighting in the basement. He’s… beautiful.

“Stay still.” His voice is barely audible when he takes two small steps closer to you, his bleeding wrist is forgotten about when he edges even closer, hands finding purchase on the wall you’re pressed against. His scent is intoxicating, he’s staring at you with a gaze full of equal parts desire and uncertainty. “Don’t move Y/N…”

“Jungkook…” You whisper, subconsciously wetting your own lips in preparation for what you think is about to happen.

“Please…” He exhales, swallowing thickly, “Stay… Exactly how you are.” His eyes close, dark eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheekbones. When his mouth opens again you register that while his fangs are still sharp and unmistakably inhuman, they’re shorter and less-threatening. His chin starts to tilt towards yours, lips still parted, shallow breaths warming your face.

Slowly his eyes are open again, barely, but his hooded stare is intense enough to make you weak at the knees and win your heart to explode in your chest, “The unfathomable desire to have you… makes me feel human again.”

“Jungkook, please-,” It’s a slender tattooed finger pressing gently to your lips that cuts you off, you know Jungkook is trying his best to keep calm, his features are tight and crumpled with something indescribable. His digit leaves your lips and travels to your chin, angling your face up to meet his.

“Don’t move.” He whispers.

“Okay…”

He hushes you, lightly shaking his head, “Don’t speak.”

It’s the sound of your own gasp that fills the silence when Jungkook’s blood-stained lips are a hair away from yours, the coolness of his metal lip ring pressed against your mouth further confirmation this is the closest he’s ever been. You peer up at him through long eyelashes, breath hitching, zoning in on the two tiny face tattoos that sit beneath his eyes.

Divine. Sinner.

“Please… Stay exactly as you are.” He reiterates seriously, with more determination.

And then he kisses you, showing you exactly how kisses are meant to be.

It’s the way his lips are softly pressed to yours, the metallic yet sweet hint of his blood lingering on them. It’s how his inked fingers quickly and roughly grip your hips, the hold strong enough to shatter your bones. It’s the way he’s pressing you harder and harder against the wall, the way you’re already desperate for more but more of what you’re unsure. It’s the way his fangs graze your lips when his tongue slides into your mouth, accompanied by a drawn-out hushed moan.

Your head is spinning, arms snaking over Jungkook’s broad shoulders just to keep yourself standing. Your legs are wobbly, your heart thumping, body burning with an indescribable heat that you’ve never experienced before. You’re lost to his kiss, simultaneously damned and saved. It’s as though two worlds are colliding, maybe it’s heaven and hell. Maybe it’s vampires and humans. Or maybe, it’s nothing more and nothing less than you and Jungkook.

You do more than simply let him kiss you, you kiss him back. Fervently, intently, as though your entire existence depends on it. It’s Jungkook knocking your legs apart with his thick thigh that wins you to gasp, smiling against his lips triumphantly.

“I can’t-,” He exhales with furrowed brows, the words slipping from his lips and straight onto yours with another kiss, a hungrier kiss. “I can’t stop, how is this possible?” He murmurs.

“I don’t want you to stop.” You emphasise your words with a gentle tug of his hair and something inside Jungkook snaps — He pulls himself to the other side of the basement with a heaving chest, kiss-swollen blood stained lips and wide eyes. Leaving you standing alone, disoriented and yearning.

“You need to leave.” Jungkook says curtly, looking everywhere in the room except you, completely in disbelief of what just happened. “Y/N you need to leave now, I don’t want to hurt you.” The way you know he means that sends a pang of something unfamiliar straight to your chest.

“You won’t.”

“I want to.” He admits, wetting his lips. “I… I want to hurt you.”

"What about the donation...?" You ask sheepishly, feeling confused and embarrassed all at once.

Jungkook swallows, he's breathing through his mouth heavily as though he's attempting to calm himself. "You're the one who said you were done donating. Lets part ways here, while we still can." The venom dripping from his tone makes you scoff, makes you angry.

You shake your head, determined legs taking you over to where he’s stood before any rational thoughts can stop you, “No. You don’t get to kiss me like that and pretend it never—”

Within the blink of an eye he crushes his lips to yours again, the familiar taste of his blood gifting your body a surge of energy. This kiss is different, if the last one were akin to two worlds colliding this one can only be described as two lost, broken hearts exploding and becoming whole. It’s messy, it’s desperate and loud. Both of you moaning and gasping for air while your tongues explore the other’s.

It's not until your back slams into the nearest wall, every accessory hung up hurling to the floor as dust clouds rush from the exposed bricks that you register he’s holding you. Your legs wrap round his waist, hands already deep in his raven hair, his hands are squeezing the fat of your ass cheeks with so much force you feel bruised.

“Jungkook… I want you.” You pant, reattaching your lips to his with more urgency.

He's resting his forehead to yours, peeling away from your lips for just a moment when his dark hooded eyes flutter open, his stare intense and unwavering, completely zoned in on you.

“If I had a soul it would already be yours.”

Suddenly he’s kissing you with everything he has, with everything he is. All his defences shattering only to be replaced by the lust-fuelled hunger surging both your bodies. With your back firm against the wall that’s barely standing, bricks tumbling to the ground from how hard you’re pushed against it, your legs snaking his middle keep you in place. It’s when Jungkook laces his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head that your eyes meet his again.

The satisfaction darkening his chiselled features is unmistakable. As is the relief, the need, the want, lust, desire, desperation and even the hint fear. It’s as though you’re looking straight into an emotional mirror, everything you’re feeling he’s feeling too. After one final kiss, a kiss so passionate not even Shakespeare himself could describe it, Jungkook’s sharp fangs are pressed to your neck and you gasp.

“You… You need to leave, now.” He rasps, finding the strength to pull away from you and aid your feet to the ground. “Leave.”

This time you don’t need telling twice, bruising and wine-coloured veins darken Jungkook’s eyes and you’re painfully reminded of what he is. And what could’ve just happened.

“S-sorry. I’m sorry.” You scramble up the stairs, hurling yourself out of his home as fast as you can, delirious and uncertain of what the future holds. The only thing on your mind being the sincerity behind Jungkook’s hooded gaze when those heart shattering words left his pierced, welcoming lips.

“If I had a soul it would already be yours.”

X

[biguyonline]

‘Toru’s Girl

Pairings: Satoru x (Fem!)Reader and Suguru x Satoru x (Fem!) Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Reader is called girl, and girlfriend but is never physically described (besides having eyes lol), masturbation, possessiveness, mentions of inflicting pain, cursefucker!Suguru, mentions of likening oneself to a monster, Suguru smokes a cigarette, Satoru being an asshat. Space cadet, melodramatic Suguru experiencing a bisexual awakening and a breakdown.

Summary: Reader and Satoru Gojo are a new couple, Suguru Geto finds himself jealous of his friends for more reasons than even he knew. Follow Suguru as he unearths his deeper (darker) feelings for his friends.

Notes: All characters are aged up, it’s Jujutsu Tech College over here y’all. This entire fic is inspired by the shower scene, you know the one. The idea for this fic came to me while listening to this song. While writing it, I also thought of and listened to this song and this song.

Satoru is his friend. Suguru stood staring himself down in the mirror, having to remind himself. Sobering himself to his situation. The water on his body cooling, having met the air. It beaded up in his hair and rolled down his back. Grounding himself in his reality. His feet were cold on the tile floor of the bathroom. Satoru is his best friend. The only person that has been here for him. Satoru is the only person that’s been able to help him get used to the sorcerer world, this reality. So much has changed and it keeps changing. There’s nothing left to hold on to. Suguru’s awareness came back to the sound of the faucet still on. He watched the water hurdle down the drain. This time the change wasn’t hard to define. But that didn’t make it any easier.

Suguru watched your eyes, they were glued to Satoru. All while Satoru yapped on about some nonsense that probably only you could pretend to stomach. He could see his reflection in your eyes. The way the morning sun showed off the twinkle in your eye, Suguru could tell that not only did you want Satoru, but that you are just as much of a smartass as him. He could see the love, desire, and the smug comeback you had for Satoru all before the words left your lips. Suguru could stay lost in your eyes, if they would ever meet his gaze.

“Hey, man!” Satoru snapped his fingers in Suguru's face. “Are you sleeping enough lately?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Suguru shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

“We’re getting ice cream before I have to do a field assignment today.” Suguru couldn’t tell if you were rubbing it in his face or inviting him to be a third wheel.

“Come with us, get out of your dorm. The rest of your day is gonna be boring anyway.” Satoru’s gorgeous smile was full of teeth that were going to fall out of his head if he continued to let his sweet tooth take charge of his diet. Not that Suguru found himself to be one to talk, he had a collection of unhealthy habits. Maybe that’s what’s left of their humanity.

"I've got something better to do today than rot my teeth with you two.” Suguru lied. “But I'll make time." The smile he faked felt real for a passing moment.

Suguru walked behind you and Satoru on the way to the creamery. He'd gone with Satoru countless times before you started tagging along. So why was he the one "tagging along" now? He watched your hips sway as you walked. It made him sick. He couldn't help but imagine your hips rocking and swaying on his best friend's cock. Satoru's arm around you began to wonder. Groping you in public?! Satoru would be so audacious. The way Satoru's arm fit around you so well left a lonely spot around Suguru. In that moment Suguru wished someone would hold him like that.

You and Gojo split some obscene pile of sugar. Chatting, giggling. You were animated as you talked, it wiggled the booth Suguru was sharing with you. The side of your body rubbed against his. Suguru wanted to plant his hand on your thigh to steady you, to feel you. Suguru questioned if he’d ever find someone like you, or if he’d have to take you. Suguru smirked to himself, he could have you if he wanted to. He fought away the thought. Suguru felt dirty for wanting you so badly. You belonged to Satoru, and as much as Suguru tried to respect that, he couldn’t accept it.

Suguru found himself playing along. Pretending that you and he could share Satoru, that you and he could be just friends. He couldn’t find another way to have both you and Satoru in his life so why change things? He wouldn’t lose his best friend just to have you. Not in his right mind. It was painfully sweet to have the both of you at his side and yet just out of reach. There was no reason to tear down the dynamic you and Satoru had built. You were happy, and Suguru thought he could learn to be. Suguru pulled himself from his thoughts when he noticed the tone of the discussion had changed.

“You mad?” Satoru taunted you. “As far as I can tell, you don’t have an argument.” Satoru winked at you before going back to his side of the sundae milkshake you were sharing with him. Suguru found it hard to tell when the two of you were flirting or arguing.

“Satoru, you shouldn't pick on your girlfriend. You’re hardly hearing her out.” Suguru tutted.

“Who else am I supposed to pick on then? You?” Satoru challenged Suguru, a sugarcoated shiteating grin spread across his face. “Ya think you know how to treat my girlfriend better than me?” Satoru’s words cut deeper than he knew.

“That’s enough.” You put your foot down. “This has nothing to do with what we were debating” You rolled your eyes. “I was enjoying our discussion until you two derailed it. I’m the one who’s going to have to go deal with some cursed spirit later, can we please just have a nice time?” You reached out and touched both their hands. Suguru smiled and his heart fluttered when you smiled back.

“It’s irrelevant that curses exist in context with the regular public, when they can’t even see them. What does it matter that they see us?” Satoru cleared his throat and settled back into the discourse the two of you were having.

Suguru recognized his age-old gotcha question and it was Suguru’s turn to roll his eyes. But he kept his opinions to himself this time. Having already argued that very topic into the ground to no avail, he opted to watch you try your hand at it while enjoying his milkshake.

As the two of you continued to talk at length Suguru couldn’t help but start to compare himself to Satoru, and wonder what exactly it was you saw in his best friend. Satoru is smarter, and very handsome in a different way, but Suguru judged himself to be much more charismatic, polite, and in touch with his emotions. All things Satoru lacked. Satoru is shameless, rude, but admittedly confident. Satoru’s confidence and jovialness were definitely his charms. His unique looks were captivating. Satoru has those gorgeous eyes everyone knows about but Suguru wondered if anyone had seen them as up close and personal as he had. Surely no one else has felt how soft Satoru’s tousled hair is, except maybe he’d have let you. So many things are effortless for Satoru, and the long and lean form of his body accentuates his grace, Satoru has poise when he wants to. Other times he does come off as lanky and awkward, its purposeful Suguru supposes, he does it in an attempt to be humorous. Which Satoru is not so effortless in. Suguru treasures how hard Satoru tries to make him laugh.

Suguru shook his head. He lit a cigarette and sighed out his first draw as he watched you kiss Satoru goodbye. You split away from Suguru and Satoru disappearing into the sea of pedestrians, it was just the two of them now. Walking back to campus together. The heartbeat of nostalgia was flatlined with melancholy. It stung in his chest. The ache of carrying unspoken feelings used the smoke in his lungs to tie a knot in his throat. He felt like his hands had rope burn from holding on to old times.

“You could be here with me right now.” Satoru hinted, a small knowing smile on his face.

“What?” Suguru stammered, only having heard pieces of what Satoru said.

“You’ve been stuck in here more recently.” Satoru jabbed his finger at the side of Suguru’s head. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Satoru shrugged.

“No worries.” Smoke trailed from Suguru’s mouth.

“Yeah, because you definitely do all of that for me.” Satoru wrapped an arm around Suguru’s shoulders. “Maybe I could try doing some of the worrying for you.” Satoru offered.

“No, I’m fine.” Suguru instinctually pushed away what was happening as he started to get overwhelmed. Satoru’s eyes wandered behind his heavily tinted glasses. He noticed Suguru’s body language changed into something he didn’t recognize. Timidness? It didn’t suit Suguru at all.

“Then pretend I didn’t say anything.” Satoru sighed. His hand trailed down Suguru’s side. Suguru felt like he was trying to play it cool while a snake wrapped around him. Satoru’s hand settled on Suguru’s hip and Suguru let it stay there.

Suguru’s white knuckle grip clenched the sides of the sink. He thought maybe if he looked hard enough into the eyes of this alternate self standing in front of him that then maybe they could swap places. Maybe then, life would be easier. Life would be different. Why was he here alone in his dorm room? Especially now, when there was a chance in that alternate reality he was peering into, he was in Satoru’s room. No, in this reality he chose to be alone with his spiraling thoughts. What was that? He asked himself for maybe the thousandth time because his feet were too heavy to walk next door and ask Satoru why he did what he did on their walk here. What didn’t you see in him that you saw in Satoru? What did Satoru see in him? A friend? Or something more? How would that make you feel?

Wasn’t love supposed to be what you and Satoru had? Not whatever feeling was happening to Suguru. Still, the more he felt like a monster the closer he felt to finding what this feeling must be. Suguru often liked to think about his feelings. He liked to find the logic in them, to make sense of things, to make things right. He never thought it’d feel so good to feel wrong. Suguru was never one to let go of his senses. There was always a point, always a cause, always a reason. Something deep inside him was calling on him to let go. Maybe Satoru had finally gotten to him? Satoru never had a cause, never stood for anything but himself. Satoru had you because he was selfish enough to claim you as his. What was love if not the jealousy inside Suguru that had grown large enough to eat you both?

Suguru’s hair stuck to the back of his neck. He pulled his hair into a bun to get it off of himself and peeled off his damp shirt. If he kept thinking about you and Satoru he was going to have to shower for the second time today. His thoughts waivered, flickering between lust and intrusive memories of different exorcisms he had performed. What if he could exorcise you like a curse? What would you taste like? What would Satoru taste like? How would Satoru feel inside him? How would it feel for the two of you to be utterly consumed by him?

“Fuck.” Suguru groaned low and breathy when he finally acknowledged how his body was reacting to his thoughts.

Still frozen in the eye of his own storm he could hardly bring himself to move. His hand at his side slowly drifts towards his core. He sighs again as his fist wraps around himself. His hips instinctively rut against his hand. Suguru hisses through his teeth, he opens his eyes he didn’t realize he had closed as he tries to bring back a part of him that isn’t just an animal. He settles against the cold tile wall of the bathroom, tightening his grip when he decides to fully give in to himself.

He pulls himself free of his pants and already beads of precum throb out of him and flow through the spaces between his fingers. His muscles twitch and his breath shakes as he tames himself. He starts a rhythm that’s just steady enough to appease himself. His strokes have a twist to them, like he’s wringing the precum out of himself. He moans, biting his lip hard enough for it to sting.

Maybe Satoru had you, maybe Satoru wanted you, but Suguru needed you. Suguru could feel himself losing who he thought he was. Nothing would make sense anymore without you, without Satoru. That’s why he needed you, why he clung to you. That’s why he’d dig his nails into you until he drew blood, just to hear you scream his name. His cock pulsed in his hand at the thought. He scraped his thumbnail up from the base to the tip, following the engorged vein up his shaft.

The sounds of pleasure bounce off the bathroom walls, echoing around Suguru. He was surrounded by himself in more ways than one. His movements become sloppier, his rhythm increases to a brutal pace, the same way he imagines he’d fuck you. Overpowering, all consuming, a force you’d be powerless against. Suguru could hear you brainlessly begging as he fucked you stupid. He bet Satoru never hurt you, but he would, and you’d love it.

Suguru’s movements became erratic, his chest heaved and his mind raced. He was reaching a fever pitch and balancing on a razor sharp edge. He could feel the ghost of Satoru’s hand on his hip. He could see in his mind Satoru knelt before him. Suguru envisioned you next to him with a look of post-orgasm high kissing up and down his neck, all while your boyfriend Satoru sucked him off. Satoru was so high above everyone. Satoru was unreachable, and untouchable. If Satoru ever stooped down to Suguru’s level, Suguru would make him live to regret it. If it was a fair fight, Suguru would win. If Satoru ever showed a shred of humanity Suguru would crush it between his teeth and revel in the feeling of it oozing down his chin and neck. He’d make Satoru what he knew he was really born to be, the strongest curse of them all.

Suguru’s breathing stuttered at the thought of the two of you becoming curses, and living under his control. The two of you belong to him. A low moan rattled his chest as he came hard. Thick ropes of white cum spurt onto his chest. One lands on his chin, another on his chewed and swollen bottom lip. His tongue lazily swipes it up as he opens his mouth panting to catch his breath. He groans and peels himself off the wall. Leaning forward he turned the faucet handle to start a shower.

[an-au-blog]

Trans (ftm)Sanji who absolutely refuses to sleep with Zoro for multiple reasons. They've been together for a while but he never let's them go further than making out. (because i need to post angst more than I need air)

CW: some sexual themes!!!, body dysmorphia, easting disorder, internalized transphobia, mentioned pregnancy, emotional breakdown

Sanji's main concerns were that: 1. Zoro wouldn't want to be with him because he "wasn't a proper man", 2. he'd treat him differently or 3. he would end up pregnant. That probably terrified him the most. Everything about it was horrifying to him: the idea of carrying a living thing in his body appalled him. And even if he lived through it, he was also scared with how the child would turn out. What if it turned out like him, or even worse - like his biological brothers or father, not to mention it could be physically unwell with how much he smoked.

One day, in the heat of the moment making out, Sanji gets carried away and forgets himself. It was only when Zoro started grinding against him that he started getting nervous again. The swordsman broke the kiss and pulled away a bit. "Is something wrong? he asked, I have a feeling this isn't doing anything for you..."

Sanji realized he was talking about not feeling his erection, and he feels like a moron for letting it get to there. On autopilot he answered "I'm fine, I'm a bit under the weather is all" while lighting a cigarette. He walked out ignoring whatever Zoro tried to tell him and as soon as he was out of sight he rand to a secluded area. Thought started flooding him.

He'll think I'm not attracted to him, and then he'll break up with me, and he'll hate me, he'll find out what I am and he'll hate me, even worse - he'll think less of me, that I'm weak and tell everyone and they'll leave me, or worse.

He doesn't know when he had fallen on the ground but he was rocking himself with half a pack already gone. His vision was blurry. He wanted to scream to rip his throat open and let all the painful noises bubbling inside it. But everyone would hear... they would hear and would hate him for not being what he's supposed to... So he stood there, hoping he doesn't catch a cold, muffling his sobs best he can, and wondering why he couldn't die on that Godforsaken rock when he had the chance.

But he didn't have the power over that. What he did have the power over was his own wretched body that caused him so much pain and what he did with it.

He decided from that day on, he was going to reduce his meals in half. If he became thinner maybe what little was left of his breasts would vanish and at least he wouldn't have to wear something to suppress them. So he did. He did it as subtly as possible. But maybe didn't do it as well as he thought. He realized they might be onto him when Luffy of all people offered him some of his food. Sanji declined and lied saying he had a big lunch, so he's not hungry now. But then the next day Zoro approached him to call him out on his bullshit. He would end up pushing him away eventually, maybe if he started being meaner and more standoffish from now, it would seem less of a problem when Zoro leaves him.

Still, Sanji didn't know how to deflect the accusations, so he did what he did best and agitated him best he could. It led to a fight that Sanji lost. Not eating was more draining than he thought. They would usually tie or at least have someone interfere but he was out in less that five minutes. He was weak. As punishment, he decided he would stop eating dinner altogether.

He was good with food. He's known food all his life, and it's the only thing that he feels like he could control. So at least that, he could do.

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Honey Lemon Crescendo

Pairings: Trey Clover/Vampire MC

Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his. 

MC is a vampire, unique magic is telepathy, being able to unconsciously hear everyone's thoughts 

Notes: Once again I am alive lol. Barely. Just finished my first semester in my Master’s program so I’ve been experiencing a bit a burn out, so I apologize if this isn’t my best work. Also, every time I'm like "hm is this too much trauma?" But then I remember the child murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment that's canon in twst and I'm like ooh wait right nvm I’m good. Fits within the canon. Anyways, I would have liked to explore the concept of BPD and its allegorical connections to Vampirism more in depth, especially due to the social sigma associated with it‒ but I feel that it would be waaaay too long for a one-shot if I did so. 

Also, all stand alone quotes that are in italics represent inner thoughts (with some exceptions depending on your personal interpretations)

TW: References to depression, references to religious trauma, exorcism, and cults; references to child abuse; survivors guilt; referenced to verbal abuse; anxiety; panic attacks; slight mentions of eating disorders/disordered eating (suppressing appetite); BPD 

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

------------------------------

“There is no sin within this child. Only the devil which lives within them.” 

Those were the words that had prevented your burning during the trial, among other things. 

Perhaps it was also the way you would keep your claws obscured under thickset leather gloves, conceal your crimson gaze under obsidian shades, or the terror that seized you every night that left you so evidently unraveled in all of your unforgiving guilt and abhorrence for your new form. The pity that could be provoked by the wetness and flush of a child’s face was something many adults in the future instructed was a bias you should have been more grateful for‒ as it triumphed over whatever horrors people held when you spoke a decibel too loudly to show your sharpening fangs, moved too swiftly to confirm the power that swelled within you like simmering, spoiled blood‒ pungent, and nauseating.

It reminds you of the smell at the state of decomposition you found your family in when you returned home from a several day trip with your cello instructor‒ and the smell of its mouth when its sharpened teeth lurched towards your neck, before you felt the metallic taste drip cold into your gasping mouth. 

It was first the elongated fangs. Then came the claws, the lack of reflection, the original color of your eyes draining, replaced with a bright vermillion. The enhanced senses and physical power were less noticeable‒ but the subtle power that swelled in your hands when you broke skin and meat with your own grip upon your arm did not go unnoticed by the Supreme Leader who examined your body and soul during your trial. 

“This thing should be useful to me, I hope. I was right to send that “Cello Instructor” with them to take care of business here. I’ll continue my divine plan as usual.”

The words themselves terrified you. Should you run? Hide? Die? Where would you go‒ with your small feet and hands? What could you do? The more oppressive horror lay in the confirmation of the whorling suspicion inside of your small, ten-year old mind that your new form allowed for telepathy‒ the exact “usefulness” the Supreme Leader had suspected lapped inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it, days later, when you read the color of the townspeople faces‒ their leering eyes and curled lips, squeezing their children close behind them‒ back towards your home, set ablaze by their torches and oil. The scramble of noise wasn't needed to confirm their disgust of you, but it came anyway. 

“Hideous.”

“Demon. Probably killed that poor family.”

“That disguising appearance‒ must be the child of the devil.”

“Murderer. Things like you deserved to be burned. Supreme leader is truly a blessing to take care of such vile things.”

You cowered at their stares‒ but you remember considering it distantly for a moment, even in the midst of your situation. That night you had been found by shaking candlelight, your mouth drenched with blood and fear, palming numbly at your family's cold bodies. You couldn't blame them, you supposed. The townspeople feared you. You feared you. Stay with me . The Supreme Leader told you. And you did. 

He defended you during your trial with a kind smile, tying the rope around your wrists loosely with gentle hands, spoke softly of good deeds, good gods, all forgiving and loving. When he convinced the council to graciously join his family , you didn’t run. 

“Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You shakily rolled the breath that seized in your lungs, your small hands clutched in a prayer against the heartbeat that thundered against your bones. 

“How pitiful child, that you choke on your sorrow. You, abhorrent creature, abomination of god‒ let me love you .” 

“Let me be your god.”

He held a copy of Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Vampires of Wonderland in his hands‒ he pressed a finger onto each part of your body, comparing it with his‒ what made him human, and what made you not. He gifted you your own room‒ different from all the other children, deep at the belly of the earth. The cobblestone walls reached high into the heavens where you could not see, even with your enhanced vision‒ the light falling just where your vision could reach. One of his attendants presented him with a pair of cuffs, made specially for your size. The ones they had did not yet fit you. However, he placed them on the ground‒ crescent smile and blackened eyes. You would not escape. 

You kept your secrets for a while‒ despite the unquenchable jealousy, festering sin, and violence that sprouted abundantly in the minds of his chosen advisors, who pinched your skin and snaked their cold hands under your shirt. In your ever dwindling, coastal town‒ you'd seen denial was the first reaction to loss. You'd felt a modicum of humanity in your ruthless rejection, letting the inner noise of others curdle in your mind. 

Their words on the surface stuck of cheap, saccharine perfume, ones you recognized in the town's alleys and such. Yet you swallowed your nausea down, digesting their words one by one. You still had faith then, capable of religion . So easy to fool back then‒ you think now‒ children rarely doubt the material world. Why would people hurt you on purpose?

You were still a child then‒ an infant in vampiric years.

“ Don’t you want to be loved by god?” 

“To be useful to god?” 

"Useful to me?"

“They’ve done so much for you.” 

“I’ve done so much for you.” 

“Don’t you want to repay that?”

You revealed it all, in your childish trust, and his soft hands. You thought perhaps, that adults, despite their true intentions, would help you somehow. Belief in good will. Faith. It grips you with force. 

It wasn’t all violence at first. But you began to fear the day where their actions would finally twist into something reflective of their actual intentions. That day came rather quickly, or so you think. Time did not matter in the small confines of your chambers below ground. The bloodletting, lashings, the vivisections were then all to vanquish the spirits that germinated inside your sinking flesh, possessing you to reveal such “impure things” in front of the people. Purification , he called it, no matter how many times you dried your throat from apologies, or promised you would do better next time. Next time I will speak your truth. God’s truth . You say the way their desires for a monster began to shape every laceration, every break of the bone. 

Still, you couldn’t be their monster, nor a human. It seemed that the seeds of sacrilege had been sown firmly into you, and flourished each passing decade in its grotesque power. 

The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

You’d beg through a dried throat and spinning vision for forgiveness and to appeal your usefulness‒ you knew the moment the priest resumed his kind smile, gentle hands, and his flowery voice‒ that he had found a use for you. Work for me , he said‒  and you obliged. He held your hand again, with a firm grip, and brought you to trials, his grand meetings with thousands of his followers‒ and you’d do his bidding, pointing a shaking finger at “non-believers” and spies‒ watching closely, where the supreme leader’s eyes leered and narrowed in order to anticipate your next move of survival . By then, you had learned to tune out a significant portion of the noise of people, to live in ignorant bliss for the few hours he would spend mending your gashing wounds, let you fiddle around with your cello that had survived the angry mob that burned down your family’s bakery, and home. Soft touches, sweet voice, he spoke. 

"Good child, one of god, of forgiveness, of love. "

And you could tell he had meant it‒ knowing that when he lied to you‒ he always clasped his hands unconsciously in prayer. If there were opposing intentions twisting below his perfumed words that you had somehow failed to pick up with your trained senses‒ you couldn’t be bothered to unravel them. It was just nice. To be held again‒ forgiven . By someone at least, if not yourself. You were good. You were good again. 

Decades pass‒ the people and the landscape move and breathe. It was only a matter of time your hometown would dwindle into a ghost city, being built on scrappy mines and poor fishermen, controlled by a con-man and his desperate believers. Even with nothing to lose, the remaining residents exiled you. Perhaps it was their humanity that they grasped onto with that final action. 

You stand against the passing aches after aches‒ drinking it all from your chalice‒ vessels gilded with gold and hammered with human desire, sitting high to the heavens on altars to hold the blood and wine offered to the gods. You’d been hollowed much like that grail, gouged from the sharpened image of your still, immutable face against the shifting harmony of the world you could not enter. You have no reflection, no face, no name people would call out to take shape as your own, no proof of your corporeal form but your own, cold touch. And the hunger. The hunger seized you at every moment‒ aching through the gums of your fangs, and pounding your heart with the lifeblood that chased it. You were at least alive in your 

You'd fashion something from the use you'd have to other people. A frankenstein skin stretched over your bones. You still feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze hollowing your senses. 

"It's like they're reading my thoughts."

"Those sunglasses and gloves, what are you trying to stand out? So annoying."

"Why don't you read the atmosphere for once?"

"Arrogant asshole."

"What are you, pretending to be all high and mighty."

"Liar."

The noise never stops completely. But you've learned to shut the world out, better now with the advancements on potions and ear plugs‒ courtesy of the Night Raven College’s curriculum‒ hands free to grasp at every opportunity to prove you had existed in some way‒ a being that was real enough to feel the light of gods' love and forgiveness. Useful. Good. 

“How did you know I used browned butter?”

Light‒ feather soft, honey sweet music that streams into your mind. 

You always sat alone in the end. There was a composition to everything, as you saw it. And you had perfected the score of distance‒ being able to orchestrate a friendly, carefree facade, an absolutely stupid and undoubtedly shallow passion, pruning the space between you and the world. A gothic mirror to parody themselves, so they could not truly look at your monstrous, yet absent form‒ something you were sure would absolutely rupture the thick skin you've fashioned together out of pieces of the real people unlike yourself. You'd break apart into nothing but dust. 

It was like the volume, moods, and rhythms created in the scores you played‒ you charged the room with boisterous laughter and directed the eyes at that, instead of your fervent efforts in composing the most fantastic detachment. In the end, you were almost giddy to see that no one saved you a seat, or spared you a glance when you slipped outside for a cigarette wedged hungrily between your fingers. The nicotine was enough to starve off the ache beginning to turn swiftly to nausea between your wobbling footsteps, and you were glad, you think, to have served your use in the social spiral to be afforded a moment of peace. 

Or, you thought. 

“Huh?”

“You forgot your prize.” The boy in front of you thrusts a frosted cupcake towards you, prompting you to switch the cigarette to your other hand to receive it. In the subtle moonlight, you see the sugar melted into the cream glitter a bit when you inspect the pastry. 

He adjusts the hat on top of his green head of hair as he continues. “The competition to see who could guess all the ingredients in the cake correctly‒ you won, it was perfect, actually.” 

You stare at him dumbly and you find yourself scooting over to make space for him. His eyebrows are tilted in a way that made his face a little sorry, a little roguish‒ a combination you found curious raised above those soft honey lemon eyes that hung like that summer fruit above the lush curve of his lashes. 

“So‒ how did you know? I’m curious.” 

You exhale the rest of the smoke resting in your lungs. “I…used to know people who were bakers. Their secret ingredient in their famous brownies was browned butter. I’ve eaten so many trays I’ve come to know the taste. The rest is just luck.”

He laughs. Not like you had seen out of the corner of your eye when he had been talking to all those people, but a loose, genuine chuckle. “I’d hardly call it luck‒ you got the measurements down pretty close. Impressive, if you ask me. May I ask‒ are you a baker?” 

“I…” You find yourself smiling through the cigarette pushed to your lips, careful not to show your teeth. “I used to be. I used to spend a lot of time there, they must have rubbed off me.”

How long has it been since you’ve thought about them? You could remember the distinct nutty smell from the pounds of brown butter your sister was in charge of making‒ the click click click of your mother’s footsteps as she worked from the counter to the rack of trays, preparing the bread dough for proofing. Your father in the background, fiddling with the radio, beaming when he heard a recording of your cello performance on the morning radio. Warmth, sunlight. The beat of your heart, and the heat of your blood. 

“You’ll have to give me the recipe then. I’ve been looking for a good brownie recipe.” 

A moment to contemplate if you should end this conversation here. Something switches inside of you, perhaps a remnant of that warmth you remembered. 

“You have something to write with?” 

His face flowers gently into a brightened expression before he pulls out a small notebook from his breast pocket. 

“...Thank you.”

You hum apathetically to work through the dreadful loom of warmth you feel when you hand the paper back to him with the recipes you’ve committed to memory from your laborious days at your family’s seaside bakery. The smoke still hanging in the air shifts sharply when you stand, and you flick the cindering cigarette to the pavement to stomp it out. You can tell there is more he wants to say that sits bubbly on his tongue, but you turn towards the door leading back to the Heartslabyul dorm before the words can take form through his smile. 

There’s a moment that you stand by the door where you reflect on what you saw of him while he was inside, mingling with other humans. 

“You should loosen your shoulders more when you smile, like that." Under his hat, you see his eyebrows raise up in slight surprise. Surprise isn't enough, you decide, and add, "If you want to convince people." 

You hope those words leave him a bit cold, a bit cruel that he doesn’t come seeking after you anytime soon, feeling the scramble of thoughts threatening to pool into your ears through the plugs. It’s all noise to you. You step inside once more‒ feeling a little less sick, a little less raw to be able to orchestrate again. 

Trey finds your handwriting as pretty as you were in the noise of the room, inspecting all the curls and loops of each word. It takes him a moment before he notices what you left behind. 

“They forgot their prize…” 

------------------------------

The next time you meet him is during band practice. Or, more precisely, hear him would be a better descriptor. 

"Have you seen (Name)?"

The thick walls of the storage room muffles his voice, but you still hear it loud and clear as you lean against the door, cello in hand. 

"I just saw them a minute ago. I think they went to run a few errands or something since the school festival is soon." Carter replies. 

"Ah it seems like I'm on a wild goose chase. I'm starting to wonder if such a person even exists…" 

“They’re everywhere and nowhere all the time.” Carter chuckles. "I didn't even know you two were like that."

"Hm. I guess. We only really talked once." He hums. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better ."

The sharp inhale you suck in makes an audible sound when you hear those words brush the back of your neck. You press the palm of your hands flat against your ears in panic to prevent any sound‒ voices, noise, the world‒ all of it, from entering your mind. 

Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet‒ 

You time his steps, the pleasantries he's likely throwing at the rest of the members, the time it takes for him to get far from your radius of power. Slowly, you release your hands from your head, and take a few moments to gather yourself before exiting the room. 

Carter is the first to notice you. "Eh? (Name)? Since when were you there?" 

"Since 10 minutes ago, dear. I told you we were going to take a break from group practice today and do individual practice today didn't I? We've been rehearsing so much for the festival I figured we could take a break for today."

"Really?? How did I miss this? I totally just sent Trey to the wrong place." 

Lilia continues to tune his bass. "You were on your phone when (Name) briefed us on the schedule 3 weeks ago, Carter." 

"I wanted to do a group rehearsal today! I feel like I finally got the hang of the last couple measures this time!" Kalim interjects. 

"Don't pout, my dear president." The hand you place on his head is as gentle as ever. "You can practice without a vocalist for today, can't you? I have a lot to catch up on the Monstero Lounge gig I have coming up." 

You bid your fellow members goodbye, dragging the instrument all the way to one of the empty classrooms. 

Finally, a moment of peace. 

You shuffle through your folder, fishing out the piece you had picked to play for a talent night that Azul had insisted you come and play at, excitedly chattering about how it was going to be brilliant for business. 

Chopin's Cello Sonata in G Minor, Largo . 

The cello sonata was one of the composer's last pieces. It was spectacular to you. A final, dazzling eruption before dwindling to the mere echoes of what had once been there‒ a fantastical piece with a pressure combed through every measure that would well an incomprehensible rawness that began at your chest, and would weave through the fibers of your throat that clenched in its emptiness. 

But perhaps it was not so incomprehensible‒ humans in your life had been much the same. The ones you held dearly would rupture from this world, leaving you empty, aching with the sharpened, receding fragments. 

When you slip off your gloves to press your bare fingers against the strings, you try not to let this thought consume you. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better."

Bitterly, it seeps. 

You know it's wrong‒ the piece is supposed to be for a simple, ten minute performance‒ a monotonous activity of human affairs that you would be pleased to check hastily off the list with a presentable smile and lightness. However, the decades you have lived until this day weigh upon you at once, spinning your hands in such a way that threads your grief heavily into the mellow air. The murky rust of the setting sun swells with the florid volume of your own misery, and the silence of the world that ripostes it. 

The song falls softly, a slow stroke that gradually quiets until there is nothing. A diminuendo‒ to shatter, to finish. There's a small comfort, that unlike living things, the scores that stood on the iron music stand could be revived time after time, on trembling strings and resin scented maple. But, not much. 

The flesh at the back of your eyelids are sparked with purple and blue stars as you squeeze your eyes shut, head leaning against the body of the cello to steady your breaths. It may have been the dizziness steadily climbing from the ache of your empty stomach to your head, but you felt like you were swaying in that concoction of color and bursting light. 

"Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You're afraid that if you open your eyes, the world may still be there. The noise, it will still exist, and reel you in‒ tangling you among its grotesque allure until the moment you reach towards it. Then, it will furl inwards, somewhere far from where you could detect it. The air feels sharp in your lungs‒ you feel like if you take too much in, you’d burst. The bow splinters in your hand, drawing blood. 

"Pretty ."

A voice strikes through your bleakness, a gentle, but clear sound. 

Trey stands at the center of your view. His face holds a glossy look for a moment, before he shakes his head and apologizes. 

"Sorry‒ I just‒ I just heard you in the hallway, I thought you sounded really…" He laughs, shifting his gaze to the side. " Pretty ." 

You look down at your instrument, and notice your bare hands, you remember you don't have your sunglasses on either. The cello echoes when you lean it against the desk, turn away from him to slip on your gloves and glasses. 

You clear your throat, feeling each word stumble in staccato breaths.  "Ah. Well. Um. Thank you. It's all, rather, very wrong though."

"Wrong? But it was incredible." 

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

The thoughts that enter his mind that churn into yours are ignored best you can before you swivel, veiling yourself in your disguise once more. "Perhaps wrong is not the best term. It's not tasteful for the audience, I suppose. There was no control."

"Control?" He parrots. 

"Yes, you know." You wave your hand in flutter movements. "If someone like me performed like I just did‒ ha! I’d become the laughing stock of the entire school. " You clasp your hands together. "Now, darling. I must get going. Did you want to marvel at my music some more, or is there anything else you needed?"

You work quickly to gather your things, expecting Trey to leave after you've dismissed him. But when you drag your cello case around to leave, you see him still standing in the doorway, leaping towards your hand that rests on the cello case. 

"Can I help you? It seems heavy."

"I'm alright. I've dragged this thing around this school, I am perfectly capable‒" When you go to lift the full weight of the instrument however, a dizziness digs into your temples, nausea quickly following suit. 

"Oh‒ are you alright? Are you not feeling well? Let me at least help you with your instrument back to your dorm."

You stare at him, feeling your power rise within you, waiting for his thoughts to flood through your system‒ a confirmation to your suspicions you filter every person through, to pick them apart. 

“You’re hurt.” He goes to examine your hand, you pull back. 

"They don't look so well. Maybe they need something to eat? I should whip them up something after I help them carry this back to their dorm. Hm. Yeah. That sounds good. Something hearty."

Those words are inspected with great skepticism in your mind before the dizziness takes over, muddling your brain to a jumbled mess. Whatever, you think. He seems harmless enough. 

“Fine” As soon as that curt response slips from your lips, you cringe internally. You clear your throat, attempting to redeem yourself. “I’ll take up your offer if that's alright with you. Pretty boy .”

He seems to hold the air in his throat when you give him that name, before he releases it in a puff of laughter. "Pft. Alright, yeah. Let's get you back to your room before you spout any more nonsense."

"Me?"

You're a bit taken back from his internal response. But you trail behind him, the weight of the nausea lifting slightly off your steps. 

------------------------------

"What kind of cocoa powder did you use?"

"I think…just the regular brand stuff."

"Use Dutch processed next time. If you activate it correctly, the alkalizing process gives the batter a richer color and flavor."

He had somehow used his devilish charm to string you into this, you tell yourself, sipping on the tea you brewed for the both of you. But it would be rude to kick him out of your quarters without a proper thanks. You're no longer human, but you'd at least act civilized. 

The tea has run a bit cold from the two whole hours he's managed to rope you into a conversation on baking techniques‒ slipping out the same notepad and pen he pulled out that night you met, and a box of various pastries and baked goods that he seemingly prepared out of nowhere. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to eat human food without proper sustenance from blood‒ however the look he gave you had absolutely pleaded that you do. So, how could you refuse? 

You clear your throat to break through your endless flood of doubts and excuses. "I heard you were looking for me during band practice. Now that you've wormed your way into my life by bribing me with sweets‒ what did you want from me?"

"Oh!" He pulls another, smaller box from the bag you saw him rummaging through for the sweets laid out before the two of you. "Ah‒ I forgot about this. It might be a bit melted since there's ermine cream on the top."

The simple white box is opened, revealing a similar cupcake that you (purposefully) forgot the night you met him. 

"It's not the same thing‒ it might be better actually‒ I used buttercream last time but it's pretty heavy so I substituted with ermine cream this time." He remains composed but you can tell something is bubbling below it. "Tell me what you think." 

" I'm so excited to see what they think…I worked hard on this recipe since it seems it wasn't up to their tastes last time."

You make a face when you hear his thoughts, wondering how absolutely normal someone can be. “You mean to say you came all the way here to deliver me…this cup cake?” 

"Yes I mean‒ I don't mean to pressure you into eating it, obviously." His eyebrows bunch upwards in his usual sorry expression. "I just. Wanted to hear your thoughts. Since I haven't met someone this knowledgeable on baking techniques at this school."

People usually had ulterior motives when approaching others with gifts, kindness, words slathered in polite niceties and compliments. You eye him suspiciously as he calmly sips his tea, scribbling away in his little notepad.

Drawing a little closer to him, you lean against the table, feeling the heat of your crimson eyes when you concentrate your magic to wade through the noise‒ pulling the thread of his thoughts from it all. It requires a bit of power through your ear plugs and rising nausea, but you manage to unravel it. 

" I'd really like to get to know them better. Friends, maybe . Cater says I should get out there more, this is what he meant, right? "

It was impossible to ignore the truth of the matter‒ that the person sitting in front of you is so absolutely unbearably bare, plain. You'd thought you'd seen clarity before, in how salient the cruelty of people was, but you had been wrong. No doubt this was true clarity‒ the candor of normal, mundane life that you normally blocked out with the rest of the noise of the world. The tonic of human lives rarely interested you, but it seemed like all this person was, and it seeped deeply into his treatment of you. Normal, bare, plain. 

Human . 

It was so baffling you could not suppress the smile that spread on your lips. 

Ah, maybe just for today, you think. Just this one conversation. Just one moment, and I'll forget the taste of human life again. 

"Hm, alright. Just this once, pretty boy ."

The sugary cream melts instantly in your tongue, and the airy sponge is sweet when you swallow your determination to forget this honey sweetness he brings. A hint of vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, spice, and everything nice. You let it settle deep in the dark of your belly, feeling the warmth still lacing through your blood from the tea you've sipped with him slowly cool under your flesh. You devour it all, with his words and smile, hiding it deep inside so you can’t remember its sweetness. 

But the honey you've added at his request still runs golden sweet on your tongue. You roll it through your mouth, trying to extinguish the taste, but it spreads further, coating your throat as you swallow it. Unlike the contents of the cupcake, it runs raw against your flesh, and you must wait until it seeps deeply into the fibers of your throat before it dissolves. 

The hours pass as you talk with him, but the sweetness does not fade. 

------------------------------

"You alright?" 

The silvery tone of your voice breaks through Trey's thoughts. He had been lagging behind the Heartstlabyul group to take a break from all of the frenzy of today. The responsibility, the pressure. You'd been with them a moment ago, mingling as you always did, but now you've slowed your footsteps to match the slight drag of his own‒ something he's sure you've noticed. Heat tingles at his cheeks‒ he doesn't know whether it's from the way you've broken his image so swiftly with your keen eyes, or if it's from, simply, your thoughtfulness. For him, of all people. For him. 

"Yeah, fine. Just tired. Today has been such a long day with these underclassmen." 

His laughter rings clearly, even though the obstruction of your ear. With each note emanated from his lips, you feel it slipping through the cracks of the foundation of your feeble resolve, crumbling so endearingly that you smile sincerely when he speaks. It had been disgust, revolt at first, feeling the distance between your world and his inching closer and closer‒ but before you could notice the absence of nausea stinging through your chest and stomach, you felt the feather-lightness of your own smile chiming with his own, completely eclipsing the discomfort you had felt previously in the proximity to other lives. To him. 

"You need to relax more. Stop fussing over these no good children." You massage his shoulders in a playful manner. 

He feigns pain then quirks that smile on his face‒ you know the one, the one where he bunches his eyebrows and laughs with the back of his throat. In that moment, you're as confident as ever, charging him with laughter‒ letting your inhibitions lose. Control didn’t matter, for a moment. The world doesn’t seem so sharp at that moment, like you were going to tip over the edge. 

When the pads of his fingers brush against your fingers, all that sense you had withers so easily in your chest. Through his shoulders, you can feel the vibration of the hum he emits in agreement, a musical accompaniment to the warmth that radiates from his hands. 

"Maybe. They're good kids. You're right‒ maybe I do need to relax." You retract your hands from him, allowing him to toss his head over his shoulder. "Any tips?"

The seconds you weigh out whether to lie or not seem to shorten with every moment you spend with him. "I guess…music. I like to sing some of the warm-up pieces I used to know.” 

"Warm up for what?"

"Ah for the…church choir." 

Liar . 

He makes a face, an airy laugh escapes your nose. "What?" You ask. 

"...you just don’t look like a religious person.”

You look down at your feet, a slight smile as a comfort to him. “I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think I’ve had faith in anything in a long time.” A quiet lull in your words. 

Your stomach turns. It's always a look of pity, or some casted look that drags you as some pathetic creature, cold and inhuman. The words die in your throat, you quiet your breaths, feeling then stick to the prickly flesh of your lungs and throat. 

“I get it.” 

But the look Trey gives you as he digests your words is a sadness as sincere and clear as water. It was not such a clawing, dried look that transformed you into something you didn't want to be. Instead, he swallows your words whole, as they were, his gaze reaching far beyond the pain. His sound‒ clear as a summer's day, dotted prettily with the honey lemon droplets of his gaze‒ finds you. 

“I got you.” 

A tranquil, silvery symphony‒ each sweetened thread weaving itself magnificent, deep within your nerves. It takes everything to pull yourself from it.

"Now, I have the perfect blend of tea for you then, darling. It goes wonderfully with those lemon shortbread cookies you made yesterday‒ absolutely divine."

Quick to shake the feeling off, you mask the dread of warmth with your usual stupid passion and fire that carves an expression of slight surprise into Trey's face, just for a moment. But it surprised you, instead, to see that it dissolved completely, and replaced with an elated burst of laughter. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and many more for you to do the same with the words he says. 

"You're actually a really good person, (Name)." 

The feeling returns, swiftly. 

You don’t want to breach into the borders of his mind, but you found yourself reaching for the silvery thread of his sound from the noise, picking apart the gray mess of things to find that glimmering thing. Your mind had learned the scent, the exact hue and melody of his inner voice to be able to pluck it so naturally from everything else, and you were growing fearful that you had committed yet another thing to memory that would eventually be lost to time. But the words that you hear from him‒ you think it will consume you for the rest of your eternity. 

"God. You're wonderful."

It nearly chokes you to hear such clarity in that declaration. Foolish . You think. Only a fool would say such a thing. You fix the shades slipping down your face, turning your energy to block out any sound and voice.

"You flatter me, my dearest." 

Lucid, pure. His voice. His laughter. It wasn't just noise to you anymore. You think of what chord his voice would be, how it would sing against your fingers on your cello. Or perhaps a heavenly instrument would be more befitting. 

"But you've got me all wrong."

You smile. Perhaps you were the fool. 

A few weeks later, he admits: "Truthfully, I tried to avoid you best I could before we officially met. Because of your blase attitude and the rumors about you‒ I thought I wouldn't mesh well with people like you."

"Is that so?" A wolfish smile curves onto your lips, eyes turning crescent. You fiddle with the flier for the monstero lounge show coming up, debating whether or not you should have really accepted Azul’s request. "It seems most people think I'm that way." 

"Yeah. But I'd like to think you opened up to me a bit, and I discovered something about you that made me want to talk to you. You're real strange, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm the weirdo? I'm not the one whose hobby is brushing their teeth."

"Dental health is important." He states matter-of-factly, before his hardened look is broken with a breathy laughter. "But really. I would have liked to be friends earlier in my life if I had just known you were the way you actually are."

You remember his words, turning your eyes downwards. "I'd really like to get to know them better."

Hesitation curdles in your mind, but the words come instantaneous, eager to his statement. "Which is?" Perhaps too eager, you shrink. 

He hums, thinks for a minute. "Just‒ kind ." He says. "I never noticed before, but you're always making sure people are included, checking on people. It's like a sixth sense‒ you can easily pick up what people are thinking, but also feeling. Like a guardian angel or sorts."

You stare at him with a blank look, a breath in your lungs that doesn't make it past your parted lips. Then, gaze downwards, again. 

"I wish more people would know how much good you have."

It takes great effort not letting his words sink deeply into your heart, constricting it. Sometimes, when you replay the scene in your head at night‒ an inevitable occurrence when he's on your mind‒ you try your hardest not to let it well something inside you so floridly that it bleeds heavily in your chest, and sprouts the salt in your eyes. But, it does. Idiot , you think, if only you knew what I really was.

You make a noise, unclear yourself as to your response to his statement, crushing the flier in your hand. Attempting to redeem yourself, you casually begin rolling the balled up paper in your hands, giving Trey an exasperated expression. 

“What’s that?” He points to the paper. 

“Oh‒ nothing. An Azul thing. Or a Monstero Lounge thing. Whatever, I’m probably going to bail on it anyways.”

“An Azul thing?” The hint of disappointment in his tone confuses you. “Oh! the Monstero Lounge show that’s coming up? I’ve been looking forward to it‒ you’re bailing? Don’t let Carter hear you say that‒ he’s been talking about wanting to be in it for weeks.”

A smile quirks on your face. “Has he now?” 

Trey nods. “Why are you bailing? I thought you had a real passion for playing?”

“Performance is another matter. You know, the difference between baking for yourself, and baking for other people.” Trey nods in understanding. “Besides, what makes you say that?” You make a face which fails to fully contain the disgust towards yourself. Passion. It curdles on your tongue. 

“How do I put it…You…” He pauses, thinking. In a moment, his words flood forth. “Your expression seems heavier when you’re playing. But, maybe a good kind of heavy. You always seem light and bubbly, but now that I think about it, you never talk about yourself.” 

“I don’t.” You confirm, a sweet smile. 

“You don’t.” An averted gaze. “I never asked.”

“How unusual of you‒ mother of Heartslabyul.” 

“So,” His gaze pulls you in. “What’s your favorite color?” 

You take a moment to reply, a bit surprised that he would actually follow through with his words. You’re reminded of the reason why you were so taken with him in the beginning‒ despite his sheepish deflection of compliments, despite the playful smirk that curved on his face‒ his words always matched his actions, his gaze, his expression. 

“Yellow. A lemony, summery yellow. Reminds me of the flowers my sister used to grow.”

“You just have one sister?”

“One and only. My older sister.”

“I’m envious. I’ve always wondered what it was like being the younger sibling.” 

You chuckle, searching the vast landscape of memories stored inside you. “You know‒ teasing, fighting, hand-me-down clothes, the like. But I love her, especially when she makes her brioche bread.” 

“You’re close with her?”

Time, space‒ the difference between you and the world, him. It comes in waves as always, flooding you, and your hands which search for distant memories. You’re not sure if it was his ignorance towards your nature, or plainly his presence that seemed to pull your discorporated humanity closer to you once more. 

“Very. She’s my rock. She was the first to encourage me to pursue music.” 

“Do you play other instruments?”

“Of course. Cello, piano, guitar, accordion, harp, violin, flute…” You trail on. 

The conversation goes on, until the two of you notice you’ve been walking around the campus, completely separated from the others. You laugh about it. 

When you separate, you watch him walk across the hills, his form roaring against the sunset. There’s a twinge in your stomach, which you swallow with great effort. The distance between you and him seemed like it didn’t matter for the vivid moments you spent conversing with him‒ but now with his back towards you, as he headed towards the light‒ the feeling wades back. You search through the flood as you always do, but you cloud your own vision when you look back to the things you said, the faces you made, the memories you shared. Blackened, like yourself. The sun hisses against your skin. At times like this, you’re reminded of your stunted development‒ you had forgotten what the sun does to creatures of the night. 

It scorches your retinas as you look at the heart of the sun, but you let it‒ reminded of the sweetness of his honey lemon eyes. 

Bitterly, it seeps.

------------------------------

Every time Trey stands by your door, for some reason, his nerves rise to the surface, tingling at his feet and the hand that raps at wood. He doesn't understand why his body gets this fussy every time‒ he's seen you a dozen times before. That crooked, fanged smile; the delightful way your hands move in conversation, the charming little way you hum when pouring him tea (2 sugars, a touch of cinnamon, just the way he likes it)‒  these are all things he's almost gotten used to that he doesn't feel near faint when you grace him with such pleasures. 

" Pretty boy ."

He remembers the nickname you call him, along the standard " darling "s and " my dear "s you seem to call everyone else. Just for him, you've fashioned something that can instantly unravel him, much like now, as he waits in front of your door with fresh pastries. He feels special when you call him that‒ but it feels good, unlike the times he tries to undermine himself under a barrage of flattening statements that stomp out every potential for expectations . Like he could make a difference, a change in anyone or anything. He’s just a normal guy. Nothing more. Riddle was a vivid reminder of that.

Except when he’s with you‒ it feels extraordinary. 

The millions of things that seem to arise out of conversation‒ the sheer possibility of what wonderful things he can share with you beats like thunder in his chest, reaching the tips of his ears where they flush. That fullness he felt before returns‒ the only way to alleviate it it seems is to converse and spend time with you. He hopes the redness at least dies down when he's around you, all his senses seem to fly out the window when you're by his side. 

We're just studying together. That's all. He tells himself. 

He secretly holds his breath when you open the door with the creak‒ but he releases it when his lips part in surprise at your state.

"O-oh. Hello, Trey." Rather than your usual, slurry, elegant demeanor, your voice scrapes against your throat‒ the sound coming small and frail, something Trey had never associated with you before. Elegant, honey-like, and sure of yourself‒ it was never like this. Diminuendo , he remembers from you, and his favorite piece that you play. Like you'd depart from him, where he could not follow.

You fix your glasses, feeling them slipping on your nose, before you run your hand through your knotted hair. The cigarette wedged between your fingers weaves smoke between the two of you, mixing with the smell of alcohol on your breath. "I'm afraid something came up, darling. I have to cancel today, I'm sorry I didn't ring you in advance." You go to close the very small gap you've allowed yourself to open‒ Trey stops you before you can. The bold move surprises even himself. 

"...You're sick? In that case I could‒"

" D-don't touch me." A crackle in your voice, fear striking your expression. "A-apologies. No. It's fine. You musnt do anything for me." 

"But I want to?" 

The prickly air that had been kindling on the inside of your lungs flares all at once at that moment, puncturing something inside.

"You don't know what you want." You spit.

" Oh‒ what?" 

"I said you don't know what you want. But allow me to make it easier for you. You don't want this. So go away‒ get out of my sight ."

Hellfire. It stains you. 

"I‒" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I-I don't understand?" 

"I said . Get away from me, Trey ." His name comes cold on your tongue. He feels it coil around his spine. 

What are you saying? 

"But‒"

You launch the door open, almost breaking it off the hinges. The crimson of your eyes glow in your power as you bare your fangs, clawing the wood of the door with your sheer grip. A lurching feeling wells inside you, as you grow in size, in power, in sharpness. All the qualities that separate you, from him. 

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME."

You don't recognize your voice. Trey's feet crumble from underneath him as you tower over his form. With the fear that seeps into his eyes, you decide it's enough, and shut the door with a slam. 

You swallow the breaths that come faster than you can handle, looking down at the chips of wood that embed into your nails and fingers, beginning to bleed. You lean on your table, raising one hand to grasp at the root of your hair, catching a glimpse of the crimson glow that emanates off your eyes. The hair that falls in front of your face cages you in that bloody vision‒ red, and violent. 

This is what you are, it's what you've always been and always will be. A monster . Fanged, clawed, hideous‒ thick, violent strokes of inky black on one of those books the priest used to carry around with him. Swirling into a void so corroded of color‒ the truest black‒ immortalizing your revolting form, permanently baring your fangs, carrying hellfire in your eyes and throat that you’d swing senseless with an animal violence. Fixed in that abstracted abyss, forever‒ eternal as you are. How pitiful that you choke on your own sorrow. 

You fall into a rage, your body dragging itself by the spine‒ swinging your hands and legs throughout the room. A sound tears from your throat, far from a human cry. Music scores from missed practices fly, used plates and cups tumble to the ground, chipping. Your ashtray falls heavy on the grand piano that sits at the center of your room, slamming down the heavy lid, reverberating the strings, hammering into the air a chaotic symphony of ash and disorder. 

For a moment you think to pick everything up, tidy yourself up and make amends with Trey‒ but you know the drill by now. In a week, you'd come to terms with yourself again‒ all the things you make and destroy‒ and sever yourself from this place, and its people. In just seven days you'd swallow the bitterness of your own self as you always had, clean your mess, throw the pieces you'd broken away. It ends all the same. 

Before you know it, you have a half empty bottle in hand, the days old wine weighing heavily in your palm. You twist your body furiously in attempt to rupture the surfaces of rage you have rising like fire inside of you, to at least reach to the gnawing feeling inside your chest. But it grows even restless, even hungrier‒ eating away at the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart when you come face to face with your reflection. Nothing. 

What sort of monster doesn't have a face? 

You couldn't have even be given that, to be remembered and touched‒ even if it was fear and abhorrence‒ to exist as a creature who is seen, and heard on their own. You were merely an image created by others. 

Control‒ you never had any of it, ever since your mouth was held open by its hinges and forced to down that creature's blood. It was laughable to even call yourself a musician, a conductor, a person. There was not a moment in your life where you had genuinely orchestrated the fullness of musicality, or anything. When you plucked on the strings of your cello‒ it was always just that. Noise. There was nothing inside of you that could transfigure that dead noise from the strings into something meaningful, something that could exist in the realm of adoration. Loved . 

Don't you want to be loved?

How could you be? You're just‒ this . 

Crumbling to the ground, you sob, remembering the fear laid plain on Trey's face. 

Surely‒ he’s gone. If you had ever held him in that way, at least. Arm’s length, prickled air‒ you had been weaving this inevitable goodbye yourself. Regret curdles heavily in your stomach as you bring your knees to your face on the floor.

I was doing so good. I was good again‒ I am good. You clench your jaw, imagining those portraits of violence from the Supreme Leader’s book. A realization‒ fuck . Nausea rises to your throat. 

You want to sleep. Or drink. Or smoke. Something to sedate you out of this emptiness clawing itself all over your insides. 

A knock startles you out of your daze. You assume the door is broken by the sound of the rusty hinges creaking open, the light of the hallway pouring behind you. A silhouette‒ but you don’t want to be found, or seen. You stay quiet, hoping he just leaves. Forever, maybe. 

“(Name)?” 

His footsteps creak against the floorboards, inching closer and closer. You wish you had the energy to tell him to leave again. Instead, you bury your face in your hands. 

You hear him shuffle a bit, close to you on the floor. 

His breath tickles the hairs on your arm, his voice reaching far into your head, the vibration from his throat rippling to your empty chest. “I’m not leaving.” 

With some kind of divine courage, you speak. “Why won’t you?” 

He shuffles closer, lacing his fingers through your tangled hair. “Because it seems I like you too much.” 

“You’re a fool.”

You were the fool. 

“Birds of a feather flock together.” He says, matter of factly. “Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave you here. You…” 

You feel him swallow, pausing his hands to hold your head at the crook of your neck. “You’re special to me.” 

“I’ve got you.” 

It feels like you're being enveloped completely by him‒ his smell, his sound. It smells faintly of candied violet, vanilla, and your honey lemon blend of tea. Trey thinks it complements well with your smell. Old books, and well-read letters tucked preciously into cookie tins. Faintly, iron. 

In a shaky voice, you apologize. Over and over. "I-im so sorry.There's something wrong with me." He rubs your shoulder, measuring his movements carefully so as not to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry I'm this way. I-I didn't mean to yell. I didn't mean to send you away. I want you here. I-I'm sorry. I lied. I’m a liar.” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. We all have our things‒ we’re human, right?” 

You cry harder. "No, you don't understand."

"Are you fae?" He asks, looking at your pointed ears and teeth he'd seen in the students in Diasmonia. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're still‒"

Wonderful . 

He chooses his words with care in your state. “- my friend.” 

You swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. "N-no. I'm nothing of the sort. I-I…" Everything is so unbearable‒ you're unbearable . Your fangs pierce into your lips when you bite down, suppressing the wailing pressure that threatens to leak from deep inside your throat. It burns all the way down when you swallow it, only leaving you with a portion of your dwindling volume. 

" I'm a monster ." You spit, looking directly into Trey's eyes‒ like you did moments before‒ hellfire stirring within them. The palms of your hands face him, framed with the sharpened claws of your hands that spot with blood from the splitters still embedded within them. Slowly, you furl them onto yourself, drawing red upon your palms when they ball into fists. "A vampire‒ like the ones you know from books and stories. That's me ."

That is all I am. 

Your vision blurs, and you tuck your limbs into yourself as if you brace for impact. 

Instead, softness‒ honey lemon eyes, sweetness, golden. 

"You're hurt."

You make a sound through your sobs when he takes your hands. Impossibly soft, feathery under your own, he picks the sharpness out of them. The blood is wiped away with his handkerchief, staining the light clover green fabric with blots of red. Now it's dirty , you think. I’ve poisoned it.

"You're not a monster." He says, unfurling your hand further, prying apart your sharpened fingers from your palm. They twitch at his words.

"I tried to hurt you‒ send you away.” You feel like your throat is going to collapse. 

He’s quiet for a moment, you can see him roll his saliva through his mouth, and the doubt and anxiety which passes across the movements of his downwards eyes. A barbed look‒ you feel it prickle familiarly against yourself‒ so you ever so slightly inch your pinky towards his hand that rests near your own, making a small gesture with your pinky to intertwine it with his‒ I’ve got you .

A heavy breath pushes past his lips. “People do that all the time. I get it‒ I mean‒ I know how it feels to be anticipating the color and tone of people’s faces. I grew up doing the same. From a certain point‒ you can kind of sense when people begin to tear themselves away from you‒ like you thought they would do eventually‒ it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? To confirm that the distance you were placing between people at least did something .” 

You nod, giving him a small quirk on the lips to agree. He continues. “I’m really just a normal guy‒ you know? I don’t really have the power to change things, or have an effect on people. Like you do.” 

“Me?” 

He hums, rounding his expression with a small curve on his lips. “You light up the room. You charge everyone with a certain energy. A je ne sais quoi .” He jokes‒ you laugh. “It’s probably a lot of pressure, a lot of fear. But you face it. I like that about you.” 

“ I’m not like you .” You hear from him. You want to remind him‒ you're a fool. 

“You-” You gulp. “You do that for me too. You light up my day. But‒ I don’t know. I feel bad feeling these things. It’s like I can’t wait, you know?” 

Trey scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Can’t wait for what?”

“I can’t wait. For the moment you‒ or people‒ leave, like you said. I’m always anticipating it. I digest people inside of me‒ pick them apart. I’m really not a good person. Sometimes there’s just something inside of me that switches when I’m faced with anything pointing to people confirming my suspicions‒ like I’m always tipping off the edge. I don’t know‒ people are…” A baited breath. “Bad. And I’m something a lot worse.” 

Trey takes your hand again, drawing circles with his thumb. 

“I don’t know who I am. I have no reflection, no substance, no form‒ nothing . All I know is that I’ve been emptied to carry this filth that terrorizes me‒ and whenever I lash out at it, I end up hurting other people.” The afternoon light that weaves in between the curtains illuminates a streak of dust and smoke in the room. “My story ends all the same. Like any good fabled monster.” 

“What if this time it ends differently?” 

A weary smile wobbles onto your lips. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stand, dust yourself off, and offer a hand to him. He accepts. 

“It will.” His assertiveness almost surprises himself, but he reminds himself why‒ it’s you . 

“Why‒ aren’t you certain?” Bitterness seeps your tongue.

“You’re the reason for it. You’re all that.” 

There’s a feeling that wells inside you that replaces the tension that slips from your shoulders‒ something a tinge sour, sweet, and warm. You don’t search for the underlying tones and clandestine beats of his words. Clear as day‒ you accept this feeling. Hesitantly, you lean against him, soaking with the feeling that seems to also radiate from him. 

“You’ll stay today?” 

Trey feels you relax against him.

“For as long as you'll have me.”

He doesn’t let you go.

------------------------------

"I've never seen snow before I came here." You watch the soft speckles of white float gently down from the skies. "I'll never get tired of this scene."

Trey slows his pace a bit, so you can linger on the white landscape. "Really? Not even in the Queendom of Roses?" 

You nod. "The island I lived on before I was exiled was exceptionally warm. I wasn’t allowed‒ ” 

Quickly, you shift your words. Control.

“-I wasn’t much of an outside kid, on account of the whole sun thing before potions could handle it. And after I had left I hopped from one island to another‒ most of them were too warm to have snowy weather. And when I visited the main island it was always during the warmer seasons.”

You remember the supreme suggesting warm climates‒ quiet, sunny peaks in the outlands, away from people. Those suggestions grew on you with time. You liked warmer climates anyways, . The room you had at the temple had always been cold and damp, the only light that would peek through snuck in through the stone that had eroded over years of negligence. You shiver. 

"I don't like the cold, too much. But the snow is beautiful." 

You suddenly feel wool, warmth on your neck. Trey fixes his scarf on you, you almost jump away, but after the initial moment of surprise, you relax into his scent that has melted into the wool. Lavender . He always smells like sweet floral, you note. It reminds you of the patches of grass and wildflower that would sprout sparingly in the parts of your room where the sun would kiss‒ the dew that would form on them like opals would be sweet like the fragments of light that wove in soft petals on the hard stone flooring. When you touched that light refracting in honeyed rays in those small drops of water the morning chill brought, you could remember a fraction of your humanity. Summer like a warm blanket and the crickets that chirped outside while you and your sister sat beside the window sill, giggling at the lantern light. The verdant coolness that swept the bakery while you helped your papa prepare the bread rolls for proofing. Silly, small things. It could make you cry, even now, as Trey diligently wraps the scarf around your neck. 

“...You were exiled?” He chooses his tone, his words very carefully, softness like velvet honey. 

You smile, a shape meant to comfort him. “I was. My hometown was very poor. People needed something to believe in, and they already had their hero.” Supreme leader, in his gilded cloak. "You're going to catch a cold‒ and this scarf‒ it's from your siblings, is it not? I feel bad, you shouldn't give stuff so easily to people." Despite your words, dive your nose deeper into the yarn, threading your claws carefully within the chunky pattern. 

"I’m warm enough‒ besides, you wear things like this well.” He finishes fussing with the scarf. The warmth that had welled into the wool from his skin melts into you like cotton candy‒ sweet and soft. “And you’re cold, aren’t you? If I catch a cold I’ll just have you take care of me.”

You press your cold fingers onto his bare neck to hide the rosy heat coloring your cheeks. With a shiver and a smile, he yells "Hey!" while laughing. 

"Well I guess I have no choice then.” 

A moment of silence after your laughter dies down‒ Trey hardens his expression. “You’re still shivering. The blood supplements haven’t helped?” 

A sigh pushes through your nose. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t feel too keen on asking hospitals for donations either. I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” A curt smile curves onto your lips to reassure him. 

Trey makes a face. “What if you get sick again?”

The smile you wear tightens. “I’ll be fine .” 

“It’s worrying.” 

“I don’t need it.” 

The silence of the snowfall roars against your ears when he says‒ “What if you fed off of me?” 

The dense crunch of your footsteps packing the snow stops as your chest rises and falls with a thickened rhythm.  

“Don’t joke about such things.” 

“I wasn’t.”

"Then don’t say stuff like that. I said I don’t need it." 

"But you do! Look at you! You're emaciated‒ a few days ago you were barely standing!"

"That's‒"

"It’s not healthy, you know. You need blood to survive."

“It’s scary to see you like that.” 

You’re genuinely taken back from his internal voice, a slight treble which rings against your ears. “I don’t understand. Why would you be scared?” 

His answer is instantaneous, exasperated. “Because you’re my friend.” 

You bite the words climbing your throat. As much as it pained you to see Trey like this, you could not swallow that thought threatening to simmer through your lips, a burning notion that had engraved itself into every piece of yourself. 

I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need I don't need‒ 

"Why won't you accept this offer? Accept me?" It chokes you to hear him like this‒ but the familiar nausea that seizes your throat overpowers it. 

Because I could never make up for it. Make up for it being me that you choose. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.”

“ Fuck‒ yes I will!” You hiss. Quieter, you muster. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. I’m made that way.” 

His silence drives a hot coal down your throat‒ prompting you to push down that blackness that gnaws at you. 

“Sorry‒ I‒” A release in the tension of your shoulders. “I apologize. I was just…overwhelmed. It’s a serious proposition‒ you really shouldn’t take it so lightly. I haven’t interacted so much with my own kind but from what I heard, it would be almost a lifelong commitment. At least for you that is. When you die, I will..." You attempt to swallow the tightness in your throat- a hunger. "I will not forgive myself." 

“I’m sorry‒ I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We should talk about it more‒ alright?” He rubs circles with his thumb across your skin, and you feel the ridges of his fingers drawing shapes. “But if it’s regret you worry about‒ know that I would never regret spending my life with you. At any capacity.” 

There were stories you heard of centuries after you were reborn as a vampire about beautiful things spun by poets and artists. To reach to the monster‒ approaching it with gentle softness rather than stakes and silver. Risking sharpened teeth with lethal maws, defying the hardwired fear and repulsion against something that has tremendous capacity for violence. Saintly, divine touch. You had deemed it one of the most beautiful things‒ sublime, and completely unfathomable to you. 

But when Trey reaches to you in that moment‒ in your moments‒ you think‒ this is what it is. This is what it must feel like to be touched by something beautiful. This is what it must feel like to be touched by god. You almost understand the Supreme Leader, in a way. You understand faith ‒ it’s a terrible thing. 

He cools the tindering hellfire in yourself with his touch. It burns as a searing stake through your chest. 

He doesn’t let go as you walk through the ashen landscape.

------------------------------

He makes you promise you’ll talk about it. And you do‒ hesitantly accepting his proposition with a box in hand. 

“I think it’s a good time to give you this.” 

The smell of oak flushes his nose when Trey draws closer to inspect the intricate honeysuckles that weave through the wood. 

It’s an old, tattered thing‒ something given to you when you were young by your parents. The flowers were meant to be a gesture of nostalgia and deep affection‒ and you manage to remember the fragments of your mother’s many sayings‒ something about always been meant to be with you, how she felt a strange sense of reunification when she had bore you and your sister. 

A bitter taste spreads on your tongue when you move the box towards Trey, and the contents inside clack against the wood. How furious she would be if she knew what you had done.

"What is it?"

“ Insurance .” you answer, quickly. 

He gives you a confused look before taking the box into his hands, opening the rusted latch on it. You only hear the eroded hinges creak as he cracks open the chest, the speckles of rust falling onto the table. 

You made sure there would be enough to pack the box‒ but it seems that there is still some air when they rattle against the walls of the box. Sharpened to perfection‒ you hope they won’t wear down too much from this motion. 

After a minute, there’s the same sound again, then the closing of the box before it’s shoved towards you‒ back fully in your vision once more. 

“I don’t need this.” Strained, his voice comes thickly between his constricting throat ‒ a similar feeling proceeding to his chest, flaring at the ends of his fingers which tuck tightly into his palms. 

The face he makes worries you. 

For him, of course, but for yourself as well. You're afraid you're going to break right then and there, throat etched in silent shame‒ but you pull yourself together with a sharp, willow breath sucked into your lungs. You feel the air settle cold on your tongue, and it almost shakes. 

"It's just insurance ." You say, opening the box. A wooden stake is rolled across the table to him. He averts his eyes as if it burns him. "If the time ever comes‒"

"If it comes?" The voice pounding heavily at the back of his throat raised with his breaths. He parrots your words angrily. " If the time comes? Then what‒ I have to kill you? I have to be the one?"

"I would like it to be you, yes."

He gathered his eyebrows further into the center of his forehead. "Me?"

"Only you. It could only be."

You hear his shaky breath. No‒ you feel it press deeply into your bones, a vibration that makes its way from the tremble of his fingers, through the table, into your own flesh, far inside you that its precise throb stretches the growing cracks he's made in your resolve. 

"I can't."

"You must ." You feel your claws scratching against the leather of your gloves. "To protect yourself."

He feels terribly selfish, childlike for the quiet volume of his voice. "From who?” 

You feel the hungry thing inside of you flourish at your own words. “From me.” 

He calls out to your name. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone who is so afraid of themselves.” 

You have no response to that. 

An inhale‒ before he continues. “You’re the reason to the certainty in my words‒ that’s not really something I had before. Nothing feels normal with you‒ but it’s the good kind. You‒” despite the situation, he laughs, cracking the expression you love. “-you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?” 

A sharp finger presses against your palm to confirm this is truly‒ really‒ actually real. You doubt yourself, telling yourself that you somehow tricked him into thinking you were this good. It must have been all those pet names‒ the saccharine composition that had somehow trapped him into your siren spell. 

He faces you with all his sincerity‒ revealing the sharpened claws of your hands when he slips the leather off of them. He holds them softly, hoping if his words don’t reach you‒ at least this language that you had both curated against each other, might. You feel that it does, unable to find a trace of deceit, doubt, or anything besides the honey lemon hue that basks you in all its sweetness.

For the first time in centuries‒ you feel the blood inside you churn warmly in your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“I suppose I didn’t.” 

So of course, when he first allows you access to his blood‒ the first action you do is to cover his eyes above all else. He makes a small noise when your cold fingers fall softly on his eyelids. 

Without even thinking, he reaches towards your hand‒ he sees the crimson light that weaves through your hands that eclipse into pitch darkness when he lays his hand on top of yours. In the darkness, his voice seems louder when he calls out to you. 

"Can you move your hand?" 

The fibers of his neck tickle against your stiffened breath. 

"Not yet."

He feels your teeth open his flesh, his skin parting like a ripened fruit. The curve of your soft lips that cup warmly around the wound, leaning deep into his scent‒ to dive further into the sweetness of his blood. He groans as a moment of pain passes, but his sound relaxes‒ slurry‒ in his throat when he feels sweet pleasure, thick as honey, feathering from where he feels you feeding. His breath quickens, and you feel the warmth of his exhales. As close as a lover’s breath. 

He lets out a shameless sound of pleasure‒ a whisper you drink in with his sweet ambrosia. 

"Ah, this isn't so bad."

He feels the fingers you keep firmly on top of his eyes twitch. 

"Sorry. 'M sorry." You mumble against his skin. His senses feel so jumbled, flooding as thick and raw syrupy mountains. He blindly accepts them‒ unlike your words, which he makes sure to affirm should not be so. I am not sorry, he thinks. You do not have to be either . There’s a tremble in your lips when he slips those words into the air, humming sweetly against his skin. 

He doesn't trust his voice, but the heaviness that clouds his mind barely filters his thoughts. 

"A-are you done already?" 

"Mhm. Sorry, are you alright?" 

"I'm fine. I just need a minute." His chest slowly rises and falls. He notices he's gripping your hand. "Can you move your hand now?"

"Let me see you. I want to see you."

"Just a moment." Even in the sensory deprivation, your voice feels particularly far off. "Not yet."

Trey closes his eyes, waiting for the tight pleasure that still prickles under his skin to pass. When he opens his eyes again, he finds your hand gone, the sun seeping through his fingers. You're facing away from him, sitting at the edge of the bed, bloody handkerchief in hand, unnervingly quiet. 

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. I'll go get bandages and some pain killers for you."

You turn a bit towards him, but he doesn't see your face. He grabs your hand before you could walk away‒ calling your name.

A beat of silence. "Yes?"

"..."

It seems his senses have returned to him when he confirms the weight of your trembling hand‒ how it feels a fraction of a degree warmer than before. 

"Why can't you look at me?"

" Why won’t you show me your face? 

Your expression? 

You? 

Are you smiling? Are you mad? 

Why can't you show me? 

Am I‒ "

"No ." Your back gives out as you press all your force into that word, making the bed creak when you fall into it. "No. It's not you. It's not you. I just‒" A breath. "I don't want you to look at me. While I’m like this. It is a mercy. ”

Waves of scrambled noise crash through you. You want to squeeze your hands over your ears, shut your eyes until all you can feel is the vast darkness, and your fading form within it. You’d congeal with that void, rot until there is truly nothing left of anything you had‒ to to the dust as dead and far as the remains of your home. 

"I don't want to just look at you. I want to see you."

You don't trust your voice, so you shake your head. When you swallow the lump lodged in your throat, it tangles in your shaky breath when you feel his hands wrap around yours. 

"I want to see you." He repeats. 

The noise parts with the lightness of his voice. Slowly, you turn towards him. Instantly, his hands are molded to the curve of your shape, as if they were forged by the decaying whispers of your labyrinth heart. In secret, they were cast by your hearth, and now they are cooled, and formed around the salt and tears that etch florid down your face. These hands are made for you, you think. Only the starlight has come this close to your monstrous form. Only the starlight. 

"I'm sorry‒ I shouldn't be so‒ this right now. But I just can't‒ I'm so sorry." The apologies bubble from your trembling lips, as you try to form a coherent thought. But the softness of which he touches the cruel sharpness of your form‒ it wells a crescendo symphony of desire that you withheld, lurching upon you all at once. 

He pulls you in, tighter. 

This was home. You had always stood at the edge of it, drawing a line before the entrance to remind yourself‒ you had not been welcomed yet. But he had always welcomed you. It felt as if some speck of his soul had always done so, with the relief you feel when you step within it. The room inside your heart when you merge your warmth with his does not feel so full‒ nor so empty. It is filled with potential. Future. Something that had risen from him, infinitely. 

"Don't‒" you place your fingers over your mouth. "Not while I taste like this." 

He breaks your lips with his words. “Trust me?”

The warmth that folds over you feels like a prayer. Have faith . When you open your mouth, flesh is at your mercy, but you do not bite down as you expected the thirst inside you would have. Stars, the world stripped of its layers until it was only you, and him. For once infinity does not seem so much of a curse. 

You must be intoxicated by the sweetness of his blood. Bittersweet‒ it seeps.

"I'm not…" You gulp down the swaying warmth. "I'm not supposed to like you." 

"But…?" His smile curves so high the whites of his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his honey lemon hue. 

You intwine your hand with his. Another prayer. "Foolishly, I do."

“It isn’t foolish at the slightest.” 

“It’s alright.” You smile. “I’d like to be the fool for once.” 

------------------------------

You fidget with your suit steps away from the spotlight, holding your cello with your other hand. 

“Stop fidgeting.” Trey instructs you, flattening the creases you’ve made to your suit jacket. He smiles. “It’s just nerves, they’ll pass when you get up there‒ you’ve told me so before..” 

“I don’t‒ I don’t know if I’ll be able to play it right. I haven’t been this nervous in ages.” You still straighten the tie around your neck. “Maybe I should tell Azul‒”

The cloth is straightened again, before he glides his hands to your shoulders, bringing you an inch closer to feel the warmth that radiates off his skin. “You’re going to be amazing.” 

Your eyebrows crease. “How can you be so certain?”

“You’re all that.” 

His hand guides you towards the curtains, lingering when his fingers reach yours before you step into the spotlight. Azul finishes your introduction as you look towards the audience, searching for a familiar face. You find his eyes, and there is no need for any magic, any power‒ for you to find the faith in his eyes. You let it guide your bow, and the strings vibrate like golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, marrying sweetly‒ your internal harmony guided by his sweetness. 

The music swells, breaks, heaves‒ before it dies out once more. The lounge fills with the sound of applause, and you sheepishly smile again the few whistles and whoops your club-mates send your way. Each and every thread of sound resonates within your body, vibrating with color. 

Once you get off the stage into the crowd, you see Trey march towards you, before almost knocking you down with the force of his embrace. You allow a bit of your power to spin him off his feet, before you separate‒ wanting to see the look on his face. 

"Will you come with me?" You pull his hand away from the crowd, breathless in your excitement. 

"Where?" He asks, similar in his bursting fruition. 

"Out there. Here. Over there. Wherever."

He smiles, the warmth moves the beat of your heart to the tip of your fingers, back into his palm when you lace your other hand with his. You think‒ I'd be a follower, a devotee, a dog for this. Have faith. I've got you. It’s terrifying, and it shakes you with excitement. 

"I can't wait."

------------------------------

Notes:

The book I mentioned the priest had is based on the real Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Ghosts, and Concerning the Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia that 18th-century Benedictine monk and distinguished biblical scholar Antoine Augustin Calmet wrote. It was actually a large source of inspiration to Bram Stoker's dracula. Basically a collection of reports and examinations of vampire/monster attacks emerging in eastern Europe during the late 17th to early 18th century. The accounts of the undead rising and infecting whole villages, reaping of their health and blood that were recorded in this compendium of monster attacks formed a lot of the imagery and characterizations associated with vampires. 

Historically, bloodletting was a popular method during the 19th century to cure medical conditions, especially psychological‒ as it was based on the concept of humors. Fun fact, this is why there is a distinction between surgeons (“barbers”) and physicians, and is why the striped barber sign is red and white‒ red symbolizing blood and white the bandages. This method was used from everything from hysteria, insanity, and heartbreak, to things like scurvy and epilepsy. 

Bloodletting, transfusions, and vivisections (experimental surgery) both appear in Dracula because they were the hot new science of the Victorian era. Stoker's father was actually a physician so a lot the medical cures and information in the narrative frame the work very closely to the social, religious, and medical attitudes during the period. 

Though Victorians still believed the world of humors (ie blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, or more commonly known by their four counterparts: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic)- the era began to see a rise of Heroic medicine which sought to shock the body of its ills (ie bloodletting, drinking blood, etc etc)

During the New England vampire panic of the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead”, because of the seemingly unexplained rapid spread of this disease that would “consume” its victim and its family at an alarming rate (this was mostly just due to general hygiene issues and the cures for TB being syrups and elixirs of like literally just morphine and cocaine). TB victims usually had pale, emaciating skin, and in combination with how to identify a suspected vampiric corpse (ie grown fingernails = sharp claws; plump skin = immortality/fast healing); the common cures to TB other than those concoctions during the period such as bloodletting, blood drinking, and the “climate cure” (spending a lot of time outside in sunny, warm climates = aversion to the sun); as well as the spread of TB (highly infection, if one person got it in the home, it would spread rapidly to other members of the family = seems like that originally infected person was “consuming” the rest of the family members) kind of makeup the symptoms, physical aesthetic, and indicators of vampires we know today. Pre-Christian notions believed that a body could be “infected” by evil spirits, the concept of evil, etc.. if not buried properly, which translated into the Christian context as demonic or satanic influences entering the body. And because Churches were often the ones dealing with burials, and setting the precedent for burial rituals‒ they had a lot of influences in setting the precedent for burial rituals, how dead bodies should be handled, etc

Because of the strong religious influences during this Victorian romantic period, and the seeming “failings” of empirical science and thought‒ a lot of people turned to the church 

Historically, during the New England vampire panic in the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead” because it would “consume” the entire family, beginning with one of the family members, then spreading to everyone else because it was highly infectious. This is why things like pale skin, and vampires needing to feed off of blood is a thing because it is connected to the symptoms and infection of TB (blood drinking was also a cure at some point??)

Everytime I'm like "should I add this ultra specific detail with an irl artist's name??? Does it make sense with the twst universe?? Ah whatever‒"

Anyway I choose Chopin for a lot of reasons. The primary reason was that his music moves me deeply (please listen to the piece if you haven't heard it before). He also suffered from TB (aka consumption), and most likely suffered through a chronic version of it his whole life, which caused a lot of suffering and medical complications through his youth, and into adulthood when rising to fame as a composer. This cello piece was the only sonata that wasn't on the piano, and was played at his very last public concert in Paris. He also had kind of a miserable love life because of his weak health (a condition he could not fix), I thought it would be an interesting connection with MC along with the emotional value the song has on its own. 

BPD is very misrepresented and incredibly stigmatized in media especially but also the mental health and treatment spheres in general so I did a lot of not only personal introspection but also research on it as well. I thought vampirism would be a good metaphor for BPD because I imagine the concept of eternity and also having to physically drain someone of their life source would cause a lot of attachment and abandonment issues in addition to the feelings of shame and guilt that often come with having BPD (“why am I this way?”). The monstrous appearance described and often visualized in Dracula/vampire related films and media, as well as the myth that vampires don’t have a reflection also not only conceptualizes BPD and its affect on self image, but also visually narrates the aspects of mentioned shame, guilt, and self hatred that come with BPD and the emotional regulation issues that affect relationships. Anyways I not only wanted to do BPD justice because I feel like its very rarely represented in media accurately and with a happy ending, but I also wanted to explore 

I didn’t want to go too in-depth with the cult stuff because I feel that could veer off track. I drew from my own experiences (I have a close family member in a cult), as well as some research + some inspiration from a game series called Faith: The Unholy Trinity. But of course the central ideas of isolation, salvation (under a specific pretense), and dependency are there.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Addams Allergy

Pairings: Thornhill x Weems x Reader (platonic)

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: Reader's allergy is a thing of myth, and someone decides to do some myth-busting. This won't end well for anyone.

TW: allergies, anaphylaxis, needles, hospitals, ambulance, difficulty breathing, bullying, attempted manslaughter (fancy legal terms hehe), mentioned heart attacks, physical violence

A/n I have added a link at the end for very simple instructions for how to administer an epipen. Spend like three minutes reading it and save lives. Also please reblog the linked post to help other educate themselves as well.

You suppose it wasn’t too bad being an Addams. But then again you weren’t quite the same as your sister Wednesday. You were more of an interim between Pugsly and Wednesday. You were soft but not squishy, cold but not frigid. You were actually most likely the most seemingly normal of all the Addams’s.

But being Wednesdays twin, you shared many things, a womb (for all of nine tortuous months), black hair, pale skin and your most inconvenient shared trait, an allergy to colour. Luckily though you did not share a dorm. You were roomed with Yoko who was much more palatable than the ball of colour who was Wednesday's ‘roomie’ as the wolf-pup had put it.

Unfortunately, most people were sceptical bordering on disbelieving about the colour allergy. Taking it as another Addams lie. And you being the easier target of the two of you often copped the most teasing. Everyone knew not to mess with Wednesday, but you were slightly easier. You cared more.

Yoko and you were sat in the library studying at the tables down the back when a group of siren boys came in. They had been teasing you a lot as of late and Yoko knew about it, but you begged her to keep quiet, you didn’t want to attract any more attention than you already had.

The boys were quick to spot you down the back and grinned wolfishly beelining straight for you. You let out a soft groan and Yoko looked up.

“If they lay a hand on you, I’ll drain them dry.”

“It's fine Yoko. I’ve got this.”

“The same way you ‘had it’ when you got a black eye i had to help you hide for two weeks?” She asked with a deadset tone. You grumbled a response when you felt your chair being pulled back.

“Hey!” Yoko said, “leave her alone.” She started but one of the boys spoke with his siren song.

“Sit” he commanded, and Yoko found herself no longer in control of her muscles as she sat and watched helplessly.

“So, a birdie told me your allergic to colour?” The main boy said, he was light-skinned with deep rich blue eyes and blonde curls. He looked like the type to be a surfer with the tan he had.

“That would be correct.” You nodded trying to remain calm and mimic your sister's tone.

“Well, how about we check you still have this … so called ‘allergy’” he said in a mocking tone. Pulling something from his pocket, you tried and failed to stop your eyes widening.

Between his thumb and forefinger was probably the most colourful and bright piece of fabric you had ever seen.

Despite the allergy, you hadn’t given any of your friends and epipen for you yet and the only people who had one were the nurses and weems. So, in other words unless Yoko was fast at running because the headmistress's office wasn’t too far, you may be looking at the object that would kill you.

Drawing a shaky breath, you looked the boy in the eyes. “As much as i love attempted murder, this isn’t a good idea.” You said

“Huh? Really?” He mocked “You think your smarter than me, don’t you?” He sneered and you gulped.

“Obviously.” You muttered and the boy scowled. Before you could stop him, he pinned you to the floor and shoved the scrap of fabric in your mouth. Your eyes went wide, and you began to flail and kick wildly trying to get him off.

Yoko was screaming bloody murder which seemed appropriate on more than one front.

After a second the boy rolled off you and stood brushing off his uniform.

“See… lies.” He said as you rolled onto your stomach, propped up on your elbows and spitting out the wet cloth onto the floor.

“Gross.” The boy said.

“You moron, let me go i need to get her epipen.�� Yoko screamed and the boy's face morphed into something else for a second.

“Wait is she … actually?” He asked starting to look a little scared.

“Yes, you tool what would she gain from a fake allergy. Now let me go.” Yoko screamed and the boy froze before bolting. Luckily as he grew further away Yoko felt his song fading. She stood running over to you. You were laid on your back gasping as the anaphylaxis began to set in.

“W-weems.” You rasped and then coughed, your throat feeling ridiculously tight. Yoko nodded.

“You’ll be ok Y/n/n. Im going to get weems.” She said and raced out the doors.

Yoko ran the fastest she probably ever had in her immortal life. In a matter of seconds, she was banging hand over fist on the wooden doors before she simply pushed the open wasting no time.

“Ms Tanaka-“ Weems began, she was sat on the couch with Ms Thornhill looking equally startled.

“No time… y/n … epipen…now.” Yoko said between gasps. In a second both teachers were on their feet. Weems hurried over to her desk throwing open the second draw and pulling out the epipen she kept there just for you.

“Where is she?” Weems said with a commanding and scarily calm voice.

“Library.” Yoko replied and the three of them ran to the room of books.

Yoko led the two teachers to the back of the room where you were still gasping. Luckily for them you were already on the floor which made this next part easier.

“Christ.” Weems said, “Marilyn, call an ambulance.” She commanded as she uncapped the giant needle.

The Botany teacher scrambled to find her phone pulling it out and punching in the numbers for the emergency services.

Weems mentally recited the rhyme from when she had to do this for Morticia as a student as she pulled off the blue safety cap.

‘Blue to the sky orange to the mid-outer thigh.’ She thought and in one swift motion she lined it up with your thigh, Yoko having helped her pull down your skirt. She quickly stabbed your outer-mid thigh listening for the click and then counting to three before gently removing it. She gingerly deposited the epipen on the table.

The two teachers sat either-side of you while Yoko sat next to Ms Thornhill on your left. Your breathing began to even out, becoming less and less raspy as the epinephrine began to take effect.

Ms Thornhill was still on the phone with the emergency services who had assured her they were on their way now.

Both teachers and the vampire sat and watched with bated breath as they realised your breathing had stabilised.

After about ten minutes you tried to sit up, but the headmistress placed a hand on your shoulder.

“No. Stay lying down the EMTs will be here soon darling. Then I’ll come with you to the hospital, and they’ll check you out alright?” She said and you nodded and laid back down.

“Can i come too? I need to tell you something.” Yoko said and Weems made a thinking face and then nodded.

“Yes. After all, I do need to know how this happened. The Addams family know their limits and are quite good at avoiding this so any insight you could provide would be helpful.” The principal said and Yoko nodded. After another few minutes of tense silence, the emergency services came in and the paramedics gently lifted you onto a clean white stretcher. You hated the idea but luckily weems made sure nobody saw as you were taken to the ambulance that sat by the nevermore gates. Yoko and Weems joined you in the ambulance and Ms Thornhill waved as you were driven off.

About an hour later you were being held for observation. It was another three hours before they would let you go. You were sat up in a hospital bed with Yoko and weems sat in plastic chairs beside you.

“This feels like one hell of a power imbalance.” You muttered and both of them laughed.

“Well, you did just cheat death.” Yoko teased and you nodded.

“As an Addams it's an expected weekly occurrence. Kind of like a grim ostentatious weekly period.” You grinned always finding ways to relate everything to blood. Yoko groaned dramatically and facepalmed.

“And as the principal of two Addams’s who weekly try and take me with them to then grave, I’d say I’m cheating death myself with the number of heart attacks you and your sister attempt to induce upon my poor heart.” Weems said sounding exasperated.

“It wasn’t y/n/n’s fault though!” Yoko exclaimed and weems raised a brow while you opted to look out the window and avoid eye contact.

“You never did explain how this happened.” Weems said gesturing with a sweeping motion to the bed you were still in.

“Well i guess now’s as good as any and i doubt Ms. I-cheat-death-daily is going to spill.” Yoko said before launching into an explanation starting a few weeks ago when the teasing began. It was safe to say the principal was outraged.

“I will not have students attempting to murder each other.” She huffed with pure unadulterated rage in her eyes burning with fire, rage and brimstone with the likeness of hell itself. The look would have scared Satan into being as straight as a nun.

In a matter of seconds, she drew a deep calming breath, and you were reminded of the saying, the calm before the storm. Then she opened her eyes again and excused herself, walking out into the hallway and pulling out her phone. Not even five minutes after Yoko’s story ended, she was on the phone in the school board arranging his immediate expulsion.

About a half hour later, Weems returned looking flustered but when her eyes settled on you, she deflated slightly and gave a tender smile in your direction. Her eyes locked with yours, scanning for any hints of pain.

She had also texted the anxious botanist who had agreed to come by once you were discharged to drive the odd team home. As well as ordering about a dozen epipens for all your close friends and her office.

Once Weems had decided you were defiantly not in pain, she walked over to your bedside and gently brushed the hair from your eyes.

“It's dealt with darling. Nobody will hurt you now.” She assured and you blushed slightly at the contact, leaning into her hand.

You were safe. Alive. Breathing normally. And safe … again.

Masterlist

How to give an epipen here