#rainy weather making me tired

[roguelov]

I’m so sweepy and tired

[squidcalamarium]

who wants to help me spend my savings on going to the beach? I think seeing the ocean would fix me

[savage-rhi]

I'm very much a, "fuck yeah and fuck you, I don't need validation! I'm me, cunts!" kinda fella, but sometimes I could use support.

[gentlethorns]

sigh. the weather is absolutely kicking my ass AND i am vitamin d deficient again so i am EXHAUSTED. getting my 2k words in is gonna be a bitch

[xcziel]

oooops i forgot

tuesday new releases for november 14:

patrick rothfuss novella the narrow road between desires (same size as slow regard of silent things)

david baldacci has new thriller the edge

mitch albom novel about the lives of three holocaust survivors little liar

new novel from michael cunningham day

a return to the time-travel cafe: before we say goodbye by toshikazu kawaguchi author of before the coffee gets cold, english translation by geoffrey trousselot

elizabeth crook's western sequel to the which way tree, the madstone

harmony new book of poetry from whitney hanson

jacquelyn mitchard's new familial drama a very inconvenient scandal

.just once new christian fiction by karen kingsbury

letters of j.r.r. tolkien edited and selected by humphrey carpenter with assistance by christopher tolkien

rush drummer geddy lee's new memoir my effin' life

johnny cash: the life in lyrics with mark stielper

the night parade: a speculative memoir by jami nakamura lin

a woman i know: female spies, double identities, and a new story of the kennedy assasination by filmmaker mary haverstick

city on mars by kelly and zach weinersmith (good non-fiction gift for those who like the martian and laughing at elon mushk)

tomlin: the soul of a football coach by john harris

entangled life: illustrated edition by martin sheldrake - new gorgeous hardcover for the mushroom and fungi fans

core of an onion another micro-history - with recipes - from michael kurlansky, author of cod and salt

new leather gifting style black cover of 48 laws of power: special powers edition

the bill gates problem the myth of the good billionaire by tim schwab

the money kings by daniel schulman

new hardcover collector editions of madeline miller's circe and anthony doerr's all the light we cannot see

also new romance collector hardcovers of archer's voice by mia sheridan and one last stop by casey mcquiston

star wars the eye of darkness a high republic novel by george mann

the marvel multiverse role-playing game core rulebook is out now

the upcycled self by tariq 'black thought' trotter

political books 😔:

network of lies about fox news by brian stelter

biography mitt romney a reckoning by mckay coppins

mike pence's advice(?) book go home for dinner

tired of winning by jonathan karl about trump and the gop

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i crumble completely when you cry ; suguru geto

synopsis; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

word count; 6.2k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, no really that’s literally all this fic is, sugu snaps at you for worrying about him, (and then promptly spirals), he makes it up to you though :), healthy communication ensues, [name] is used exactly once, switching povs, soft & fluffy ending <33

a/n; going back to my roots (mindless hurt/comfort) 🙏🙏 i just think that if suguru picked me up like a small kitten and put me in his lap it would fix me

you’re cold.

little shivers run through your body, down your spine, and all you can do is clench your chattering teeth and dig your nails into the skin of your palms. the heavy rain falls down without mercy, going pitter patter as it hits the asphalt. a sudden lightning strike lights up the town, flashing in the reflection of puddles, and you manage a weak jolt.

dark clouds blanket the whole sky, not allowing even a sliver of blue to shine through the darkness of the rainy evening. enveloping you, surrounding you, soft earthy scents — wet asphalt, roses blooming to your left and right, bushes with sweet-smelling flora guiding your path, little petals glistening with droplets and bouncing with the force of the rain.

it’d be comforting, were it not for one simple fact; 

you don’t have an umbrella.

at this point, thirty minutes into your solemn, sniffly walk, you’re absolutely soaked. with only a measly hoodie to cover your body and head, and a tank top sticking to the skin beneath it — you were stupid to think you’d get out of it unscathed. your shoes feel uncomfortable, wet soles sticking to the asphalt, two heavy weights carrying you down the familiar street ahead of you.

you let out a shuddering breath. 

gosh, this was stupid. you knew it was going to rain, but still walked out without a care in the world; despite the weather forecast, despite suguru’s warnings over breakfast, despite the dark clouds covering the milk-blue sky. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. you just felt so helpless.

you just couldn’t stay there.

some fresh air, and a bit of space. that was all you needed. just that one sliver of comfort.

so, yeah, maybe you weren’t thinking very clearly when you stormed out. maybe you weren’t thinking nearly enough, not enough to even grab one of the umbrellas hanging off the coatrack. hanging there just for you, the cutest little frog umbrella, one suguru bought for you himself. big, googly eyes, and a big smile. the most perfect shade of green. 

(he put it there just for you.)

maybe you weren’t thinking at all. maybe you just needed to get away, away from him, away from the frustration on his features. arguments with suguru are few and far between — it only adds to the sting of his cold voice still ringing in your ears. you bite down on your bottom lip again, just to stop it from wobbling so pitifully. blinking rapidly, tears and raindrops clinging to your lashline.

you were just worried. is that so awful? 

(why did he have to be so fucking mean about it?)

a sigh flows from your lips, heavy and defeated and undeniably tired. you hate feeling like this, this bitter, hate feeling like you’ve done something wrong. more than anything, you hate arguing with him — hate the idea of him being angry with you. hate the way his voice turns colder, just a little sharper, an octave lower. he never raises it, never ever, but somehow he still sounds so scary. 

it bothers you. bothers you how sensitive you are when it comes to him. just that shivering tilt of his voice, coupled with the annoyance in his eyes, was enough to make your eyes a little glassy. one little sentence, and you were close to breaking out into a sob. because suguru was angry with you, and that alone makes you feel like you’ve done nothing right in your life.

so you left. because that was all you could do. 

sure, the sharp pelting of the rain hurts a little, and the thunder is scary, and you’re awfully cold — but anything is better than having suguru see you burst into tears over such a small argument. you know he’d try to soothe you, know he’d feel guilty. but that just makes it all the more embarrassing. 

(all the more pathetic.)

so you left, rushed out of your own apartment, and before you knew it the storm was rolling in above you. rain and thunder, something to rival the ache in your chest. it still hasn’t been that long, a little over half an hour, and you still haven’t fully calmed down. you still don’t know how to face him. but —

but fuck, it’s cold. and an undeniable part of you yearns to run back into his arms, to make up with him, to hear his voice turn warm and see his eyes go soft. you want him to soothe you so, so badly. like he always does. 

another sigh — more resigned this time — slips from out your lips. your bones feel sore, you’re almost certain you’re going to catch a cold, and it’s getting late. you’re all alone, and it’s raining, and you look vulnerable and helpless. 

you want to go home.

it’ll be awkward, but maybe you can sneak in somehow — without him noticing. then you can go straight to sleep, on the couch, and maybe you’ll feel a little better tomorrow. the two of you can talk it out over breakfast, over warm coffee, and you can tell him what you meant to say without stumbling over what words to use or dancing around the subject like a scared little child.

you’re just too tired to argue anymore.

he just made you feel so stupid. so very, very small. suguru’s been working so hard lately, coming home late, exhausting himself. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. that, and to coax him into relaxing a bit; maybe take a day off to recharge. that was all.

but he just brushed you off.

and, well, maybe you should’ve backed off after that. maybe you should’ve taken that as a sign that suguru didn’t feel up to answering your questions. but you were just so worried, so pitifully anxious, and you just wanted to help him so, so badly.

suguru is always so dependable. always there to help you, to ground you, to console you. even when you push him away or insist you don’t need it. he can be pushy, when he feels like he needs to, when your health is at risk — and it’s frustrating, but you’ve always appreciated it. you just wanted to return the favour. push him, just a little, to show him how much you care. show him that he can depend on you the way he insists you do with him.

but then he grew frustrated.

”suguru… you’ve been working so much, i’m —” you bite down on your bottom lip. ”i’m just worried that you’re overdoing it.” ”… god. how many times do i have to say it? i know my limits, [name].” ”but — you just look so tired —” ”well, i’m sorry for that.” a cold smile. ”am i not living up to your expectations?”

(that’s not what you meant. he knows that’s not what you meant.)

and it makes you feel frustrated, too. pardon you for being worried. for wanting to be there for him, for once, for wanting to be a supportive partner and not just a burden. 

pardon you for feeling a little lonely, with him coming home so late, leaving so early. with him not giving you the affection you’re so used to, and never confiding in you about his stress.

pardon you for wanting him to trust you, a little, even just a sliver more than not at all.

god, you’re exhausted. you just want to sleep — can’t you have that, at least? just that one thing? you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, don’t mind feeling like a stranger in your own home, as long as you get to rest your eyes. just for a little while. 

your brain spins in circles, bitterness and longing heavy on your tongue, as you grumble over what to do or how to feel — 

while your feet have already begun taking you home. moving almost on their own, on instinct, walking past rose bushes and backyards, the smell of glucose and rotting apples. 

and you’re there before you know it: in front of the familiar door to your shared apartment, soaked from head to toe. still feeling a little lost.

for a second, you hesitate.

maybe he’s still angry. maybe he was happy to get some time away from you. maybe you’re just making things worse by doing this, maybe you should just —

but your fingers have already fished out the key from within your pocket, unlocking the door in one swift motion. moving up to curl around the doorknob, a desperation in your veins guiding you closer to his steady warmth.

and before you have the chance to waver again, you pull the door open and step inside.

you move slowly, gentle and careful, almost cautious. softly closing the door behind you and taking a couple quiet steps forward, only to shrug off your hoodie — heavy, soaking wet and discomforting as you pull it over your head. clumsily, you try to get it off you, squirming when the warm indoors air meets your sweaty tank top. it feels soothing on your bare skin, though, ghosting over your shoulders and collarbone, hoodie now clinging to your elbows.

in the middle of the taxing endeavor, you almost fail to notice the presence of a certain someone, standing just a little farther away. 

almost, because it’d be impossible for you to miss him, that heavy gaze of his.

and before you can think the thought to do anything else, you’ve locked eyes with him — arms still tangled up in the wet sleeves of your hoodie, raindrops and sweat sticking to your skin.

(suguru takes a moment to look at you.)

not daring to say anything, afraid to part your lips, you simply stand there. in silence, like a deer in headlights. for some reason, you can’t really read his expression — you’re a little too tired, a little too caught off guard.

you can only blink, worry surely evident in your furrowed brows, as the seconds tick on and on. tense, tense, tense.

and then he’s walking away again. 

crestfallen. that’s probably the best way to describe how you feel right now, watching him disappear around the corner. dejected, as your eyes fall to the floor, and your posture wilts like a dying rose. you finally shake off your hoodie and watch it fall to the floor with a gross, wet plap.

it hurts. you want to cry. you can’t help it. even though a part of you is still upset, even though a part of you fully expected this to happen… 

another part was still hoping he’d be happy to see you. as if just seeing his smile again might’ve fixed everything.

but he didn’t even give you that.

that’s that, then. there’s nothing you can do except proceed with your original plan. you’ll change into some warm, dry clothes, and go to sleep on the couch like the miserable dog you are. you’ll leave everything troublesome and disheartening for tomorrow’s you to handle. 

for now, you just have to worry about getting some sleep. you don’t have to think about suguru, or his cold voice, or the way he just walked away without saying anything. 

you don’t have to think about him at all. 

(don’t think. don’t think. don’t —)

— the soft patter of footsteps breaks you out of your anxious spiral. they come closer and closer, until a certain silhouette enters your vision out of the corner of your eye.

a certain suguru geto, hair down and cascading past his shoulders, wearing a comfortable sweater and loose sweatpants with a fluffy towel in tow.

once again, you can only blink. a vaguely confused deer in headlights. suguru comes closer and closer, until you can clearly see his eyes, amber gold, full of an emotion you finally manage to identify —

worry.

(ah.)

before you can say anything, he’s draped the towel around you. it feels nice, a soft texture on your skin, big enough to engulf you completely, cocooning you. cozy and snug. you can’t help but melt a little when suguru places his big hand over the towel and smooths it over your cheek, drying off your skin so gently that you feel like crying again.

”are you cold?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. to your immense relief, it sounds nowhere near as scary as before. ”you’re soaked…”

suguru almost seems to be pouting, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed softly. still rubbing the raindrops off your skin. he looks awfully troubled, undeniably anxious, and the way he’s caressing your skin feels so earnestly caring. the towel feels warm, like he went the extra mile to heat it up for you.

and, more than anything, the feeling of suguru’s big hands cupping your face is almost heavenly. even though the touch is indirect, you can’t help but bask in his warmth, almost desperate to cling to it after escaping from the harsh cold of the rain. like he could slip away and leave you again if you don’t stay perfectly still, just like this.

it’s soothing. so, so soothing. but it also makes you feel kind of meek.

you sound sheepish when you answer, voice a little hoarse after your grueling walk. throat dry from all the crying. ”nah, ’m fine…”

the words are tiny, fragile like pieces of glass, and they only make suguru’s brows furrow further, pout turning into a soft frown as he gazes down at you.

(he hates how small you look. like you’re curling in on yourself.)

as soon as you left the apartment, a wave of regret washed over him. it was expected, obviously, because that’s what always happens after the two of you argue — which is almost never, which only makes the cut in his heart run deeper. 

he felt frustrated. and tired, so tired. but when he saw your troubled expression, the way your eyes watered slightly before you rushed out…

he could only feel guilty.

and that sensation only deepened as he sat on the couch and spiraled, over the course of forty long minutes, playing the interaction back inside his head. over and over, thinking about your words, his words, some of which he desperately wishes he could take back. 

and when it started raining? suguru could only feel regret, hot and ugly, dragging him into his own thoughts. could only drown in his worries, look out the window anxiously. thinking of you, his sweet baby, stuck under the onslaught of dark clouds and lightning strikes and heavy rain.

(you didn’t bring an umbrella.)

suguru waited. that was all he could do. 

he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so useless. fighting with himself, the part of him that wanted to give you the space you needed clashing with the part that yearned to run after you — scoop you up and apologize, hold you tight and protect you from the rainfall. you weren’t answering his calls, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to make you feel even worse. afraid to scare you off for good.

so he could only sit there and worry, sit there and wait, wallow in his own shame until he heard the faintest sound of the front door unlocking. followed by the sound of it creaking open, slowly — and that was all he needed. 

and there you were. standing by the entrance, entirely soaked, tank top sticking to your skin and that flimsy hoodie hanging off your arms, cheeks a little red from the cold and strands of hair sticking to your skin.

like a tiny kitten left out in the rain.

it made him feel so painfully anxious. his heart aching so deeply, so viscerally, while all he could think about was smothering you in affection. taking care of you, like he always wants to do, needs to do to stay sane. so suguru left, to go grab something to dry you off with —

and now he’s here. in front of you, smothering you with the towel rather than his love, fretting over you like an overprotective mother. 

suguru yearns to soothe you. to take care of you. always, always, always, his hands on your skin and lidded amber eyes staring deeply into yours. offering himself like a shelter to a stray dog, hoping so tenderly that you’ll take the bait.

(he just wants you to feel safe with him again.)

so he stumbles for something, anything to say, afraid of overstepping or making you uncomfortable. you did just argue, and suguru was anything but patient with you. usually he would be; he’d make sure to be. but with work piling up, and exhaustion clinging to every pore of his skin…

he failed at maintaining his composure.

he needs to make it up to you. despite everything — even though he feels a little awkward, a little restless, still drowning a little in shame — he just wants to tend to you. that, and nothing more.

”hang on,” he exhales, stepping back and letting go of the towel. ”i’ll go draw you a bath…”

”ah — no need,” you smile, a little forced, swiftly reassuring him. he can tell you don’t really know how to act after everything that happened; still walking on eggshells. ”i’ll just take a quick shower.”

suguru wants to protest, wants to coax you into taking a proper bath, into letting your cold skin and aching bones relax completely —

but he can only hum, a little unsure. a little sad. 

”… okay. got it.”

perplexed, he tries his hand at another tactic. still so desperate to take care of you in whatever way you’ll allow, like always, but he thinks it’s worse now. even more desperate, after the fight you had, after seeing your frail, shivering self. resisting the urge to scoop you up and coddle you is a struggle.

”i can make you tea?” he tries, inwardly wincing at the way the words spill from his lips; uncertain, awkward. what a mess.

but you smile, slightly more genuinely this time, a soft little thing. it soothes some of the anxiety rotting through his ribs.

”tea would be great, thank you.”

you brush past him, warm towel still hanging off your shoulders. ”i’ll just take a shower in the meantime,” you murmur, and suguru can do nothing but nod, watching you go. 

he swallows thickly.

(that’s that, then.)

tea. right. what kind of tea? something warm, and soothing, and good for your throat. chamomile? peppermint? he’ll add a spoon of honey, just the way you like.

suguru’s mind spins in circles while his feet take him to the kitchen, hands swiftly rummaging through cabinets and getting the electric kettle ready. placing teacups and a teapot on the table, cute little floral designs he couldn’t help but fill your kitchen with. pouring hot peppermint tea into the pot, a strong scent drifting through the kitchen, drowning his senses in bliss.

caught up in his own head, losing track of time, suguru fails to notice you walking from the bathroom — stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, hesitant to make your presence known. a few silent moments pass. with a tiny inhale, mint invading your senses, you take a step forward. calm and sleepy, skin still pleasantly hot from the warm shower, hair still a little damp.

only then does suguru notice you, his gaze drifting to your figure as if instinctively drawn to it.

you’re clad in some comfortable sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie — his hoodie, the one with the unreasonably soft texture, the one you tend to gravitate towards — the one he likes to see you in the most, because you always look so thoroughly comfy in it. almost drowning in the fabric. 

seeing you all warm and cozy, in his clothing no less, sends a tremor of pure warmth running through suguru’s chest. sprouting in his heart and spreading throughout his entire body. he can’t bring himself to resist the soft curl of his lips, gazing at you so fondly he’s almost sure you notice it.

”i made peppermint,” he says, a little breathless, already pouring boiling tea into two cups on the table. ”that okay?”

”yeah,” you answer, instantaneous. stifling a yawn. you’d have been fine with anything, really.

the shower worked wonders for your muddled mind; chasing away the shivers down your spine, that unpleasant chill to your skin. most importantly, it gave you a moment to simply relax, to bask in the peace and quiet. feel the hot water surround you, melt your bones like softened clay. you feel a little better, now. still anxious, more than a little sleepy, but better. and right now, that’s all you need. 

with a groggy kind of pep in your step, you stumble over to the kitchen table, plopping down on the chair across from where suguru is sitting. trying to get comfortable, knees pressed against your chest, muttering a soft thank you while gingerly touching the rim of the cup.

(suguru frowns, just barely, at the sight. usually you’d sit right next to him. but now you’re in front of him, so very far — as if you’re strangers.

it breaks his heart, a little bit.)

a soft hum leaves your lips when you take a sip of the tea — all warm and comforting and minty on your tongue, a vague taste of something sweet. it’s relaxing, more than anything, and it makes you feel a little more okay with everything.

suguru only watches you, drinking absentmindedly from his own cup. not really tasting anything.

finally, he opts to clear his throat — and your attention falls on him instantly.

”hey,” he starts, ready to address the elephant in the room. his voice is gentle, but decisive, firm somehow. ”about before…”

your body tenses, ever so slightly, fingers uncurling around the handle of the teacup. there’s a kind of shift in the air around you, in suguru’s tone of voice — and you were expecting it, waiting for it anxiously, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing.

here it comes, your mind seems to sing. here comes the moment everything shatters again.

with as much strength as you can muster, you smile. a little sheepish, just a tad forced, refusing to meet his eyes from across the table. staring into the murky green of your cup and hoping in vain that you can somehow escape this discomfort. 

(you just want to rest. you just want to not have to think about anything.)

”it’s fine, suguru,” you cut him off. softly, but there’s a certain tilt to your voice that strikes him as rather cold. ”we can just drop it.”

the decision in his eyes doesn’t waver. you look meek, awfully troubled, and he hates to force you into another discussion when you’re undoubtedly tired — but suguru’s mind is set. he’s been evasive enough, today.

”no. i want to talk about it properly.”

at that, you seem to deflate a little. suguru is nothing if not stubborn, a quality that always manages to coexist with his gentleness, his desire to be a good partner for you. you can tell he won’t allow you to wriggle away, now that you’re both finally calm. he’s not doing it to exhaust you, not doing it to gain some sort of satisfaction out of ”winning” the argument — he’s doing it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. even if it makes you both a little uncomfortable.

communication is important, immensely so. suguru knows it very well.

and you do, too.

so all you do is curl into yourself, shifting in your seat, allowing him to speak his mind and sipping quietly on your tea. biting back a disgruntled huff, gaze lingering on the tablecloth, little calico cats etched into the fabric. he wanted one with yellow stripes, but still bought this one just for you. just like the ugly matching couple mugs you forced him into buying, the green colour of your kitchen wallpaper. he always places you before himself.

(all you wanted was to change that. just for a night, if nothing else. and he got mad at you for it.)

suguru sighs. it sounds fatigued, not frustrated or disappointed. he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement, the soft silky strands and the way he smooths them over. practiced, familiar, absentminded. you could watch him do it forever.

”i had a lot of time to think while you were gone,” he begins, recalling the mental gymnastics he went through while you were away. just sitting on the couch and running himself ragged, trying to be impartial, trying to see your point of view without letting his own bias get in the way.

you sink a little further into the chair, eyes downcast. inhaling the scent of peppermint, trying to prepare yourself for what he might say, the ways this could all go wrong.

”and i realized that you were right.”

…

you blink. once, then twice.

hesitantly, you raise your head, searching for suguru’s gaze. he isn’t looking at you, staring out at the rainfall through the window as if in deep thought. his gaze shifts to meet yours, and something soft flickers through his golden eyes.

he looks troubled, though. trying to find the right words, mind clouded by guilt. chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to weigh the words in his mind, just to make sure he gets them across as smoothly as possible. he’s had more than enough time to verbalize his feelings, to think about what he wants to say to you. it was all he could do while he waited. 

so his voice is earnest, when he continues, sincerely apologetic and thought out.

”i’m always telling you not to overwork yourself. and here i am, doing the same thing…” another sigh. ”you were just worried. i shouldn’t have lashed out — you didn’t deserve that.”

suguru searches for your gaze, and manages to find it. you falter a little under the weight of his eyes, but they’re warm, remorseful. a setting sun.

”i’m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes. then two. three, five. you look down at your cup, the purple hyacinths etched into the porcelain. crumbling under his gaze, at the sound of his genuine apology. 

and suddenly, you feel silly — silly for being so scared, for thinking suguru might still be angry with you. for thinking he wouldn’t spend as much time as needed to properly think about your words, your feelings, even if he might not have been ready to do so when he first heard them.

suguru can be stubborn, if he’s convinced that he’s in the right. but he always, always seeks you out eventually, always makes sure to genuinely look at things from your perspective. 

and, really, it means everything. it means enough to wash away all your leftover irritation, from having him brush you off when you know you didn’t do anything wrong. all the leftover sadness from being pushed away, from not being allowed to take care of him the way he always does for you.

suguru isn’t perfect, but he tries harder than anyone you know. tries his very best to be as close to perfect as he can possibly get — for you, for the both of you. he’s considerate enough, mature enough to take the time he needs to properly communicate. that’s how much he loves you. 

and yes, doing so makes you a little uncomfortable. but when faced with something like that, someone so kind, who loves you like the rain loves the ground — how could you ever bear not to do the same?

”… it’s fine,” you start, softly. ”maybe i overreacted a bit. ’s just —” a gulp. you’re trying your best to verbalize your feelings, the way suguru just did, the way he always does.

and he waits, patiently. for as long as you need. looking at you from across the table softly, already immensely relieved at the lack of tension in the air.

”i don’t like seeing you so tired. i know that your work is important, and i support you, but…” your voice goes quiet, as you trail off, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. ”you know.”

and suguru does. he does understand, he always will. so he hums.

”i know,” he murmurs, softly. ”it wasn’t an overreaction. i just didn’t realize it myself. got too caught up in everything,” a sharp exhale leaves his lips. ”it’s been… a long week. i’m not using that as an excuse, though.”

you listen attentively, eyes softening at his words. you can tell that he means it, that you finally got your message across. all you wanted was for him to take a break, to take care of himself.

to let you take care of him.

suguru continues. he makes it a point to look into your eyes as he speaks — a little intimidating, especially in a situation like this — but you know it reassures him, that it lets him know you really understand what he’s trying to say. 

so you hold his gaze, as steady as you can, glancing down at his collarbone when it becomes just a little too much.

”i’m grateful that i have you,” he says, voice dripping with softness, gazing at you with a fondness that has you crumbling all over again. ”and that you care enough to set me straight when i need it.”

and suguru means it. he means it more than anything else. not once has he ever stopped appreciating you, all the things you do for him; always so sweet and caring, even when it’s subtle. this was no exception. you’re always worried, always looking out for him. he feels awful for getting so defensive. for pushing you away, when you were trying so earnestly to reach him.

but he’ll make up for all of that, starting now.

”i mean it. i appreciate you so much, you have no idea — i’m so sorry if i made you think otherwise.” for a moment, his eyes look a little glassy, swimming in remorse. ”i really, really am.”

(and when he looks at you like that, when he speaks so very gently —

how could you ever bear not to forgive him?)

you shift in your seat again. gazing down, chewing at your bottom lip. his honesty makes you falter, makes it hard for you not to do the same; even if your voice ends up sounding awfully tiny and awfully close to breaking apart. 

”… i was just worried,” you mumble, meekly, shooing away any tears you have left with rapid blinks. 

”i know,” suguru soothes. the smile on his face is genuine, comforting, honey and peppermint and warmth. ”i was being immature. you were right — i’ve been burning myself out.”

you don’t say anything. only letting his words console you, feeling yourself relax at the sound of him opening up a little. just enough to make everything all better again.

”i was thinking of taking tomorrow off,” he continues, searching for your timid gaze and smiling gently once he finds it. ”what do you say?”

you brighten a little, so obvious in the way you sit up straighter, the way something soft and hopeful blossoms in the scope of your iris. the sight coaxes suguru’s patient smile into widening a smidge, his eyes crinkling at your barely contained excitement.

”that’d be nice…” you murmur, averting your gaze once more. but suguru can tell you like the sound of that, that it’s exactly what would finally put your anxious mind at ease.

a smile, bright and fond. suguru opens his arms. 

”then i will.”

for a moment, you simply stare. at him, his outstretched limbs — that soft smile, as he waits for you to get the hint. and you blink. 

oh. 

you look down at your lap. a little sheepish, almost shy. it takes you another moment to raise your head, again, only to see another gentle flicker in suguru’s eyes — and then you finally get up from your seat.

it feels a little strange. a little awkward, as if some of your bones still can’t help but tread on eggshells, afraid of making him upset again. but it’s suguru, and he loves you, and his arms are waiting patiently to hold you.

and you want that more than anything. 

so you fall into his arms, softly, curling up in his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. suguru has one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles into your spine to make you relax.

it works wonders. despite your initial hesitance, you melt into the embrace without putting up a fuss — happy to be in his arms again, to feel the anxiety dissipate when you realize that everything’s finally alright.

and suguru is just as happy, just as content. breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. he strokes your hair lovingly, and you nuzzle into him a little more; making his lips quirk up, eyes filling with adoration. finally, he can relax. having you in his arms feels so soothing. and you’re so sweet, curling into him, seeking comfort and warmth that he’s more than happy to provide.

how long has it been since he had a chance to hold you like this? he made sure to be affectionate whenever he could, before leaving for work and after coming back — but in the midst of all the paperwork and stress…

suguru sighs, a little sadder this time, watching you bask in the attention he had been robbing you of this whole time. without even realizing it.

”and i’m sorry for neglecting you, too,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. muffled by your hair as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

that certainly gets your attention.

”neglecting me?” you sputter, eyes suddenly wide open and lips parted in disbelief. flustered, heat rushing to your neck and ears. ”wha — what am i, some high-maintenance puppy? you didn’t neglect me.”

suguru only chuckles, biting back a soft coo that he knows would only fluster you more. instead, he pulls away a little, just to look at you, and pecks your forehead softly.

”well, i’m sorry for not being around much, then. i’ll make it up to you. okay?”

hiding away in his collarbone, again, you mutter a soft okay that has suguru’s heart squeezing in his chest. he cradles you close, engulfs you in his embrace, and hopes you can feel his love through the action. hopes you can feel it in the way his arms fit around you like they were always meant to be right there.

and you do feel his love. feel it smooth away the leftover turmoil in your brain, caress your skin softly. it’s soothing, and comforting, and you feel so incredibly safe. here, in suguru’s embrace, with the sound of rain hitting the window and the scent of peppermint wafting through the kitchen — it’d be impossible not to relax.

before you know it, your eyelids have fluttered shut, breathing softening out and heartbeat slowing down. a peaceful rhythm, carrying you away. suguru notices it before you do.

”you sleeping, baby?”

you jolt a little in his arms — murmuring something unintelligible into his neck, and he only chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm.

”c’mon. let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

suguru smooths a hand down your back, arms tightening around you before he scoops you up and gets up from his seat. ”there we go,” he hums, helping you hike your legs around his waist. ”you can sleep, angel. i’ve got you.”

your arms tighten around him, and you inhale his scent; grounding and comforting, raindrops and roses. tomorrow you can bask in it properly, can take care of him properly. you’ll coddle him all day.

but for now, you need to get some rest.

allowing your senses to dull away, clinging to suguru like a makeshift pillow, you absently listen to the storm still raging on outside. faraway, cold and harsh, but comforting when you’re in his steady grasp.

a yawn escapes your honey-soothed throat.

you don’t miss the i love you murmured into your ear, accompanying you into dreamland as your eyes flutter shut.

[kyahcomic]

[moonhoures]

Sunday Morning

🕷️ kinktober — day 9: cockwarming 🕸️

pairing: jiung (p1harmony) + reader (g/n)

genre: non-idol!au, fluff, smut

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, established relationship, morning sex, cockwarming, edging (kinda? sorry jiung 😅), somnophilia (idk if this really counts but i’m putting it just in case!), pet names: ‘ji’ & ‘baby’ for jiung

word count: ~1.8k

synopsis: just some good ol’ morning sex with bf!jiung 😌

posted: october 9, 2023

kinktober masterlist

Your bedroom was enveloped in a layer of thin darkness provided by the gloomy, rainy weather settling outside of your windows. Sundays were usually your chore and errand day of the week, but when your eyes cracked open for the first time this morning and saw the nasty weather, you threw those plans out the window (metaphorically). Instead of getting up to start your day, you snuggled yourself further into the warmth of your sheets, pulling them tighter to you. You snuggled your face into the plush of your pillow, and shifted your hips back for a more comfortable position. Only, your behind met something solid, which had you concerned and confused, but only for a moment.

“Hey, quit hogging the covers.”

You melted into relief as you remembered that your boyfriend had stayed the night and was sleeping just behind you. His presence made itself clear as he turned to face you, tugging back some of the sheets. He lifted them up while he scooted closer to you, letting the soft fabric fall over the both of you. You felt his arm encircle your waist and pull you closer to his front.

“I forgot you were here,” the grogginess of just waking up was evident in your voice, cracking some of the syllables.

“Ouch,” Jiung mumbled with fake-hurt, making you laugh softly, “Glad to know I have such a big impact on your life.”

“Well you haven’t stayed the night in so long. Excuse me for not being used to waking up with you next to me.”

Your boyfriend leaned forward and kissed your shoulder that was exposed by the neck of your shirt slipping to the side. You instinctively scrunched up, trying to avoid the tickling sensation that came with his lips and breath brushing against your sensitive skin. But he persisted, hands holding onto your hips to keep you still while he attempted to kiss your neck. The best he could manage was leaving chaste pecks on the nape of your neck.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spend the night,” he apologized with a smile as he held you close, spooning you. Your hands found his at your navel, and you intertwined your fingers with his, “I’ll have to change that soon.”

“I would like to wake up like this more often,” you confessed, making your boyfriend smile even wider.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, scooting yourself impossibly closer to him. He hoped you didn’t hear the small noise he let out when you brushed against the subtle tent forming in his shorts. But of course he couldn’t get that lucky, “Seems like you would, too.”

“Babe-“ he groaned in embarrassment, his arms tightening around you. You laughed at his expense.

“If you had morning wood, you could’ve just said so, Ji.”

“I didn’t- I don’t- I-,” your boyfriend sighed, half in defeat and half in frustration. It’s not like he was the one that rubbed his erection against your ass, “It’ll go away, just . . . don’t touch it.”

Secretly, you loved making Jiung flustered like this. He was always so cute when he got nervous and stuttered over his words. You wished you could see how pink his cheeks were getting. How wide his eyes were. You decided to tease him further, not-so-innocently shifting to “get more comfortable” and brushing even more against his bulge in the process.

“________,” he warned you, hand gripping your waist in attempt to stop your movements.

“You’re right, I’m too tired for that right now,” you sighed, but the gears were already turning in that pretty head of yours, “Unless . . . you want to just put it in and nap some more with me?”

“How is that any fun?” he asked, a slight pout to his lips. But he wasn’t denying you, so that was something.

“I guess it’s not supposed to be,” you shrugged, “But it’s intimate. And if you’re good, I might reward you.”

“Might?”

“Fine, I will reward you. But only if you stay still and let me nap.”

Jiung mulled it over for a minute, but he truly didn’t think he had the strength, the self control. Still, he was never one to turn down the opportunity to have sex with you. There were very few things he could think of that were better than being buried inside of you, so this just felt like a no brainer.

“Think you can do that?” you asked him, peeking over your shoulder to see him struggling in his own contemplation. The dark shadows on his face brightened with the flash of lightning that illuminated the room for a split second, followed by a low rumble of thunder off in the distance.

“Uh huh,” he nodded, even though he knew you couldn’t see him do so.

It was a blessing and curse that you decided to sleep in only your underwear and one of his t-shirts. A blessing in the sense that it gave him easier access, and a curse in the sense that the easy access only turned him on more, making his erection stand at full attention, hard and uncomfortable. He thought a quick, thankful prayer as he took his weeping cock out from his sleep shorts. If you hadn’t decided you wanted to cockwarm him, he would’ve waited entirely too long to take care of his morning wood in the bathroom like a gentleman. He made a mental note to treat you real good the next time you had proper sex.

“Are you ready now?” he asked, not wanting to dive right in too soon and have it be uncomfortable for you.

“Honestly, Ji, I’ve been wet since I woke up,” you admitted with a small giggle, “So yeah.”

A small fluttering feeling took up space in his chest as he wondered if you were wet because of him. Had you dreamed of him? You had never had a wet dream about him—as far as he knew—so the possibility made him really happy.

He decided not to waste anymore time, so he discreetly used some of his spit to moisten the grip on his dick, rubbing it out a little before getting closer to your center. The fabric of your underwear was easy to move out of the way, and in seconds he was sinking into you with a small hiss. Inch by inch, he fed his length to your hole, letting you suck him in with a familiar warmth that felt like the most impure hug.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he couldn’t help himself from admitting. Once he was seated deep within your heat he got the overwhelming urge to thrust, but the voice of his conscience told him to keep himself in check. It shouldn’t be too bad, all he had to do was hold you and stay still until the both of you nodded back off to sleep. But how long do they plan on napping? he thought. I don’t know how long I can do this before I go insane.

A mix of a hum and a small sigh left you as you felt yourself become full. Jiung watched you practically melt into the bed, your shoulders dropping with relaxation and your head nestling further into your pillow. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head without even thinking about it. His body moved on its own, doing what his heart wanted him to. He smiled at your cozy state, hugging you again. His legs were almost entangled with yours in this position. You two were so close that you basically became one entity.

“This feels nice,” you spoke so softly, moments away from falling back into a slumber.

Jiung wanted to agree, but he was focusing too much on relaxing and not bucking his hips into yours like he so badly wanted to. So instead, he hummed weakly in agreement, fingertips softly gripping the flesh of your tummy as he tried not to adjust his position. If he moved even a centimeter while inside of you, he knew the drag of his cock against your walls would feel too good for him to stay quiet and keep his cool.

“Ji,” you called his name, a hint of a smile on your lips, though he couldn’t see it since he was behind you and his eyes were screwed shut in concentration, “You okay?”

“Mhm, just- trying to stay still like you asked.”

You chuckled faintly. He really was the cutest—and the most obedient, you’ve noticed, “You’re doing good, baby. Just a while longer.”

Jiung nodded, but inside he was whining like a sick puppy. Just a while longer, he thought.

A few minutes turned into several minutes, and eventually became over half an hour. Jiung had finally gotten to a point where he was fully relaxed, cuddling you and focusing on your lulling breaths to keep himself at bay, and it worked. Your delicate snoring didn’t even faze him as his eyes fell closed and he began nodding off beside you. He awoke after a while when you shifted in his warm embrace, hips slightly rutting against his. A choked groan squeaked out of his lips before he could stop it.

“Sorry, baby, did I wake you?” you asked him, purposefully beginning to rock your hips in the most subtle way that it could seem accidental.

“Ah- Please,” he breathed out in a sheepish tone, his hand quickly moving from your stomach back to your hips. His fingertips gripped onto your skin desperately, trying to get you to stop moving.

“What? I thought you wanted to fuck me, Ji?”

“I- I do,” his words came out in pants as his groin began to feel like it was on fire again. His cock throbbed with the anguishing need to cum.

“Then fuck me.”

It was the most gentle command he had ever heard, but the most compelling. Not even a second went by before he was thrusting into you with fervor. Your lip was sucked in between your teeth as you tried to bite back moans and failed. Jiung was a sweet lover, always so attentive and never selfish. He did tend to get a little ambitious sometimes, and those were the few times he would cum before you did. Now seemed like it would be one of those times, but you couldn’t blame him. He had suffered long enough while you cock warmed him. He was a good boy, and did exactly as you asked of him. He deserved to cum first.

“Cum whenever you’re ready, baby.”

“Thank you,” a long, pathetic moan followed his words as his hips stuttered behind your own. He jerked and twitched with every rope of cum that painted your insides. Overwhelming pleasure was all he felt, and in that moment all the waiting he had to do was worth it. Absolutely worth it.

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @pedriswrld @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @celestialplatinum @pinklemonadeflav @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Sanji finds you crying and pretends to believe your excuses. Is anyone up for slow dancing in the rain?]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

When the time for supper came, Sanji knocked on your door to let you now. He was met with silence, so he naturally assumed you were sleeping. Not much of a problem - he'll set aside a portion for when you wake up hungry.

The problem is, that was around two hours ago.

Sanji knocked on your door again and when silence answered him this time also, he allowed himself to peek inside. Only to discover your bed is empty. He grew suspicious, if not worried, when no one could tell him where you went. It's the middle of the night and the rainstorm doesn't stop. Sanji also noticed how quiet and upset you've been most of the day, making him all the more tense that you are unaccounted for. The thought that you're obediently suffering in silence breaks him more each time he entertains it.

Sanji is scrubbing the cutting board with feverish vigour. The faster he finishes, the faster he can get to making sure you're fine. As though the fish scales knew his thoughts, they simply wouldn't get off the wooden surface.

The steel scrubber escapes his hands. It hits the sink with a quiet clank. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and looks away from the pile of dishes. That's when he finally sees you through the smudged porthole. The rain outside obscures your silhouette. Nevertheless, Sanji is beyond convinced that it is, in fact, you. Despite the initial relief, he feels his chest tighten. You look like a marble statue, forever frozen still in grief.

Leaving the cutting board in the sink and grabbing his suit jacket, Sanji dashes out the door, making haste to you. What on Earth do you think you're doing out in this weather?

The cold rain hits him like a wall of ice. True, the cool water may feel refreshing after the hot and humid daytime hours but not at this rate of rainfall. Even if the nights in the open sea weren't so dark, it would still be impossible to see anything beyond the ship.

He has to come close to you to see the heartwrenching details of your silhouette. You're hunched over, staring at the turbulent waters below. The clothes you're wearing are absolutely drenched, no dry string in their material. Every now and then, your freezing body shivers violently.

"Love?" he calls out to you in an unsure voice.

But you don't react - at least not in the way he has been expecting you to. Instead of looking at him, you turn your face further away, quickly wiping it with your hands.

Sanji wastes no time. In long strides, he finds himself pressed up against your side and forcing his jacket around your shoulders. Considering the heavy rain it won't do much in the long run but maybe it can keep you warm until he convinces you to go back inside.

"Hey, look at me," he pleads in a soft voice.

Too tired and heartbroken, you let his warm fingers guide your face towards him. As if time suddenly slows down, you notice each wrinkle that appears and disappears when he studies your sorrowful expression. If he was a little less perceptive, Sanji would think your face is just wet from the heavy rainfall. The red veins of your bloodshot, puffy eyes are hardly visible in the darkness of the rainy night but not black enough to remain unseen by Sanji.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying? What happened?" he keeps asking. With each question, he feels the tension in his chest only rising.

"I'm not crying, I'm perfectly fine," you reassure him. Your forced scoff is followed by a pathetic sniffle. "It's just the rain. Saltwater irritated my eyes."

Of course, with your whole "I'm brave and strong and I can manage on my own" facade, you're not going to openly admit to weakness in front of anyone, even if it's painfully obvious. As much as Sanji considers your tough image charming, he wishes you would discard it once in a while - for your own sake.

"How can you be fine with saltwater in your eyes, princess?" Sanji goes along with your poorly constructed lie. His arms engulf you in a warm, albeit drenching wet, hug. "It must burn."

"Yeah, it does," you mumble against his soaking shirt. With a little more light, you would be able to see his bare skin from underneath the wet material. "But it's getting better."

One of Sanji's hands is keeping your head against his shoulder while the other drags up and down your back in a soothing gesture. The jacket he has put around your arms is already drenched, too. He feels your body shaking but can't be sure whether it's because of the "saltwater" or the cold weather. In any case, his heart breaks each time he feels those spasms. His mind panics in search of something that could possibly lift your mood.

The noise of the rainfall is disrupted by a soft, low hum. A melody you vaguely know rumbles inside Sanji's chest. Dean Martin...? Strong arms hold you tightly against his torso as he ever-so-gently sways you to the rhythm of the song.

A quiet giggle escapes your lips as you let yourself sink into the comfort of him. Up until this moment, the cosiness of a loved one's arms confronted with the coldness of a rainstorm, you've thought that scenes like these exist only in sappy novels written for naive young women.

"Slow dancing in the rain," you finally speak up. If it wasn't for the rather unpleasant rain drenching you to every last string of your clothing, yous wear you could fall asleep like this. "Aren't you a hopeless romantic, Sanji?"

"I'm just getting started, love," he murmurs against your hair, still slowly swaying your bodies despite having stopped the humming. You're inclined to believe that his chivalry ventures far beyond dancing in the rain.

"Oh, yes, please."

A low chuckle rumbles inside his chest. It merges into a symphony with the soft thrumming of his steady heartbeat.

"Feeling any better?" he asks in a serious tone.

To Sanji's dissatisfaction, you lean away from him to look at his face. Your eyes are still red but the curious glint he's learned to associate with you has found its way back into them. It seems like your grit, honesty or facade, has returned.

"What will you do if I say no?" you ask back.

As relief washes over him, Sanji smiles down at you. His hand slicks your drenched hair out of your puffy face.

"I should figure something out just for my baby," he answers without missing a beat. His fingers brush along your jaw and chin.

Before you have a chance to inquire, Sanji leans down and lifts you. A yelp of surprise is pulled out of your chest. Without much problem and clearly with a lot of enjoyment, he carries you back inside the lower deck of the ship.

[in-my-feels-probably]

hi!

I saw you were in desperate need of requests for our lovely Slytherin boys, so I figured I'd help haha.

Would you be inspired by "how the Slytherin boys would spend a rainy Sunday morning with you?" if not it's alright :)

love <3

How the Slytherin Boys Would Spend a Rainy Morning with You

Request: Would you be inspired by "how the Slytherin boys would spend a rainy Sunday morning with you?" if not it's alright :)

Hi! This is my first time doing one of these, so hopefully I do alright. Besides Regulus, I’ve never written for these characters, so please bear with me while I try and get the hang of it. Also, I’ve never read the fics Enzo and Mattheo are from, so this is just a little bit of research and a vibe I'm going with. If you think anything is out of character, please tell me, I’m happy getting any feedback to use in later work. Also, I’m ignoring that the boys' dorms are in the dungeons, since I wanted to put a window for some of them. Anyways, thank you so much for the request! I hope you like it :)

(Warnings: mentions of insomnia, insecurity, smoking, let me know if i missed anything)

—

Theodore Nott:

i think he’s definitely an insomniac. any amount of noise is going to wake him up, and then he’ll just be in his head till he finally forces himself out of bed. 

i do think the sound of rain would make him tired too, but it would be so distracting that he couldn’t sleep through it. he’d be so frustrated, and maybe a little grumpy.

before you, he’d use the time to smoke outside under a covering undisturbed. but with you, he just wouldn’t be able to bring himself to get out of bed. he wants to go smoke, but he’s not about to wake you up. you’d ask him if he wants to go outside once you wake up, but he’d just shake his head.

you’re a much needed distraction, and he just wants to be close to you. i think he’s a bit touch starved, and he’d want you to hold him while he rests a little while longer.

nap time if he can fall asleep for sure. you’d be able to see how tired he was, and just gently try to coax him to rest for a little while longer till the rain passed.

Theo had been up for quite a while when you finally stirred. It was still quite early, and you had not intended on getting up until you felt the empty spot in the bed next to you. You found him sitting at the foot of the bed, a far off look in his eye. You furrowed your brows in confusion, sitting up to reach out to him. He nearly jumped up as he felt your hand on his shoulder, only relaxing when he turned around to see you gazing up at him. 

“Are you alright?” You asked, running your thumb along the curve of his shoulder. “Can’t sleep?”

He just nodded his head to the window where you could see the rain breaching the wake of the Black Lake. “The rain. It woke me up a little bit ago.”

“A little bit?” You asked, trying to hide your frown when you saw the dark rings developing around and under his eyes. 

He hadn’t slept well the past couple of nights, and you were hoping he was going to do better with you sleeping with him. But the weather had other plans.

He let out a frustrated sigh, having to take a calming breath. “Just maybe an hour or two.”

You could tell how aggravated not being able to sleep was making him. He couldn't sleep when he tried–and he couldn’t stay asleep once he finally managed to drift off. It was a vicious cycle, and you wished you could ease his pain. You looked over to the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand, seeing that one had been pulled out but not lit.

You gave his shoulder a squeeze, your voice soft. “Wanna go outside and smoke? I’ll come with you if you do, just let me–”.

Theo could feel embarrassment bubbling in his chest, feeling his skin heat. You knew him so well, even when neither of you had to say anything. You just understood how he ticked, and sometimes that frightened him. 

He knew there was nothing about him that you judged or looked down on–he knew that. But sometimes, with how gentle and understanding you treated him, he’d begin to feel like a burden. Like he was something you convinced yourself you had to fix out of obligation, not because you wanted to. He couldn’t have been more wrong, but it was hard for him to see that. And when he saw you going out of your way to try and help him, he shut it down.

“No, pretty girl,” he interrupted, reaching up to cradle your cheek in his palm. “I’ll go later. Go back to sleep. You don’t need to be up for a while.”

You could feel your chest tighten. He needed your help, but he didn’t know how to ask for it–he didn’t know how to accept it. The day had barely started, and you could see how drained he was already. And with a full week of classes coming up?

He wasn't going to make it.

“Come here, sweet boy,” you pleaded, laying back down against the pillows and opening your arms. “Forget about the rain for a moment. Just lay with me for a bit. You don’t have to sleep–just close your eyes and breath.”

Theo almost said no. 

He was so close to shaking his head and brushing you off, but he couldn’t ignore the look in your eyes. You wanted to hold him just as much as he needed to be held, and he was so exhausted that he didn’t have it in him to argue. He finally relented, crawling back into bed with you under the covers. He rested his head against your chest, letting his arms settle around your waist. You threaded your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. It was quiet for a moment as you stared up at the ceiling, his gaze set on the window.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he murmured after a moment, pressing a kiss into your skin. “It’s nice.”

You smiled, knowing he could hear how your heart fluttered at his words. “Good. Focus on that, not the rain. Close your eyes, baby. Just rest.”

—

Lorenzo Berkshire:

this man is 100% the kind of guy that stomped in puddles as a little kid after it rained, even if his parents yelled at him for it. 

he’d want to let you sleep, but he’d be so excited that—if you didn’t wake up fast enough—he’s easing you awake and begging you to come outside with him.

he wouldn’t want you getting wet tho, he doesn’t want you catching a cold or feeling uncomfortable. he just wants to be able to look at you while he enjoys his morning.

if you wanna splash in the puddles with him, he’ll get over himself and agree. but if you get sick, you’re getting a firm “i told you so,” but of course he’d take care of you anyways.

he’d think you look ADORABLE, even if you were soaked. once you get back inside to change, you better believe that man is throwing you one of his hoodies before you have a chance to put on something else.

You groaned as the bed shifted next to you, and a hand gently pulled at your shoulder. It was far too early for you to be up—Enzo especially, who loved nothing more than to sleep in—and you shrugged away as you buried your face in the pillows.

“Honey, please,” Enzo pleaded with you, a warm hand coming to cup your cheek. “I can’t wait any longer.”

You cracked one eye open, peering up at him with a huff of frustration. “What is it?”

“It’s raining!” He said excitedly, rolling out of bed to peer out the window.

You smiled, letting out an exasperated chuckle. You groaned as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Enzo was practically halfway out the window already, leaning over the rail to see the grounds below.

“It rains nearly every week, darling,” you said, the covers pooling around your waist.

“Not like this,” he rationalized, coming back over to the bed to put on his shoes. “The puddles down there are massive.”

You smiled wider, leaning down to the foot of the bed where he was sitting to wrap your arms around his waist. “You’re so adorable, sometimes. Still a kid at heart, I think. My life would be a lot happier if I could see it like how you see yours.”

“Actually, I’m adorable all the time,” he corrected, turning around to press a kiss to your cheek. “But you’re the reason my life is happy. Jumping in those puddles downstairs will just make me happier. Come with me?”

You nodded, throwing on some clothes before following him down the stairs to the ground below. 

You winced as he slipped before steadying himself, letting out a laugh as he continued running. You internally urged him to be more careful, but you couldn’t help but smile from under the covered archway as he splashed around in the water, a dreamy glaze over his eyes. It must have been quite the sight to anyone looking out the windows above you. 

One of the most popular Slytherins in the entire school–splashing around in puddles like a child.

After a moment, you stepped out into the rain with him. He held out a hand for you to steady yourself, before placing his hands on your waist to keep you from slipping. He smoothed your hair back to keep it from matting to your face when you stilled.

“Go back under the cover, sweetheart. It’s too cold. I don’t want you getting sick out here.”

You shook your head, letting your arms settle around his neck. “And why would I do that? You’re out here. You’re just as likely to get sick.”

“Yes, but I have you to take care of me. You’ll end up with Madam Pomfrey if you get sick, she’s a lot more capable of taking care of you than me.”

You shrugged, blinking the rain out of your eyes. “Poppy and I get along quite well.”

Enzo let you stay out with him another moment longer, before he was leading you both back inside. As soon as you got back up to his dorm, he was casting a Warming Charm on you and shoving you into the bathroom to change clothes. The second you stepped out, he was helping you pull one of his hoodies over your head.

“Better?” You asked, grinning when his cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

He nodded, pulling you close. “Better.

—

Mattheo Riddle:

rainy day? oh, you mean never come out from under the covers day?

he’d absolutely whine about being cold. expect cold feet touching your legs, even when you’re squirming and trying to push him away. he’s not letting go. you’re his personal heater.

he’s definitely using it as a day to just be close to you and talk. he hardly ever lets himself be completely vulnerable around you, but being this close to you makes him feel like he can. just listen as best you can, and he’ll value that time with you so much.

i do think he’d get a bit uncomfortable and restless after a while, but he’d still want to keep talking to you like this. so you’d come up with some excuse to bring him somewhere else secluded so he can still be open with you but more comfortably.

but getting wet? an absolute no from him. wherever you take him has to be dry, or you will be hearing about it from him for the rest of the day.

You woke up to ice cold feet rubbing against your shins, opening your eyes with a gasp. Mattheo had wrapped himself around you tightly, his arms trapping you in his hold.

“Mattheo!” You whined, trying to squirm away. “Matty, please get your feet off me. And, for Merlin’s sake, put on socks! I told you last time!”

“I can’t get out of bed in this weather! It’s too cold, darling.”

You could practically feel his teeth chattering. He nuzzled his head into your neck, but you could feel his grin when he slid his foot down your leg. You eventually relented, turning around in his hold to face him so he could pull you closer. 

“Come here, you big baby,” you mused, making it a point to kick his foot away before you hooked your leg around his to warm him up.

You stayed like that for a long while, his head tucked up into your neck. Every once in a while, he’d murmur something into your skin, his voice low as he talked to you. You listened, muttering praises into his ear and coaxing him to continue every time there was a moment of silence. It was unusual to have him be this open with you, and you weren’t about to let him pull away. 

After a while, Mattheo started to fidget. He’d stretch a limb one at a time before curling back into you, continuing to talk. You could see the strain on his face—you could hear it in his voice. Finally, you reached for your wand, casting a Warming Charm over you both. You stood up, pulling on a hoodie of his before passing another one to him.

“Come on, my love. Your bed is too tiny and the dungeons are too cold for us to both be cooped up in here all day. Let’s get you warm somewhere else.”

He grumbled as he pulled himself out of bed, but he eagerly took the hand you offered him. “If I get rained on I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day.”

“We both know that’s not true, darling,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand before pulling him out the door.

—

Regulus Black:

early riser for SURE.

like he’s definitely the type to wake up in the morning and just lay there and think. and with you there, he’d be more than content to just lay with you and listen to the rain. 

he strikes me as the kind of person who likes an overcast sky. the sound of rain is calming, the sight of you is calming, and he wouldn’t feel like he needed to get up or do something productive. he’d just lay there and wait till you woke up to see what you wanted to do.

he really values his alone time, but he’d also appreciate sharing that time with you sometimes. you don’t have to talk, either. silence is good sometimes, and it brings him peace. 

but he’s definitely the type that wants to stay in under the covers and just have the day with you. and if the rain stopped in the next ten minutes? he doesn’t care. he’s declared it a rainy day, and you can’t change his mind.

Regulus had been up for hours by the time you woke up. He had propped himself up against his headboard, and gently moved you to where your head was resting against his stomach. He had been absentmindedly smoothing his hand over your hair when you finally opened your eyes, looking up at him.

He felt you move your head, smiling down at you. “Morning, love.”

You took a deep breath, smiling as the fresh air from the open window gently wafted in. You reached for his free hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“It’s finally raining,” you mused, peering out the window before dropping your head back down against his stomach. “I’ve been waiting all week for it to rain. Looks like it’s clearing up, though.”

“Is it? Well, we’ll ignore that, won’t we? I don’t feel like moving today. I’ll move tomorrow.”

You chuckled into his skin, tracing your fingertips just under the hem of his shirt. “I assume that means I’m not moving either, am I?”

Regulus just hummed, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as you settled yourself back into him. It was quiet for a moment as you both rested, feeling each other’s chests rise and fall. Regulus felt the worries of the day quite literally blow away, allowing himself this time with you. And with how relaxed you looked in his arms, he knew you felt the same way.

“Let me know if you’re getting hungry, alright?” He asked softly just as you were beginning to drift back off. “We can go down.”

You nodded, closing your eyes as you nuzzled closer to him. He smiled to himself, finally tearing his eyes away from you to look back out the window.

— A/N - Hi! I’m so sorry that some of these are a bit longer than others, I just find it easier writing for some of the boys. I have such a soft spot for Theo, and I got a little carried away. I promise to make the next one a little more even and fair. Thank you again for reading and submitting prompts, I’ll gladly take any more you have! I hope you enjoyed this :)

[vennilavee]

Petrichor

pairing: stsg, geto x reader, gojo x reader, stsg x reader

summary: In the middle of the lush forest, there sits a lonely house on a hill. On a dark and rainy night, you find your way to the house and it's inhabitants while running away from a deep, dark secret that you refuse to confront. Little do you know that they welcome you with open arms because they want you in a way that you’ve never been wanted before. It’s so easy to succumb to the darkness once you’ve been invited in…

warnings: this is meant to be a horror fic so please heed with caution - vampire geto, ghost gojo, smut, biting, drinking of blood, bloodplay, unreliable narrators, murder, death and dying, suicide, everyone is a little freaky here including oc, yandere behaviors (i think??)

word count: 15k

a/n: meant to be written for spooky season in october...happy new year do not perceive me. HUGE thank you to @lovenona @libroparaiso @hoennislands for reading large chunks of this fic before i posted it, and @lovenona for the painting for the fic banner! i appreciate u<3

To add to an already terrible day, heavy and dark storm clouds cover the expanse of the sky before splitting open. Rain follows the split seam, pelting down and landing on your car before being met with your windshield wipers.

It’s a good thing you had your tires replaced recently, you think distractedly while tightening your grip on the wheel. 

The rumble of your car’s engine is the only noise you hear as you zip through the barely there road in the forest. There are no cars on this road. There are no lights, save for the high beams bursting from your car.

It feels as if you are going in circles, despite the GPS telling you that you are on the right path. You can barely see five feet ahead of you as the rain begins to downpour. You hate driving in storms. 

Perhaps you should pull over, rather than potentially wrap your car around a tree while trying to get out of this storm. Can you beat it? Can you beat the ominous clap of thunder and the bright streak of lightning? 

In the distance, you hear the winds picking up speed as the towering trees sway. The last thing you need is to die because a tree fell on you. 

All you were trying to do was clear your head with a nice, soothing drive after what can only be described as the worst week of your life. The weather forecast didn’t include heavy rain with zero visibility today. You must just be incredibly lucky.

Driving in this weather will surely result in your premature death. You make a split second decision and pull over to the side of the road, glancing at the umbrella in your passenger seat.

You scoff, stepping out into the darkness and further into the belly of the forest.

Night has fully draped over the forest and yet, the rain has not relented. You must have been walking, following your GPS for hours now. And yet, it seems as if you continue to walk further and further away from the road.

You are drenched and shivering, possibly looking like a drowned animal as you trek through the mud and fallen branches. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to return to your car. There is no way to tell what direction it’s in anyway.

So you continue on, shivering with the hood of your jacket covering your head and cursing the skies for leaving you stranded in this endless storm. Your phone vibrates with weather alerts indicating that you should seek shelter due to extreme flooding.

How ironic.

Your umbrella is long gone, proving to be useless with the force of the rain and the wind. You are completely alone in the lush, green forest. Perhaps you stop and appreciate the scent of petrichor if you weren’t so stuck and at the mercy of the unseen forces from above.

You don’t know how much you endure the walk, but you see something in the distance. Something warm, something like the light. 

A tall, dark house sits on a hill barely visible with the darkness of the night. But you can clearly see the warmth of the lights that emanate from inside the house. 

It feels like a reprieve, a lighthouse as you are lost at sea. So you run towards the warmth.

The house is more of a mansion, you realize as you stand in front of the ornate, mahogany door. Green vines twist around the door as if to protect the house from any trespassers. They seem to pulsate when you touch them, hissing at you in an attempt to send you away.

You shiver again.

Lilies and red roses line the entryway to the front door. Despite the remote location of this strange mansion, clearly someone maintains the upkeep of it.

You’ve never seen a viridian so vibrant. It’s hard to take your eyes away from it, tracing the way drops fall from the vines onto the stark white lilies before dripping onto the meticulously carved stone pathway.

The rain pours down on you heavily, and it rolls off of your trembling shoulders. It feels dry here, like the sun is gently peering out. This strange mansion must be an oasis, or a safe haven for those lost in the woods.

You knock on the door impatiently, hoping that someone, anyone, can save you from the storm. A crack of thunder splits your ears and you jump, knocking again.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter under your breath, “Please, it’s freezing-”

The magnificent door creaks loudly before being pulled open dramatically, only to reveal a tall, white haired man with striking and absurdly blue eyes.

You can’t look directly at him for too long. You think you’ll be blinded.

“How annoying,” he drawls, “Annoying and impatient.”

“My car broke down,” you interrupt, your teeth chattering, “Please, I’m so cold-”

“Oh?” he looks you up and down several times over with an infuriating, smug grin on his stupidly handsome face.

“Can you please assess whether I’m a thief or a murderer or anything equally as dramatic while I’m inside?” you say, glaring at him, “I’ve been walking for hours, please let me in until the storm passes over. I’m begging you.”

“You’re lucky you’re so charming when you beg,” he says, waving you in.

Warmth immediately engulfs you and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

“Don’t thank me just yet. Didn’t you call for help?”

“My phone has no service,” you reply easily, staring him right in the eye.

“No service, What a shame. I suppose it cannot be helped,” he shrugs, “Didn’t you hear? This storm is supposed to last several days. You must be a fool for driving through this.”

“I guess so-”

“Especially in the forest. You never know what’s lurking around here.”

His smile fades and he looks at you pointedly, as if he’s looking straight through you. His gaze unnerves you but still, it takes you half a second to decide you’re staying here in the dry warmth. 

Besides, it’s not like you have anywhere to go.

“Gojo Satoru,” he says simply and begins walking away from you. Does he care to know the name of a complete stranger that he just let into his home? 

“Aren’t you afraid of strangers? Have you learned nothing from the movies? I could kill you when your back is turned,” you reply as you follow behind him.

“That’s highly unlikely,” Gojo laughs, but it sounds hollow as it echoes through the hall.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re stuck in the middle of this horrendous storm with only me and the inhabitants of this house for company. You think I have reason to fear you?”

Gojo Satoru stops walking and abruptly turns to face you, crowding your vision. He speaks to you, but you’re not quite listening. You’re too enchanted by the odd blue of his eyes. Eyes that bright and deep simply do not exist beyond the walls of this house.

You think you may drown if you stare for too long. Gojo’s skin is pale, even when the lights hit the angles of his handsome face. Maybe there is a halo around his head, invisible to your eye. After all, he is the only semblance of a human that you have encountered in the last six hours. 

He must be an angel, sent to shepherd you through this storm.

Inhabitants. Gojo mentioned other inhabitants, but you have yet to see anyone else in the house. Despite the emptiness of the house, it looks homey and cozy, with trinkets and odd items strewn about. It is clear that someone lives here. Someone other than Gojo.

You try not to let curiosity get the best of you and just focus on getting warm. With chattering teeth, you allow scalding hot water to drench your skin and your hair. Trying to catch your breath as you shake like a leaf under the spray.

All alone in a strange house in the middle of nowhere with no escape. It’s enough to make anyone nervous, but you welcome it like a reprieve. A second chance. A rebirth.

You brace yourself against the wall of the shower and watch absently as blood mixes with water into the drain. 

Wholly unaware of the pair of eyes watching you in the bath, you sigh heavily as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders. It is. Everything is-

No. You won’t think about it, not now.

You can’t feel the graze of his fingertips, not when he caresses the slope of your neck or presses his fingertips to your hips. Not even when he rubs the inside of your soft thighs, or flutters over your calves just to feel the warmth of your skin. He traces the curvature of your spine with the palm of his hand, while you are none the wiser.

He stands in front of you, admiring the way you turn your neck from side to side and rub your sore muscles. Will you let your hands drift downwards? Would you give him that reprieve?

Your tits fit perfectly in his hands, spilling into his palms without any misgivings. He’d nearly forgotten how velvety a woman’s skin was. Much less a human’s. A gasp leaves his lips as he massages your chest, meeting your eyes eagerly. But you can’t see him. 

Your cheeks are heated as you lather soap on your skin with hooded eyes and bitten lips. He leans closer, sniffing your neck- you smell divine, what a gorgeous gift you might be…

And then he is called away abruptly, lamenting that loss of your warmth curled away in his hands.

A dark emerald silk robe lays on the pristinely made bed. It’s buttery and soft against your fingertips and it looks brand new. You can’t help but try it on, and somehow it fits you as if it was tailored for you. It’s perfect. You do a little spin in front of the full-length mirror and giggle to yourself, marveling at how it fits you perfectly. 

The guest bedroom he showed you to is massive, with ornate cherry wood furniture and a four poster bed that seems like it was custom made.

The warm scent of sandalwood remains on the duvet and on the pillows as you sink into the bed and try to get comfortable. It’s been such a long day and you just want to rest…

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep in this odd house despite only having been here for a few hours. The storm rages on outside, rain battering against the windows as it lulls you into the first peaceful slumber you’ve had in months.

It has been a long time since a human showed up drenched, terrified and shivering to his home. In the modern age, it seemed that less and less people would venture this deep into the forest. In the old days, it would have been the odd traveler or warriors passing by through the night or a woman running away from her betrothed.

Those were always his favorite visitors. These days, it’s usually just foolish, inebriated teenagers or a stray fox. Definitely not nearly as entertaining.

He remains hidden, until Gojo tells him to come out of the shadows. For now, he will remain content to watch you from a distance in his own home. Your shoulders are tense but your face is friendly as you chat away with the white-haired man as you nurse a warm cup of tea in your hands.

You keep him at arm’s length but not too far away so as to arouse suspicion from the man who gave you shelter during such a horrendous storm.

It smells so sweet inside now. Like nectar and honey and flowers. He had a feeling that dark green would be your color, anyway.

There is a portion of the house that Gojo has warned you to not enter. About half of the house is dimly lit, a sharp contrast to the rest of the house that you have seen. The quietness of the hallway just a few short steps away from your bedroom is eerie. 

You can’t help but look beyond the threshold and into the darkened hallway. 

With the risen moon in the storm as your witness, you ignore Gojo Satoru’s voice in your head and take a few tentative steps towards the forbidden part of the house.

The bedroom at the end of the hall.

It’s not your fault. He shouldn’t have made it sound so enticing.

An owl hoots in the distance, just outside the house. Is the storm still devastating the forest? It’s awfully quiet. Save for your clumsy footsteps. How long has it been? A night? Three?

Darkness is your only company as your heart thunders in your ears and you push against the heavy wooden door. A single turn of the knob reveals that the door is in fact, unlocked. 

You exhale, very aware of the hairs standing at the back of your neck. Turning your head, you squint into the darkness. Trying to shake the inevitable feeling of being watched in this endless abyss of a hallway.

You have to know. You must know why this room is forbidden to you.

So you push the door open with your full strength, only to be met with even more darkness. Somehow, it’s a different kind of darkness. The kind of darkness that swallows you and does not spit you back out. The kind that you surrender to.

Surrender comes easily.

Your pupils cannot seem to adjust to the dark, no matter how long you stand here in the forbidden room. Waiting for something - anything - a stream of moonlight, a flicker of a candle. Instead, you stand in the middle of this airy room, one that you can’t see even five feet in front of you in.

A shiver rips down your spine as the door slams shut with a sudden gust of wind from a seemingly closed window whips around you, only for the air to remain perfectly still and breathless.

Amethyst eyes stare back at you in the unmoving darkness. Mirth is clear in these eyes and your shock is amusing, it appears.

“Can’t follow instructions, can you?” The voice is syrupy and magnetic. You hear the voice, beckoning you closer, but you cannot see where the voice is coming from. 

He is illuminated by a sudden flash of thunder just by the large French windows. 

This is what Gojo must have meant by inhabitants.

The stranger stalks towards you, his steps languid and sure. You’re frozen in place, unable to move. Too mesmerized by the gold flecks in his violet eyes, and the curtain of glossy, black hair that billows with each step he takes.

Light does not need to brighten his face for him to announce his presence.

“Not great at following rules, are we?”

“Rules?” you manage to reply after a beat, squeezing your fingers together in an attempt to ground yourself. He notices, a barely there smirk forming on his handsome face.

He towers over you like a god of the skies, with the moon as his crown.

“You were told not to come here, weren’t you?” His voice is coated by soft velvet, curling around you but leaving you cold.

“Gojo’s told you about me?” you ask curiously. He talks about you? To this chiseled stranger? The thought makes your heart flutter and heat to flood your cheeks.

“I know all about the lost women who seek sanctuary in my home,” he says softly, a hand curling around your jaw. Your eyes drift to his glossy lips briefly. It’s impossible for you to look away from him, his eyes are magnetizing as they stare right through you. As if you are made of glass.

He chuckles.

The erratic beating of your heart thrums in his ears as blood rushes through your veins like syrup. He licks his lips as your eyes drop to follow his tongue eagerly. 

What a foolish girl. You don’t even know his name, and you’re already rubbing your thighs together. His reflection looks back at him in your glossy, dark eyes.

Oh, you are exquisite, a divine little thing wrapped up in a bow. A gift given to him by his lover. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of celestial tastes and he always has been for decades. He must remember to praise his lover on a job well done, after all. It’s not often that a woman with blood as sweet and ripe as yours falls into his bedroom serendipitously.

Your eyes are wide and wanting, waiting for him to say something. You just want to hear the melody of his voice once more. Just once more. Another few minutes until you leave his bedroom. Just once more.

His touch is icy cold as his thumb parts your lips further, a sharp exhale blowing against his face. A shiver wracks your spine once more but you will not leave his embrace. The simple touch makes you feel alive again, as if you have been searching and searching for something for years but have not been able to find it.

It feels familiar and foreign.

“Go back to bed, girl,” he says dismissively.

“Can’t I stay? With you?” you ask unabashedly, reaching for his velvet, black robe. You catch a sliver of his tanned chest from underneath his robe and swallow.

He is vaguely reminded of a stray kitten, desperate for attention. Adorable, and pathetic.

“Not yet,” he replies, disappearing back into the darkness that he emerged from with a featherlight touch to your cheek, “Not yet.”

His voice echoes through the walls of the grand bedroom, bouncing off of the ornate paintings. You leave the room, wondering if the enigmatic man with purple eyes was merely just a dream conjured up by the wildest parts of your subconscious.

Time must operate on a different frequency in this house. You’ve slept at least six nights here, and yet the storm is as vengeful as it was the first day you arrived at the house. There is no sign of the storm easing up, either. With no end in sight, you continue to explore the house, thoughts of your car long forgotten.

You’ve yet to come across the purple-eyed man again.

Gojo Satoru is the best company you’ve had in weeks. Possibly months, or years. He finds you in the library more often than not, or in the garden. 

The garden that seemingly has not been marred by the wicked winds of the storm. Somehow, the house stands still, impervious to mother nature.

“What are you reading today?” comes a voice far too close to your ear. Gojo Satoru loves invading your personal space, as you’ve come to learn.

“It’s a history book,” you reply, not looking up from the page you’re on. He doesn’t need to know, but you’ve stopped reading the page ever since you noticed him appear in the room. You’ve been waiting for him to stop by, as he always does.

“How absolutely fascinating,” he says, sitting next to you and pushing the book aside to lay his head on your lap, “Now you have something nicer to look at.”

“Is that so?”

You look down at him, once again startled by the blue of his eyes. No matter how many times you’ve seen it, it always takes your breath away. It takes a moment to adjust to the unnatural hue of his eyes and his stark white hair.

He smiles at you. At that moment, he looked so boyish and young. You wonder how long he’s been here.

“You’ve made quite a home for yourself here, haven’t you,” he muses.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” you don’t sound particularly troubled by it.

“Not at all. Don’t you want to get back home? I’m sure you have people wondering where you are. A child? A spouse?” he probes, eyebrows raising when your heart quickens at the mention of a spouse.

“He’s not waiting or wondering where I am,” you say bitterly, immediately tensing up, “He never loved me.”

“I’m sure he’s worried about you-”

“No. He’s not,” you say with a note of finality. You look away, at your hands in your lap as your face falls and something far away settles on your features. Your lips tug into a slight frown. 

“Well, anyone would be lucky to have you love them. He wasn’t worthy,” Gojo soothes you with a comforting squeeze of your hands.

“No, he wasn’t,” you reply. Your eyes are glassy and distant, as if you are replaying a memory of your past in your mind. It was simple, until it wasn’t. You were enough, until you weren’t. “I am deserving of a lover who would do anything for me.”

“Of course you are, darling,” he says, sitting up and tilting your chin up to meet your eyes, “I’m sorry anyone convinced you otherwise.”

You turn toward him, meeting his gaze with big, watery eyes. Your hands are held tightly within his, as you lean towards him. Allowing your gaze to flicker to his pouty lips and back to his eyes.

“You deserve a lover who would write you love letters,” he murmurs, “Compare you to the moon’s beauty.” A kiss to your chin. “Be your lighthouse in the storm.” A kiss to your cheek. “Protect you from the darkness of the world by destroying it. Keep you safe,” A kiss to your eyelid. “A lover who would do anything for you.” A kiss to the corner of your lips.

“A lover who would kill for you.”

A final barely there kiss to your lips. Your cheeks are warm, chest fluttering as you lean into him once more to press your lips to his again. He lays back against the couch so that you lay on top of him comfortably as you chase his kisses. You are impatient, your hands straying to his hair, to his chest to unbutton his shirt.

Your moans are soft in his ears, as if you haven’t been touched like this in forever. Gojo watches the pretty planes of your face shift as he focuses his energy on you, on gripping your hips and letting his hands wander over you before resting on your chest. Your heart is hammering away, soft and delicious.

He looks ethereal under you, fallen from the skies above. You can’t pull away, certainly not from the foreign look in his eyes. One that you’ve never seen before, not in your husband, not in previous lovers… It’s for you, the look of ripe, unbitten desire.

“Oh, you are a gorgeous thing, aren’t you?”

Your skin feels overheated- with too many layers covering the space between you and the man beneath you. You struggle to take your dress off, but Gojo replaces your fingers with his own.

“I’ll take care of you, won’t I? You’ll let me take care of you?”

You nod wordlessly as he lifts you up to take your dress off. You sit completely naked on top of him while he is still clothed.

Your face is buried in his neck as you rut your hips against him, trying to gain friction. Gojo looks up and to the side, feeling a pair of eyes on his back. Purple meets blue and he winks at his lover and smiles before turning his attention to you.

He hopes his dear lover is watching.

Geto Suguru is exhausted, deep within his centuries old bones. Blood does not come by the house as often as it used to, and while it would be just as easy to go to the nearest city to get his fill…

It does not hold the same pleasure anymore. Besides, when his lover is intent on finding him an everlasting source of blood, who is he to argue?

He is just so hungry, absolutely famished. It doesn’t help that a brilliant and beautiful damsel is sleeping in his home, just down the hall. He can hear your soft breaths and the rustle of the sheets as you twist and turn. Are you dreaming of him?

He supposes he can find out just as easily.

He enters your dreams with hardly any resistance from you. Your mind is malleable as he sifts through as if flipping pages of a book. There are patches of grey darkness melded in with hues of emerald and cerulean and amber as he takes a look around the essence of your mind. 

It’s almost as if your subconscious can sense his presence and clears a path for him.

There you are, standing in a cemetery surrounded by fallen leaves and dead trees. The sky is grey, fitting with the melancholy that surrounds the cemetery. A breeze in the air whistles through his hair and leads him to you.

Sitting in front of a tiny memorial with an odd smile on your face. 

Is this a dream, or is this a memory?

He makes a note of the name on the memorial, just as you lift your head and stare vacantly at him. Almost as if he’s made of glass and you are looking straight through him to the other side.

The dream shifts in a puff of smoke and he is suddenly in an apartment shrouded in shadows and darkness with nothing but the sounds of hoarse voices speaking loudly to each other. Not quite yelling, but not quite talking quietly either.

“... You never loved me, never made me a priority-”

“That’s not true and you know it-”

“You can’t wait to get rid of me, can you-”

“You have this version of love in your fucked up head that doesn’t exist. That nobody can live up to-”

“I just want you to love me and protect me!”

Then there is crying and harsh screaming. It grates against his eardrums before ebbing away into nothingness. 

Until he is flung into an ocean of blood and nearly drowns trying to get back into reality.

An envelope outside your bedroom door awaits you after your morning walk in the garden. It is addressed to you, with your name written in black ink in cursive with a large wax seal. You run your finger over the seal in awe.

Who exactly are the men who live in this house, anyway?

The letter reads: 

You are cordially invited to join me for dinner tonight, at 6:30 PM sharp. You will find three dresses in the closet of your bedroom. Choose wisely. 

I look forward to our evening together.

There is no signature, only initials embossed in the parchment paper in silky, black print. The initials are shiny and wet, as if it was just signed and placed under your bedroom door.

You hold the letter close to your chest, unable to keep the giddy smile off of your face. Ever since you were a young girl, you’ve always dreamed of a lover who would write you letters dictating their unconditional love for you.

You look at the letter again, tracing over the initials gently and press a gentle kiss to the ink. How utterly enchanting.

You decide on the muted mauve gown with tiny, shimmering stars embedded into the tulle. Will your mysterious dinner guest be happy with your choice? Which of the three dresses did he want to see you in?

Your heart flutters at the thought of seeing the long, dark haired man with otherworldly eyes chance a glance at you once more.

He awaits you in lustrous black robes at the bottom of the neverending marble spiral staircase, looking like a painting come to life. Your breath catches in your throat when he meets your eyes with that soft up-turn of his lips.

“Good evening,” he says, voice carrying as he offers his arm to you, “Your punctuality is alluring.”

“Only my punctuality?” you ask breathlessly.

“I suppose that remains to be determined, doesn’t it?” 

He leads you to the dining room, one of the many rooms you have not explored yet. A heavy chandelier glitters above the dark mahogany table and if you look for longer than a second, you’d be able to see your reflection in it.

“I’ve observed you, you know. Exquisite taste in books,” he informs you.

“Oh, yes, I’m…well-read, I guess,” you shrug, taking a sip of your flavorful soup.

“I’ve seen you in the library. That old couch isn’t very comfortable. Is it you who leaves my books out in disarray?” he teases.

“What?! I never left behind a mess-” you protest but relax when you see his grin, “Oh. Don’t make fun of me.”

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. He barely touches his full plate of food, instead opting to take in your presence in his home. In just a few short days, you’ve made this house your own home.

“Tell me,” he says, his voice curling around you and warming your cold hands, “What are you reading? What’s caught your attention?”

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” you say vaguely, “I like history.” 

“History? What about history interests you?”

“Well… I like learning about the past,” you muse, “We’re doomed to repeat history if we don’t see the patterns throughout time…”

“Yes, we certainly are,” he nods, “History is funny that way.”

“It is. Our own histories are just a reflection of that, too.”

“Oh?”

“We’re doomed to make the same mistakes if we don’t recognize our own flaws… I suppose.”

“And what are your flaws?” he asks smoothly, making you laugh.

“I have none, couldn’t you tell?” you reply with a wink.

He merely looks at you, staring at you as if he can see right through you into the fibers of your soul. It’s unnerving, and you look away to focus on your food and on chewing each bite thoroughly. He doesn’t eat much, if anything, only drinking every few minutes from his glass of wine. But his eyes remain transfixed on you even as you sit in silence.

“I want to show you something,” he says once you’re finished with your meal.

You nod and let him lead the way.

He takes you through the garden, past freshly bloomed tulips, cherry blossoms and red spider lilies and dewy, green bushes. Your eyes are suddenly filled with color, but all you can fix your gaze on is the man who glides in front of you with your hand in his.

His hand is cold, but his voice is warm like tea.

The summer rains continue to fall, but not on you. 

In the center of the vast garden sits a shimmering lake with the bluest, clearest water that you’ve ever seen. Your eyes are wide in wonder. Is there a mountain hidden beyond the trees?

“This lake wasn’t here when we moved into the house,” the man says softly.

“How is that possible?”

“The universe gave her to us when we needed her most,” he replies, turning his head with an intense stare.

“And you believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You shrug, breaking eye contact with him to look back at the lake. The man is intense, like a blazing fire in the darkness. You can’t help but hold onto his every word as he regales you with the tale of how he stumbled upon this forest. His voice is enchanting as it echoes through the silent forest- the trees must be listening to his reverence as well.

He reminds you of a tortured prince.  His voice is heard from further and further away as you marvel at the stillness of the young lake. Soon, you can’t hear his voice at all.

The thought should scare you, but you feel safe and protected by the trees in this forest.

You hardly realize how far you’ve walked by yourself, to the other side of the lake. Excitement (maybe adrenaline) settles in your bones as a sudden impenetrable fog emerges, and yet you touch it, wrap your hands around it. As if it has a heartbeat.

It surrounds you but is gentle in its caress as you pick up the skirt of your dress to avoid tumbling as you sprint through the woods.

The trees fade away behind you.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Air fills your lungs like a reprieve. Just before you let it go and gulp down air again. The crunch of boots on fallen leaves and sound of birds fleeing does nothing to quell the nerves in your belly.

The puffy sleeve of your dress catches on a stray branch, the pretty tulle ripping into shreds. What a waste of such a beautiful dress, you think absently. Your arm begins to bleed profusely but you pay it no mind.

You are a princess, being sought after by the monster in the closet.

Geto Suguru nearly hisses when the scent of fresh blood permeates the air like a  barely hidden vice. It’s sweet, like a freshly plucked peach on a summer day.

He wonders how you’d taste on his tongue, your neck bare and craned all for him…

Dull pain radiates across his gums as his fangs descend further. Your sharp laugh pierces the uneasy quiet of the dark forest. His runaway princess, always seemingly ten steps ahead of him.

You flit in between the trees, looking over your shoulder with curious, cautious eyes. Even from this distance at the edge of the forest, he sees honey dripping from your wild eyes. 

As you look over your shoulder, you see him taking languid steps toward you. When you blink, he’s there, a shrouded shadow that you nearly miss in your line of sight. When you blink again, he’s gone. Your sprints slow to a walk before you stop completely. In the middle of these strange woods, you look up to the sky, only to see a shroud of endless grey descending upon you.

Purple blinks back at you from high up in the trees. You shiver, and he suddenly stands in front of you, his velvety black robes billowing behind him.

“You have every opportunity to leave,” he says silkily. His words melt over you, dripping onto your skin like hot candle wax. The warmth is soothing and you would do anything he asked, you think.

“I know,” you say softly.

His eyes sear into yours, searching and burning through you as he comes closer. His touch is cold as his index finger remains on your jaw, stroking your cheekbone slowly. Your eyes are wide, shining eagerly with obedience.

His lips part, his gleaming fangs lengthening so daintily and his eyes shift from purple to black. But he is still his welcoming self, with his easy smile and his gentle touch. Except, the way he smiles is different.

The shift is there, but barely recognizable. 

“You should’ve run away, little dove, ” he says softly in your ear as you shiver in his hold, “When you had the chance to.”

You shake your head, only making him graze your neck further. You are ravishing, the slow honey in your body gushing like a waterfall.

“There is nothing for me beyond this forest anymore,” you whisper softly into his ear. His lips flutter warmly against the column of your neck.

The first bite is always the most painful, but it eases away as quickly as it came as his fangs sink heartily into the delicate skin of your neck. Right next to your jugular vein, but not quite.

A sigh echoes through the forest, barely a noise over the sound of drops of your blood dripping onto his tongue. It is euphoric- your eyes flutter shut when his fangs pierce further into your neck. Almost straight into the vein.

If he’s not careful, he might drain you dry. That would be…tragic, considering the promise he made to Gojo.

But you are so sweet. Like nectar, and you walked right into his home with open arms, tangled in his decadent web.

Your grip on his robes is tight as you somehow pull him closer. As if you want him to take more out of you. How greedy. But he doesn’t, instead pulling away and licking his lips. His eyes revert back to their chilling purple as he keeps his gaze on you.

You sigh again, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. And yet, something flutters in your belly, making you smile and look up at him with lovestruck eyes.

“What’s your name?” you exhale, your breaths coming out in cold wisps as the wind bites your skin.

He smirks at you, fangs still tinted red with your blood. Your heart races.

“Geto Suguru,” he murmurs, brushing a stray drop of blood away from your neck with his lithe finger and licking it.

He says your name softly before he kisses you, the taste of metal ripe on your lips like a summer peach. Your knees immediately buckle as he slips further into your mouth. Despite the chill of his fingertips, a fire alights in your belly and spreads and spreads. Your breaths are erratic as you trail after him, struggling to keep up.

Your name in his mouth sounds like a promise.

The slight pain in the back of your head throbs lightly with each thready thought that forms in your brain, and yet all you can think about is the way Geto Suguru’s lips felt on your neck. The cold touch of his fingertips against your skin as he meticulously drank your blood.

Your blood. He chose you and he came after you in that forest.

It makes you giddy. It makes the headache worth it.

Slowly, the night turns into day. Repetitively, you hear the sound of the cozy rain and the sharpness of the wind against the windows nearly rattling the house. You don’t recall the last time you saw the sun, and yet light filters into the house through the skylights placed in the living room.

You don’t question it. It’s better than the alternative, being stuck in that stuffy house with your awful husband. Your husband who never cared for you, who never sought you out. Made you his priority.

Despite the fancy jewelry and pristine silks, the way you would dote on him, he never noticed you. He probably didn’t even notice that you were gone, anyway. You were supposed to be his favorite. His only. 

No matter. Geto Suguru drank your blood today. Nobody else’s but yours. Are you his favorite? His only?

You can’t help but laugh at such a ridiculous thought as you gingerly touch your neck and soothe the bite marks. Of course, you’re his only. You are the only woman in this house, save for Gojo Satoru. And he has been nowhere to be seen as of late. 

You must be his favorite.

“Jealousy is quite attractive on you,” Suguru says, chuckling as Satoru glares at him and throws a pillow at him half-heartedly.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Satoru sighs dramatically, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Now you’re just being juvenile,” Suguru says, tossing the pillow back. The air is briefly knocked out of Satoru’s lungs and he tries to sit up. He glares at his lover, but the heat in his bright eyes falters as he reaches for him and cradles his jaw.

“You know this is only a means to an end,” he soothes.

“Sorry I can’t be a human again so you could drink my blood,” Satoru says petulantly, “You like her, I know you do.”

“There’s no need to be accusatory,” Suguru replies, airily, “And there’s no reason to lie. I know you like her, too. As if I don’t know that you watch her when you shouldn’t.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but his shoulders slump as he slides into Suguru’s warm embrace. “I just…I wish I could bleed for you the way you need me to. I wish I could fulfill you in the way this stranger can.”

“Oh, I’ve neglected you, haven’t I,” Suguru says softly, tightening his hold around Satoru’s narrow waist, “You brought her into our home for me. There must have been something about her that was alluring to you.”

“It’s not everyday you find a woman who abandoned her car in the middle of the worst storm in years only to show up drenched at the front door. The opportunity presented itself and I couldn’t resist.”

“She seems in no rush to leave. To go back home. We should find out why,” Suguru muses, his train of thought interrupted by Satoru’s wandering hands.

“That’s a later problem,” Satoru murmurs, letting his fingers trail up his thigh. His touch is fleeting, barely there. Just applying the tiniest pressure behind his knee, where he knows Suguru is sensitive. He shudders- it’s funny, that a vampire as old as him can still feel flustered by a simple caress.

Well, Satoru has had many opportunities to learn over the centuries from the Meiji era to now. They were both young high school boys when they met, with dreams of samurai becoming distant as their worlds cracked wide open by the introduction of new literature, new teachers, new philosophies. They were still boys, running through empty fields, sharing copies of the same books. Sharing shade under the same tree branch.

Sharing each other’s first kiss. They were boys, until they weren’t.

The clocks continued to spin until neither of them could control the inevitable passage of time. Time pulled them apart, Satoru to Tokyo and Suguru back to the countryside to take care of his parents and the farm he left behind.

They found each other again, this time under much more dire circumstances. Vampirism was spreading through Japan like a plague, and Suguru wanted to know everything about it. What was eternal life like? Was it beautiful, did it contain multitudes? Was there anything human about an immortal being?

His questions were meaningless because it didn’t take long for him to succumb to a vampire bite. His parents were dead and everything on the farm was gone, ripped to pieces and blood splattered across the wooden walls of the barn.

It took him about three decades to discover that the carnage was laid out by him. He was turned and he rained blood on his own home. It took another decade to find the vampire nest who did this to him.

Then another three decades to find Gojo Satoru once more.

He had been nestled in the heart of Tokyo, as a teacher of all things. There had been a very brief, happy reunion. It didn’t take Suguru long to realize that something was off about Satoru. The coincidences were too many- he was flighty and impulsive, rarely eating (in fact, Suguru can’t recall the last time he saw him eat any food), and he swears that his skin was translucent in the sunlight. 

“Something is keeping me here,” Satoru muses with his lover’s head in his lap, “Can’t imagine what it is.”

“I don’t want you to cross the Sanzu River, not without me,” Suguru says firmly, looking at him with red eyes.

“Is there an afterlife for vampires?” Satoru muses, “I mean, I’m surely safe. I’m a ghost, after all. A spirit tethered to the material earth, or something.”

“If you wanted to leave, you would.”

“Yes,” he says solemnly, “I suppose I would.”

It has been decades since that day and the universe has pulled them apart and brought them back together many times. For two immortal beings, spending five or eight or fifteen years apart is just a blip in the fabric of time. They both find each other each time, even when Suguru was contemplating his entire existence as a vampire and a former human. 

He had become Japan’s most infamous vampire for a period of time after draining over a hundred humans completely of their blood. How was it just, for them to hold two little vampire girls hostage when they had no say in being turned?

Suguru couldn’t stomach it- how isolating and selfish humans could be in the face of adversity. In the name of self-righteousness.

Never again, he vowed. Never again would he allow humans to treat his own that way. But Satoru brought him back from the brink of sure destruction, before Suguru could decimate the entirety of Japan.

Satoru wouldn’t let him give in to his most primal urges. He wouldn’t let Suguru lose himself because he couldn’t be bound to the earth without him-

“I can’t let you do this.”

“Don’t tell me you care-”

“I can’t let you do this to me, you can’t leave me here! Not for this. Not for them.”

“You’re selfish, Satoru!”

“So are you,” he scoffs.

But that was the end of it. Suguru’s eyes had returned to their purple and Satoru whisked him away. 

He had whisked him away from all the noise, the blood, the chaos to the towering castle in the trees that they currently lived in in the quiet of the forest-

“Hey,” Satoru questions, poking his cheek, “You just spaced out for a while.”

“I was thinking about you,” Suguru replies, turning his head to meet his caress. 

“As always-”

“You saved me. And you continue to save me,” Suguru says, “So let me show you my undying gratitude.”

Satoru hopes desperately that you can hear the echoes of his pleasure from your bedroom.

The house seems to have transfigured into more of a castle the longer you stay here. Winding staircases appear out of thin air complete with unfamiliar corridors and twists and turns.

But what remains the same is the library and how often you frequent it. The entire history of the universe must be kept in these bookshelves. There isn’t enough time in the day for you to read all of the treasures inside the library that seems to get bigger everyday.

You have been reading the same book for some time now, getting distracted by thoughts of Gojo Satoru. He hasn’t come to visit you in the library recently and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve done something to upset him for him to avoid you.

He comes and goes as he pleases. As if he’s there but he’s not there at all.

“There you are,” you say easily, sitting next to him on the bed.

“Can I help you?” Satoru says petulantly. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask, nudging his shoulder with yours.

“Whatever gave you that idea,” he deadpans, still not looking at you.

“Oh, come on,” you whine, tugging at his hand, “You can tell me anything.”

His head turns to you abruptly, too quickly to be considered normal. With narrowed eyes, he searches your face for any sign of deceit.

Satoru scoffs and lays back on the bed dramatically. You follow his actions and face him, meeting his terribly piercing gaze. Unable to stop yourself, you allow your fingers to graze his pale cheek. When he doesn’t flinch, you let your hand rest on his chest. He is more muscular than he looks, you think.

As if Satoru can read your thoughts, he turns to you and glares at you.

Comfortable silence fills the room. He stares at you, thoughts swirling behind those azure eyes, willing himself to speak.

Satoru pretends like he doesn’t notice your hand drifting down further.

“I found you first,” he mumbles, “And I found him first.”

“You did find me first,” you muse, “When nobody else wanted me, you did.”

Your grip on his shirt tightens briefly. 

“And now he’s drinking your blood and I can’t-”

“Oh, Satoru,” you say softly, “You don’t want to be left behind, do you?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes, but his silence conveys all you need to know. If Satoru could blush, his cheeks would be tinted a rosy color. You vowed before, to never let yourself feel as unwanted and lonely as you did in that relationship. And to never let anyone else feel that same loneliness.

His name is a honeyed whisper on your tongue that he wishes to pull from your pretty lips as often as he can. 

“I found you both first,” Satoru replies harshly before he presses his lips to yours, “Don’t ever forget that.”

Chaos bursts in his bright eyes before he closes them to kiss you, to pull your voice to the tip of your tongue. Your mouth is sweet, full of roses and tea. It’s no wonder Suguru is so taken with the taste of your rich blood. 

You fist his shirt as if you can’t get close enough to him with quickened breaths. Satoru can feel the rise and fall of your chest against his. Can you feel his weightlessness against you? 

Satoru pulls you into his lap easily, groaning into your mouth when you lazily rock your hips into his. You remind him that you’re with him in this magical forest, that he found you first. The universe brought you to him and he kisses you fiercely, to ground himself.

Despite your hands marking his shoulder blades and your legs tight around his narrow hips, Satoru feels far away. Impossible to touch as if there is a veil keeping you on the outside.

Does he know? It doesn’t matter- you’ll find your way through the fog to touch his soul with your gentle fingertips.

The castle contains newly appearing staircases and paintings that have surely been lost to something as feeble as time and history. It protects you from the raging storm outside, the storm that surely awaits you in your home. 

It protects you from dangers that you cannot see.

You shouldn’t be here. You really shouldn’t, but you can’t be blamed. Not when the endless shadows of the house- the castle- lead you here. Straight to the ornate door of what must be Suguru and Satoru’s bedroom.

Only a door shields you from them. Only a door shields them from you.

Quiet whispers are muffled beyond the door, both of their voices mixing together. Whispers flow into syrupy moans as you press your ear against the door to listen.

You shouldn’t be here, disrupting what is surely to be an intimate moment between two lovers that you are not privy to. But you want to be. You want to feel their breaths span across your back, hear their voices low in your ear, feel their sinewy limbs under your fingertips. 

It makes you shiver. To be velvet in between silver and gold. All you can do is press your ear closer, closer…

No, you shouldn’t. But they’re so close to you-

“I can hear you breathing from out there,” Suguru says dryly, loudly enough for you to hear through the door, “If you’re trying to conceal yourself, you’re not doing a very good job.”

Impatiently, you push the door open, mesmerized by Suguru on his knees in front of Satoru. He is seated on the bed, leaning back on his elbows with hazy eyes and his fingers tangled in Suguru’s hair. 

You inhale hungrily, unsure of where to look. Suguru chuckles at you and beckons you closer with a simple, heady look.

“Don’t just stand there,” he says, his voice strained as Satoru complains over the lack of attention on him, “Sit down.”

You barely breathe as Suguru strokes Satoru’s hardened, leaking cock with his massive hand. You wonder how that hand would look around Satoru’s neck- as if he can read your mind, his left hand wanders up the pale divots of his chest and to his neck. Resting there, holding Satoru in place as he squirms for Suguru to do something. Anything.

Suguru’s voice is low but clear, softly telling Satoru to stay still and be patient. His hips jump in time with Suguru’s lazy strokes. How torturous- how long has Suguru had his lover on his back like this, waiting for mercy?

It must have been for a long time, considering the trembling of Satoru’s body and how he silently begs for more.

He smears pre-cum over his cock before pushing Satoru’s legs wider apart. Looking over his shoulder to see if you’re watching his movements, only to smirk at you knowingly. Your cheeks are warm as you peer at him. At Satoru’s vulnerability.

Suguru must know everything about Satoru. Everything about what he likes, about how to dissolve him into a pleading mess of want. You want to learn. You want to please them both. You want to learn from them.

But you just watch, for now.

You rub your thighs together subconsciously when they both sigh in unison as Suguru bottoms out. Their breaths are heavy against each other, silenced when he kisses Satoru harshly in contrast to his slow, purposeful thrusts. The fondness, the love between them is palpable in the way they gaze at each other. As if you aren’t even there- as if they are the only two stars in the entire sky of the universe. It wouldn’t be fair to the scales of the universe for there to be two pairs of lovers like them.

You wish to be the exception. You will be the exception.

“Touch yourself,” Suguru grunts from the bed, looking at you over his shoulder. You make an attempt to crawl closer to him but he stops you abruptly. “No, you’ll stay there and you’ll touch yourself. Let us see you.”

Their hands are interlocked and desire washes over you in a tidal wave. He turns away to give his attention to Satoru but you lift the skirt of your robe up to your waist to give them both a full view of your wetness.

You clench around nothing, wishing desperately to take Suguru in your mouth or press your pussy to Satoru’s lips. Instead you rub your clit in time with Suguru’s thrusts, watching his hips roll. Satoru’s moans are loud and raspy, calls of his lover’s name, please, please, please, more…

“Watch her,” Suguru hisses, his hair in disarray as he shoves Satoru’s face towards you. You gasp when both of them watch you together, watching as you shove your finger deep into your pussy, the sound of squelching mixing together and bouncing off the walls. 

You’re quiet in your corner of the room, obediently waiting for Suguru to beckon you closer. For him to grant you a small touch, however fleeting. But he never does, and you are desperate for their attention. For an ounce of their shared love to drip onto your heated skin.

“O-ohhh-”

Your clit throbs as Satoru’s moans get louder and louder, breathier and breathier and Suguru is concentrated on how his cock pushes into Satoru effortlessly, how effortless it’s been for decades but it feels like a millenia- and if there is a god- this is the salvation he’d pray for-

He cums with a broken moan, his chest heaving but continues to push into Satoru as he murmurs sweet nothings to him. They both turn their eyes to you, you who is currently rubbing yourself furiously as if you’re racing against time. Your eyelids are hazy, clouded over with lust. You listen so well. You hadn’t even moved an inch from where Suguru had told you to stay.

“Come here, darling,” Suguru coos, “What a good girl. Do you want a kiss?”

You nod eagerly and all but crawl to him and sit in front of him on your knees, waiting patiently.

“Good girls get kisses,” he replies, “Come here, next to me.”

Satoru pushes back on Suguru, trying to fuck himself on his cock but to no avail. Suguru places a warning hand on his hip to stop him. He kisses you, a chaste peck. It’s not enough for you, but he gives you a meaningful glance. Telling you to listen to him.

You lean forward to give Satoru a kiss and before you can deepen it, Suguru tells you that’s enough.

“No touching,” he clicks his tongue, “Touch yourself while Satoru cums. Show him how much you like it when he cums, sweetheart. Doesn’t he look good like this?”

You nod vigorously with warmth pooling in your cheeks. Suguru’s hair is in disarray, long strands falling from his messily made bun onto his forehead. He moves gracefully, a painter with his paintbrush as he strokes against Satoru. He is Suguru’s canvas.

Your chest tightens at the stars barely concealed in his meteor eyes.

Satoru’s gaze is hooded and heady, concentrated only on the man hovering above him as his hair falls onto his skin. Your fingers are warm against your thighs, but you prefer the coldness of theirs.

Suguru pushes his angel hair away from his forehead and murmurs for him to sing for him. To sing for you. His moans rise in pitch with every stroke- you can’t stop the way you look longingly where they are connected. Each tense muscle in his body is soothed by the other’s gentle but firm touch. It’s a delicate dance, one that Suguru has barred you from partaking in.

Your fingers wander, languidly rubbing circles on your clit, entranced by the ripple of muscles and the sheen layer of sweat on skin. The connection of two lovers is a sight that you are blessed to witness. You want to drink them in, be drenched in their love for each other- for you.

“What a patient girl,” comes a silky voice from next to you, “Why don’t you let us have you now?”

Suguru laughs when you nod your head vigorously. Like an enthusiastic puppy wanting her owner’s attention. 

“I want you both,” you say impatiently, pawing at them both,“Together-”

“Let’s give the girl what she wants,” Satoru says, still catching his breath as he lays flat on the bed.

You are met only with hungry eyes and salacious smiles.

The moon hangs above for prolonged hours as the night begins earlier and earlier. It must be nearing the winter, you think. Frost clings to the air like stars in the sky, but you don’t mind it. Not when you’re there to keep both Satoru and Suguru warm.

Despite the winter fast approaching, you still hear the faint sound of rolling thunder.

“That’s enough,” Suguru murmurs, pulling away from your wrist gently as he licks drops of your sweet blood.

“Are you certain?” you ask, despite feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Yes, darling. You’d let me have you, wouldn’t you?” he coos, as if he is speaking to a newborn deer. Your lips part into a wide, bashful smile as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“My sweetest girl,” he says, pressing his lips to your jaw. You laugh airily at the sensation, pretending to push him back with a hand on his firm chest.

“I would give you all the blood you wanted,” you reply, “You only want my blood, right?”

“Is validation from me what you seek?” Suguru teases you.

Your voice is so full of hope, eyes shining with reverence as you wait for an answer. How far would you walk for him? Just to the edge of the universe? Would you fall over the precipice with him? Would you look over your shoulder before jumping if he told you to?

Judging by the way you shove your wrist in his face, he thinks he has his answer. Your skin is dotted with fading bite marks, some fresh and some old. You wear them with pride, uncaring if anyone sees. Not that there is anyone to see you, besides Gojo Satoru and himself.

The soft smile that uncurls on your face when Suguru’s eyes shift from a calm purple to charcoal and veins abruptly appear under his eyes as he feeds on you is enthralling. No feeling will equate to his soft whimpers as the first drop of your blood enters his circulatory system.

That’s all he is, anyway. A mess of blood and an undead heart thoughtlessly arranged together with frayed red strings in a puzzle where the pieces don’t fit. But somehow, you fit. You and Satoru both fit in different places.

No feeling, not even the memories of your formerly known lover, can make you feel as desired as Geto Suguru drinking your blood as if you are the last living, breathing thing on the planet.

Suguru gives you beautiful gowns and glittery jewels to adorn on your neck and your ears. All you need to give him is your blood and he’ll indulge you with his undivided attention.

“I desire you,” he mumbles, kissing your cupid’s bow, “Your mind,” a kiss to your forehead, “Your company,” a kiss to your palm, “Your body,” a kiss to your clothed chest, “Your soul,” a final lingering kiss to your bruised wrist.

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. Suguru can feel your lashes flutter against his cheek.

“Shall I prove it to you?”

He grins wolfishly, determined to indulge in every inch of you.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Satoru says with food in his mouth, “A cop came by earlier. He was asking about a certain abandoned car about two miles from here.”

Satoru’s eyes shift to you, piercing and intense but you don’t meet his gaze. 

“That’s so…interesting,” you mutter, “Who would come out this far and just dump their car? How weird…”

“Someone trying to leave something behind, maybe?” Suguru suggests knowingly, his eyes equally as piercing as Satoru’s.

You avoid both of their pointed gazes and take a long swig of red wine.

The silence suffocates you, but you don’t relent. They don’t need to know your secret, the one that you’ll carry with you until your dying breath. The real reason for your abrupt departure from your home, the perceived carelessness of throwing your car keys out in the mud on the forest floor for anyone to find. All for the simple hope of salvation in this sea of trees.

Instead of salvation, you’ve found eternal damnation with the immortal vampire Geto Suguru and ever living ghost Gojo Satoru. It’s still far better than the unfortunate alternative that awaited you in your former life.

You play with the emerald necklace seated at the base of your neck. A gift, of course, from the two ethereal beings sitting in front of you. Your lip nearly bleeds from how tightly you hold it between your teeth, debating whether you should tell them or not.

Not today.

“We need to know who is looking for you,” Satoru says firmly.

“Why? So you can hand me over to them all wrapped up in a bow? Or so that you can exile me from your home?” you challenge petulantly. Suguru narrows his eyes in your direction and you swear they flash an angry red. You try not to feel small in your seat and hold your head high.

“Don’t you dare imply that either of us would give you up so easily,” he all but hisses, “Do not insult me.”

“Besides, don’t you think we should know why the cops are knocking on our door asking about your abandoned car?” Satoru chimes in with a barely concealed smirk, “And how stupid do you think we are? To not know that that abandoned car was yours?”

Your eyes land on your hands in your lap and you sigh, the burden of your former life weighing heavily in your throat.

“You will banish me if I tell you,” you say, “I can’t handle it if you tell me to leave. There is nowhere for me to go.” Your words are sincere as you cave into yourself.

“Of course we wouldn't, sweetheart,” Satoru coos, coming around the table to sit next to you. He places a lithe, translucent finger under your chin and forces you to look at him. Uncertainty dances in your dark eyes but you’re unable to break the trance that he has placed you under.

“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” you mumble.

“How very mysterious of you,” Satoru teases you, patting your hair without a care in the world.

“We’re only asking so we can protect you if we need to,” Suguru offers. Heat blooms in your chest at his firm admission. Of course, they’d protect you. After all, this house is a lighthouse in the storm.

Today, you've forgotten to check if the rain continues to fall outside.

The garden behind this castle of a house is flourishing and colorful, filled with flowers and blooms that you have never seen before. A sea of reds, pinks, blues and greens bursts in your eyes. To think, you’ve never seen the garden before. In fact, when was the last time you stepped outside?

You have not seen the sun in days, weeks, months, perhaps. But you feel the warmth of the sun whenever you lay between Satoru and Suguru.

But the breeze is refreshing against your face as it threads through your hair.

You look over the treeline, at the tallest trees that seem to pierce the stormy, grey sky. The rain has not begun for the day yet, but you suspect it will soon. It’s heavy in the air, palpable against your skin. If you reach out into the empty space, you’re certain you could collect raindrops into your hands.

A shiver trembles down your spine as the frosty air whips your face. Perhaps the rain will turn to snow soon. You always did love the snow. The silence of a fresh, bright snowfall where everything is as still as the night

Despite the approaching winter chill, the flowers in the garden are flourishing as if it’s the middle of springtime. You never really appreciated the springtime flowers in the past. But maybe because you never noticed, never took the time to smell the roses.

The tiny pond centered in the garden is as motionless as the air that chokes you with silence. Lotus flowers float mindlessly from one side of the pond to the other. You’ve never seen so many lotuses in one place before. It’s beautiful and rather ominous.

Time does not move in this patch of the forest. You’re forced to stand still along with the magic of the house, the symphony of the storm. Is it the magic of the house, or is it the vampire and the ghost who live inside the house?

Does it matter?

You sigh heavily, picking at your cuticles as you lose yourself in your thoughts. Your coat is heavy around your shoulders. Are they watching you in the windows? Wondering why you’ve left them alone in the house, why you’re sitting outside all alone?

Will they come find you? What would it take for them to come crawling to you, begging for your attention? Perhaps a deep cut on your wrist with the sharpened end of the gate surrounding the backyard, a scrape of your knees-

A whoosh of air wraps around your face in a firm caress but it’s not the wind, it’s more warm and comforting. You feel something being placed gently into your hair- a red spider lily.

You hide your smile.

The breeze feels like the curl of lithe fingers around your cheek, invisible but heavy against your skin. You sense Satoru’s touch but you still play coy, pretending like you don’t notice him pawing at your clothes. 

You can’t see him, but you can feel him. His hands pushing the collar of your coat to lick up the column of your throat. Cold breaths against your ear as his teeth graze your earlobe.

It’s playful, teasing- you can nearly hear his laughter. Until it’s not anymore, and you find yourself on your back in the grass. Staring at the stormy sky, despite the column of sunlight illuminating you.

You wonder if Suguru is watching. You hope he is.

His hands are nimble, an out of body experience, as your blouse becomes unbuttoned and tossed to the side. With a shaky breath, you try to feel for him, wanting to touch his chest or press your lips to his-

But he doesn’t allow you to, only allowing you to be at his mercy as he holds your chest in his unseen hands. You look down in interest as your own flesh is kneaded by the concealed force that is Gojo Satoru. His touch is searing, heavenly and goosebumps rise on your neck as the pressure of his hips presses against yours. Your skirt is suddenly flipped upwards in a flurry of impatience as he pulls you closer to him. To close the gap between life and the afterlife-  to tip you towards the latter.

A moan parts through the veil and settles deep in your belly as warmth bursts. You are sensitive to the plush grass against your back, against your bare thighs- your skirt has been pulled off and you lay unclothed in the garden. Like izanami herself, you lay with only the elements to witness as the unearthly being on top of you parts your knees lewdly.

He stares at your wetness as your legs part open- after all, divine intervention sits at the apex of your thighs and he wants a taste. He wants to see the great light, or whatever comes next, in your eyes as his teeth brush against your inner thighs. Satoru tastes honey once he moves your hands aside. You can’t hide from him- you can’t hide from something you cannot see. He is hungry for you, hungry to devour you, hungry for you to give in fully to him. To be absolutely and fully open to him and bare your entire soul to the deepest, dead parts of him.

Your gasps are slight, barely heard breaths as he licks you with fervor. In between your legs is Satoru, grinding into the dewy grass in time with the rise and fall of your chest. You throw your head back when Satoru pushes two translucent fingers into you, your slick coating his skin.

You smell ravishing, the pulse of your heart a song in his ears. No wonder Suguru nearly drained you dead the other day.

Satoru groans when you wrap your legs around his hips. It’s not surprising that you intuitively know exactly where he starts and ends. To your eyes, you see nothing but open space in front of you. But you feel his distorted lines pinned against you, pushing you further into the earth.

He wants to savor the image of your parted lips and half-lidded eyes, the heat on your cheeks as he strokes himself and pushes into you. The noise that leaves your throat goes straight to his cock. Do you enjoy being full like this? Stuffed full of his cock and not being able to see it? See him?

“Faster, Satoru,” you mumble, looking straight at his six eyes, “Faster-oh!”

Careful what you ask for. He grins at you wildly, pushing his chest down to yours. He could spit into your mouth if he wanted, it would be so easy to let his spit slide into your wet, warm mouth. Your body jolts with every thrust, tightening as he rubs your clit and spreads your wetness sloppily.

A pearly sheen of sweat coats your sweet skin and if you could see him now, the wolfish look in his eyes would be shining in yours. He presses down against your bottom lip with a ghostly thumb, groaning when you whimper into the open air. It’s quickly silenced when he pushes his finger into your mouth harshly as surprise melts into heat in your eyes.

Satoru can feel Suguru’s eyes on you both, laid out in the grass. He wonders if you can, too.

The slope of your neck is enticing and he must sink his teeth into you. With a breathy gasp, you shudder and clench your walls around him as you cum abruptly. He grins crookedly at you, not that you can see it. You squeeze around him like a velvety vice. Your eyes are mischievous as you roll your hips against him. The rise and fall of your chest is tantalizing- his hand moves of its own volition to wrap around your neck loosely. 

As if you are a goddess with a chain to keep you tethered to the earth, to him, you look directly into his eyes and smile.

His hips stutter as he loses rhythm before he pushes into you and stills completely. Satoru whines your name brokenly in your ear before he cums loudly and triggers you to cum once more. You feel full and heavy, sated with the feeling of his thick, gooey cum pooling and mixing with your own wetness.

His eyes widen when you let your hand graze downwards to rub yourself. You taste him on your lips; tangy and sweet. Your smile is lewd, like you’re proud of yourself for seducing him in the open garden with your bare body and honey eyes.

Your skin glistens with the dewy grass that you have claimed to be your bed as the selective sun forms a patch around your head like a halo. In truth, Satoru feels unholy in the way he looks at you, thinks about you.

He drops his head low to kiss you once more, driven by the desire to paint you with himself. To paint brushstrokes of his devotion on every inch of your skin.

It’s so simple to give in to his kiss. To dive into him without worrying about how far the jump is or how far off the cliff you’ll go. You trust that he will catch you, even if you can’t see him. 

He is still unseen to you, but your hands are flat against his taut chest as you maneuver yourself on top of him. You throw your head back as you welcome him inside, your wetness coating him like a salve.

Your hips move of their own accord and Satoru lays back to let you take control of him. You lean down to kiss him but your lips hover. As if you want to say something.

This garden of Eden will hear your secrets and here they shall die, you decide.  Nothing seems so terrible with the way he fits inside you. You want to give him your mind, body, and soul.

And with this declaration you will. You rotate your hips, coming down on him gently at a slow pace before picking up again. His hands stay idle on your hips as you finally say something-

“I killed him,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You can’t hear him, and you don’t need to.

“My husband. We just…it fell apart!” you pant, bouncing faster, “what was a girl to do?”

“He never loved me! Never wanted me. Never paid attention to me,” you whisper, “so I killed him. And I ran away. I just wanted to be his one and only…”

“I killed him and you found me,” you sigh breathlessly, moving an arm away to rub your clit furiously. The words have never been said out loud and the secret that remains between you and him has you squeezing around him tightly. “I wish you had been there to see it, Satoru-“

He finishes loudly, without warning and you keep rolling your hips. He pushes your hand away to replace your fingers and rubs you until you finish with him.

You fall onto his invisible chest and sigh happily. He stays unseen, running a hand over your bare back and feeling the mix of your cum and his of you both leaking out of you and onto him. Your words are the words of a lover, confessions and shy smiles bursting at the seam of your lips and into his.

It must be alright, if a gentle spring breeze caresses your back.

Satoru looks at you in awe- how frightened you must have been when you had realized what you’d done. And through all of the strife and turmoil, you still came to him.

That must be divine intervention. After all, he only planned for you to be a momentary blood bag for his lover until your inevitable decay.

The openness of the house, the wall to wall windows, the way the breeze floats inside and coats the house in a gentle chill despite the ongoing storm outside, is comforting to you now. Rather than eerie as it was days ago. Days? Weeks? Months?

An invisible weight is lifted from your chest, one that you didn’t know even existed since you drove away in a frenzy on that cold, rainy night. The memories are almost too painful, but the newfound freedom tastes sweet on your tongue.

“Will you keep me waiting much longer, darling?” Suguru whispers, tracing your cheek with a long finger. You lean into his icy touch and he smiles at you.

Lifting the skirt of your midnight blue robe, he caresses your thigh and smacks it lightly. His grin widens when you yelp and laugh. Oh, he’ll have so much fun with you. What an excitable thing you are, completely defying any expectations he had of you only to enjoy your time in this castle.

A prison without a fence. He expects you won’t try to leave for a long, long time. Not when it took you all of the drama of a poor husband for you to leave in your prior life.

Yes, you are starting a new life, as you’ve indicated to him in the confines of his bedroom before. A new life with him and Satoru, one where you will be free. As free as the rain that falls from the sky.

Your soul is vulnerable, exposed for him to read whenever he desires. All Suguru sees is pure longing and fear. Fear that you will be abandoned once more.

It doesn’t matter. Suguru will make it so that your wishes are fulfilled forever. And once forever ends and you are nothing but an afterthought in his everlasting life, he will be sure to scatter your ashes in the lake by the house.

He will remember you fondly as the girl who killed to find a home in him. But ultimately, this story will not conclude with you in it. No matter how sweet your blood tastes or how you bat your eyelashes at him to get your way or how endearing he finds you as you list out trivial history facts from a time period he never lived in, not even how warm your pussy feels right after he cums inside you-

None of that matters, except for right now. Right now, when you reach for him with warm hands and look at him as if he is not a bloodthirsty creature, but as if he hung the moon in the sky.

“Make you wait? I’d never,” you reply with bright eyes, shifting against the cool sheets to press yourself closer to him. Your eyes flutter in pleasure when he pulls the knot of your robe loose from your waist. He pushes the robe to the side, leaving you open and exposed to him. Suguru purrs against your skin, the noise vibrating against your bare chest. He lifts his head as his eyes turn red and black veins form on his face.

He’s hungry.

Suguru lifts your wrist to his lips, pressing delicate kisses to the still bruised skin there. Most of the bruises have faded by now, anyway, with fresh ones blooming elsewhere. He remembers where each one is- your thighs, your chest, your neck… You don’t bother with covering them, not anymore. Not since you’ve fully accepted the castle in the forest as your home.

His tongue is gentle as he allows his fangs to elongate and brush against the skin of your wrist, like he is asking for permission. 

With a soft gasp, you feel his sharpened teeth pierce your skin as he messily drinks from your vein like a man starved. In truth, he has been starved over the last few decades. Starved of a sweetness like you.

In over one hundred years, he can only remember Satoru’s blood tasting so decadent. Filling him up with a sudden unquenched thirst. Suguru wants more of you- and you know it.

He lets go of your wrist, lapping any extra blood that angrily pours out of the small puncture wound with his tongue. With a comforting rub of your skin, he presses kisses down your torso, taking his time in enjoying how you squirm in his tight grasp. Your body moves in waves against his hold, moving with his push and pull.

The familiar pierce of his canines brushes against the fragile skin of your inner thigh, one of his favorite places to drink from. He says he can taste all of your feelings in that exact spot. Suguru doesn’t care about the guttural noises that rip from his throat as he drinks from you, careful to ensure that you don’t nearly faint from blood loss. Again.

Warmth blooms in your belly, uncurling like fairy wings to envelope you in comfort. But really, it’s Suguru’s touch, his mouth, how loved he makes you feel. He says he’s never had blood like yours before and you believe him. You push his head further with your free hand, encouraging him to take more from you.

But he pulls away, blood dripping from his teeth down his chin and onto his chest. You pull him on top of you for a sharp kiss, smearing your own blood on your lips. He tastes metallic with the taste of your blood down his throat. You want to devour him, to see how you taste in his eyes. You never want him to stop looking at you the way he does- as his prized possession, his favorite girl.

“There have been so many women,” Suguru coos, “Has Satoru told you? But you are the only one who stayed.” He drags lithe fingers over your chest, only to use his long nails to cut you. It’s not very deep, but you watch in wonder as ruby red blood blooms on your skin. 

He uses his thumb to paint your blood over your skin only to press his finger to your lips and wordlessly tell you to suck.

“You stayed because you love us,” he says in a honeyed voice, “Good girls should be rewarded for their loyalty.”

Suguru reaches over to his nightstand where he pulls out a silver dagger encrusted with jewels. You stare at him as he places it carefully into your hands. What does he want you to do with this?

It dawns on you when you look at the angry lines on your chest. You sit up on your haunches and smile at him, enamored that he entrusts you to this degree. 

You hold the dagger, trying to get comfortable with the feel of such a heavy metal in your hands. It’s a foreign weight, necessary for the foreign task that your lover has for you.

“Right here?” you ask quietly, your hand on his chest where you expect his heart would beat.

“Wherever you’d like, darling.”

With no hesitation, you allow the surface of the blade to pierce Suguru’s skin. Dark, burgundy droplets fall from the cut and trickle down his torso. With wide eyes, you look at him, asking him what to do. Instead, he laughs at you, curling a hand around your cheek.

“Is it not obvious?” 

He gathers the blood from the cut onto his finger and presses it to your lips once more. You swallow instantly with doe eyes- you will always take whatever he gives you. But you surprise him when you lean forward and press your lips to the blood on his torso and lick, whimpering with each swallow of his blood in your circulatory system.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Suguru says, petting your hair, “Good girl. Do you want more?”

With darkened lips and eager eyes, you nod vigorously. Wanting nothing more than to please him. He takes the dagger back from you and cuts a much deeper wound into his chest, wincing as he does so.

“There you go,” he says, throwing his head back when you latch onto him and drink his blood. It comes to you so easily. The urge to please.

Strangely enough, he tastes like ripened cherries. His moans are soft as you drink from him as you please. He owns you now, whether you realize it or not. Now that you’ve drunk his blood, he is a part of you now.

Until he decides otherwise.

In your new home, you have created the perfect life. You are cherished and desired, not needing to hide the ugly truths about yourself to Suguru and Satoru. You see them with rosy hearts in your eyes, convinced that they have accepted you the way that they have accepted each other.

You refuse to let any seeds of doubt fester. Will they tire of you, the way your husband did? Will they say that you’re too needy, too demanding of their attention?

The words are familiar in your mind but they look at you as if they are enthralled by you. No, you are a part of them as much as they are a part of you. You try your hardest to quell your rising, unfounded fears. It’s you, not them, you convince yourself. It’s you, not them.

Suguru and Satoru are already in the library, waiting for you to join them on the barely sat-in leather couch. 

You read your book in silence, the same three paragraphs burned into your eyelids. You can’t focus, not when the two men next to you try to vye for your attention. Despite their lips on your neck and their sweet, seductive words… There is a buzzing in your head that you can’t seem to shake away. It gnaws at you and gnaws at you, even as you succumb to their touches. Even as they drape themselves over you and pull sweet sounds from your throat.

Why don’t they look at you the way they did before? Are you imagining the look of disgust in Satoru’s eyes as he undresses you? Is the boredom on Suguru’s face an unfounded figment of your imagination? 

You are desperate for them, for them to bury themselves in you and build a home inside you. For them to keep you and never let you go. With a harsh kiss and bite to their lips, you seal your fate of your own accord.

In the thick of the frigid winter, the seasons change. It no longer downpours everyday- instead, snow covers the forest. Completely untouched and pure in a delicate, white blanket that cradles the earth.

The cold nips at your cheeks as you step outside the castle on the hill. You are dressed only in a thin black robe that rustles with the icy wind. With barren feet, you step into the snow. Hardly registering the way your blood cools with each step or how your teeth begin to shatter.

Despite the clean scent of snow in the air, you still catch the lingering scent of rain.

Loose deep red rose petals that you hold in your arms taint the pristine white snow as if they were drops of blood. The plant life still somehow thrives even in the wintry weather.

It is so quiet, with each step you take hardly making a sound. The world is still as you make your way over to the nearly frozen over darkened lake. It glitters with the pale sun, almost blinding you but you remain undeterred.

It is a chance for rebirth. Revenge. Or is it redemption?

You dip your foot in the lake first. Then, you close your eyes and surrender to the unknowing abyss with nothing more than a silent splash.

Melted snow coats the earth you walk on when your eyes open once more. It must be days later that you breathe the dry air and emerge from the depths of the lake, your robe soaking wet and sticking to your clammy skin.

But you do not feel the cold, nor do you need to breathe air. It’s a leftover reflex from the person you were not even a full week ago.

The door to the castle on the hill is the same as the first day you saw it. When you were running away from your old life. Here you are, embracing your new one. 

You knock on the door gently. Once, then twice.

You are met with wide, surprised celestial eyes. Only offering him a grin in return.

“What did you do?” Satoru hisses, yanking you inside by your forearm. He senses the difference in you already, the darkened energy coating your bloodstream. Your heart does not beat at all and your canines have become sharpened fangs in your mirthless smile. Your hands are cold when you paw at his chest. He’s used to cold hands, but yours are unforgiving. A threat when your nails nearly pierce through his skin. 

Most of all, blood stains your skin and your teeth when you smile widely at him. Some of it is fresh, still dripping down your neck and some of it is dried along the curve of your jaw and your chest. It reminds him of a lost, wounded wolf. It’s jarring, the sweet smile he is used to is sinister and unforgiving. 

It doesn’t suit you, and yet this is what you have chosen. Your laughter is grating in his finely tuned ears, reminiscent of a curse. Is that what this is? Is that what you have become? An immortal curse?

He ignores the trepidation crawling on his skin. Satoru can’t exactly slam the door in your face, can he?

“Come, lover. Let’s find Suguru,” you say with bright eyes, “We have much to catch up on.”

“You were supposed to be nothing but a blood bag for Suguru,” Satoru seethes, “Look what you’ve done-”

“No, please, I did this for you,” you wail, tugging on his shirt, “I want this forever. Don’t you want the same? You said you did!”  Doesn’t he see you? Doesn’t he see how much you crave him? 

“Enough,” comes Suguru’s voice from behind Satoru. He looks at you, running a thumb over the blood on your skin. Then at the silent, unmoving lake.

He closes his eyes for half a second and sighs, ignoring Satoru’s very purposeful glare at his head.

“I did it for you, Suguru,” you whimper, relaxing when he gathers you in his arms and strokes your hair. He says nothing, instead raising his eyes to meet Satoru’s. Two vampires in the same forest? A newborn vampire, at that?

Suguru is tempted to stake you for your naivete, but refrains from doing so. Sheer bloodlust is what got them into this mess, after all.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says into your hair, but he means for Satoru to hear it, “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

The sun sets in brushstrokes on the world, but not on you.

[1d1195]

Neighbors Extra V

Read Neighbors here | ~2.5k words

From me: based on this ask. Takes place probably in between Part 5 and Extra I

Warnings: a little angsty, a little fluffy, enjoy 💕

It was the stretch of bad weather that did it. Played a trick on his mind. It hurt to think about those weeks without his favorite people. He knew what bad weather could do to people and he knew how it could affect him. It was weird, the night before he rather enjoyed the sound of rain against the window, the slight chill in the air contrasted with the warmth coming off her from the bed. Now it seemed like a curse.

“Harry?” Rory called, hearing the thunder in the middle of the night. It made his heart ache to know Rory called Harry’s name and not for Mumma the way he usually did. Harry rolled out of bed pressing a swift kiss to her forehead despite his negativity settling into the pit of his stomach. He made his way for Rory’s room. He forgot about the frustration he felt about her and the weeks that she chose to separate them. Rory needed him.

“S’matter, lad?” Harry asked sitting on the end of his bed. There was relief in his eyes that was visible in the low light of his nightlight. That relief made Harry’s heart clench. He put his hand on his leg atop the covers and squeezed his shin.

“Is... is Mumma scared?” He asked softly.

Harry tilted his head curiously. “Mummy’s sleeping,” he assured him.

“Oh... um...” Rory was so little looking in his bed. “Mumma gets scared with thunder sometimes,” he explained. “I usually go sleep with her to keep her safe.”

Harry blamed the lateness of the hour for his slow-moving brain cells and not understanding what Rory was trying to tell him faster. “Oh?” He nodded. “I see. Well, do y’want t’come check on her?” He asked standing beside his bed and pulling the covers back.

He nodded eagerly; it was punctuated by a crack of thunder that practically shook the house. His eyes widened with fear while trying to be brave. After his little hospital stay, Harry noted how nervous Rory seemed sometimes—especially when it came to his mum and making sure she wasn’t nervous too. “That was scary,” Harry admitted and scooped Rory into his arms quickly, tucking his head against his shoulder.

“You’re scared of thunder?” He asked incredulously but didn't move his face from Harry's neck.

“Isn’t everyone?” Harry smirked without Rory seeing. “Y'know that Mummy is, me...s'like you’re the bravest one of us."

Rory squirmed a bit in Harry’s arms--like the weight of his phobia and subsequent fake-bravery was too much for him. “I think I’m a little afraid of thunder,” he whispered to Harry. Harry nodded and squeezed him.

“S’okay. S’brave of you t’want t’check on Mummy anyway.”

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to,” he admitted.

“Allowed?” Harry repeated.

“Because Mumma has you now.”

Harry didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the night. Not when he was feeling frustrated with the love of his life’s actions. Not when the weather was souring his mood. Not when Rory felt scared, and he didn’t know how to fix it completely.

“Rory,” Harry sighed stopping outside the bedroom. “Mummy and I are always going t’need you,” he promised. “You don’t have t’change how y’do things because m’here,” he pressed his lips against the little one’s forehead.

"Okay," he nodded.

Harry smiled at him again, ran his hand through his hair comfortingly before he headed back in the bedroom. He knelt on the bed and deposited Rory in the middle. She hadn’t moved. Probably tired from being perfect all day, Harry presumed. Rory nestled into the middle of the bed and Harry smiled softly, feeling more tired, thankfully, than when he woke up. His mind didn’t need to reel with more feelings of frustration before he fell back asleep. “Night, Harry,” Rory whispered.

Harry smiled as he drifted off. “Night Rory.”

*

The rainy night turned into a rainy day. Harry was quiet. She noticed it immediately. When she woke up with the help of her internal clock at six-thirty, she realized Rory’s little face was staring back at her. She blinked in surprise, wondering when he got there. Harry’s hand was resting protectively on Rory’s little rib cage and her heart melted so thoroughly she thought she would cry.

Swallowing the emotion in her throat she snuck out of bed to start breakfast as Rory would surely wake up with the help of his own internal clock in about thirty minutes. The rain and dark clouds made her think of her trip to the hospital in the middle of the night, quickly she shook her head of those thoughts.

As if on cue, Harry and Rory descended the stairs as she poured juice for them. “Hi Mumma!” Rory smiled excitedly. Harry released him and he scurried over to hug her legs. She bent and kissed the top of his head before returning to the scrambled eggs on the stove.

“Hi love bug,” she grinned. “Did you sleep okay?”

Rory glanced back at Harry and nodded. “Harry said I was really brave about the thunder.”

She was surprised she didn’t wake to the sound of it and moreover the sound of Rory’s little worried voice because of it. She pursed her lips and glanced at Harry as well. “Yeah?” She asked quietly.

Harry nodded. He pressed a kiss to her temple and grabbed the three glasses of orange juice to settle on the table. “Rory was braver than I was,” he repeated. “He wanted t’make sure y’were sleeping okay. Because y’get scared in the thunderstorms sometimes.”

Her heart clenched with love for the little one. More for Harry for going along with every little detail and every insecurity Rory shared with him. She smiled and nodded. “Thanks, cutie pie,” she ruffled his hair as he held onto her leg still.

Harry sat at the table. Normally, she wouldn’t have paid much attention to the position, but he didn’t really look up from his phone. He didn’t look up when she said breakfast was almost ready—when he usually hopped up to get plates, silverware, etc. Rory followed over to Harry. Joined him by sitting right on his lap, Harry moving instinctively to hold him as they examined Harry’s phone.

“Honey, can you ask Harry if it’s okay first—he might be doing something for work or—”

“S’fine, kitten,” he mumbled, interrupting her without further explanation.

“It’s highlights from the soccer game,” Rory explained.

Biting her lip, she suddenly felt a bit intrusive. Quietly, she set plates in front of the pair and then ate her own food in near silence—save for the cheers and announcers coming from Harry’s phone. It felt odd to feel left out. For so long it had been her and Rory. Perhaps she was imagining it, but she swore Harry almost seemed... annoyed with her.

After Rory started playing on his own, she would ask. Or maybe when Rory went to sleep tonight.

For now, even if she was a bit anxious about Harry’s coldness toward her, she couldn’t help but adore how sweet Harry and Rory looked at the other end of the table. The same concentrated expression on their faces as they watched his phone screen. Her heart was so full it felt illegal to be that happy. Harry kissed the back of Rory’s head without fanfare, without thinking. His phone propped against the flower vase while he ate his breakfast with one hand.

Just as quietly, she snapped a picture of the pair of them. One to send to her family as well as his for sure.

*

Rory and Harry were nearly inseparable the whole day. It allowed her to get a lot of cleaning and laundry done that had been neglected since Rory couldn’t play in the yard with the unending rainy weather. In the late afternoon, Rory asked that they play a few rounds of Candyland. So, they did. Harry smiled at Rory the whole time and chuckled every time her turn brought her back to the Peppermint Forest when she was almost to the Candy Castle.

It almost felt mean spirited.

But the boys went to play again in Rory's room after Candyland. Harry even got Rory to take a bath without the usual argument that ensued when she did. Their little day spent together right under her nose made her a little jealous—although she wasn’t sure who she was jealous of when she thought about it. They paused to have leftovers for dinner (because it was Saturday, and that was their routine) While they played, she read some of her long-neglected book that was often set to the side for room to play with her son.

“Rory wants you t’say goodnight,” Harry said quietly as he flopped onto the couch grabbing the controller off the coffee table. She blinked, glanced at the clock along the wall of the dining area and shook her head at how rapidly the time had moved.

“It’s eight already?” She asked, mostly to herself. There was no arguing, no ‘one more story,’ not even a good night kiss as had happened many nights before when Harry put Rory to bed.

He nodded anyway, scrolling through movie and show options on Netflix without even looking at her. She eyed him suspiciously the entire time she ascended the stairs to Rory’s room. “Hi Mumma,” he grinned happily. He smelled clean and fresh. His room was tidy (thanks to Harry’s kind reminders as they played, she was sure). Rory was perfect. But she may have been a bit biased.

“Hi baby,” she smiled. “Did you have fun playing with Harry today?” She asked.

He nodded. “We played so much,” it was as if he realized it all on his own and how weird of a day it was to have a playdate right near her without hardly including her.

“You did,” she grinned and kissed his forehead. “I love you. Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” She had said it to him since the day they met Harry and he had asked for clarification.

He grinned and rolled over sleepily. “I love you, too, Mumma,” he yawned. She turned his light off, ensuring the nightlight remained on. She closed the door and returned to the living room. Harry was unmoved; legs outstretched on the coffee table.

Harry shifted as she removed her book from the sofa and placed it beside Harry’s feet on the table. He was silent. Her discomfort amplified and she turned to him. “Are you...okay?” She asked. He nodded, still unspeaking. She bit the inside of her lip. “Uh...Harry, it really feels like—”

“It was really unfair,” he mumbled. His gaze was unmoving from the TV but he wasn’t watching.

“What was—”

“You just...stopped talking t’me. Y’didn’t tell me why. Rory had t’come t’me in secret t’invite me t’his game,” he reminded her. “I know why y’did,” he looked at her squarely for the first time all day. “But it hurt. And I never really got t’grieve it because you came back but it hurt,” he repeated. Her chest ached, feeling like he pierced a whole right through it.

“Harry,” she whispered, an apology forming.

He shook his head. “Y’don’t have t’say anything. S’over and m’not...” he sighed. “M’really not mad, kitten. M’not. S’jus’ the crummy weather made me think of it. Playing with Rory all day made me think ‘bout all those weeks I didn’t have with him. S’not fair and s’not anyone’s fault. M’jus... sad.”

Her heart felt shattered. “But—”

“You don’t have t’say anything.”

But she felt like she did. Harry resenting her felt like a very real possibility and it terrified her. “You’ll resent me.”

“Of course I won’t,” he turned to her with such fierceness in his eyes she felt as if the sun had finally broke the cloud barrier after their long weak of rain. “I know why y’did it. But m’sad about it,” he grabbed her hand. “I trust you that it won’t happen again,” he kissed her knuckles. “M’sorry I was cold today. I jus’ never got t’process or tell you how it felt.”

Well, if it was worse than this moment--and she was sure that it wasn’t even a fraction of the anguish and hurt Harry felt at the time--then she didn’t want to ever make him feel that way again. Didn’t want to experience it herself in any manner—even if Harry very much deserved to make her feel the way she made him feel.

“Harry,” she repeated. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. Tongue-tied, confused, and unsure. Things she rarely felt since she had Rory because she couldn't. “I... I don’t know how to—”

“Kitten,” he squeezed her hand. “M’not mad. M’not going t’hold it against you. But I needed to tell you, so I don’t.”

“Harry,” she felt like a broken record.

“Beautiful,” he echoed in the same tone. “M’not mad,” he promised.

She crawled across the couch, curled in his lap and nuzzled against him in a way that a grown woman had no business to do. Tears stung behind her eyes and her breath felt shallow in her lungs. “I was an idiot,” she whispered hoping it would ease the ache, the fear she felt of losing Harry when she had only started to have him.

“Oh, kitten,” he cooed. “Y’might be the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met,” he assured her running his hand up and down her back. “I was mean today. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You should have punched me in the face.”

He chuckled. “Never in a billion years, love,” he brushed her hair out of her face. “You didn’t need t’do it, but I get it.”

“I didn’t. I shouldn’t have. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

“M’telling you, you don’t need to. I won’t behave poorly like I did today again.”

Her heart felt so broken--she was afraid to speak. Worried it would just come out in a mess of sobs that Harry would unfairly have to comfort. “I can’t even believe you’re apologizing for your behavior. It was my own doing.”

“Angel,” he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose. “You did what you thought was best as a mum. M’never going t’fault you for that; just...” he smiled and shook his head. “Tell me beforehand next time, yeah?”

She snorted. “I won’t ever let there be a next time,” she vowed. He winked at her, cupped her face with his hands that she missed gently caressing her and touching her in between playing with Rory, all day long. Gently, he pressed his lips to hers to seal the promise.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz

@likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59

@babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06

@canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong

@foreverxholland @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03

@luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr

@crossyourpeter @kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @harryscherri

@indierockgirrl @michellekstyles @hermionelove @somethingabout1d19

neighbors taglist: @claimingharrystigertattoo @mopeymousey @vmpellie I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if I put you on the wrong list, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[xythlia]

𓏲 ࣪₊➷ LOW SHOULDER

› it's been raining hard asf all day today which inspired this (rainy weather makes my brainrot worse & really I just wanna fuck him in my car <3)

› satoru x f!reader

› word count : 1k+

warnings : reckless driving, fingering, reader wears a skirt, car sex, messy sex, light manhandling, creampie, quickie lmk if I missed anything im too eepy

"I'm just saying, you might wanna pull over," Satoru hummed, fiddling with the aux chord hanging from your dashboard radio.

"It's fine," you say, more to convince yourself than him.

The rain has been coming down in sheets, fat droplets smacking violently against your windshield as your headlights struggle to cut through the deluge and the dark, forcing you to squint for any visibility. You've been alternating between a slow crawl and normal speed, but as your tires lose traction in a particularly nasty pool of water on the road your grip on the wheel turns white knuckle.

"We're almost there anyway," you mutter, irritation high in your voice, trying not to show how that brief hydroplane rattled you.

You knew he was right, but it felt like a poor idea to waste time sitting on the shoulder of the road in the dark until the storm let up.

"Feeling stubborn tonight?" his tone is light, mischievous. You don't dare take your eyes off the road but your brow furrows, about to tell him now isn't the time for antics until the warm caress of his hand against your thigh makes you jump in your seat, the seatbelt catching.

His hand doesn't stop, lithe fingers trailing a path up beneath your skirt to trace the hem of your panties, nudging his thumb dangerously close to your clit. It feels like your hearts pounding through your throat, and your pussy.

"Satoru what-"

"You didn't want to stop, right? So drive." he says airly, as if his fingers aren't stroking against you through your underwear, as if he can't feel how wet you are, as if this is just an ordinary action.

You swallow thickly, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard you think you might snap it in half. He keeps his hand there for what feels like an eternity, and out of your peripheral you can tell he's smugly enjoying the way your breathing takes up an uneven pace, the way you struggle to justify not immediately pulling over.

Really, you don't want to give him the satisfaction.

Your thighs flex together, the muscles on the verge of cramping and you can't help the whimper that escapes you as his thumb presses down firmly against your clit. If you didn't have any wherewithal you probably would've jerked the wheel, sending you both flying into a ditch.

"I can't," you finally snap, "I'm pulling over."

Before you start slowly putting weight on the break his finger pushes past the hem of your panties, swiping through your soaked slit as your breathing hitches. Broken gasps crowd the air in the car as he plunges a finger inside you, making you slam your foot on the brake as the car rocks you both forward on the shoulder of the road.

"I thought we were almost there anyway?" He teased, curling his finger against your walls and making you squish his hand between your thighs as you frantically pressed them together, struggling to shift the car into park.

"We would've been," you cut yourself off in a moan, pressing your forehead to the steering wheel to catch your breath. "If you could control yourself-"

"Not my fault you wore that cute little skirt today," you hear his seatbelt unbuckle before feeling his fingers ghost against the back of your neck. "Plus you're so stubborn, it drives me crazy."

You leaned back, trying to control your breathing as he flipped your skirt up and added a second finger as your thighs relaxed. The windshield was already fogging, making it feel like only the two of you existed on this desolate stretch of roadway, or like you'd accidentally crossed the threshold of some liminal place.

"Toru-" you mumbled as his lips found yours, speaking into his mouth as one whispers to a revenant, "Need more, s'not enough."

As your eyes flutter open you see a cocky grin painting his features, it makes your cunt clench around his fingers. You always give in so easily when it's him.

You clamber awkwardly over to the passenger seat after he withdraws his fingers, straddling his hips and popping the buttons of your blouse as his hand gently massages over your tummy and those crystalline eyes devour every plane of skin in his view.

"Isn't this better?," he asks, voice on the edge of hoarseness before your lips capture his in an all consuming kiss, the kind that burns away the senses to leave you raw and aching.

Whines pass from your lips to his as he digs his fingers into your ass, spurring the movement of your hips as you grind down against his clothed erection. Your eager hands work the buttons and zipper of his pants open, pulling his swollen, leaking cock out and stroking it gently, smearing precum around the flushed tip.

"You wanted to do this the whole time," you whisper, lips hovering just barely against his own as you smirk. His cock glides easily through your wet folds as he keeps your panties pulled to the side, slipping the tip inside with ease. The way Satoru groans beneath you makes your head spin, getting easily intoxicated off the rising heat and the way he fills you up like he was meant to be inside you.

"Pervert," you drawl against the shell of his ear, bracing one hand against the headrest as the other tugs on his alabaster locks. As you slide down to the hilt you roll your head back, enjoying the feeling of being full of him while he squeezed your breasts through your bra.

His hips buck up, catching you off guard as he sucked a sloppy trail down the side of your neck.

"I'm gonna fuck you until you cry," you don't get a chance to respond, squealing as he sets a brutal, frantic pace bouncing you up and down on his cock. The messy squelching of being in such a confined space makes your chest burn, hot with equal parts arousal and embarrassment.

He can easily reach your most sensitive spots, too deep for your fingers to brush, as you claw at the headrest in a last ditch attempt to anchor yourself against the flames curling around the edges of your mind, pressure building hard and fast inside your abdomen.

Through ragged breaths he mocks you, "You love getting fucked by a perv in your car huh? Like a slut-"

His thrusts become slow but no less deep, his fingers digging into your ass, surely to leave behind wine stain bruises and half moon indents of his nails in your skin. It feels like you're listening to him speak through a cardboard tube pressed to your ears, a lightness permeating your body as you feel that pop of pressure in your gut.

Your mouth drops open in a silent wail, eyes screwed shut as your thigh muscles flex so hard it feels like they're made of stone. His fingers circle your sensitive clit, flicking against it just to hear you yelp.

You shake in his hold, hands twisting the fabric of his shirt and press your face against the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"You gonna cry, baby?" He cooed, one hand gripping the back of your neck as a mother cat grips her kittens. "Lemme see-"

Maybe it's the look of your watery eyes, pupils blown out and brimming with lust, that do him in but Satoru doesn't last much longer, pressing his forehead to yours as he holds your hip down in his other hand, as if he could meld you two together from sheer willpower alone.

Sitting held prone by his grip you can feel his cock throbbing with every spurt of cum that floods your cunt, your skin quickly becoming chilled by the sheen of sweat as you pant.

You feel cold and heavy as stone as you wind your arms around his neck, pressing haphazard kisses to his cheek and enjoying the way he nuzzles his nose against you.

In the quiet of the car the sound of the rain slowing is what drags you back to be present in your body. No longer the sound of harsh, unrelenting drops pelting the metal but a gentle murmuring pitter-patter that soothes your overloaded nerves.

"You're still a pervert," you finally say, lifting off his lap and readjusting your panties. Feeling his cum seep out against the fabric sends a shiver of satisfaction down your spine once your back in the driver's seat.

"I'm a pervert that was right about pulling over though," he cheekily shoots back while tucking his cock back into his pants before giving you one of his characteristic easy smiles.

"Don't let it go to your head," you sigh, shifting gears to drive and flicking on your turn signal.

[small-sinclair]

Clingy brahms with separation anxiety having a breakdown after reader went out for groceries (malcolm isnt here) and reader coming back to him laying infront of the door asleep with ouffy eyes and then they take him to the bedroom and cuddle with him and he wakes up shaken up and they(reader) comfort him?🥹

Its can be any pronouns ;w;

Alone

Okay, this is my first time writing for him, so let me know how I did!

Gotta love me a clingy Brahms... but what if this is the reader's first time meeting him? What if the reader never knew who he was until they leave?

Brahms Heelshire x gen!reader

You hated to leave the house this time of year. It's cold, wet, rainy, windy, and gross out there, but you have to get a few things. Malcolm wasn't coming to the house until the end of the week, and to add insult to injury, he's come down with the flu. So, why should you risk going out while he got the flu? In this weather?

You wrote a sticky note, telling him where you were going, but you needed to tell him in person. You remember that your parents left without telling you once, and it scared you shitless. Yes, they left a note, but it still wasn't the best thing for you.

You sat the doll down in the living room with some of Brahms's favorite teddy bears, making the warmest cuddle pile that you could muster. "Brahms, honey, I have to go to town for a moment, okay? I promise to be back as soon as I can."

"No," you heard from the walls, the little boy calling for you. "Don't leave Brahms."

You fixed his little jacket and straightened his hair just a tad. "If you are on your bestest behavior, I'll let you have extra ice cream tonight--"

"Brahms... wants y/n," the voice said again on your left. the little voice echoed throughout the living room and it nearly broke your heart. "Don't leave me."

But you have to get some food. You have enough to last two days, but it's Tuesday. You can't have that. What type of caretaker would you be if you let little Brahms starve? What type of person would you be if he didn't have everything he needed? You let out a tired and quick breath and closed your eyes.

You stood up and went to the coat rack. You started putting on your warm jacket when you heard the walls crack as if there were rats. It's been doing that lately. More often than normal, actually. You've been here for a handful of months being the doll's nanny, and you loved it. Everyday was a new adventure with Brahms. Everyday, something new happened between you and the doll. The ghost of the boy even started talking to you more and more. You thought you were going insane, but he made it clear that it was him. The silence between you two was filled with bits of joy and happiness. The more you watched over Brahms, the more your heart swell for the doll.

As for his ghost and the walls moving? You couldn't make out if his was trying to scare you or make you nervous. Either way, a new rule was made: No Jump Scaring the Nanny. After that, Brahms's doll stopped moving from one room to the other, and you were thankful for that. You didn't want to have a heart attack every time you turn around and meeting a still doll looking back at you.

The house never felt empty when you and the doll hung out, you following the rules as close as you could. You and Brahms walked around the house every other day. You would carry him with such care as you talked about anything and everything. You loved seeing the art hanging on the walls, and you loved telling him daring storied behind some of the paintings. The house never felt alone with you around, and you felt as if he was thankful to have you. Maybe you're his first friend? Even at night, in separate rooms, you never felt alone. You always felt as if a guardian angel was watching you while you slept. Sometimes, you would feel as if your angel was sleeping next to you as the end of the bed, sitting on the edge, or leaving a kiss in your hair.

You weren't alone, y/n. Never were alone.

You went back into the living room and your face fell. The doll moved from the cuddle pile of teddy bears to your keys on the counter. He was sitting on it as if he could stop you from leaving, but he had to face it that he was just a doll, not human.

"Brahms," you breathed as you went to the keys. You pick them up then picked Brahms up. You carried him to the cuddle pile again. Turning, you took your jacket off the couch and placed it over him like a blanket. "Can you be a good boy and stay here? Not trash the house like last time?"

The last time you left, it was just to get the mail. When you came back, the library was turned upside down. Malcolm helped put things together while you put Brahms in time out, sitting him in a chair, facing the corner of the wall. That night, you had a heart-to-heart with him not to turn the house inside out whenever you leave. As punishment, you didn't give him his goodnight kiss or read to him. The next morning, you woke up to a drawn picture made out of crayons of some flowers, and there was a written apology on the back of the drawing.

"Stay," the boy's voice said again, but it sounded like it was over you. You looked you, jerking your head to see nothing by the ceiling. "Y/n shouldn't leave Brahms."

You looked back at the doll and placed a kiss on his head. You stand and took one last look at the room. "I will be back in two hours, okay? I promise."

"Don't go!" You heard something far in the house break, and it sounded like glass. "Don't leave me! I'll be good! Brahms will be good!"

"I'll be back!" You promised. "I swear!" You opened the front door and left, locking it behind you. As you started down the steps, you could've sworn you felt eyes watching you with hatred and fear. You looked back at the house then went to the car. "I promise," you whispered.

You started your car and left the Heelshire Mansion.

****************

As promised, you were back within two hours with a five bags of groceries and fast food. You got Brahms a Happy Meal to make up for leaving. You knew he'll be mad, but you hope he'll understand. His ghost was different to deal with sometimes, but you were happy with it. He wasn't the worst kid you've looked after, but he wasn't a saint either. Some days were better than others, but you always kissed him goodnight and read to him in the rocking chair in the den.

But you would be lying to yourself that you didn't enjoy leaving the house for a while, too. If it wasn't for the wind and the rain, it would be a halfway nice day. Maybe you would take Brahms on a drive once the weather gets better outside. You think he would love to go on a drive to the bookstore and back! He could pick out new books and stories for you to read, and you can get a cake pop and a hot cocoa...

Brahms would love that.

You unlocked the door and pushed the door open. "Brahms!" You announced. "I'm home--"

You dropped the bags as you found a grown man in the hallway of the house. He wore light grey sweatpants and a dirty white cutoff, showing different sized scars over his skin. His dark brown hair was curled and untamed, greasy and wild. You wanted to scream and call the cops, but something caught your eyes. He wore a mask that looked just like Brahms's face. The more you looked at him, the more familiar you felt with him. It's like you've known him your whole life being in the house taking care of the doll.

You closed the door behind you and picked the bags back up. He was out like a light, sleeping heavily in the hallway, clutching your jacket. You could see his mask had tear stained streaks over the clay, and you felt bad for him. If this was Brahms, the doll you've been caring for, you'll have to tell not to sleep on the floor because you haven't swept in a while.

You took the bags to the kitchen and put away the cold items before coming back to him. Carefully, you lifted the man up and hauled him to the couch. You laid his head on your lap and just looked at him. The man looked so close to the doll's face, and it almost scared you. There wasn't a ghost in the house. There wasn't a boy's ghost haunting the doll. There was him, and he's been here the whole time. His parents must've hid him away from the world, and you felt sorry for him.

But you should be scared. You should be terrified that there's a stranger resting on your lap, but you didn't fear a thing. The paintings of a young boy around the house was in your grasp. The mountains that he climbed and the laps he made throughout the house just to be near you must've killed him. You wondered how many times he wanted to hold your hand or hug you. You wonders how many times he thought of you when he was alone.

His parents hid him from the world, and that's not right. That wasn't right.

Well, at least he listened and didn't tore the house apart...

You looked at the grandmother clock in the corner of the living room then back at man. It's dinner time, and you thought of the fast food on the counter.

Gently, you shook his shoulder. "Brahms?" You asked in a whisper. "Brahms? Sweetheart, it's time for dinner... Brahms?" The man curled into the lab and buried his face in your stomach. You almost laughed; he reminded you of a puppy. "Brahms, time to wake up." You shake him a little harder this time, and he stirs. "Honey? Wake up," you say, shaking him again.

Slowly, the man sits up and looked at her with a sleepy gaze. It took him a moment to process where he was. When his eyes met yours, he scurried away from you, backing up from on the couch to the be on the other end. There was a mixture of emotions in his eyes: panic, fear, sadness, and hurt. He looked at you up and down the around him. How could he let you see him? He didn't want to meet like this. Not like this! He thought of showing himself to you in a couple of weeks, but this? No. No! This wasn't want Brahms wanted!

His thoughts stopped flooding as soon as your hand touched his. He looked at your hand then at you. "Brahms?" You whispered. "Are you... Brahms?"

You watched his Adams apple bob then he answered in the little boy's voice that you've been hearing for months, "Yes. Please don't be... mad at Brahms. I was... scared." He wanted to curl up and hide from you forever, but he saw your sad smile.

You tilted your head. "Why would I be mad?"

"Brahms left his spot," he answers shyly. "Brahms's a bad boy." His voice cracked as he remembered you telling him to stay right there in the pile. You told him to stay put but he didn't! He's the worse person for not listening to you! You've been nothing but kind to him.

You shake your head. "Oh, Brahms... it's okay. It's alright. You're not bad." Then you realized how truly big the house was and how he felt. How many years did he feel alone? How many times did he watch his real mother love a doll instead of him? He's alone. He's so scared of being alone. "You've must've been so scared of being alone again, huh?"

He nods. "Always alone. Brahms likes y/n. Y/n doesn't make Brahms feel..." he looked around the living room then at the doll in the teddy bear pile. "...alone."

"Well," you said, coming closer to him, taking both of his hands, "you will never be alone, sweetie. Not while I'm here."

"But you left."

"I came back, didn't I?" You asked, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles. "Right? I promised to come back to you, and I did. See?" You offered him a happy grin. "I didn't break my promise."

Brahms looks at you then down at your hands. He's always imagined what your hands felt like in his, and he melts. Carefully, he brought your hands up to his mask to let you touch the smooth glaze and he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. Under his mask, he smiles and starts crying. He loves you with all his soul, and his lungs filled up with nothing but flowers for you. All for you.

"You were so brave," you praised. "Such a good boy for listening to me. Thank you for not destroying the house."

His eyes locked on yours. "I'm good?"

"Always been good, Brahms." You glanced at the counter where the fast food sat then back at him. "Let's eat dinner, okay?"

"Cuddle after that?" his little voice asked.

You nodded. "After eating. Sound like a deal?"

He nods as he leans forward into your hands, wondering what they would feel like against his skin. But, that'll be for another day. Both of you would have to take small steps before your lips would trace his, before his hands would hold yours every day.

Small steps, y/n, until you both don't feel alone.

[faithisyours]

Asleep in the Library | Drabble

Azriel x Fem!reader

Summary: Azriel finds you asleep in the library, so he takes you to bed

Warnings: none really, reader and Az are mated, pure fluff

Word count: 900

A/N: Hello brethren I’m back with some Az fluff that will hopefully rot your teeth. I hope you all are doing well. Anyway, enjoy!

It had been a long day. You had dragged yourself through meeting after endless meeting, only wanting one thing. You had started a new book last night, and it was good. Really, really good. All you wanted to do was curl up in the library and continue reading. The weather was perfect for it, rainy and cold, with no chance of letting up soon. It was like the Mother knew all you wanted to do was read, and she taunted you with the ideal weather for it. But your duties came first.

Finally after hours and hours of listening to Rhys yap, you were free. You grabbed your book from your room and made your way to the library, stopping briefly in the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The library was the ideal place to read. Soft leather couches around a blazing fireplace, with windows big enough to see Velaris and experience the weather without having to be in it. It was perfect. You curled yourself into one of the couches and got to reading.

Your book was so good, but those meetings had taken their toll, and eventually you couldn’t help but nod off, soothed to sleep by the pitter-patter of rain. And this was how Azriel had found you, curled on the couch, your half-drunk cup of tea gone cold. The book you had been reading was about to slip from your fingers, and there was a shadow of goosebumps dusting your skin.

Azriel had come into the library looking for a new book to read, but when he found you, his mate, he stopped short. He didn’t want to wake you and tell you to come to bed, although it was getting pretty late, but instead grabbed a thick blanket off the side of another couch and pulled it over you. He also gently pulled the book from your hands, in fear it would soon fall and the noise would wake you up, and marked the page you were on.

Satisfied with what he had done, he pressed a small kiss to your forehead and turned to go find a new book. But you had stirred slightly, and reached out a hand and grabbed his wrist right as he had turned to leave. You pulled him back towards you, although weakly, but he complied.

“Whatime issit?” you slurred sleepily.

“Nearly 10:30 at night, my love,” he replied.

“Welll, why'd you leme sleep s’long?” you asked, starting to wake a bit more.

“I didn’t know you were down here, darling.” he said, crouching down in front of you. You grunted in response.

“Take me to bed, Az,” you wined, shifting onto your back to get a better look at him.

“As you wish,” he replied, and scooped you up. He also grabbed your book from where he had put it on the coffee table, and made his way to your rooms.

He set you down gently on the soft linen sheets of your shared bed and turned to go get changed into his pajamas. You opened your eyes just enough to see your mate through the open door of the bathing chamber. He was shirtless, his tanned tattooed skin gleaming in the fae light, his sleeping pants hanging low on his hips. You opened your eyes a bit more to get a better look.

He caught you staring, giving you a sly smile. He walked back into your bedroom and leaned over you, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. “Are you not going to change,” he asked, an eyebrow arching.

“I’m too tired,” you said half-heartedly, “can you do it?”

“Of course, my love,” he replied smoothly. He went over to your dresser and opened the top drawer, then proceeded to rifle through it until he found what he was looking for. He shut the drawer and turned to you, presenting one of his shirts that you stole and now occasionally sleep in. He always acts mad that you stole the shirt, but you know he loves it when you wear it.

He walked back over to you and sat on the side of the bed, then gently pulled you to sit up. He dragged your shirt up and over your head while you lifted your arms for him. And then he leaned close, arms going around to your back, as he unhooked your bra and pulled it off you. He gave you a small kiss on the cheek before pulling away.

He replaced the garments he just took off with the stolen shirt, then moved on to your bottom half. He took your socks off first, making sure to put them in the hamper that sat in the corner of the room, then unbuttoned your pants and pulled them down your legs.

You lie there in a state of in between sleep and awareness, admiring your mate taking care of you. Finally your pants came off, which made Azriel’s job done. He got up, walked around the room turning the lights off, then crawled into bed next to you. You cuddled into his side, already half asleep from earlier, and drifted off to the sight of Azriel reading your book in the soft glow of fae light next to him.

[noamm7]

Dick Grayson x Male reader

summary: reader is sick and Dick decides to stay and take care of him.

cw: fluff

word acount: 1.K

After a long and tiring night of work, you finally manage to leave and return home, to the comfort of your bed, however, what you didn't count on was a sudden change in the weather and a day that was sunny and warm, ended up becoming cold and rainy.

You walk through the streets completely soaked and disheveled, with the cold wind battering your face and chest. You try to walk as fast as you can, and finally, you reach your shared apartment with your boyfriend Dick.

You quickly took off your wet clothes and took a hot shower, eating everything you could find before going straight to bed, you were exhausted.

~ cut time ~

You wake up feeling awful, your entire body aching, hot, with a headache, and feeling nauseous. "Oh no," you think to yourself, "this can't be happening," as the thought of being sick had not crossed your mind, and you couldn't afford to miss work.

You try to get up, but fail miserably. "No, no, no," you whisper to yourself, "I can't be sick right now." Suddenly, the door to the bedroom opens, and you see Dick, your boyfriend, enter the room.

"Is everything okay?" Dick asks as he approaches you and pulls you into a hug. Suddenly, he draws back, exclaiming, "Oh crap, you're burning up!" He goes on to say, "I knew that rain you caught yesterday wouldn't do you any good. Don't move from here, I'll go get the thermometer." Before you know it, he's racing out of the room and towards the bathroom to grab the thermometer.

You make another attempt to get up, only to fail again. Your whole body ached. After a while, you finally give up and settle back onto the bed, awaiting Dick's return.

When he finally returns, he is holding a thermometer in one hand. "Here, take it, you must be sick," he says, as he approaches you. "Crap, I can't get sick, I have to work," you reply.

"Don't worry, I'll call your boss and tell him that you're sick and can't come in today. He'll understand." Dick says, before sitting down next to you and taking the thermometer. "Here, take this." Dick says, handing you the thermometer. You take it, place it in your mouth, and after a few minutes, it beeps.

"37.08°C!!" Dick exclaims. "Crap, your temperature's really high. Stay here, I'll go get the medicine." Before you can respond, he's running out of the room towards the bathroom and opening the cabinet to get the medicine box.

After a while, Dick returns with a glass of water and some pills in his hand. 'Here, take this,' he says, offering the pill to you. He continues, 'This will help lower your fever.' You reluctantly get up, take the pill, and wash it down with the glass of water to help it go down.

"Thanks," you say, making a slight face, before settling back into bed and pulling the sheets up over you. Suddenly, you feel the bed sink from the other side, and moments later, a pair of strong arms pull you close. It's Dick.

"What are you doing?" you ask, groggily, your voice raspy. "Helping my boyfriend feel better," Dick replies, with a smile. "Dick, you don't have to-" you begin, but Dick cuts you off by pulling you closer. "I insist," he says. "Besides, we can spend some quality time together. We haven't had a moment like this in a while," he adds, pulling you even closer.

"Thank you, I don't know what I'd do without you. You're the best boyfriend in the world." you say with a smile, causing Dick to let out a light laugh. "Get some rest," he says, placing a soft kiss on your head. "I'll be here by your side if you need anything. Love you."

The warmth of your bodies combining to create a comfortable and warm environment, you simply smile and begin to relax. so, in no time at all, you and Dick drift off into a deep sleep, snuggled up against each other. Without a doubt, he truly is 'the best boyfriend in the world'.

ac: this was bigger than I thought it would be 😭😭 so forgive me if it's too long, this is my second fanfic and I'm trying to get used to it. Thank you everyone for reading.