#seeking petrichor

[sunderedazem]

WIP asks: Seeking Petrichor?

Good choice! Of all my WIPs, Seeking Petrichor has the highest chance of being turned into an original work of fiction, and I'm working towards doing that now - it's an extremely AU Hunter x Hunter fanfiction, set in in a high-fantasy post-apocalpytica world where society has essentially reverted to a pre-industrial revolution setting. I was trying to marry magic and scifi in this fic - honestly it was a lot of fun to plot out.

Have a snippet!

Then he inhaled deeply again, letting the soft scents of mold and damp and leaves and moss creep into his nose, setting off the sharp, tangy scent of metal. Leaves rustled gently overhead, the quiet chittering of squirrels in the stony boughs echoing in muffled ripples across the ground. he started forward up the sloping mountainside, boots crunching on twigs and gravel and small plants. Kite followed him, Spinner and her yellow cap not far behind.

The terrain leveled, the upward slope cresting and breaking like an ocean wave of decayed, rich brown and brushy green leaves that snagged on the tough fabric of his trousers. The scent grew stronger, sweet and piercing in the still forest air. Gon bit his lower lip anxiously, rounding a large, spreading oak with low limbs and hanging branches. Red greeted him, and he went stiff with surprise and a sudden chill of nameless anxiety.

Blood splatters, still gleaming wet and crimson in the pale morning, sloshed over fallen leaves, making a very clear trail that grew progressively thicker as it neared a copse of shaded pines, flies buzzing over the shallow pools. He leveled his blade in his hand warily, following the trail to a shallow dip in the earth, fully expecting a predatory Chimera to have ripped some poor animal in half.

[slytherinslut0]

Lorenzo Berkshire- Through Rain or Shine

Info: you’d had a tough couple of weeks, and needed to find a way to relieve the numbness in your chest. when your forever friend unsurprisingly joins you, the two of you finally admit your feelings for eachother, after all those years.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: 18+, smut, fingering, kissing, themes of mild depression, praise kink, fluff, so much angst, childhood best friends to lovers trope.

In the quiet solitude of your dorm room, the weight of exhaustion pressed upon you like an invisible force, each day's relentless grind etched into the lines of weariness on your face. The past weeks had been an unyielding onslaught of books and notes, every waking moment dedicated to the pursuit of academic excellence, driven by the burning desire to excel in the impending owls exam.

The recent breakup with your boyfriend had cast a shadow over your world, pushing you deeper into the solace of your studies. Nights blurred into early mornings as you immersed yourself in the expanse of your textbooks, seeking refuge from the echoing emptiness left by the now-fractured relationship. Distractions became your lifeline, a shield against the lingering pain that clung to your chest like an unwelcome weight.

As the culmination of your efforts approached with the passing of your owls exam, a bitter relief settled in upon the conclusion. Yet, despite the temporary reprieve, the ache in your chest persisted, an unyielding rock crushing against your lungs. Caffeine and sleep proved futile against the overwhelming exhaustion that permeated your mind and soul.

And on yet another seemingly mundane night, a symphony of raindrops assaulted your window with an angry rhythm, a stormy punctuation to the warm spring night. Beneath the cocoon of your sheets, you lay motionless, your gaze fixated on the rivulets tracing their path down the glass. Restlessness plagued your every toss and turn, a sleep-deprived mind refusing the solace of slumber.

And as hour after hour passed in the hushed corridors of Gryffindor Tower, you succumbed to a rebellious impulse, heedless of any potential consequences. Clad in only a pair of sleep shorts and a light long-sleeved shirt, you navigated the dimly lit common room, driven by a compulsion to escape, to just fucking break free for once. Troublesome thoughts of repercussions faded in the face of your overwhelming apathy, truly not giving one single fuck about what could, or would happen to you if you were to get caught.

The damp corridor led you to the entrance of the courtyard, where the angry rain battered against the aged stones. A deep breath filled your lungs with the crisp scent of the tempestuous storm, and as you stepped into the downpour, an electric warmth surged through your drenched body. The hard curtain of water enveloped you, washing away the numbness and invigorating your senses, a desperate attempt to feel something--anything--other than the weight of your weary existence.

In another brief stretch of madness, you descended, lowering yourself against the soaked, weathered stones beneath your feet. As your back connected, you felt the tension instantly leave your bones, a shiver dancing along your spine, a stark contrast to the warmth pulsating within. The rain continued its unrestrained assault, a cacophony of droplets drumming against your body and soaking you to the bone.

With each breath, the scent of petrichor mingled with the raw, earthy aroma of the surrounding flora. Your clothes clung to your body, a second skin saturated by the unrelenting downpour. The waterlogged fabric, though chilling, brought a visceral reminder of your exhilarated presence in this moment--a stark departure from the numbness that had gripped you for the last few weeks.

In the embrace of the storm, time lost its linear structure, and the weight of your weary existence momentarily dissolved. The courtyard became a sanctuary, a refuge where the boundary between self and nature blurred, and for a fleeting moment, you existed in a space beyond the confines of your troubles, surrendering to the elemental dance of rain and stone.

Until, suddenly, the ephemeral sanctuary of rain-soaked contemplation shattered abruptly as someone leaned over you, disrupting the elemental dance against your skin. Startled, you opened your eyes, squinting against the mingling rain and the sudden intrusion of the night. There, peering down at you with a mixture of concern and confusion, was Lorenzo Berkshire, your damn-near lifelong bestfriend.

His worried expression cut through the remnants of your momentary escape, and reality crashed back with a jolt. The rhythmic percussion of rain against stone now seemed distant, replaced by the urgency in Lorenzo's eyes.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing out here?" His voice pierced through the storm, the concern in his tone palpable. "You're going to catch a bloody cold."

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as annoyance rolled through you. The boundary between self and the outside world reasserted itself, and the refuge you'd found in the solitude had now entirely slipped away, all thanks to the presence of your wonderful, but admittedly infuriating bestfriend.

"Enz, for the love of all things magical..." you grumbled, stubbornly keeping your eyes shut against both rain and scrutiny. "Can't I just have a moment alone? Please, just let me be."

"I can't just leave you out here, especially when you're practically bathing in the bloody storm." Lorenzo's concern lingered in the air as he shook his head, raindrops scattering from the movement. "Come on...let's get you inside before you turn into a drowned owl."

You stubbornly shook your own head, now--your rain-soaked hair clinging to your face as a testament to your unwillingness to yield.

"Enzo, I need this..." you muttered, not ready to abandon the calm you had just found, only moments earlier. "Just-just give me a bit longer, please?"

Ignoring Lorenzo's outstretched hand, you clung to the puddled, uneven stones beneath you, a silent plea for solitude amidst the storm. At your denial, your best friends frown deepened, lines of worry etching across his forehead as he observed your silent resistance. The genuine concern in his eyes betrayed an understanding that surpassed mere words.

He knew you--knew the intricacies of your soul since the days when stumbling was a more common occurrence than walking. He knew this was not like you.

He crouched down beside you, raindrops creating a haphazard pattern on his shoulders. The bond between you two transcended the need for spoken explanations. As he rested a hand on your shoulder, a comforting weight that spoke of shared history, he sighed.

"You've weathered storms before, but this...it's different. You're different." His voice was soft, gentle, barely audible over the sound of rain slamming the stone next to your head. "I'm worried about you."

"I know, Enz," you admitted, almost reluctantly. Opening your eyes, you met his gaze, and in that moment, vulnerability hung in the air. "It's just...everything--the exams, the breakup...I needed a moment to drown it all out, but it seems the storm found me first."

Enzo's hand on your shoulder tightened slightly, a wordless reassurance that spoke volumes. Together, in that shared silence, you both acknowledged the profound truth--you weren't facing the storm alone. He'd simply never allow it. And then, without uttering a single word, Enzo lowered himself to the rain-soaked stones, settling beside you with a quiet understanding. The haphazard patterns of raindrops now painted both of your figures entirely, a shared canvas in the midst of the storm.

In the hushed ambiance of the stormy courtyard, shielded behind bushes and flowers, you shifted your gaze toward Enzo, silently appreciating the allure of his rain-soaked features. Long lashes, adorned with raindrops, sparkled like morning dew, tracing a delicate path along his rosy cheeks. There was a captivating ease in the way he simply basked in the warm rain, his handsome features unburdened as though he was simply reclining in the luxury of his bed.

Enzo had always embodied an enduring quality, a trait that defied life's intricate twists and turns--an attribute you had always found yourself inexplicably envious of. His carefree demeanor wasn't a recklessness that jeopardized education or safety; instead, it mirrored the carelessness of a child navigating their first steps or the unburdened joy of someone soaking up the sun after a harsh winter. He moved through life with a rare freedom, an effortless lightness that resonated deep within you.

For that, you couldn't help but love him--a sentiment woven into the fabric of your bond. No matter the trials life presented or the stretches of silence between you, you unfailingly found yourselves back together. Side by side, navigating this crazy thing you called life.

"I'm here," Enzo's voice shattered the silence, a gentle reassurance that jolted you out of your contemplative trance. It dawned on you that you'd been lost in the steady gaze of his rain-kissed features. "You don't have to talk to me...but I'm here."

Your response came as a slow nod, a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering presence. The weight of his words wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, a reassurance that soothed every inch of ache in your bones. It was right then, that you realized, since he'd laid down beside you, the numbness in your chest had completely fucking vanished.

Turning your attention back to the sky, you shut your eyes, embracing the rain that pelted your face. Basking in the comforting silence, you whisper, "Do you ever think about the day we met?"

Enzo's fingers brushed against yours, a tender touch that spoke volumes as he replied, "All the time."

His response stirred a warmth in your chest, a gentle flutter that resonated with the shared nostalgia. "The day at the lake?"

His low chuckle, like a melody in the rain, accompanied his words, "When you stole my toy shovel and then pushed me into the water when I tried getting it back?"

“Oh, please!” An uncontrolled giggle bubbled from your lips as you countered, "that's not at all how it went."

Enzo's eyes sparkled with amusement as he awaited your correction. "Okay, then, enlighten me. How did it really go?"

"Okay, okay, maybe it did go a bit like that..." amidst laughter, you playfully explained, "but you were the one who stole my bucket first, Enz. I had to get you back for it!"

"Fair enough, angel, I might have started it." Enzo's laughter blended with the raindrops as he conceded, "I guess I had it coming.”

Smirking, you retorted, "You've been a pain in my butt since the day we met, Enz…some things never change, do they?"

Enzo's grin widened, and he retorted, "Guilty as charged. But you love me for it, don't you?"

His eyes, filled with a mixture of mischief and affection, reflected the depth of a connection that had weathered the mischievous escapades and grown stronger with each passing storm.

"How couldn't I?" you responded with a fond smile, your gaze locking with his. "With a smirk that irresistibly charming, you make it impossible not to."

"Can't argue with that, angel," he quipped, flashing his teeth playfully. "Charm has always been my secret weapon."

As your laughter faded, a pause settled between you two. Staring at him, a flood of memories cascaded through your mind--years of friendship, shared laughter, and the occasional drunken kiss that had always lingered like a quiet undercurrent. In that moment, you couldn't deny the feelings that had grown, evolving beyond the boundaries of friendship.

The courtyard, still bathed in the rain's embrace, became a silent witness to the realization that the line you'd hesitated to cross might have finally blurred beyond recognition.

"Enz...have you ever...felt, lost?" As you blinked, you glimpsed his lips, your voice a soft murmur as it left your throat. "Like everything you thought was solid, just…crumbled away?"

"Absolutely," he confessed, a soft sigh escaping him as raindrops adorned his lashes like jewels. "It's like the ground beneath you turns into quicksand, and-"

"You're unsure of what to cling to, because it feels like..." you interrupted, your eyes locking onto his.

"....it’s all collapsing alongside you," he finished, completing your thought with a shared understanding. "Absolutely, angel...absolutely."

As you paused, eyes fixed on his features, a rush of emotions surged within you. The realization of your profound affection for this boy, the depth of his unwavering presence, and the shared history you both carried became palpable.

The weeks of self-imposed hibernation in your dorm had isolated you from the world, but here, in the midst of the storm, Enzo stood by your side. His willingness to weather the rain with you, to share the weight of your troubles, became a testament to a friendship that had transcended time and circumstance. The unspoken understanding, the shared glances, all hinted at a connection that had weathered storms of both the heart and the skies.

"Enz," you murmured, the endearment slipping from your lips like a secret shared between kindred spirits. "Thank you, for being here...it means more than you'll ever know."

"You don't have to thank me, angel," he replied, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his rain-kissed lips. "We've always been in this together...through rain or shine--it's what best friends do."

In the quietude of the rain-soaked courtyard, a charged silence hung between you and Enzo. Your heart, like a captive creature, pounded in your chest as you found solace in the shared gaze. His brown eyes, an intimate dance of vulnerability and unspoken sentiments, darted between your eyes and lips.

And then, in an unexpected surge of emotion, the two of you moved as if drawn by an invisible force--his hands found your face, a gentle reassurance, while your own hands mirrored the sentiment, delicately grasping the back of his neck as you pulled him close. Lips collided in a shared moment of exasperation, a kiss that seemed to carry the potential to mend wounds. Enzo's soft, warm lips moved with a careful precision, as though he feared shattering the fragile connection by moving too quickly or being too rough.

A sigh mingled within your shared breaths, and the emotional tide of the kiss swept over you. In the midst of the courtyard's relentless downpour, the intimacy of the moment became a sanctuary. Emotions, sought when you ventured into the rain-soaked space, surged to the surface, rendering you more alive than you had felt in fucking weeks.

Enzo, breaking the kiss with a soft, lingering reluctance, allowed his lips to trail along your jawline. A whisper of breath brushed against your skin as he confessed, his words carrying the weight of years of unspoken desire.

"I've wanted to do that for years," he admitted, the revelation settling in the damp air around you. "...for so many fucking years..."

Your response came as an instinct, your hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him close with a magnetic urgency.

"Me fucking too," you whispered, a fusion of emotions flooding your voice, "why did we wait so long?"

Enzo's gaze, now intensified by the admission and the proximity between you two, held a mixture of regret and longing. He nestled closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke with a sincerity that echoed through the courtyard.

"I don't know, angel," he murmured, the words carrying the weight of missed chances and unspoken confessions. "Maybe we were both waiting for the right storm to finally let it all pour out."

"Mm--pour it out for me, Enz," you whispered, your voice a gentle plea. "Tell me where you've been...tell me where your heart is..."

With a shared understanding, Enzo gently urged you to lay back, guiding you back against the cool, rain-drenched stones. He positioned himself alongside you, his head resting on your chest, the closeness of his body providing a comforting warmth against the coolness of the courtyard. One hand cradled your head while his other traced a delicate path down your stomach, igniting your skin into flames. Inhaling a sharp breath, he confessed,

"Someone once told me that it all comes down to the last person you think of at night." His fingers teasingly traced the line of your shorts as he continued, "That's where your heart is."

As his words lingered in the air, a tender smile played on your lips. Your eyes squeezed shut, encapsulating the vulnerability of the moment. Your hands found solace in his hair, fingers gently petting as you embraced the emotional tide that swept over you.

"Mm-yeah?" you murmured, finding it challenging to stay fully focused on his words as his soft teasing fingers traced along your inner thigh. "And who do you think of?"

Enzo pulled his head from your chest, meeting your eyes with an intensity that cut through the rain-soaked ambiance. His gaze held nothing but pure seriousness as he uttered, "Can I touch you, angel? Please?"

A near mewl escaped your lips, your entire body buzzing with anticipation. "Please do, Enz," you whispered, the plea carrying a mixture of desire and vulnerability. "Gods, please-"

Enzo leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss as he inched his fingers closer and closer to the edge of your shorts. As he slipped his tongue past your teeth, gentle yet urgent, you found yourself practically holding your breath in anticipation, shifting your legs wider slightly to give him better access.

Without wanting to keep you waiting for much longer, his long fingers slipped past the edge of the soaked fabric, connecting directly with your heat as you weren't wearing any panties. You moaned into his mouth and he swallowed it eagerly, his fingers wasting no time at all before beginning to rub tight circles against your clit.

Your grip on his hair tightened, your entire body quivering and squirming against his touch. You lost yourself in sensation, moaning into his mouth as he manipulated you expertly, sucking in air through his nose as he kissed you like he could devour you. The cool raindrops on your skin contrasted with the heat building in your body, and you felt as if you were about to burst with pleasure, explode with emotion.

Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily as he slipped a finger inside you while his thumb continued to rub against your clit. You arched your back against him, feeling every inch of his finger stretching you out as he drove you to the brink of ecstasy, whimpering as quietly as you could as the two of you blended into the darkness, curtains of rain acting as your shield.

"I think of you, angel," His lips found your neck, kissing and biting gently as he continued to work you with his fingers, building your orgasm dangerously fast. "I think of you before I sleep...I wake up and I think about you..."

Your hands shifted, fisting his shirt as you cried out in pleasure, raindrops falling around you in a steady rhythm. You could feel his lips on your neck, leaving wet kisses as he continued, "I think about kissing you good morning...I fall asleep while thinking about kissing you goodnight..."

"Oh...Enz..." the words sent a fresh surge of desire through you, and you arched your back involuntarily, trying to get closer to him. "Oh my Gods..."

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. "You know I'm helplessly fucking in love with you, right?"

"Oh-fuck-" you moaned, louder than you'd expected as he increased his pace on your clit, his finger pumping in and out of you with increased intensity, sending your vision spinning. "Enzo-"

"Mhm...pretty girl..." he cooed as you tilted your head back, giving him better access to your neck, and he obliged by nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "I fell in love with you back before knowing what love even was..." he placed sloppy kisses on your collarbone, nipping softly. "And I've stayed in love with you because no one...fucking no one has ever made me feel the way you do."

Moaning softly, you squirmed beneath him, unable to contain the growing intensity coursing through your body. Tears welled in your eyes, each word that escaped his lips resonating with a tidal wave of emotion, threatening to engulf you under the weight of your own heart. This overwhelming surge of happiness felt surreal, like a dream you never dared to believe could be real.

Suddenly, he slipped another finger inside you, stretching you out wider as his thumb continued twirling over your clit. You cried out in pleasure, the intensity of the sensation making your toes curl, your chest reaching for oxygen as though you’d been starved of it for years.

"Fuck, you're so wet," Enzo murmured against your skin, his lips trailing kisses back up to your jawline. "Does this feel good, angel?"

All you could manage was a nod; your breath was coming in short gasps as the pleasure built and built inside of you. The rain continued to fall down around you, a cooling contrast to the heat in your body, bucking your hips against his hand, becoming increasingly desperate for release.

"Good girl...so, so good..." he purred, kissing his way back up your jawline until he veered back and met your lips, pressing the plush entirety of his mouth to yours. "I continue to fall in love with you every fucking day because there's no one I could ever picture my future with, other than you..."

"Oh Gods, Enzo..." you could feel the tension building in your body, coiling tighter and tighter until you were practically vibrating with need. "I'm so fucking in love with you..."

"Mm," he purred, grazing his lips against yours. "Music to my ears, angel..."

As if sensing how close you were, he slipped a third finger inside you, his movements becoming almost frantic as he continued to rub your clit in tight, harsh circles with his thumb. Your body shook with pleasure, every nerve ending sparking with sensation as Enzo's deep brown pools drilled into yours, watching every slight ministration of your face as you teetered on the edge of pure fucking ecstasy.

"Fuck-Enz..." you moaned, grasping the soaked fabric of his shirt for dear life, squeezing it within your trembling fists. "I'm going to-"

He kissed you again, smiling against your lips. "Cum for me."

That was all you needed to hear; and with a sharp cry, you came hard, spasms of pleasure wracking your body, your vision blurring as pleasure washed over you in waves. Enzo continued to move his fingers inside of you, riding out your orgasm until you collapsed, panting and spent. In the aftermath, as you both caught your breath, the rain persisted, its cool touch soothing your heated skin. A comfortable silence enveloped you, a serene pause in the midst of the rain-soaked courtyard.

After a lingering moment, Enzo gently pulled you up to your feet. Gripping your face with a tenderness that echoed the shared vulnerability, he kissed you again.

"I'll be here for you," he murmured, his words a gentle reassurance. "When you're down, I'll hold you; when you feel like you can't get up, I'll support you. We'll navigate this at your pace, angel. There's no need to rush."

"We've been friends since we were toddlers--how much less rushing can we do?" Giggling against his mouth, you playfully teased, "I just want you, Enz. You've made all the pain in the last few weeks completely irrelevant in a span of an hour...it’s always been you.”

"Then have me, love," he cooed, his fingers entwining with yours. "Whatever you desire, it's yours."

[thegoldencontracts]

The Oddity Of Kindness

Jade finds you quite amusing, really. He can't help but wish to catch you off-guard. And yet, his plans are thrown off by your dastardly schemes of- genuine kindness?

Notes: NGL Jade would actually make a really good Kaguya from love is war but at the same time I like it better when there is no shirogane... Just him doing that stuff and some random person who's incredibly nice (I low-key wanna make this fic a series guys HELP-)

Jade always found you to be quite the peculiar individual. You never displayed the fear characteristically shown around him. Oblivious, perhaps?

Your peculiarity just made you all the more fascinating. Jade couldn't help but wonder how you'd react upon finding out his true nature.

He'd lamented this to Floyd. Floyd had just said he was being "lame". How foolish. Jade was most certainly not being lame, in fact, he was being incredibly cunning in his schemes to catch you off-guard. He was intelligent, analyzing your weaknesses with am effortless prowess rarely seen, and he had a flawless plan.

Really, it would be so amusing to toy with you a tad. After all, what could you possibly do against him?

"You're blushing, Jade," Azul had commented idly as Jade left to meet you at the botanical gardens, where you went every Saturday morning to pick strawberries. Somehow, Trey let you pick them without charging anything like he had with Jade. You must've been a genius of wit to make that happen.

"Perhaps you require an eye-exam, Azul," Jade said with a laugh. Honestly, what sort of lovesick fool did Azul think he was? Blushing like some schoolgirl meeting their crush! "Your glasses clearly aren't high enough in power. Would you like me to schedule an appointment for you?"

Azul merely rolled his eyes.

"You would do well to get yourself an eye exam," he said, waving Jade off with a shoo. Whatever. Azul simply failed to comprehend Jade's plan. Really, most people would. It was so dastardly Jade couldn't help but feel a bit bad at his own cold-hearted nature.

He was going to fluster you. That was the end goal. He'd already laid out a step-by-step process, along with backup-plans for your every counter.

The first step was to enter the greenhouse. He'd just done that. The second was to walk over to where you were. Closer, closer, taking in the slight scent of petrichor, the fresh, ruby-red strawberries that surrounded you, until...

"Ah, Jade!" You jumped up at the sight of him, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly upon facing him. "Sorry. Didn't see you there."

He smiled, making sure to keep his mouth closed. It made him seem polite, but slightly unnerving due to the way the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Phase one of his plan - to catch you off-guard and leave you at a disadvantage - was a success. It was time for phase two.

"Don't worry," he said. "I completely understand. Regardless, I'm rather curious as to what you're doing. You show up at the garden rather often at this exact time, you see."

He'd just combined steps three and four into one. He'd both unnerved you a bit more by implying that he'd observed your habits and made for a smooth transition to bringing up why he came to the botanical gardens.

"Oh, I'm just here to pick some strawberries for Trey!" So you picked those as a favor to him. That explained why Trey never attempted to seek payment. "He's pretty swamped in Heartslabyul most days, so I like to deliver the strawberries to him."

So you were kind, yes, but that was nothing but old news. More importantly, why weren't you unnerved by the fact that Jade seemed to know you well?

"What about you?" You asked. "I can't name a time, but I know you come here pretty often too. Mind sharing why?"

So, it'd finally come to this. Jade could already picture the sight of you caught off-guard. It would be so tantalizing- amusing. It would be amusing. Not tantalizing, and certainly not something to savor.

"You truly wish to know? It might frighten you," he said, with that typical, unnerving grin of his. But you didn't even bat an eye. How peculiar.

"Yeah, sure!" You said.

His plan was coming to an amusing fruition. Jade knew his eyes were sparkling as he started his ramble.

"I have a love for mushrooms," he said. "The beautiful, often poisonous things. I come here to grow them. I cultivate them ad best as I can, you know. Some fungi can't be grown here. Those tend to be more poisonous. The fun ones. And then, after a long time, the mushrooms are ready for cultivation. The ones that seem edible get fed to others. And yet, they must complain. I still remember the ghost chef who kept insisting it was rude to feed others mushrooms that freeze the tomgue. How odd, no? It was merely a bit of fun."

Silence ensued, with you keeping your hand clasped firmly over your mouth. Jade grinned. He'd done it. To think, you were so easily frightened. How amusing.

But then, you burst into laughter.

"What seems to be the matter?" He said. This wasn't what he expected to happen. Most people were dying to run away, yet paralyzed in fear.

"I- hah, sorry," you said, wheezing in attempts to catch your breath. "You're just so cute when you talk about your mushrooms. And then you were looking at me at the end like you were expecting something, and I just couldn't help it!"

At his reaction, you seemed to come to a realization.

"Did you actually think that'd scare me?" Here it was. You'd show your less kind side to mock him.

But then, your expression seemed to somber for a bit, before you puffed yourself up in an act of resoluteness.

"All those people who tell you it's weird are wrong!" You said, seeming awfully indignant. "You're cute when you get all excited and your eyes sparkle, a-and I loved learning more about your cultivation process. The information's a bonus, not something to put up with!"

You thought he was- cute? T-That wasn't true at all! Jade wasn't cute, he was a predator, and he was cold and cunning in a way that had brought fear upon others! Even as a child, he'd been feared by the high-profile clients Father had him hunt.

So how could you of all people think he was cute? This was utterly absurd. No one thought he was cute, especially not when he talked about mushrooms!

His mouth went dry. His face felt so hot it felt like it would combust any second. What was he to do? He'd never thought this would happen!

"You okay, Jade? Your face is really red," you said. Somehow, you seemed nothing but concerned. There wasn't an ounce of malice in your eyes, and he didn't understand that. Why? Weren't you going to attempt to take advantage of this rare moment of weakness? To garner a favor?

"I- must leave," he said, swallowing rapidly in hopes of overcoming the knot that seemed to form in his throat. "Until next time. This was a pleasure."

"Yeah, I was really nice getting to know you better!" You said. "And don't feel bad about how red your face is! I think it's super cute! But, since it probably means you're sick, rest up, okay?"

What sort of dastardly trick was this? You couldn't possibly be so well-intentioned. So caring, so concerned, over him? It was incomprehensible.

A retreat. He had to stage a retreat. This was too much.

"Hey, Jade!" Said Floyd, right as Jade had strained the illusion of safety. "You're so red right now? 'Rest up, okay'?"

Floyd had- heard everything?

"You'd beat be quiet, dear brother," he said. His voice cracked. Jade's voice never cracked! That simply wasn't something that happened.

"No, no, Floyd is right," said none other than Azul, approaching Jade from the other direction. He was trapped. "What happened to you? Perhaps your little crush managed to turn the tables on you?"

There was nothing to speculate for either of them. They'd seen it all go down. But Jade had to put an end to this somehow.

"It would be a shame if I were to tell everyone about both of your more embarrassing moments, now wouldn't it?" That wasn't nearly as subtle as Jade would've liked. But it did the trick, and got both Azul and Floyd to quit revelling in his suffering.

"Why must you be this way?"

"Boo. Killjoy."

Jade couldn't help but let out a small laugh at their comments as he pulled himself together.

"Regardless, the Prefect truly is a fascinating character," he said. You really were quite the odd one, weren't you?

Change of plans. He didn't want to fluster you anymore. No.

Now, he was going to woo you.

[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.

[randomfoggytiger]

I’ve been an x files fan for years now (since 2008ish) but fan fic has never been my thing. If I wanted to give it another go, what writers or pieces of fic would be a good place for me to start? Thanks! 😊

What a dream request, thank you!

Not much of a fic reader? Hm. I drifted to fanfiction because I wanted a canonical hole plugged in; but it sounds like you're looking for quality.

I'm narrowing these suggestions to long-form fics, and going to try to keep them as "fandom approved" as possible. (I'm also cutting back on the "famfic" recs because that's not everyone's cup of tea~.)

Authors whose works could (one could argue, should) be published as novels, in no particular order:

@amplifyme/Lydia Bower, @aloysiavirgata, @slippinmickeys,

@cecilysass, @teethnbone, @dreamingofscully, @sixhours,

@mashnotesofthemythopoeic/Penumbra, @sigritandtheelves/Darla,

@onpaperfirst, @melforbes, @ghostbustermelanieking/skuls,

Jenna Tooms, @seek-its-opposite, @settle-down-frohike,

@frostbitepandaaaaa, @leiascully, @darwin-xf, Beshter,

@scenes-in-between/scullywolf, @scullylikesscience

Here's a brief rundown on each author, to the best of my abilities:

amplifyme

My mother's embraces are frightening in their intensity, and I can feel her fear as though it seeps from her pores. Mulder's arms hold me easily but fully. And there is a calming effect in his touch. He restores me to myself, makes me strong again. I wish I had taken the chance and discovered that years ago.

-Dance Without Sleeping

One of the OGs. Her writing explores the paths of Mulder's and Scully's minds. The Scully in her stories is pragmatic, matter-of-fact, and protective of her secrets. The Mulder in her stories is tender, predictably mercurial, and secretive, as well. The most direct admittance can be the most damaging, and the most healing. Her longest work is, I believe, Dance Without Sleeping; but my favorite, though short, happens to be Light Don't Sleep. Her Ao3 is here.

aloysiavirgata

“That’s a fair question, Senator,” Scully observes in her liquid nitrogen voice. She leans forward in her seat, just a little, just enough, to remind him that predators have eyes at the front of their heads. Scully crosses her legs and gives the Senator the full force of her blue eyes, the hard angles of her good cheekbones.  

She is magnificent, Mulder thinks, smitten. She is Themis, she is Ma’at. One day she will devour the hearts of the unrighteous, his own included.

-Singing of Mount Abora

One of the OGs. She treads the line between poetry and prose so seamlessly you are left, baffled, by her intelligence. Her writing features Mulder and Scully with a little bite: neither are fools, and neither will be trifled with. (They're also wickedly intelligent nerds.) Mulder is Jewish (though that rarely comes up) and was married before (though that only comes up when it comes up.) Canon halts in Season 7, but that doesn't stop her from writing Season 9 masterpieces with Mulder and Scully and their son-- which is where I'd recommend you begin, with By Falling In and In. If that's not your cup of tea, I'd say catch up on her canon divergent Waters of Babylon, Petrichor, and Singing of Mount Abora. Her Ao3 is here.

slippingmickeys

The boy winced and inhaled sharply as her fingers ran over the cleft where the fibula met the talus and she rocked back on her heels, eyeing the darkening horizon. Did he have people nearby? Could she leave him here without guilt? She didn’t really have the time or inclination to take on a project — she and Mulder had tried that before — banding together with other survivors, and it had always ended poorly. And boys his age, as few as she had seen, made her uncomfortable. Her subconscious would scan their features, looking for a genetic echo of the Scully-Mulder’s. Mulder would have to pull her aside and whisper “it’s not him,” and she didn’t have the space in her heart for the guilt. Even now she had to ignore the blue of his eyes and the way his gritted teeth had the same gnathic slant as the only man she’d ever loved.

-North of Zero

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are practical, capable, sleek survivors. Her writing exists somewhere between the clack of a gun slide and the omnipresence scent of a wild pine forest. She's written extensively on... everything: Colonization, space, POL, case files, mytharc, everything; and well. I'd recommend North of Zero for a starter. Her Ao3 is here.

cecilysass

It’s Mulder, she reminds herself. No matter how long you may have been gone, or what has happened in your absence, you know what to expect from Mulder.

At last he shuffles through the door, and it’s him, definitely him: head bent, looking weary and wilted. He turns to lock the door again, evidently not paying very much attention to his surroundings.

Her heart constricts. “Mulder,” she voices softly.

She can see his whole body go still from behind, but he doesn’t look right away. His back remains to her.

-Pause

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are weighed by secrets, by their unspoken. Her writing dwells in the silences; and the tones of her work shift depending on the narrative: insular and psychologically exploratory, fast-paced and bitterly overwhelming, slow and unspooling and peaceful-- but always with a bittersweet aftertaste. I would do a disservice if I didn't recommend A Boy on the Beach first; but my personal favorite is Pause (and All the Dead Mulders and Not Orpheus, Not Eurydice.) Her Ao3 is here.

darwin_xf

Mulder. Her genius. Who happened also to be her blithering idiot. A fresh swell of affection overtook her. This is how it was for her, even just talking to him. One minute she was standing in the shallows enjoying or enduring or surviving a day at the beach, whichever kind of day it was. The next she'd find herself walloped and rolled by the rogue wave of her feelings for him. Then she was surfacing, sputtering, salt-blind, struggling to find the steady line of the horizon.

-Vox Mulder: Fired and Wired

One of the OGs. Darwin's writing is clipped and "action" focused. Her Mulder and Scully are fond and quippy and silently torturing themselves with their own repressions or secrets. Vox Mulder: Fired and Wired covers the IVF arc concurrent with Mulder's (secret) brain disease diagnosis; and her notes tearing into canon's handling of the latter arc are incredibly detailed, incredibly satisfying, and incredibly hilarious. Her Ao3 is here.

dreamingofscully

They searched, staying together with Scully’s single flashlight. As she suspected, they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. The cellar was devoid of sound and light, not a single rat or insect scurrying about. No more traces of the unknown substance.

They followed the trail of viscous fluid back to their room. Their adrenaline-fueled trek left her exhausted, and she was hopeful she would be able to sleep for a few more hours before dawn. Not even her fear could break through the cottony haze that clouded her mind. Collapsing on the bed, Mulder pulled off her slippers. 

-Surely, to the sea

One of the OGs. Her writing is practical and pleading-- the veneer that Mulder and Scully front, and the truth. Her Scully has teeth but prefers silence and distance. Her Mulder stubbornly walks the thin line between opening his partner up or closing her back together tighter. Trust-- in each other, in themselves-- can be broken and mended with the right words, the right meaning. I recommend starting with Surely, to the Sea (and my favorite short fic is this one.) Her Ao3 is here.

Frostbite Panda

“I make you a whole person,” she whispers. The slam of sudden memory is heady, destabilizing, threatening to spin her clean from reality. 

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, a sound escaping him that she cannot identify. Truth be told, he looks a bit ridiculous— wrapped in a green sleeping bag looking like a dormant pupa, not the wrecked and ruined man he was. 

-Four Days on the 63rd Parallel

One of the OGs (I believe.) Her writing is grand and touching, a microcosm of the macro effects Mulder and Scully face alongside, and with, each other. Her Scully is reluctant, doubting Mulder's beliefs but trusting him; and her Mulder is courageous and wallowing, afraid to try for fear of rejection. Four Days on the 63rd Parallel (and its follow-up In a Perfect World) explores what would have happened if Mulder and Scully had been trapped in Antarctica, in a snocat, alone, until help arrived. Her Ao3 is here, and requires you to be logged in.

Jenna Tooms

Then there's the matter of Mulder and his reaction to scissors and the razor. When he was first released from the hospital I took him to his old barber. He made it into a seat, and even let the barber tie the cloth around his neck. At the first flash of the scissors, though, he was up and out so fast for a moment I only stood in the waiting area dumbfounded, the baby in my arms.

He will, however, let me cut his hair and trim his beard--which he grew to cover his facial scars. I let him keep it as long as he lets me keep it neat.

-An Acceptable Level of Happiness

One of the OGs (if I recall.) Her writing is just north of canon, veering off to give us better, brighter spots to land Mulder and Scully. Her Mulder and Scully are soft, seemingly delicate with a touch of steel underneath. They've taken a beating, have internalized that beating, and are being supported wholeheartedly by the other person in their partnership. If you want canon-ish, I'd recommend An Acceptable Level of Happiness; if you want mytharc-ish further down the timeline, I'd suggest Truly, Madly, Deeply, and if you want canon veered off from and returned to-ish after Requiem (16 years later), then I'd strongly lobby for Shooting Star. Her Ao3 requires a log-in, here; but Jenna's works are also on Gossamer (here).

leiascully

“Did you see this?”

She blinked at the screen of Mulder’s phone and gently pushed his wrist until it was at a distance she could focus on. Technology changed but Mulder didn’t. She couldn’t count the near misses with magazines and file folders, the threat of papercuts across her cheeks.

“Ford isn’t going to make Tauruses anymore,” he told her before she’d had a chance to actually read the headline. That was also standard procedure. Mulder was a scrolling marquee of odd headlines and interesting trivia. He was the original clickbait, drawing her in with his promises to change her world and alter her perception.

-Taurus Season

One of the OGs. leiascully's prose captures the essence and magic of ordinary things. Her Scully is secretly a wanderer, her Mulder an errant domestic. There is reciprocity in their strengths and weaknesses; and the world is always more beautifully strange together. I recommend her Visitor series, which rewrites Revival canon along necessary lines. Her Ao3 is here, and requires a log-in.

Penumbra

They slipped among the dumpsters at the back of the building and into the empty quivering night, jaywalking the shadows up the hill streets, ringing the manhole covers. False planetary lights floated about in the foggy sky. Scully opened her fawn umbrella. Mulder glanced often behind them, his fingers pressed into the suspension muscles of her hard young back.

-Bad Radio

One of the OGs. Her Scully is strong and silent and will not be swayed; her Mulder is withdrawn and foreboding. Her most infamous work is Heuvelmans' On the Tracks, but I know her better through this post Gethsemane cancer arc fic: its darkness, its inevitability, its immovable-object-meets-unstoppable-force. Her Ao3 is here.

Prufrock's Love

"He says a horse bit him," Duana translated for her mother. Duana stripped off Lord William's tunic and ruined shirt to reveal the wound. "He damages more clothing..."

Lord William stooped to show Caithrin the twin rows of tooth marks on his left shoulder, still telling his woeful tale....

Not sure what was expected of her and thoroughly intimidated, Caithrin did as she would with her own sons. She made the sympathetic face and clucked over him like a mother hen. Lord William, pacified, settled down on the stool by the fire to let Duana doctor him.

-Hiraeth

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are messed up, secrets upon secrets, love and miscommunication and chaos towards each other and themselves. Prufrock's prose and dry wit can't be denied; and she's most notably known for Belghor's Prime, a Mulder time-traveling story, and Paracelsus, a Civil War fic that loosely locks into her sprawling, transformative "past lives" series. I, personally, prefer Hiraeth, because the Mulder and Scully I read there aligns (mostly) with my interpretation of canon. Her Ao3 is here.

onpaperfirst

The chip was round and under a microscope the texture looked like fish scales. 

The procedure was over in ten minutes. Three tiny stitches at the back of her neck with a gauze pad taped on top. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

-Snakebitten

One of the OGs (if I recall.) Her Mulder and Scully are inherently bound, even if the plot has driven a wedge between them. They speak the same language with different words, they work back to each other with lightning speed, they are chummy, they are contented. Their humor is fantastic. Her longest, angstiest work is Snakebitten, a rewrite leading up to The Pine Bluff Variant; but my personal ones are (surprise, surprise) her "part one" and "part two" short fics, Home, Home and Honey Hi. Her Ao3 is here.

seek_its_opposite

She leaves her rumpled partner in the car with the window cracked while she goes to the front desk, glancing back possessively over her shoulder as the woman behind the counter gets their keys. One room, two beds. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Mulder.”

She keeps seeing him like she found him, on his knees before the ghosts of his childhood. She sees him praying to the barrel of his gun.

-photosensitivity

One of the OGs (I think?) She writes incredible meta on the series; but she's also written one of my favorite short fics, ever (and I have a lot of those.) You can navigate to the rest of her Ao3 through this link, but you'll have to get through photosensitivity first. >:DDD

settle-down-frohike

“I’m fine, Scully,” indignantly going back to the task at hand. And she’d have believed him too, if he wasn’t looking through her, if his pitch hadn’t been a little too high, if he hadn’t forgotten the fact that her shoes were the very last thing to put on and she wasn’t even out of her hospital gown yet. She allowed it out of pity, mostly. Or humor. But his hands shook, fumbling with the laces like a feening alcoholic.

-for the WIP prompt: hospital

One of the OGs. She writes distraught Mulder incredibly well; and balances him with a Scully who is dry, caring, and bouyant all in one breath. I can't rave enough about her short fics (their links can be found here); but I'd recommend this and this and this because they tie together to form a Redux II whole. Her Ao3 is here.

sigritandtheelves

The world is different now, after so much has been lost. It moves a little slower, takes for granted a little less. It is still a dangerous place—because fear is catching and learning that things are not as they seem can make some go mad with denial and rage and terror at the loss of their footing. But it is also more peaceful, in some ways—because loss reminds us to hold love close. Because all the hearts that stopped beating are still felt in their absence. Because people, in the end, come together in crisis. They don’t only tear each other apart.

“I think we did okay,” he murmurs. “With our quarter century.”

Scully leans her head back to look at him. “Just okay?”

“Mm hmm.”

-Advent

One of the OGs. Her writing is pure sensation: cotton and earth and jeans and nine o'clock shadows and soft skin and the tangible grasp of wishes come true. Advent is her longest fic; but I implore you, on my hands and knees, to read all four of her pages on Ao3-- they're not only the gateway drug to other incredible, incredible short fic writers (ghostbustermelanieking, @baronessblixen, @o6666666, all the authors mentioned here, and so many, many more) but are also a shining example of family fic done well-- a very hard skill to pull off. Her Ao3 is here.

sixhours

Back to sleep. Sleep. No big deal. Just go to sleep.

A minute passes, then two. He’s not tired, in fact, he feels incredibly awake. His heart is pounding, a distracting pulse in his ears. The bed is too soft, too deep, too…real. He can hear her breathing next to him, feel the warmth radiating off her body, his senses screaming at the level of detail, the texture, the vividness of it all. Instinct is a dog with a bone, and it won’t let go.

Something’s wrong.

-Lucidity

One of the OGs. Her writing clips along at an even pace, the story driving Mulder and Scully ever forward. Mulder is most often on the outs, Scully most often peering at her partner silently, trying to figure him out and draw him in. But mostly, the two function independently of each other, content to drift further or nearer as long as they are together. I would recommend Lucidity as a primer. Her Ao3 is here.

touchstoneaf

He did not soften, at first.  Did not edge away, nor did he lean into her.  Much like that awful night when their office had burnt he simply stood cold with shock and while she supported him; the steadfast fidelity of their bond never questioned in the decade that they had been together.

“I was there,” she murmured into his shoulder.  /I’ll always be here./  He could accept it now.  She was finally able to press her arms about him in the night.  Feel the strong bones beneath unblemished flesh; amazed that he was even alive for her to hold after an ordeal that had indeed taken him from her for so long that she had lost all hope.  She shuddered and cinched her arms tighter; felt his ribs shift beneath the silky envelope of his skin.  They creaked in protest, but he did not move, and she spoke like one driven. 

-Amor Fati: Destinata (The Fated Love), Act Three

One of the OGs. So OG, in fact, that the butchery of Season 9's mytharc pushed her to write a mythology replacement. Scully is fearful, anxious, but strong to her core. Mulder is lonely, and loving, and afraid to slip back into dark places. Both push each other to become better than they believed they could be. Her Amor Fati, Destinata (The Fated Love) series is still being written; but it's detailed reconstruction is well-worth the read. Her Ao3 is here.

I separated these two authors out because they're the x and y axes of my personal taste:

melforbes

She falls asleep before him. In some ways, it’s a burden to share a bed with someone, not a pleasure; if he moves, he fears he’ll wake her, but it’s horrible to stay so still for so long, especially when he can’t sleep. But he can see her eyelashes in the dark, and her cheek is squashed against her own pillow, and she checked the room when they arrived to make sure that there were plenty of tissues. Had there been a couch here, even a divan, he would’ve taken to that instead, let her sleep soundly without him. The day of the wedding - he almost tenses at the word wedding, not because he dislikes it but because it feels so strange and unreal, as if it never really happened even though he remembers it so easily and comfortably - they had a makeshift reception in her apartment, just cutting cake with her mother and then sharing slices with the Gunmen after her mother left. If anything, it felt more like a funeral than a wedding reception, so many questions tiptoed around, everything too urgent and human to be a celebration, but between guests, she grabbed part of her slice with her bare fingers and pressed the cake against his face unexpectedly, and he looked at her with surprise, and she laughed in an inward way that made her shoulders move. 

-seaglass blue

One of the OGs (I believe.) I have to start here because seaglass blue is grafted onto my heart. Set before Gethsemane, the author based it on a real couple's journey with impending death; and the way she wrote Mulder's POV-- how she kept us always locked in his head each and every day of his honeymoon with Scully-- is forever burned on my psyche. I don't see the emotional damage, if you will, as unnecessary or melodramatic or traumatic-- it's just a window into the slow approach to the end, or a fear of it. (However, if the writing is too "overlapping" or "run-on" for your taste, I'd recommend aloysiavirgata's gorgeously succinct prose, mentioned above~.) All of her works are fantastic; and, oddly, the rest are usually beautifully cozy (if you can find them on her page.) (Note: authors with their own uniquely similar styles include @teethnbone and @enigmaticdrblockhead -- can't recommend their work enough, particularly The Ansted Graft and this list here, respectively.) mel's Ao3 is here.

skuls

They follow Mulder's trail, Scully's heart thudding too hard against her ribs. Skinner is telling her that Mulder wouldn't do anything crazy when it comes, the headache. Pounding against her skull. And then she hears Will crying out: Dad!

Scully bends over, stomach against her knees, clutching her temple. “Scully?” Skinner is saying. “Scully, what's going on?” But she can't hear him over the roaring in her eyes. William is still speaking, rapid-fire in her mind: They're hurting him, Mom, they're hurting him! Make them stop!

In a flash, she can see what William sees. Mulder barely conscious, being dragged outside through the snow. An axe in the hand of his attacker. “Scully, are you alright?” Skinner protests.

-silent conversations

One of the new recruits (I think.) Her writing is an art form: painting broad, sweeping pictures on the tiniest canvases, in the shortest sentences. Her descriptions, characterizations, and dialogue all serve the plot-- not a hair out of place and not a nook or cranny neglected. I will never be over her short fics, but her longer works are crafted carefully, too. If you want a complete rewrite of the entire series' mythology, then the Half-Light universe does it, and does it better; if you want a Season 8 casefile, then snow in april manipulates Mulder and Scully to a very sinister town; if you want Season 7 to properly deal with Mulder's brain disease, encephalon's got you covered; if you want William to stay with Mulder and Scully, William AU (relent, silent conversations, noises echoing, not out loud) bends in that direction; and if you want a complete rewrite of Samantha's abduction, california winter is where I'd start. Her Ao3 is here.

And lastly, do you want to read long-form fill in series? These three are masterfully done.

Beshter

There were few things in the world that Dana Scully could imagine were more arduous in her the world than family dinner night. Perhaps climbing Mt. Everest in the middle of a howling blizzard would be one. Maybe crawling out of the Amazon rainforest with a broken limb would be another. Even walking single-handedly into the desert with just one canteen of water between you and horrible death under the scorching sun could trump the monthly gathering of the Scully clan at her parent's house in Baltimore to have dinner with her parents.

One of the OGs. Her X-files Seasons covers every crack, crevice, and canyon in the show: Scully's life and family separate from Mulder, the journey drawing her closer into Mulder's world, and her own transformation from the green agent she was to the woman of diamond she became. Her Ao3 is here.

scullylikesscience

Over the course of the weekend, Mulder hardly talked at all. When he did speak, he was abrupt, flippant, and sometimes defensive. He still didn’t want to be touched, nor did it seem to Scully that he wanted to touch her. He kept a wall up around him, a protective shield. She tried to give him what she thought he wanted, space and distance, while at the same time trying to let him know that she was there if he needed her. It was a difficult balance. He seemed glad of her company, yet disinclined to talk to her at all.

-Chapter 87

One of the OGs. Her He is the Master of His Fate, She is the Captain of Her Soul series exquisitely fills in Season 7, Season 8, Season 9, IWTB, Season 10, and S11 while filing over and rewriting the incredibly stupid canon decisions along the way. Her Ao3 is here.

scullywolf

Mulder stirred again and mumbled something she couldn’t make out, and she wasn’t sure if he was talking in his sleep or actually trying to tell her something. She leaned over to put her face closer to his, listening.

“They’re not the same.”

She frowned. “What’s not?”

He shifted, blinking up at her. “Moth men. You might think they’re the same as the Jersey Devil, and the circumstances are similar, but they’re not the same.”

“You mean aside from the fact that this is Florida, not New Jersey?”

-Detour

One of the OGs (I believe.) Her TXF: Scenes in Between series plucks one moment from each episode and builds upon it, providing a window into either Mulder's or Scully's psyches. She even tackles Mulder's (alleged) Season 7 brain disease. Her Ao3 is here.

If you want more fic recs, I have lists catalogued under my Collector's Edition tag. If you want even more fic recs, I wrote a fanfic resource post here. And if those aren't enough to appease your hunger, @lilydalexf and @fine-nephrit have pinned master posts that will probably have something for you.

Hope this helped~! And drop back in sometime-- let me know if you read something you enjoyed, or found fanfic still isn't your preference. :DDDD

[stellayuta]

Megumi Fushiguro is pretty like the moss blooming between cracks, accompanying the petrichor after it rains

Geto Suguru is pretty like the pools that form after a high tide, housing trapped sea life in a cage of green sea water and rocks

Yuuji Itadori is pretty like the pink and white shells and coral decorating the sand on a sunny beach day

Nanami Kento is pretty like the shimmering city lights you see from the highway on a late night drive

Yuuta Okkotsu is pretty like the full moon that plays hide and seek with the clouds on a quiet night with owls hooting away in the distance

Gojo Satoru is pretty like the snowflakes that fall onto and tickle your nose as you hug your red scarf closer to your heart and smile

[cherri-cola-soda]

(Cherri had always like storms, even as a kid in the city. He loved curling up somewhere cozy when the dust started blowing, he loved the scent of petrichor in the desert as he let the rain soak him to the bone. It was the only cold he didn’t mind, one they’d seek out until Pony dragged him back inside to get dried off and warmed up before he went all Polaroid.

But Cherri’s favorite thing had always been the lightning. He loved the rush of awe as he stared up at the raw power arcing through the air. It was beautiful, lighting the sky with bursts of light that you never saw anywhere else. Sometimes he wondered if that was because nobody else saw the colors in the lighting, or felt the static in the thunder, if that was why nobody else talked about it. He wasn’t sure, and right now, they didn’t care.

Right now, Cherri Cola stared up at the sky, grinning at the bright colors in the dark clouds as he held Kobra’s hand. It wasn’t raining, but it was cooler out and dark as holy energy spun in the air all around.

Cherri Cola is a part of the universe, not apart from it)

@k0bra-k1d

[strawbeerossi]

Chasing Rainbows

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever Spencer and his wife face the unimaginable, they grow apart and their marriage takes a nosedive. It isn’t until a few weeks go by that something remarkable brings them together again.

Content Warning: Infant death due to SIDS, different grieving processes, Spencer works like 24/7 and does everything to avoid his wife, reader can’t bare to look at Spencer, there are talks of faith, reader believes in signs from the universe, Spencer and reader do their best to come together again and mend what was broken.

Word Count: 1.8K

Part two

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A beautiful friend @lucreziaq2001 requested this via DMs and I had to write it for them. Please pay attention to the warnings because this will be very heavy on angst with fluff towards the end. 🫶🏻

Three weeks, two days, seven hours, eleven minutes and forty-five seconds. 

That was how long it had been since Noah died. A once happy and smiley nine month old little boy taken from his parents from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. 

It was nothing new that the word was unfair and unforgiving, taking away innocent children from the arms of their parents in a number of different ways. Spencer had seen it before given his line of work.

Whether it be a person who kidnaps children to do unspeakable things, parents or siblings who snap at the people who couldn’t fight back, or the cruelest thing of all; nature. 

There wasn’t a day in his life where he thought that he would be in the position of so many parents that he had to comfort before. He couldn’t seek closure, instead having to bear with the weight of the world weighing heavy on his chest. 

It didn’t help that his wife, Y/N, was nothing but a hollow husk of who she used to be. There was no smile on her face anymore, she didn’t sleep in their shared bed, she couldn’t eat or much less face Spencer. She was quiet, voice barely above a whisper when she did speak, that was rare.

Grief was different for every party involved. While she was quiet and resorted to shutting down, Spencer was pouring himself into his job. He stayed as late as he possibly could at the office, sometimes just needing to pour himself into an old case that he’d work on in his own time. Emily tried her best to send him home, telling him that he needed his wife, that they needed to comfort one another. 

His argument was always the same, that he would deal with his grief on his own time, truly tired of being told that he needed to be there for Y/N when she wasn’t even there for him. She barely spoke to him, didn’t look at him, she was never present in conversations. 

She shut down on him and he was shutting her out. 

Today was no different than all the others, they woke up and exited their now separate bedrooms. They shared a silent breakfast, Y/N offering a hushed ‘goodbye’ as her now estranged husband was leaving their once warm, comfortable home.

When he left for the day, that was when she was escaping the home that was filled with too many painful memories, nor could she stomach the fact that she wasn’t supposed to be there by herself. 

Noah should’ve been there, making a mess with his breakfast all while being the smiley and baby he was. 

There was silence while she was getting dressed for the day, grabbing her keys and purse before exiting the home. She made sure to lock up, taking in a soft breath. It rained the night before, so the smell of the damp soil filled her nose. Her husband told her years ago that it was called Petrichor, when she told him that the smell comforted her.. 

“Petrichor is the more earthy smell after rain. Did you know that a main component of it is an organic compound called geosmin, which lingers around moist soil. Geosmin comes from the ancient Greek “geo”, meaning earth, and “osme”, meaning smell.” 

It rained the day that Noah died, she could vividly remember hearing the thunder boom outside as she was sitting and talking to the doctor as she described why their little boy wasn’t breathing. 

Rain wasn’t comforting anymore, instead a dark reminder of the worst night of her life.

With her sneakers making splashes out of puddles as she was walking out of her home and up the sidewalk, her eyes were glancing up at the sky. 

It was gloomy, clouds hovering over their town which meant more rain was in store at some point. It was fitting, the bleakness that clouded her life was being transported to the weather. 

As she began her walk around the neighborhood, she was keeping her gaze down. Their neighbors looked at Spencer and Y/N with pity, making sure to stop them and express their condolences or that they were praying for their broken family. 

The thoughts of prayer healing her was insulting. She’d begun to think that if there was a greater deity or higher power out there, she wouldn’t be feeling this pain in the first place. 

They say things happen for a reason and that they make people stronger, however this situation had no positive ending. Instead of being happy with a perfect family, they were all torn apart from one event that ruined both parents forever. 

However, she tried to maintain some form of faith. 

“If things are going to be okay, please just.. Send me a sign.” Y/N had to choke the words out through tears that were already filling her eyes. “Show me that he’s at least.. Okay up there. Is that too much to ask?” 

She knew there was a strong chance that she was speaking to nothing, the words getting lost in the autumn air. Spencer would probably tell her that nobody could hear her, that signs like that just weren’t physically possible. 

At one point, she would’ve told him that he was wrong, that the universe spoke to them in more ways than he realized. Now though, she had half a mind to believe it.

“This is stupid.” She spoke softly to herself, using the back of her hand to swipe away her tears before lifting her head. However she could feel her heart twist at the sight she hadn’t been paying attention to.

There was a beautiful rainbow, settled over the houses that weren’t too far ahead. That made a small smile appear on her face, the tears flooding more.

This was a sign, she was sure of it. This was her comfort, the thing that would keep her belief in a world beyond theirs, one where they’d be reunited at some point. There was going to be a day where she did see her little rainbow again. 

The rest of the walk down the sidewalk was filled with silent thoughts of what was going on around her. Noah was okay. Y/N and Spencer, however, were far from it. They’d been neglecting one another in every way possible. 

Spencer was having his own thoughts of their current life together, currently doing a case in Arlington, Virginia. It was a case that hit close to home, a mother and a father losing their only child. They were under very different circumstances but they felt the same heartbreak, the same pain. The difference was, they were by each other's sides. 

There was no pain from behind the father’s eyes because he refused to discuss what was happening to them, the mother wasn’t broken to the point where she couldn’t speak. They held each other, grounded one another. 

That was the importance of talking these things out. They were bonded together, both able to keep their heads up because they were connected. 

That case opened up his mind to what they were doing. Him and Y/N lost one another when they should’ve been connected from the beginning. They didn’t grieve together, instead separately. They didn’t feel grounded, instead like they drifted away in a storm.

Spencer knew what they needed to do and he was going to do what he could to bring them back to one another. Even if it took days, weeks, months, even years.

They weren’t alone.

Six weeks, five days, two hours and ten seconds. 

That was how long it had been with Spencer doing everything he possibly could. He didn’t stay at the office late anymore, instead bringing home Y/N’s favorite flowers to surprise her, getting her small gifts from when he had to leave the state, even buying them dinner on Fridays from their favorite Chinese takeout place.

The smile on Y/N’s face was slowly coming back, she could look Spencer in the eye now and hold a conversation. They were moving slowly, adjusting to this new life they were navigating together.

They were currently sitting at the dining room table, the two eating dinner in a more content silence rather than the tense one they faced before. “I saw another rainbow today.” The soft tone of Spencer’s voice had Y/N slowly peeking up from the noodles in her takeout box. 

“Really?” She asked, sitting up a little straighter. “The card you got me with my roses had a rainbow on it too.” She spoke softly, offering a smile. Spencer let his eyebrows raise. “Did it? I didn’t see that when I picked it out. Maybe it’s a sign.” 

Of course Spencer realized it, however, the idea of rainbows being a sign from Noah was slowly growing on him, even if the more logical side of him knew that it wasn’t possible. 

“Yeah.” Y/N’s words were a little louder than the barely audible version that her husband was faced with for weeks. 

“I think he’s proud of us, you know. We’ve been doing really good. I walked further down the street today and I passed by his favorite spot, the one with all the flowers. It felt like he was there, Spencer.”

There was a smile on the man’s face. Even if his brain was trying to argue the scientific reasoning that it was just her brain trying to comfort her, he was fighting those thoughts. It was an inner conflict, his logic and his emotions having a full on war. 

“Because he was there.” The words were genuine, there was no sarcasm or any added thoughts of the theories that it could’ve been.

Dinner had been finished and cleaned up not too long after, the parents standing side by side in the kitchen while they were either wiping down the counter or putting their leftovers in the fridge.

“I’ve missed this.” Spencer said, his gaze falling on his wife as she turned around. “Me too. I’ve missed us.” She admitted, only walking into the open arms of her husband, her forehead against his shoulder. That was when the tears were falling from her eyes, leaving her to a sobbing mess.

That hug was what she needed, Spencer was what she needed. 

Spencer was relishing in the embrace, choked sobs leaving his lips as he felt the relief of the world wash over him. 

Tragedy had the power to ruin lives if someone let it and neither one of them could believe that they almost let it ruin them too. 

“I love you.” The two spoke in sync, tears washing over the significant others as if it was a cleansing rain. 

“And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than look down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow.”  – G. K. Chesterton

[girlsloveupdates]

Petrichor The Series

“In a city where crime and social injustice intertwine, two women from different worlds are forced to collaborate. Lieutenant Tul Techakomol, a strong-willed new police officer by order, finds herself frequently at odds with Dr. Cheran Chantanasathien, a shrewd forensic doctor. At first, their divergent views on work and justice appear to be incompatible. But when shocking crimes begin to reveal the complex webs of power and corruption that engulf the city, they realize that they alone cannot make a difference. Under the pressure of a system that favors the powerful, these two women will have to find common ground and join forces to uncover mysteries that go far beyond old case files. As they delve deeper into investigations that challenge their own beliefs, their mutual trust grows. Together, they not only seek to solve brutal cases, but also fight a rigged system to deliver a modicum of justice in an unfair world. It's not just about solving crimes, it's about changing the system and, in the process, changing themselves. Will Lieutenant Tul and Doctor Cheran be able to overcome their differences and make justice prevail?”

Charlotte as forensic doctor Dr. Cheran Chantanasathien and Engfa as Lieutenant Tul Techakomol.

Filming begins July 12th. 👩🏻‍⚕️👮🏻‍♀️

[qhoaaaa]

"Bit, uh, hung... isn't it, Sweetheart?"

Milo/Sweetheart - "One Size Fits All" Poll Winner!

18+ - MINORS DNI

CW: unprotected sex

Milo huffed as he sunk into the couch, body practically going limp against the cushions. The fire crackled in front of him, his mate nowhere to be found. Despite how tired he should be, having gotten back from a long job, he's feeling pretty energized. No wonder gigs always rack in during the winter, being Moonbound and all that. All that energy from the Solstice is still lingering, Milo closes his eyes and tries to lean into the couch, seeking any bit of relaxation. He grumbles when he hears the footsteps of his beloved. Their soft socks sliding against the wood floor, they stop in front of the fireplace and Milo peeks his eyes open. A devious smile creeps on his face as he watches them bend down, eyeing a certain ass, as they open the chain curtains to each side.

His eyes glaze over their body, outlining their thin sweats that catch at their knee, interrupted by the long cloth of their sweater. Though, his senses long to see some of their skin, his eyes don't catch any, much to his chagrin. His smile remains, softening, when they kneel and grab wood with their bare hand. There's another crackle and thud as the log is chucked into the fireplace. A rattle echos as they close the chains again, they check over their hand for splinters and finally stand up. His eyes shut as they turn to look at him.

They try not to notice his moving eyes under his eyelids, chuckling as they say, "Not your best work, Milo."

He groans, "Not my fault you've got such good eyes, Sweetheart."

He straightens himself on the couch, now looking at his mate. They smile at him, then walk to the couch. His hands are immediately on their waist as they sit, thick, warm hands felt through the fabric. He's practically laying on their chest, his hands sliding into a loose hug around them. He presses his cheek against their collarbone, a quick kiss at their skin. He feels their hands rub up and down on his back, resulting in a relaxed hum.

"Welcome home," they say, kissing his forehead as he shuffles even more, getting increasingly comfortable with them around now.

He mumbles from their neck, "Ya smell good," another lazy kiss at their jugular, "M'tired..."

He makes a loud grumble, eyes closed against their skin, breathing slow. He's not asleep, just enjoying their comfort. They hear the intake of air as he tries to defend himself not being tired, but quickly shuts his mouth, pressing his face closer into them. Now that he's relaxed, they finally acknowledge the scene. They observe the melted spots on the floor: snow. His sodden work boots clumsily stacked over each other at the foot of the couch, a wet puddle formed around them, and his embroidered jacket thrown carelessly on the ground, a seemingly makeshift attempt to throw it on the coffee table. Their hands press down on his shirt, of which he squirms at. Its a regular black long-sleeved shirt, with the gold stitches noticeable at the collar, shoulders and wrists. They smell his signature cologne, citrus and pine, now washed off with a hint of petrichor.

Their hands continue to press his sides, he stirs, "What'cha doing, Sweetheart?" They relish in the fact that he doesn't pull away from them, how safe he must feel in their arms. They can't help a smile grow on their face.

"Were you in the snow?"

"As astute as ever, baby."

They snort, fingers moving to tickle him. He grunts, rather dog-like, noises sputtering into a laugh as his Sweetheart mercilessly tickles his sides. His hands blindly reach for their wrists, he stammers quips of surrender. Seconds later, they stop and Milo removes his face from their neck, looking up at them with glossy eyes and a smile that could light up this damn living room if the fire wasn't on. It's a look that speaks a thousand words, of love, admiration, security, any kind of sappiness Milo would usually make fun of. But with Milo, every word is sincere. Every action solidifies that, especially when it comes to his mate.

He chuckles into their kisses as they lean down, lips pressing, teeth biting and eventually the two get lost in each other's kisses. Both of them feel heated, ears burning, touches getting more sensitive with Milo's cold body and his mate's warm embrace - their gasps give away all of that. They didn't expect him to be so reactive tonight, but that would have to be saved for later. Milo draws out a hot sigh from them as his hands reach under their shirt, the cold of his palms making them shiver, either from arousal or temperature, they can't tell. Their body arches into him, Milo feels the curve of their skin bump into his chest, he can't help but let out a delicious groan. Milo reaches up to plant his lips right at the middle of their neck, he feels them swallow as his canines poke into them. Their head is leaned back, eyes dark with need and affection, looking at the ceiling. The room is scarcely aglow with fire, darkness and heat is all they need to drive each other to their limits. And how those limits have been tested before, well, they will be tested again tonight. Their hands grip his waist upon feeling him bite a little harder. They pat his side, he registers this and pulls away, soothing the bite with kisses. They pant as they pull away from each other, regulating their breathing as Sweetheart still pats his shirt.

Milo scoffs, voice high in amusement, "What else are you looking for? I mean if you want me to take off my shirt, just ask me, baby."

Then, they find it. Wet spots all over the front of his shirt and on the hem of his pants. They don't know how they didn't catch it sooner, though his lips are a very good distraction.

They sigh, "What did you do today?" Theres a hint of laughter in their tone, mixed with their confusion of how wet their werewolf is.

"Eh, we had some kinda wedding gig out in the snow. Whatever maniacs decided to get hitched in the cold is beyond me. Hell, I swear I saw a kid ready to hurl a snowball at the groom! And not to mention, Asher was his detail, so I don't know if he would've let the thing fly like Bard with the Black Arrow or what!? Luckily, the little menace saw David and freaked out. But at the afterparty, I was expecting them all to finally get inside the damn venue but no! That same kid got a snowball and threw it at Asher! So, lo and behold, your man is here all wet and freezing because Ash decided to have a wedding-wide snowball fight. Even got the officiant in it too, geez!"

Sweetheart laughs along with Milo, following his story about how someone objected to the wedding because the groom was "too short". Milo snaps back with that his height could be compensating for something else. The two of them swap stories for their day, Sweetheart got home after work and took care of things around the house while waiting for Milo to come home. Upon mention, Aggro is sleeping soundly somewhere around the house. There's the scent of melted candles scattered around as well, Sweetheart figured it would be a long day for Milo with how early he left this morning, so they lit candles to help the ambiance. Milo has always appreciated their care for things, be it a candle or something even more minuscule, they'll do their most to make Milo feel at ease at home, with them. And he's always given his best to return those favors, it's acts of service that make this pair of mates match together so well. It seems like they've been talking for hours when its time to head to bed. Their bed, together. The fire has dimmed to embers at this point, so they leave it to die down. Sweetheart kisses his cheek and moves to get up, mentioning that they're going to clean up before heading to bed.

Milo tries to argue, saying that the pools of melted snow are his mess, but they're already up before he can grab them and pull them into his lap. He has no choice but to watch them walk around the house with a smile on their face, as they grab his boots and jacket, putting them away and getting other objects to clean. Milo looks out the screen door, watching the snow fall. He hears the shuffle of their socks against the floor as they move around. He observes the small mountain of snow outside in their backyard, smirking at it. Maybe he thought of having his own snowball fight with his mate. Him poorly hiding behind one of the heaters as his mate lands a snowball at his shoulder. Him running to them, shoving them into the mountain of snow. And maybe a few kisses after that, who knows? His thoughts grow as the shuffling behind him stops. A crackle of the wood brings him back and he turns around. There they are, his Sweetheart, his mate, standing there with a smile. Its just as warming as a fire, the glow of the fickle flames dancing in their eyes. Milo could melt on the spot, his Core swelling with pride and love. His life changed that day he caught them sneaking into his apartment. It changed for the better once he asked them to be his mate. All these years later and he wouldn't change a thing.

They reach a hand out for him, "Lets go to bed, yeah?"

Sweetheart is waiting for Milo in bed, laying on top of the sheets, reading a book. There's a lamp on their side of the bed, illuminating just enough for them to read. Milo is finishing up brushing his teeth, baring his teeth to eye his canines. He slides his tongue over them, closing his jaw with a satisfied noise. He washes his face and walks into the bedroom, the both of them have already changed for sleep. He eyes Sweetheart, watching their eyes flicker across the page, their eyebrows raise slightly from something from the book. Milo flicks the bathroom light off, approaching the bed. Sweetheart's smile grows as they see him approach from the corner of their eye.

"Hi, handsome."

"What are ya doing?"

"Reading."

"I see that. Thought you were tired?"

They look up at him. The book closes with a small thud and they place it somewhere on the bed, away from them.

With a sly smile, they say, "Moonbound, won't be tired for a while."

"Is that so?" Milo looks down at them, interest in his eyes.

They laugh, "You should know. What do you think happened last Solstice? We made quite a mess of that loft, if I remember correctly."

He rolls his head, "Mmm, yeah, I remember. You, uh, alluding to something, Sweetheart?"

They don't answer, giving a silent laugh as Milo inspects them closely. They're wearing the same sweater as they were earlier. Its loose and knitted, and he can see small openings of the fabric, welcoming his eyes to small windows of their skin. They aren't wearing anything under, just a pair of sleep shorts, his ears flush with heat just at their clothes alone, intention very much noticed. His eyes go up, eyeing their neck and the small pokes he left earlier.

"You gonna look, or are you gonna do something?"

Don't have to tell him twice. Milo slowly walks around the bed and gets on, landing on the space between their legs, pushed up right against their ass. He pushes the book off of the bed, hands creeping up to his mate's loose sweater. His hands go under, feeling their soft skin. They roll their shoulders, smiling at his touch. He feels them roll their hips, and he slides his hands down to their sides. They bark a laugh as he tickles them, rolling their hips even more, rubbing against a certain spot on his crotch. He knows what he's doing. He stops, moving to remove his shirt and tossing it on the floor. He's left in sweats, while his mate has too many clothes on. While taking off his shirt, Milo's chain catches on the cloth and he takes that off. He debates for a quick second, if he should put it on the nightstand or on them. His train of thought is broken when Sweetheart calls his name. He looks at them and reaches over, pressing a kiss to their ear and jaw as he slides the chain onto them. He whispers an "I love you" right in their ear, making them shiver almost instantaneously. Milo plants a hand on the bed, near their shoulder as his mate kisses him softly. They pull back with a smile, of which he replies with knocking his forehead against theirs. He chuckles as he covers their cheek in kisses, then sits back up. He keeps eyeing their sweater, and then gets an idea.

Milo grabs the sweater again, and then drags it over him. It takes him a bit but soon he and his mate are fitted in the same sweater. Sweetheart laughs at the commotion of Milo mumbling to himself at the size of the thing. His shuffling stops and they jump a little when they hear him whisper, "Think you can flip over, baby?" They nod and, although awkward, they flip over onto their back. Seeing their face, Milo kisses them properly, a groan releasing from his throat. Sweetheart grazes their fingers against his cheek as he deepens the kiss. Eyes closing, Milo and Sweetheart adjust their bodies to each other. Milo has his thighs encompassing theirs, perfect for him to grind his growing hard on into them. Their legs are up, hand holding Milo's cheek while the other is held down by one of his hands. His grip isn't hard, but just enough for him to assert how this is going to play out... or so he thought.

When Milo pulls away, he bites their lip quickly, pulling the skin gently. A teasing nip as they pant, eyes glossy as they look all over him. They move their head up, exposing their neck to Milo. He presses a wet kiss right under their ear, trailing down the vein. He can hear their heartbeat with every kiss, and it quickens when he starts to grind into them. He's earned a light gasp, but that's not enough for him. He wants more, to hear more, to make them sweat and moan under him. He sighs in their ear, wanting them to hear how fucked up they get him. How they ruin him, spoil him with their love. The grinding gets intense, deeper and rougher thrusts. He can feel their thighs tense inside his crotch, squeezing right near the thick bulge beneath his briefs and sweats. They're much closer now, skin to skin, arms around each other as Milo's thrusts stutter in pace for a bit. Sighs and gasps now turned into words of affection and moans of desire.

He groans, "Fuck... haah, look what you're doing to me, Sweetheart... Ohh, shit, I gotta stop, I don't wanna-!"

He yelps as Sweetheart somehow manages to flip their position, rolling on the bed until he's under them now. Milo pants as he sees them on top, his cock missing the friction but also enjoying the rush. He closes his thighs, he swears that if there's any more foreplay, he's gonna bust without having actually done anything. That's the affect they have on him, and he savors it like no other. He sees his chain dangle around their neck, licking his lips.

He cracks a smile at them, "What are... what are you gonna do, Detective?" He looks up at them with expectation, their mate bond flourishing in heat as they say, "Inspect every inch of you, with my hands, my tongue, my teeth," they lean into his ear, "I'll see what I can do until you're spent. Are you gonna be good for me, Milo?" He nods vigorously as they pull away, staring down at him with piercing eyes, the same eyes that he's fallen for, the same eyes that make him weak in the knees.

They press an innocent kiss to his nose, they both laugh, his heart beating faster as he watches them move down, kissing all over his chest. He hisses at the feel of the cold chain against his skin, beaming with heat. He lets out a loud gasp when their lips close against a nipple. He tries to look down at them but he can't, the damn sweater blocking that gorgeous view of his mate going down on him. He pants as their tongue swirls around his nipple, whispering their name when they suck on it. A pop sound is heard as they pull away, kissing his pec and then moving on to the other nipple. He squirms under them, getting louder at the feel of their hand trailing fingernails down his torso, abdomen and then over his bulge. He whispers their name over and over, feeling their hand squeeze and start to rub his bulge through his sweats. They remove their mouth from his nipple, both sopping wet with their saliva. Their eyes meet as they rub him, his hands laid back near his head, not even moving as he's overcome with pleasure. Dark eyes, deep with lust reflect onto each other. Without looking, Sweetheart moves their hand under his sweats, pressing their thumb at a wet spot, circling it. He groans louder, eyes not leaving theirs.

He's giving it all to them, leaving his pleasure on display for his mate, like how they've done for him so many times, and he fucking loves it.

He nearly whimpers when they remove their hand, crawling back up to kiss him sloppily. He groans into their mouth, rewarding them with noise. Because they've earned it, they've so fucking earned it. He requests for them to take off his sweats, whispering in need for more than touch, he needs to be inside them. But if they want to be on top, then who is he to deny them. They acknowledge his request, before going down once more. Milo sees their body flicker, then turn fully invisible. He chuckles, delightfully overwhelmed with how they are tonight. He feels the hem of his sweats get pulled and then snap against his thigh, he jolts at the impact and raises his hips. He watches his sweats and briefs get pulled off, so slowly that it makes him ache. He hears echos of their chuckles, as if their voice had been thrown across the room. He sucks through his teeth as his cock, full and erect, is exposed to the chill air. There's a brief pause, he can't see them so he doesn't know what they're doing.

"Are ya teasing me, Sweetheart? Come on, hah, or uh, am I too big for you? Bit, uh, hung... isn't it, Sweetheart?" He stares off at the space where he hopes they're at, but any thoughts of his are dissipated as he feels a warmth swallow his cock.

He groans loudly, feeling himself pulse and throb inside. Fucking finally. He growls as he scarcely sees his cock get wet deeper and deeper, pitch heightening as he feels something wet along the underside. Its their mouth, and their tongue. He feels a vibration coming from their mouth, it just riles him up even more. He feels like he's on fire, but also electric. He manages to slide the sweater off of him, dropping it off the bed and sees his mate in their fully glory. He sees their body come back into view when they deep throat his cock, then fade away again when they bob up. Its like a ripple, he can't help but get lost in his senses. During these flickers, his eyes try to explore any part of skin he can see from them and his need for them heightens when he sees them playing with themself. He feels like he's on the edge now after seeing that.

He muffles a groan as he says, "Swe- wait, Sweetheart, I'm gonna..."

They remove themself from his cock, lapping at the tip before rippling back into view once more. He gapes at their face, saliva around their mouth, pupils blown wide and legs twitching as they continue to play with themself.

"You look so fucking beautiful, baby..." He stammers, taking in everything. Their scent, the messy way they look, the hunger in their eyes.

They huff, catching their breath, "You ready, Milo?" He chuckles, "Fuck yes..."

They come back down for more kisses, they don't even bother to wipe off their saliva. His hungry lips nip at their neck once they're in range, touching their body like its the last thing he'll ever do. Once they're both ready, Sweetheart coos, "I love you." He breaks into a wide smile, "Mmm, I love you too." Milo lays back down and Sweetheart sits up, hovering above his cock, legs around his for support. Milo looks down at his cock, wet and pristine and throbbing for release.

"You... you gonna ride me, Sweetheart? Mmm? Claim me? Claim this wolf as yours?" He huffs, looking expectantly at them.

They place a hand on his chest, above his heart and his fingers grip their wrist, "Yes."

Milo fights to not cum immediately as they lower themself onto him. They keep their hand at his heart, he whispers words of affirmation that they can take him, all of him. Soon, they're all the way at the base. He whispers, "Sweetheart?" They look at him, nodding that they're okay. Milo remarks at their own wetness, which prompts them to use their fingers to play with their own tip. As they bounce on his cock, he notices their legs shaking, they've been denying themself to cum as well. Then, Sweetheart leans forward, using their hips to roughly fuck down on him. Their voice shakes in and out of sound itself, face hovering over Milo's as he witnesses them unravel on top of him, for him. They both aren't going to last much longer.

Milo uses his hips to fuck into his mate, both rewarding the other with noises that could shatter the damn windows. Milo groans louder when a wet smacking sound comes into play, he looks down to see that their on the edge, wetness splayed all over each other's thighs and cores. They move faster, Milo starts huffing and groaning when they both approach their climax. Sweetheart kisses him deeply for the final thrusts, tongue swirling in his mouth, his hands holding them close as their bodies shiver and shake, their throats only echo their noises in each other's heads.

"Thank you for that, Sweetheart. Fucking amazing, every time."

After a few minutes of cooling down, Sweetheart pulls away and removes themself off of his cock. They shudder as his cum spills a little from inside of them. They roll down onto the bed, spent and panting. Milo is the same, he catches his breath and smiles when he hears them start to giggle. He rolls over and cuddles them, holding their waist loosely. His fingers slide over their abdomen, their body twitches at the contact. He spends a few minutes rubbing and touching their body, easing them down from such a performance. They look back at him, happy but also tired, eyes blinking with a smile on their cute face. They shuffle closer to him, protected in his arms. They turn their head to nuzzle into his hair, "Can't even move my legs." Milo chuckles, "Mmm, good thing we don't have anything to do tomorrow then. I'll spend all day pampering you this time, Sweetheart." He presses a kiss to their jaw, hand on their torso, watching it rise and fall as their breathing steadies. He smirks, "What a way to warm up, eh?" They loosely try to hit him, resulting in light laughter and him grabbing their hand to kiss their palm and wrist.

Milo and Sweetheart clean up, with Milo getting up to grab a towel and for any other necessities. When they come back to bed, Milo has his head leaned on their shoulder. They stand right at the bed frame, he cups their face and softly kisses them. They smile at him and tap his chest, telling him to get in bed. They cuddle once more, now cleaned up but still naked in each other's arms. Right before Sweetheart falls asleep, Milo says:

------

Happy Leap Day (released right at 11:59 💀)yall lmaoo 💜😊 hope you enjoy n whatnot

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Idk but i would like a one shot with Ghost and Soap chasing reader around base like them playing hide and seek. It comes off as teasing until reader gets bold and tells them they both wouldn't be able to find them around base if they could.

Ghost and soap immediately don't miss a chance and exchanging a look they turn to reader saying

"one hour"

"what one hour?"

"we will count to ten for you to hide for an hour. Simple rules. You win you prove a point, but if we find you.."

"then what?"

"..you will find out"

Your throat’s ragged from running around so much, your nose all stuffed up with the overwhelming scent of petrichor and mushy autumn leaves, but even still you run. You run from the flashes in the corner of your vision, ones you can neither swear are definitely there or possibly figments of your imagination. They keep you light on your feet and sure-footed, even through the sodden grass. 

Ghost and Soap hadn’t got round to enlightening you on what would happen if they found you, but your heart pounded from the thrill of it. The idea that whatever was coming was only going to be dished out tenfold if they made it in time. It had you practically gliding round corners and kept you entertained when you took a notion to ducking into little cubby spots, thoughts filled with them both sandwiching you in, locked into an unmovable hold. 

“Come out, come out little rabbit…the wolves are closing in,” Ghost hummed, his voice a crackly growl over the comms. 

You breathed out a little gasp, trying to contain yourself. His voice didn’t sound close, but even still you felt the need to stay silent, knowing full well that he could be tricking you into security while Soap sharpened his claws and got ready to pounce somewhere close by. They were effective hunters afterall, hungry wolves indeed.

“We can tell you’re somewhere nearby,” Soap taunted. “Can see signs of your bootprints.”

Soap wasn’t terribly close either then, you thought. Neither voice boomed in the old training building you were occupying - empty and echoing with every invading rain droplet now that all the other troops were gone for the weekend. You glanced down at your watch and raised a brow, five minutes to go until time was up. 

You hadn’t really expected to win, you’d thought better of the Sergeant and LT. After how worked up you’d gotten, how tight your belly was, winning felt more like losing. 

“Are you both so desperate that you’re trying to make me reveal myself?” you whispered.

The dark chuckles of laughter were so rich through the earpiece you felt like someone was pouring honey bourbon into you. An unbidden shiver ran through your body, your spine electrified and ready to burst. 

“We don’t have to cheat to find you,” Ghost rumbled. 

“Not when we already know where y’are,” Soap finished for him. “All that’s left for you is to imagine what we have planned for you.”

“We’re not gonna go easy either. You didn’t go easy on us.”

You scoffed at that and peeked out of your hidey-hole in the old tents, content with the fact that neither man was even a foot out from the building. The rain still pattered against the metal ceiling, drumming its fingers undisturbed. You’d know if they were there, you reasoned, you’d hear them sloshing around in the drowned grass. It was reason you’d chosen that spot in the first place, an early warning system and multiple exits. 

“Really? Cause the way I see it you two have a couple minutes to get to me and I don’t hear or see you,” you murmured, crossing your arms and settling in. “Looks like I went too hard on you really.”

“Awful confident, little rabbit. You seem to think you have us beat don’t you?” Soap said, not sounding the least bit phased.

“I do,” you confirmed.

Just then the metal ceiling groaned. Your heartbeat spiked, your head thrumming with the displaced pulse that now lost itself in panic through your body. Just then you looked desperately to your watch - 1 minute to go. Even if they got into the building they still had to find out where you were hiding. There were plenty of bits of equipment laying around, plenty of prospective places that you could be. You just had to be really still. 

“Found ye.”

You jumped up, screaming when you realised that the voice came from right behind you. One of them was right behind the tents, probably Soap you assumed. Never had your feet raced so quickly before, but now you were up like a bolt of lightning, dashing over toward the door at the far side, not even looking over your shoulder to confirm who was chasing you. 

The door whipped open with a bang after taking a sharp kicking, and out of it you flew like a bullet. Just as you thought you might race to freedom, just as you reasoned to yourself that you only had to run for a few more seconds before they could no longer catch you, you were taken down. 

One second you were up and running and the next you were face down in the wet dirt, tasting a fresh mudpie as a heavy weight settled on top of you. Next thing you knew the air was mixing with the sound of dark laughter and the taunting beep of your watch running out of time. 

You groaned.

“Nice work, darlin’. Not good enough though,” Ghost taunted, whipping you round to face him. 

You breathed in a choked gulp of air and shuffled underneath your Lieutenant, fighting to breathe under his heavy weight as it was covered with all his dark tactical gear. He was unrelenting. He barely let you get space before he was forcing his knee between your thighs and holding your arms down into the mud, forcing your back into the sludge while your front was washed with sheets of rain. 

You peered up into the sockets of his skull mask, meeting those whisky eyes from out of the darkness, catching a peek of his blonde lashes as they blinked back the rain. Suddenly getting caught didn’t seem all that bad, even if you were sinking into a marsh and quite possibly absorbing mud into crevices you didn’t know about. 

“Could take you right here, pretty thing,” Ghost sighed.

“Think we could get away with it?” you asked, tilting your head in challenge. 

“Now now…can’t go rushing things. Especially when we gotta share.”

Ghost didn’t give you any warning after that. He lifted you into his arms and carried you back into the old training building, forcing you onto your feet just as Soap came into view. A flash of red was all you saw before you were pushed, sent sailing into him, looking up to greet the crimson skull mask that was so intently focused on you. Your hands wandered to his chest, bracing yourself as you righted your posture, fastening yourself to his tac vest. 

“Look at you, you’re filthy,” Soap admonished, “this isn’t any way for someone of your rank to look at all.”

He grabbed the front of your top and sent you off balance again, grasping onto him just to try and remain upright. Though in your struggle you couldn’t stop him from taking a knife from one of his holders, ripping roughly through the material before letting it drop onto the ground with a wet slap. Your mouth formed an O before you could think to form words.

“Better get those trousers off too,” Ghost remarked. 

“Good idea,” Soap laughed.

He pushed you onto Ghost then, sending you tumbling once more into a tall hard body. You landed with an oomph and clawed at Ghost this time, full well knowing how he intended to get the rest of your clothes off. 

“I’m up for a rough fuck, guys, but you can’t do this! What the hell am I gonna walk back in,” you fumed, keeping a tight grasp on Ghost’s arms. 

Ghost’s eyes narrowed in a little smirk, the light never once fading from those honey pools. You glared at him and continued your fight, but it was useless. He merely wrapped his arm around you and kept you still while Soap made short work of your trousers and underwear. Neither of them cared even a little while you kicked out and screamed at them. The bastards barely flinched at your clawing and punching. 

“I wouldn’t worry about what you’re going to walk back in, little rabbit,” Ghost said, fastening his hand around your neck and pushing you back into Soap. “I’d worry about still being able to walk back at all after we’re done with you.”

Both men glued themselves to your body, Ghost crushing your front while Soap grinded into your back. Outraged breaths soon started to turn to reluctant moans, you weren’t happy with them but it didn’t mean that their now roaming hands were unwelcome. In fact, quite the opposite. 

You groaned deeply when soap’s hands squeezed and ran down your thighs, brushing the back of one along your belly before exploring lower and lower. It sent your lashes fluttering and eyes rolling back when Ghost joined him, only pausing to lift his mask up and kiss you before his hand met with Soap’s between your thighs. 

“So ready for us, darlin’,” Soap whispered, his breath hot on the shell of your ear. 

“Yeah,” Ghost moaned, grabbing your hand and sliding it down through the layers of his trousers. “And we’re ready too - this is what happens when you send us chasing after you for an hour… and you know what?”

You were barely paying attention to Ghost while Soap played with you so diligently, his hands working you in all the right places, mouth on your neck with such fervour it felt religious. The thudding of his heavy heart was the only thing keeping you grounded. 

“What?” you breathed, eventually releasing Ghost had asked something.

“You kept us waiting…we’ll keep you waiting too.”

[violettduchess]

A/N: I've been thinking a lot about shorter, little bite-sized bits of writing. I've seen them called drabbles or ficlets (I don't like either name tbh) but they are more manageable for me right now than longer fics.

I'll write them when I can and to keep them a bit organized, I'll group them together in a series I'm calling Moments in Time. Just short, little snapshots of different moments between characters, sometimes Reader and sometimes my OCs.

They may be fluffy or spicy or angsty or comfort or silly. Whatever strikes me!

Some will be based on requests still in my inbox, some will be just my own musings and things I want to write and maybe I'll take requests here and there when I can.

Anyway, thanks for reading all this. I appreciate you doing so💜Enough rambling: Here's the first one!

Keith x Reader

WC: 450

The rain pours down from weeping clouds, the kind that cover the entire sky, gray and heavy with unknown sorrows. You duck into the greenhouse, seeking shelter from the aquatic assault, your clothing heavy with water and sticking unpleasantly to your skin. The rain has plucked at your hair, freeing strands from your hair pins and curls them around its curious fingers. It leaves them framing your face, a flushed portrait of surprise and escape.

Catching your breath, you listen to the steady drumming sound that fills the usually quiet space of the greenhouse and breath in deeply. If the color green had a smell, this would be it. It’s petrichor and loam, it’s soft and sweet and earthy. The ground when it’s been tilled. The opening of rose blossoms. The blush of springtime, the kiss of summer, the waning sigh of autumn.

You don’t know he is in here too until he says your name. The consonants and vowels of it fill space between the raindrops, rumbling through the glass enclosure on the waves of his deep, sonorous voice.

Keith.

His eyes are brighter than lightning. They gleam gold, sharp and shiny as he takes in the sight of you. He misses nothing: the parting of your lips as your heartbeat quickens, the clenching of your fingers into the wet folds of your skirt, the tension in your shoulders when you find yourself alone with him.

The answering flash of desire in your own gaze.

He crosses the space, his long legs swallowing the distance between you greedily. This isn’t the gentle prince you’ve come to know. This is the other prince. The prince who is sharp-edged, dangerously beautiful and shockingly unapologetic. Fearless in the face of his own wants.

And now he wants you.

You’ve walked the line of yearning before with him but never crossed it. A brush of hands here, a knowing smile there. Always dancing along the precipice but never diving off into the dark unknown.

Not until now. Now when the world outside is raging, when rules are scattered in the unfettered wind and the rain is chanting:

Now.

Now.

Now.

Wordlessly, he pulls you into his arms and you yield willingly, anticipation surging through your veins in turbulent waves.

He kisses you.

He finally, finally kisses you and just like that, your life is forever divided into before and after. 

He kisses you and just like that, the world blurs. It’s washed away because there is nothing but the feel of his powerful hands on your waist, the exquisite taste of his mouth, the savory scent of him.

He kisses you and just like that you’re devoted. Obsessed. Captivated. You will crave him every moment you are apart and even more when you are together.

He kisses you, hungrily, greedily, with rapidly growing need. He sinks to the ground with you held possessively against him, lust and fervor rushing through you both, wild and unstoppable.

And just like that, you’re his.

Taglist: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia

@wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary

@namine-somebodies-nobody @whatever-fanfics @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine

@mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network @sh0jun @queen-dahlia

@themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly

@keithsandwich @mrlovesimps

[thefallennightmare]

Arranged-twenty one[end]

credit to whoever made the gif. found on google/pintrest.

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: WOW! I truly cannot believe how huge this story was going to get when I first started to write it weeks ago. It brought me a huge following and some lovely lovely people I can see calling friends. Thank you everyone for every amazing thing you've commented or reblogged. One mob story end, another begins!

Tags(closed): @alexxavicry @mdpplgtz03 @broadwaybabe18 @samsgirl93 @cherryflavoureds-blog @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @capsgrantrogersclqrosmgc @loumaaria-blog @queerqueenlynn @pampeop @cjand10 @purplerain85 @savannahcole99 @evanstanhoney @sebastianstansqueen @portrait-ninja @honeyglee @saranghaey @almosttoopizza @lilya-petrichor @valsworldofcreativity @buckycallsmeaslut @romanoffjohansson @themayzittcha @sapphiredreamer26 @buckybarnessimpp @itjustkindahappenedreally @mavrellover91 @esoltis280 @playboystark @legendarytrashcopeclipse @pansexual-4-all @elizacusi-blog @dnc331 @tee-swizzle @lovsalpkn @yourfavunsub @madebylilly @cerberusmybeloved @lclove2012-blog @onelmstreetett @tesseract69 @monique2281 @wayward-gypsy @wholesomewhorelol @ozwriterchick @pono-pura-vida @bogwaterswamp @s0urw00lf @daydreaming-mood @maggiemae5 @big-heart-ninjasblog @alexa4040 @screaming-les-bean @loustan90 @buckys2lut​ @marnle

Arranged Masterlist

I sat on the front porch of my home, slowly rocking the in chair, a blanket and book perched on my lap. The noises of the waters slamming against the rocks from the river in front of me and the birds singing their nightly songs had brought me a sense of solace. Even if it had been like this for some time, it never got old. 

For the first half during my time here, I ended up bouncing from hotel to hotel but needed a sense of stability and with some of the money I earned from my parents' will, I bought a decent sized cottage on a large piece of land in Washington. 

My soul felt happy, at peace, here while my heart would break even more with each day that passed, knowing that Bucky was so far away. 

It was my own choice but that didn’t make it any easier. 

Almost every day, I wondered what he had been up to or who he had been seeing. We both decided that we would stay married during this time apart but I couldn't help but question what he did when he felt lonely. I never thought he would find himself in the arms of another, there were moments that proved to me I was the only one for him; the ring of my left hand was one of those. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t tell me the three words that I had been silently begging him to say. 

I thought that with my time away that it would be easy to not think of Bucky but he would be my first thought when I woke up and last thought before my eyes fluttered shut for the night. 

There had been many times that I thought of going back to see him but knew that I would revert back to who I was before. The move to Washington was the best decision I had made and no one or nothing could make me go back to New York. 

The last time Bucky and I spoke had been a few weeks ago where he offered to send Steve out to make sure I was safe. The two best friends couldn’t help but worry about my safety out here because we were unsure if some of John’s mens who survived that night would seek revenge for me killing him.

It had been six months and I had yet to run into any issues. 

At the thought of Steve, I couldn’t help but frown as I checked my phone to see if he had returned my text. 

I’m glad you’re safe. There had been some talk about someone else taking over John’s position. No word on revenge or not. 

With a sigh, I quickly typed my response back to Steve. 

Wonderful. Keep me updated?

I sat up from my chair with a groan, bones cracking back into place, and decided to turn in for the night.

Footsteps echoed on my porch, the old wood creaking with each step. I woke with a loud gasp and sat up in bed, sweat clinging to my body. I hadn’t had that nightmare in so long but since Steve had mentioned someone new had taken over John’s position, I could help but fear revenge coming to take my life. That nightmare wasn’t what woke me up tonight; those footsteps were. 

Flash images of John’s lifeless body at my feet clouded my vision and I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping that would block it out. 

I held the blanket close to me as I strained my ears to hear if there were any other movements coming from outside of my front door. Heavy footsteps pounded right outside my window and I slipped deeper into my bed, phone clenched tightly to my ear. 

He picked up in the middle of the first ring. 

“Doll?” 

His thick, tired, voice brought a sense of comfort, only for a moment because I felt guilty for waking him. It was only eleven in the evening here which meant it was two in the morning in New York. 

“I think someone’s trying to break into my house, Bucky” I whispered. 

There was some rustling on his end. “Are you alright?” 

I nodded even though he couldn’t see. “Yeah but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t freaked out.” 

“Look out the window and tell me what you see.” 

I took a deep breath and quietly trekked over to my window and as I peered through the curtains, the culprit of the heavy footprints had its back to me as it was digging in the trash. 

I mentally smacked myself when I realized that I had been scared of a bear that had made its way to my house because of the garbage I had forgotten to throw away. 

“Y/N?” 

Bucky’s worried voice brought me back and I sighed into the phone. 

“It was a fucking bear,” I grumbled. 

He chuckled deeply and it caused the corner of my mouth to curl in a smile. 

“Well, I’m glad that I brought you some hilarity in the middle of the night. I’ll let you get back to sleep,” I sighed, ready to hang up. 

“No, wait,” Bucky seized his laughter. “I want to talk.” 

I climbed back into my bed. “Really?” 

“Yeah, how have you been?” 

“Good,” I nodded. “Besides getting woken up by a bear eating my trash.” 

We shared a laugh now. 

“I miss hearing your laugh,” Bucky admitted. 

I bit my lip. “I miss you.” 

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. “I miss you too, doll.” 

My fingers began to pull at a loose string that had started to become undone on my blanket. 

“I would love to see you soon. If that's alright? I can send my jet to fly you back home.” 

Home. 

I didn’t want to tell him that this was my new home now. I wasn’t going to leave it yet. 

“You’re not mad at me anymore?” I wondered. 

“I was never mad at you, Y/N. I understand why you wanted to leave but I wish I could have done something to make you stay.” 

“There was something you could have done. I even asked that of you,” I reminded him. 

With the deep sigh that came through the phone, I could almost see Bucky pinching his eyes shut. 

“I can't leave. This gang has been in my family line for generations.”

“What about me?” I shrugged. “Don’t I matter enough to you?” 

“Of course you do.” 

I scoffed. “Just not enough to love me.” 

“Doll,” Bucky started. 

“I don’t even know why I’m wasting my breath on this anymore. You know I love you and I guess that’s all that matters. I really hope that you realize how you feel soon otherwise tell me so I’m not being strung along.” 

“We’re married, aren't we?” 

“That doesn’t mean you love me, Bucky.” 

More rustling on his end with some whispering in the back. My brows knitted in confusion while my heart fell to my ass, afraid to ask. 

“Is someone there?” 

“Steve. He’s been staying here lately.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

Before I could question it even more, Steve’s voice came through the speaker. 

“Bucky doesn’t want to admit it but he’s afraid to sleep in this giant house by himself.” 

I smiled. “So you two have been having sleep overs? How cute.”

“Except Steve’s a blanket hog.” 

Steve’s remark shouted through the phone. “At least I’m not an ice box.” 

“Wait,” I sat up straighter in bed with ears perked at the mere thought. “Have you two been sharing a bed?” 

Bucky scoffed. “We’re joking, doll. What were you thinking?” 

Heat flushed over every inch of my skin at the suggestive tone from Bucky. 

“Well now that I’ve embarrassed myself once again, I’m going to sleep.” 

“When can I see you?” Bucky questioned.

I sighed. “I don’t know, Bucky. I’ll admit it was nice talking to you tonight but it’s not on my shoulders to fix things.” 

“I’m sorry for all the lies, Y/N. I really am.” 

“I know. But apologies only go so far.” I reiterated. 

Bucky sighed and I knew he wanted to talk about this more but I had said everything I needed to. It was up to him now. 

“Maybe I’ll call you tomorrow night. Who knows, there could be a racoon that's eating my trash this time,” I joked.

Bucky laughed at the sound of it, my heart fluttered and I couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off my face. 

“I’d like that.” 

“Goodnight, Bucky.” 

“Goodnight, doll.” I could hear the smile in his voice. 

I wheeled the suitcase to the front door, triple checking I had everything I needed for this weekend trip. My feet scattered throughout the house when I realized that my keys were missing, the fear of missing my flight being etched in my bones. 

This was a last-minute decision. I had bought the plane ticket two hours ago after ghosting my computer mouse over the ‘purchase’ button for what seemed like forever. There were so many reasons why I shouldn’t go and I considered every single one. But the one reason why I should go is what made me finally click the button. 

I love him and miss him. 

Two days.

That’s all I allowed myself to stay with Bucky before returning back. Secretly, I hoped that this time together would make him realize how much I meant to him. 

It might have been selfish of me to leave by Sunday night but I didn’t care. After our phone call last night, I couldn’t stop thinking of him. I needed to see him, feel him, smell him. I didn’t care what; I just needed to be around him. 

I kept telling myself that it was love, which it was, but there was a small sliver of it being lust. 

“Fucking finally,” I beamed after I found my keys in the couch. 

I threw the door open, ready for the weekend ahead, but my feet came to a halt when my eyes landed on the man who stood in front of me, hand raised ready to knock. 

My pupils widened with surprise, not expecting to see him in front of me. 

“Hey, doll,” the corners of his smile reached his eyes, the skin around them crinkled. 

“Bucky,” I breathed. “What are you doing here?” 

His hair had grown a bit since I left and the ends of it blew in the wind. I had the urge to walk into his embrace but held it at bay. 

He looked at me with desperation in his eyes as he let out a deep breath. “You wanted to know how I feel about you, right?” 

My heart soared but I didn’t allow it to get ahead of itself, not knowing where Bucky was leading with this so all I did was nod. 

 “I gave it up,” he shrugged.

I tilted my head with confusion. “Gave what up?” 

“The mob, the mansion, everything.” 

My eyebrows reached the top of my forehead. “You did?” 

Bucky nodded. “After we hung up last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how much I fucking missed you. I needed to see you.” 

His eyes landed at the suitcase in my hand and looked at me with something glimmering in his eye. 

“I was coming to see you.” I admitted. 

He chuckled. “I’m glad I made it here when I did.” 

I shifted on my feet. “So you gave everything up? For what? I thought it was important to you because of it being in your family for generations.” 

“You,” Bucky admitted. “You're my family now. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize but the only thing I need is you, Y/N.” 

I sighed, ready to explain that I already knew this, but he cut me off by crashing his lips to my own. Instantly I melted into his embrace, the familiarity of how he tasted made me moan into his mouth, which caused Bucky to wrap his arms around my back. My hands snaked behind his neck and my fingers began to play with the new length of his hair. 

His tongue brushed against my bottom lip and I parted my lips so he could deepen the kiss. I gave his bottom lip a little nip and tug which caused Bucky to grasp my hips, vibranium fingers leaving little love bruises. 

As we pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine and stole another quick kiss. 

“I love you.”

My heart leaped and my insides exploded at hearing those words. 

I leaned back slightly. “What did you say?” 

Another deep but quick kiss to my lips. “I love you, doll. I knew it from the second you barged into my office that first day. I never wanted to admit it to myself because I never thought I was worthy of having someone love me the same, given who I am.” 

I cupped his cheek, the pad of my thumb brushing across his bottom lip. 

“In our short time together, you made me realize that I am worthy of having someone to love and I’m so glad it’s you.” 

“I know that in the beginning it seemed like it was only for this agreement between our fathers but trust me when I tell you that I never thought of it since that first day,” Bucky said.

He continued. “I wanted to tell you six months ago when you were packing to leave but I knew how selfish that would have been. You needed this time away to mentally heal from what happened with your parents and John. I couldn’t hold you back from that.” 

I placed a chaste kiss on his chin. “Thank you.”

Bucky responded with another kiss to my lips. “I love you, Y/N Barnes.” 

The butterflies in my stomach fluttered to life, hearing him say those words for what felt like the first time again, and I wrapped my arms tighter around him in an embrace. 

“I love you too, Bucky.” 

He left a kiss on the top of my head. “So, are you going to show me around our new place?” 

I looked up at him with a hopeful gleam in my eyes. “Does that mean we’re staying in Washington?” 

“Doll, I’ll stay with you wherever you want to go.” 

We sealed that promise with another fiery kiss as I allowed Bucky to lead me into our house, the door closing behind us. 

[gaiaseyes451]

7 Days, 700 Words - Storm Break - 7/7 - Complete!

Storm Break (new part in blue)

The patter of rain on the clay shingled roof interrupts our peace. Soft and languid a moment ago, your breath quickens; the crackle of the fire in the hearth a foreshock of the quake amassing in the slate gray clouds. Yet it is I who flinches when lightning flashes, casting the cottage sitting room into sharp relief. Too bright, too cold, too familiar.

Our fingers intertwine and reflexively I curl beside you. Whether it is to soothe my own anxiety or bolster your resolve matters not; you pressed against me, cheek resting in my curls, is a balm all the same.

I count silently, one…two…three… anticipating the sound that follows the fury. Thunder cracks, rattling the glass so droplets spill like tears down window pane cheeks. Through the tempest the unseen sun sets in the churning sky, violet and gold and vermilion glowing on the horizon. There is so much beauty in this world—once our ward, now made home—even in the storms.

But your vision is shuttered, goldenrod irises barricaded against the aftershock of memories of more insidious foes. I run my fingers through your hair and conjure the first storm we weathered, sheltered together as the rain fell over Eden. 

Poor protection though they were, we huddled together as the cold drops beaded on  my wings and ran off in steady rivulets, watching the world change around us. I remember the heat of the sun warmed stones beneath our feet, the whip of the wind against my robes and through your hair. 

But most of all, I remember the colors. In the rain soaked light greens were more verdant, reds richer, blues shades of indigo in their saturation. 

Your eyes, a soul suspended in amber, beside me.

“Do you remember Eden,” I murmur against your temple, “after the first rain?”

You look at me, the same golden soul, no less cherished for finally being mine, and smile. “I do.” 

I stand, our fingers still interlaced, and together we journey toward the garden and into the storm. I leave you on the patio, behind the curtain falling from the eaves, and step into the rain soaked grass to spread my wings. 

Before I can call you are beside me, glistening ebony wings perched carefully overhead 

“The scent of it,” you sigh, darker thoughts replaced by the breath of this moment. “Of dirt and petrichor, flowers and fruit. Life and Earth. You.”

We stand here, vulnerable and exposed, clothes dripping, sodden ground cold beneath our feet. We could turn, return inside, the breeze having whisked away the last remnants of our unease. 

Instead, we stay. 

This is precisely where we belong. We dwell in the cottage, but it is not our shelter. Its walls offer protection, but it is not our refuge.

The rain replenishes the silver necklace streams that adorn the land. The storm breaks the heat of long summer days and nourishes the jasmine that perfumes humid nights. It cleanses souls and slakes thirsts.

We need not fear the rain.

We did not seek refuge on wooden boats as the seas rose and the sky fell. Our safety was not heralded by a dove and olive branch. The ribbon of color bursting across a brilliant blue sky proclaims the magnificence of physics, not a miracle of faith. 

Troubles will always follow and we will surely fret and worry. Until the time the rain comes—as gale or shower, storm or drizzle—and washes our troubles away. The rain falls over everything. Even us. We shall always emerge from it, renewed and reborn, on our side.

We have learned to welcome the storm.

With unspoken agreement, we lower our wings, letting the rain wash over us. The storm is an old friend, the oldest we have. With each deep rumble and brilliant flash it greets us, in every heavy drop it bids us farewell.

Safety is the squeeze of your arm around my waist. Peace is seeing your shining eyes, day in and day out. Home is at your side; just as it has always been. 

You dip down as I reach up to capture your lips in a smiling kiss. This, too, we know well. After all, we were the first to fall in love in the rain.

****

The prompt was provided by @crowleysgirl56 and comes from the poem Troubles Follow by @lickthecowhappy . The stanza used as the prompt:

but a cottage near the / sea cannot shelter / from every storm / as rain falls / over all

It's done! I will be doing this again, I'll start the next one in a couple of days. :)

Got a prompt you want me to use next time? Add a comment below! Want to be on a tag list? Follow #Storm Break or comment below. Feel free to adopt this idea yourself! If you do, tag me and I will give you a prompt!

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where, if you can't beat them, join them.

Or the nineteenth installment of the Skz!pack prequel series.

A/N: Remember. You guys asked for this.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, SKZ!pack, skz!abo, poly!skz, omegaverse, pack!prequel, skz!pack prequel, prequel series, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, skz x you, skz x reader, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, hwang hyunjin, lee felix, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, y/n, skz imagines, skz reactions, skz scenarios

Genre: Fluff, Intense, Suggestive

Warnings: Primal Play, Small mention of blood (it's from a scratch)

Title: Hide and Seek

“Unpresented huh?” 

You glance over at Chan as he sidles up to you, but your gaze is quickly drawn back to what-or who-has held your attention all evening.

“Mhm.” You hum in affirmation, distracted, as you take another gulp of overly pink boxed wine from the glass in your hand. 

It’s the second time Jeongin has hung out with the pack, and he seems to be fitting in well. 

He’s currently embroiled in some video game battle with Jisung and Felix-beaming from ear to ear, lit up, animated, excited-all of them yelling loudly, as they fight to battle each other for the win. 

As you watch, the round ends, and Jisung leans over to affectionately tousle the freshman’s unruly hair, hair the color of a vivid blood red sunset that hasn’t dimmed in the slightest since you and Chan first met him. 

Chan cocks his head, and you sigh, pulling your attention away from the trio as you lean around him to set your now empty glass into the kitchen sink. 

“Does that worry you?” 

You glance at him in surprise, and then shrug. 

Does it worry you? You don’t know.

“I dunno.” You admit honestly, before you sigh again, and Chan gives you a small smile, his eyes affectionate, as he leans over to swipe his fingers along the base of your throat, right over your scent gland. 

You instantly feel your muscles relax at the touch as he steps behind you to knead your shoulders, the scent of petrichor washing over you like a welcome wave. 

You lean back into the warmth of his body, and close your eyes for a moment, the sound of the players wafting in from the living room in the background. 

Chan nuzzles the skin of your throat with the cool tip of his nose, then presses a featherlight kiss to the underside of your jawline. 

“But it worries your wolf.” 

His words sink into your stomach like a heavy pit of truth, and you glance once more to Jeongin, happily eating another slice of pizza, egging Jisung on as he attempts to beat Felix, lost in the video game, in the camaraderie of his older brothers, in the feeling of pack. 

“If you guys could move, that’d be great.” Changbin appears then, bringing the smell of campfire into the kitchen, holding his glass and an emptied bag of chips, which he tosses into the trash before he turns back to you with an annoyed lift of his brow. “You’re blocking the fridge.” 

Chan murmurs an apology and you roll your eyes, but you move to let the other alpha through. 

He pulls out another box of cheap wine from inside and sets it on the counter, twisting the spout, situating his glass beneath the stream-white this time-before he glances at the pair of you once more. 

“What’re you guys whispering about over here anyway?” His lips tick up into the start of a smirk. “Please tell me it’s something hot that I can use as material later.” 

“Gross.” You make a face, and Chan huffs a little laugh, his breath tickling the back of your neck. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

Changbin sighs heavily, leaning up against the counter beside the two of you, and takes a long gulp from his wine glass. 

“Figures.” 

There is silence for a long moment, the three of you watching the chaos in the living room unfurl from afar, and then Changbin clears his throat. 

“The new kid. He seems nice.” You glance over to your boyfriend, swirling his wine thoughtfully around and around the bottom of his glass, and raise a brow. 

“Yeah?” “Yeah.” Changbin nods confidently, emptying his glass in one fell swoop, before he places it in the sink beside your own. His brow furrows slightly. “My alpha’s a little unsure of him though.” 

You stare at him in surprise, Chan tensing behind you, but before you can ask what he means, Jisung tosses his controller to the side and flops dramatically onto the floor, his gaze sweeping to the three of you through the doorway as he announces, loud and whiny enough for you all to hear, “I’m bored! Let’s do something more exciting.” 

Changbin holds the beta’s gaze. “How is that my problem?” 

Jisung writhes around on the floor like he’s in physical pain, gripping his sides as he wails out, “Ah, Changbin-hyung, you’ve wounded me! I’m your problem, thus, my boredom is also your problem.” 

“Oh my god.” Chan mutters in exasperation behind you, even as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth to stop from laughing at your dramatic beta boyfriend’s antics. 

“Get up off the floor, Han Jisung, or I’ll get you up myself.” Minho threatens warningly from the couch, but it’s obviously an empty threat, because he doesn’t make a move to get up, or even look up from scrolling through his phone. 

Jisung stops writhing around and raises his head, fixing the alpha with a suggestive stare and a wicked smirk. 

“Is that a promise, hyung?” 

“Not if you’re going to enjoy it. I want you to be miserable.”

Jisung lets his head flop back to the floor with a heavy thud and a despair filled sigh. 

“None of you are any fun.” 

“I’m oodles of fun.” Seungmin deadpans from his own end of the couch, carefully turning to the next page of his book as if he hasn’t a care in the world. 

Jisung fixes him with a glare that he doesn’t pay attention to, and then turns to Jeongin and Felix, who are staring at him, controllers still held in their laps. 

“C’mon. Lixie? Innie?” Jisung wheedles, clasping his hands together like he’s begging. 

Felix opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something, but you know he’s pulling at straws, and then Jisung jumps up from his spot on the floor in a flash, clapping his hands excitedly, scaring the shit out of Hyunjin, who was halfheartedly dozing with his head in Minho’s lap. 

“Oh my god.” Jisung exclaims with a grin and another clap of his hands. “I know what we can do. Something we haven’t done for a while.” 

Behind you, Chan lets out a long breath through his nose and beside you, Changbin rolls his eyes. 

“What is it, Jisungie? And it better be legal.” 

Jisung looks offended. “Please, hyung.” He glances at Jeongin, covering his ears teasingly with his hands as he lowers his voice. “I would never suggest something like that when there’s a baby present.” 

Jeongin swats his hands away. 

“Anyway.” Jisung continues, looking entirely too gleeful now, and Chan is tense behind you once more. The beta’s eyes gleam wickedly. “We should play a good old round of hide and seek.” 

There is a moment of silence, and then Changbin says reluctantly from beside you. “That’s-actually not a bad idea.” 

Jisung fist pumps. 

“Yeah.” Chan agrees, surprisingly, rubbing at his neck, as he steps out from behind you and shrugs. “I could use a stress outlet after that last round of finals.” 

“I do love to seek.” Minho remarks dryly, flashing a dangerous looking grin that reveals white, sharp teeth. 

“Wait-” Jeongin speaks up, and you glance at Chan, your expression guarded, because you’d kind of forgotten he was here. 

The youngest glances around at the interested pack members, and then pointedly around to the small living room of Changbin’s apartment. 

“You wanna play hide and seek, like, here?” 

Jisung laughs and claps the youngest on the back, his dark eyes still bright with a manic, dangerous sort of energy. 

“Hell no.” He grins down at the freshman, who looks suddenly interested and terrified all at once. He squeezes the back of his neck. “We go outside, freshman.” 

The light in his eyes gleams. 

“Because this hide and seek? It’s owned by the wolves.” 

*******

You stretch your arm across your chest, warming up your muscles, and watch the way your exhales of breath leave your lips as a puff of frost in the cold night air, floating up and away from you until they disappear from sight. 

You lean over to stretch your calves, and Jeongin clears his throat from beside the car, catching your attention. 

“The quad?” He asks when you look at him, glancing around at the darkened middle ground of the campus, all open fields and a playground for the education students. 

You shake your head with a slight grin, but Hyunjin beats you to it, stepping up beside Jeongin and throwing a warm arm around his shoulders. 

“Nah, puppy, not the quad. The woods.” 

He gestures with his chin and Jeongin’s gaze follows his own, toward the edge of the neatly trimmed grass, down to the tangle of the taller brush, the dark trunks of the trees, disappearing into foggy blackness the further you go into the woods that edge the campus. 

Jeongin audibly gulps. 

“Don’t worry, freshie.” Jisung appears, grinning ear to ear, hopping from one foot to the other, his breath clouding as he chuckles gleefully. “You’re not gonna participate this time. You’re a spectator.” 

Curiosity replaces the slight fear on Jeongin’s face. 

“Don’t worry.” Hyunjin repeats, as he releases the youngest and leans over to tie one of his fancy, overly expensive tennis shoes. “It’s just as fun to watch and wait as it is to play.” 

You don’t know about that, but you don’t correct him, straightening up as Changbin arrives at your side, stretching his arms above his head in a practiced motion, wearing a sleeveless muscle tank even in the frigid temperature of the night. 

He blows out a long breath of air and claps his hands. 

“Alright, Minnie. Give us the spill.” 

Seungmin hops down from his spot on the hood of the car to stand beside Jeongin, holding his hands out, palms together, as if he’s a referee splitting up two opposing teams before a game. 

“Okay. This is Hide and Seek. First rule-” The beta holds up a finger for you all to see, as Chan and Minho come to flank your other side, Felix moving to stand beside Jisung. “-Don’t let campus security see you.” 

Jisung grins. 

“Second rule-” Seungmin holds up a second finger with a blankly serious expression on his face. “-Remember the first rule.” 

Jeongin is listening with rapt attention, curiosity all over his features, eyes fixed on the commanding presence of the beta. 

“Please present your teams.” 

Hyunjin leans against the car beside Jeongin. “I’ll sit this one out, Minnie. I’m not feeling it tonight.” 

Seungmin gives a brisk nod. “Right. So Hyunjin, Jeongin, and I will sit the round out. Everyone else, let your alignments be known.” 

You step over what feels like an imaginary line to join Jisung and Felix beside the car, across from the group of alphas. 

“I’ll join Prey tonight, since they’re down a member.” 

Jisung’s fingers dig into the flesh of your arm, staring down the three alphas across from you. 

Seungmin nods again. “Very well. So for Prey we have (Y/N), Jisung, and Felix.” He glances at the three men across from you, seeming to wait on some silent command from the beta referee. “For Predators we have Chan-hyung, Changbin-hyung, and Minho-hyung.” 

“Usually-” You hear Hyunjin lean over and whisper to a wide eyed Jeongin. “-it’s always the alphas as Predators, and the omegas and betas as Prey, but tonight, they’re spicing things up a bit.” 

Seungmin is walking down the imaginary line between you, passing out two different colors of scrunchies, listing off the rules of the game, even though you’ve all heard them a dozen times. 

You’d guess it’s more for Jeongin’s benefit than anyone else’s. 

You take your white scrunchy without a word and slide it onto your wrist. 

“Rules of the game-” Seungmin does a turn at the end of the line and stands with his arms crossed across his chest. “Predators-” He turns to the three alphas and motions to the matching black scrunchies around their wrists. “-your goal is to catch the prey. Once you’ve caught a member, you remove their scrunchie and bring them back to base. You’re both out of the game. If you succeed in capturing all the members of Prey before they remove your scrunchies, Predators win the round.” 

Seungmin turns his gaze to you, Jisung, and Felix now and the white scrunchies encircling your own wrists. 

“Prey-your goal is to escape and evade for as long as possible and steal the Predators scrunchies before they can catch you. Once you’ve succeeded in gaining all the black scrunchies, your team returns to base and that’s the end of the round. Prey wins.” 

You glance at Jeongin, wondering if he thinks you’re all crazy, if he’s scared, if he’s ready to turn heel and run. 

He looks nothing but openly intrigued. 

“Everyone understand?” 

You all nod silently, and you don’t know about the others, but your brain is already going into strategy mode, gauging how long it’s going to take you to get to the edge of the forest before the Predators are released. 

Your wolf growls gleefully, ready to run. 

Seungmin returns to stand beside the car, and Jeongin and Hyunjin. 

“Good.” He glances down at the watch he insists on wearing around his wrist, like some archaic relic of the past, and holds out a hand. “Prey gets a fifteen second head start. On my mark.” 

Minho locks gazes with you across the invisible line, eyes gleaming dangerously, tongue darting out to lick across the razor sharp tips of his canines. 

Your stomach coils in delicious anticipation.

Fifteen seconds. He mouths to you silently, lips pulling back in a smile that reminds you of a shark smelling blood. 

Chan crouches low to the ground, muscles taut and ready. 

Beside you, Jisung licks his lips and his gaze darts to the waiting treeline. 

“Get set.” 

Changbin shakes out his shoulders, grinning easily, but you see it, see the gold ringing his brown irises, see the wolf in the depths of his easy demeanor, waiting, watching. 

Felix releases a long, controlled breath through his nose and his hands clench at his sides. 

Seungmin waves his arm down in a harsh streak of movement. 

“Go.” 

Minho swipes his tongue across his lips, curled upward into a hungry smirk. 

Run. 

You take off toward the trees and the darkened woods without a backward glance. 

You’re aware of Jisung and Felix hot on your heels, their breaths harsh, their movements quick, and you hear Jisung let out an exhilarated whoop over the sound of your own blood pounding loudly in your ears. 

You grin at the sound, and push yourself faster, harder, the trees just ahead. 

You hit the edge of the woods, and you split up without a word, silently communicating, as you disappear into different directions, pushing deeper into the darkness of the trees. 

You skid around an especially large tree, narrowly avoiding the reaching branches as they try to tangle in your hair, whip at your cheeks, and slide down a shallow embankment, into a dry creek bed. 

How long has it been? More than fifteen seconds, you know that. 

They’re coming.

You don’t linger on the thought, instead, letting it feed your adrenaline, as you follow the creek bed around a bend, and leap easily, without a thought, over a large fallen tree. 

Your wolf howls with delight, eager to stretch its legs, eager to keep going, more, more, more. 

You sprint up the opposite side of the creekbed, alert as you stop for a moment, only long enough to catch your breath, as you carefully check the surrounding air. 

Nothing. No familiar scents on the stiff breeze. 

You feel glee pool hot in your stomach amid the swirling adrenaline, the rush of the hunt. 

They haven’t found your trail. Not yet at least. 

You take off again, running blindly through the jet black woods, your night vision kicking in now, and as you’re skirting a shallow stream of water, you hear it. 

There’s a surprised yelp from your right, echoing through the silence of the night, and your gut clenches instinctively as you freeze, coming to a stop so quickly that you almost stumble, silent, frozen, listening. 

That sounded like Jisung. 

There is deafening silence, and then a howl rings through the night, eerie and forbidding. 

Dammit. Someone had been caught. 

You can’t stay here any longer, that was too close for comfort. 

You start jogging again, away from where you had heard the yelp, away from the direction of the howl, ducking under low hanging branches and easily avoiding thick patches of sticky foliage, clawing at your legs through your leggings.

A particularly pesky, pointed branch scratches your cheek as you dart by, eliciting a sharp swear from beneath your breath, reaching up to swipe your fingers across the shallow gash, dripping crimson blood down your chin and onto your shirt. 

You don’t stop, pushing forward, even though your cheekbone is stinging and your lungs are aching for each labored breath. 

You wade through a patch of mud, sucking at your tennis shoes, breathing through your mouth to scent better, to stay quieter, and as you round a particularly large tree in the middle of a small grove of willow thin aspens, you hear it. 

The snap of a branch-sharp, staccato, loud in the muffled silence of the woods. 

You duck behind the large trunk of the towering tree, and instantly freeze, holding as still as possible, as you listen, wait, every hair on your body on end, your wolf growling low and warning. 

Another snap-whoever it is, they’re not particularly worried about you hearing them-closer, and then-

Amber. Bergamot. 

Minho. 

The scent tickles your nose, and you carefully clamp a hand over your nose and mouth, trying to silence your breaths all together as you shrink back against the tree, the rough bark of the trunk digging into your spine. 

Shit. 

A soft footfall, you can tell, he’s on the edge of the aspen grove now, just outside of your hiding spot, and the blood pounding in your ears is so loud, you’re not sure why he hasn’t heard it yet. 

You bite down on your tongue as he takes another step forward, then-

“C’mon, kitten. I know you’re here somewhere. Let’s not play hard to get now.” 

His voice is a low purr, washing over you like a velvet stream, and everything inside of you is screaming for air, but you keep your hand firmly over your nose and mouth, leaning your head back against the tree as you screw your eyes shut, forcing yourself to try and remain as unmoving and impassive as possible. 

Don’t let him smell you, focus on keeping neutral, don’t give yourself away. 

The steadying feel of the tree against your back is doing nothing for the sudden trembling in your legs. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

You hear him chuckle, low and dangerous in the back of his throat, and it’s closer now, and you faintly entertain the idea of trying to run, but you know, Minho is faster, know he’d catch you easily. 

Your best bet is to remain where you are. 

“(Y/N).” He says your name in a sort of singsong way, a way that has your stomach curling in equal parts fear and anticipation. “I’m not a patient man. I don’t like being kept waiting. Give up your little game, and alpha will reward you.” 

You bite down on your lip to muffle a whimper, so hard that you taste copper, and you’re fairly certain it’s not from the earlier scratch. 

Another foot step, another crunch beneath the sole of his boot, and his voice drops an octave, the alpha timber leaking through in the way he growls his next words, making you shiver. 

“Be a good girl, kitten, and let me get my hands on you.” 

Your lungs are screaming at you to take a full breath, to release the pressure in your chest, and when you do, when you give in, gasping for air, Minho pounces. 

“Aha.” He announces triumphantly as he leaps around the trunk of the tree, pinning you in place instantly with his palms on either side of your head. His dark eyes swirl golden, and though he’s clearly been running just as hard and fast as you, or even more so, he looks perfect, effortlessly wind swept, like he’s just stepped out of the pages of a goddamn magazine. “There you are.” 

You can’t even bring yourself to be mad that he caught you. 

You stare up at him with wide eyes, his pupils impossibly black in the moonlight, and when you speak, you’re annoyed that your voice comes out more than a little breathless, and not because of the running. 

“Here I am. You caught me.” 

You hold out your wrist that’s covered by the white scrunchie toward him, and he barely glances at it. 

“I’ll take that when I’m good and ready.” 

You blink at him in surprise, and Minho smirks, predatory and dangerous. 

“Oh, you thought catching you was my only goal? Oh no, sweetheart-” His smirk widens till the sharp tips of his teeth are on display as he leans into your space, running his nose down the column of your throat, your heartbeat once again thundering in your ears. “-I’ve got a far better goal in mind for both of us.” 

You swallow hard and try not to squirm as he lets his teeth graze the curves of your collarbone. 

“And what’s that?” 

Your voice didn’t tremble, that’s a win. You’ll take it. 

Minho inhales, long and deep against your skin, like he’s savoring your scent, and when he pulls back, the gold in his eyes is newly minted, swirling hot and heavy and wild. 

He cocks his head, studying you blankly for a moment, then he scoffs. 

“Please.” He leans in close again, caging you in with his arms, and you’re swallowed up in the depths of his heated, scornful gaze. “I can smell it on you.” 

And then he catches you off guard by letting his fingers trail across the inside of your thighs, even though they’re covered in material, and you instinctively squeeze them together, because he’s right, beneath your leggings, beneath your underwear, you’re undeniably wet and sticky with want. 

Your arousal is palpable. 

“So.” Minho continues, gripping your chin in his long, cool fingers, making you meet his gaze, hold it as he slowly drags his tongue across his full lips in an obscenely lewd gesture. 

Fuck. 

He lets his hand slip down the column of your throat, tracing the divots of your collarbone thoughtfully, agonizingly slowly, before he finally lets his palm rest against your throat, right above your frenzied pulse, his fingers looped around your neck like a choker made of human flesh. 

“We have some time before Channie catches Felix. He wanted to draw it out. Sadist.” He chuckles ruefully, darkly, shaking his head, and then glances up at you with a slight smirk, his pupils unimaginably dark, deep, sucking you in. 

He arches a dark brow at you, and you’re surprised you’re not panting, drooling, begging at his feet, as a wave of particularly strong amber washes over you, making your knees weak. 

He leans in close, and you feel his teeth at your throat. 

“How about we explore my other goal a bit-have a little fun-before I ultimately turn you in, kitten, and claim my prize?” 

*********

When you both show back up to the waiting car after more than a little amount of suspicious time-Minho looking cockier than ever, twirling your white scrunchie around his wrist as you trail behind him, inconspicuously straightening your clothes-Jisung’s staged and ready for a fight. 

Everyone else is already back. 

“What the hell took you guys so long?” 

Minho places the white scrunchie into Seungmin’s palm and barely spares the annoyed beta a glance. 

“Hunting is a skill, Han Jisung.” 

Jisung glares. “Yeah, so is evading, but neither of them take that fucking long.” 

“Hey, it’s not our fault you got caught first.” You quip back, pushing your hair out of your face with the help of Minho’s own black Predator marker. “Don’t be a sore loser, Sungie.” 

He flips you off, and you grin at him innocently in return. 

Chan tosses Minho the keys to the car, and the alpha slides into the driver’s seat, starting the car even as Seungmin announces over the roar of the sputtering engine, “That’s it then. I only have white scrunchies. Predators win. Again.” He adds sourly under his breath, pulling Hyunjin into the backseat with him.

“It doesn’t matter who wins.” Chan is saying, like a father teaching a lesson to his petulant children, as he slides into the passenger seat beside Minho. “What matters is that we let the wolves out for a bit to stretch their legs and we all had fun.” 

Changbin shoots you a look, mouths, ‘help me’ at you, and forces himself into the backseat beside Hyunjin and Seungmin, pulling Felix onto his waiting lap as he does so.  

You sling an arm around Jeongin’s shoulders as everyone finishes piling back into the car, like a group of clowns headed to the circus.

 A bunch of sweaty, fulfilled, spent clowns.  

“So? How was your first Hide and Seek, Yang Jeongin?” 

He glances up at you with eyes impossibly wide, and then his teeth appear as he grins, eyes scrunching. 

You feel your heart give out in your chest, and not from all the running. 

“That was so cool! I can’t wait to try it sometime!” 

Jisung appears out of nowhere at your side, still glowering, scaring the shit out of you as you noticeably jump. 

“Fuck.”

Jisung ignores your startled outburst and narrows in on the youngest standing beside you, pointing warningly at him as his fingertip jabs into his narrow chest. 

“Just know, the alphas are a big ass bunch of cheaters, and don’t let them convince you otherwise.” 

“How in the world did we cheat, Jisung?” Changbin calls out the back window of the packed car, his voice exasperated, though you can’t see him, buried beneath Felix and Hyunjin. 

Jisung rolls his eyes and mutters something insulting sounding under his breath, before he stomps off to the other side of the car. 

Minho honks the horn and leans out the driver’s side window with a pointed glare in your direction. 

“C’mon, you two. Get in the damn car. It smells like a zoo in here.” 

You grin and rustle Jeongin’s hair affectionately, and he returns the expression, before he takes your hand and follows you to the car and the overflowing banter from the pack within. 

Your pack. 

“I call first dibs on the shower when we get back.” 

“No way in hell. First caught doesn’t deserve first shower.” 

“Fuck you!” 

“You could’ve, and you also could’ve fucked Changbin-hyung if you had saved some time and not sucked so much at the game.” 

“Please for the love of god, leave me out of this.” 

“Pups. Don’t make your father or I come back there.” 

“Is Chan-hyung the father in this scenario?” 

“Obviously.” 

*Deep Sigh* “Oh my god.” 

“At least someone got to fuck in this scenario, hm, Minho-hyung and noona?” 

“No way, I took a vow of celibacy when I became a nun.” 

“Hah. You’re not a nun!......are you?” 

“How was it anyway, the woods sex?” 

“Someone answer me! I’m freaking out a little bit here!” 

*Even Deeper Sigh* “She’s not a nun, Jisung.” 

“Oh thank god.” 

************************************************************************

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[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 10 | Nora x Hancock

A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

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Fic Summary:

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

When Nora thought for sure she was going to die too, the pain stopped – and then there was nothing. Nothing but the emptiness. Nothing but the grief. Half of her soul was suddenly gone forever. She was dropped in the middle of the ocean, drifting among the waves with no land in sight. Then just as suddenly she had been cast adrift, she found land. The hole was filled the moment it had been created. As she gripped Nate’s vault suit and begged him to open his eyes, Nora found herself battling with the horrifying realization that she had another soulmate; that some stranger had taken Nate's place.

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[ 1 ] <- [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] - [ 11 ]

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Nora Morrison was a woman who firmly believed in law and order; she believed in the justice system. She believed that those who infringed upon the law must be judged by a group of their peers, and given a just sentence. The problem was that there was no room for old world ideals in the Commonwealth. These people were murderers who showed absolutely no hesitation, and they had no fear of any potential consequences, because there were none. These people were wild, and they were crazy, and for some reason they really seemed to want Nora dead. During her stint as a prosecuting attorney, Nora had been on the receiving end of a whole lot of ire – but this was something else entirely.

The, admittedly petty, endeavor to hate her soulmate and drive him away crumbled the very moment he came barging back into her head. It should be strange, how he was consistently there whenever she needed him. Like he would always come and check on her at just the right time. It was typically deeply annoying, and she often wished him away. This time she not only welcomed the man, but she finally reached out to him willfully. Their connection became firmly set, so steadfast that it felt like a tangible thing. The man gasped softly.

Nora’s vision was clouded with the man’s view of whatever room he was in – there was a chair sitting in front of an open window, a couch tucked off to the side of a room – before she pushed the image from her mind and focused on his emotions. There was a feeling of absolute panic, but there was an underlying layer of anger. He would have to work on controlling his own emotions when accessing their bond; he was letting her feelings influence his to a noticeable degree.

She took a slow breath, catching the smell of phantom cigarette smoke, something like burning petrichor, and something else that was tangy-sweet. That was from him. Those were his senses.

Another breath and she was picking up the smell of dust, coppery blood, and rotting wood. Mold. Mildew. That was her environment.

It took her a handful of precious seconds to make the connection to his mind, and then sift through all of the accompanying sensations until she was left with what she wanted. It was his emotions that she needed, and even though she was seeking out some sort of level-headed calm, she could work with his anger – she could feed off of it.

Nora struggled under the dead weight of the man she killed as she tried to prop his corpse up against the old desk she hid behind. Even the slightest bit of anger helped take the shake out of her hands, and brought some strength back to her limbs. She’d definitely need to be nice to her soulmate after this.

“Do you have time to reload?” His graveled voice was rasping low and threatening. “Find some more mags t’pack around after this. Running into a goddamn firefight with just one was real damn stupid.”

Nora scoffed. She slid the magazine free and started shoving in bullet after bullet until the magazine was full. “It’s not like I did it on purpose,” she growled, her tone matching his. More gunfire punctuated the statement, more yelling followed.

“How many you got left?” Her eyes dipped down to her gun. “Not bullets. I saw how many bullets you got. How many assholes are there tryin’ t’kill ya?”

Nora chanced a quick peak, yelping as the edge of her cover was torn away by a bullet. It wasn’t really much cover, it was an old heavy wooden desk but it was doing a mighty fine job at keeping her safe at the moment. “Three?”

“Was that a question or an answer?”

Biting down on her tongue was the only way to prevent herself from swearing at him. Ultimately, she didn’t mind swearing – Nate had a military mouth – but she herself tried to avoid cursing. It wasn’t lady-like, for one thing. A visceral memory of her mother forcing her to bite down on a bar of soap for having a “dirty mouth” was another.

“I counted three,” she ground out.

“Yer gonna hafta kill ‘em,” he replied. “And yer not gonna have the time to be gettin’ sick every time you do it, ya feel me?”

The connection she established faltered when her eyes drifted to the corpse she sat beside. She had killed a man. It wasn’t her first time seeing a dead body; she hadn’t shied away from crime scenes and morgue visits in her career. It was so much more different, though, knowing that she was the one that made the kill. She took someone’s life. Despite the situation, a surge of guilt had her eyes growing misty.

“Hey, sister, get yer head in the game!” Her eyes snapped to the side, away from the body, the connection stabilizing.

The man was irritated, she could feel it right along with his anger. She could use that, too. The only problem with utilizing those emotions was that she found herself snapping right back at him, “I told you to stop yelling at me!”

“Then focus!”

“You focus!”

It had been bound to happen. The stranger was overly receptive to her emotions, incapable of blocking them from affecting his own. During his last visit, he had come barging into her headspace only for his intentions to be broken down under the assault of her own grief. In Nora’s current circumstance, with both of them reaching for the other, and with the man incapable – or unwilling – to block out her emotions, they were creating a feedback loop of sorts. His anger affected her, affected him, affected her…

Even though Nora was aware of it happening, having a building white-hot rage burning in her chest was leagues better than the raw guilt that was roiling in her gut. She leaned into it, embraced it as tightly as she could.

The stranger growled. It was a deep, rumbling sound that carried more gravel than a quarry. It sounded like a feral animal. “Shoot at them. Stay below cover.”

She did. Remaining tucked low behind cover, she fired in her assailant’s direction blindly. There was a surprised yelp from their end of the fight this time, and then resounding laughter. She fired again, and the laughing fell silent.

“Okay. You’re going to push our friend away from you. Out from cover. Use him to draw fire.” His words were clipped, and precise, and they left very little room for argument. Nora took hold of the corpse’s shoulder just before her soulmate continued. “Hey.”

She paused.

“You’re going to get one shot at this. Make it fuckin’ count, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

Nora gave the corpse a firm push, and his body toppled out from behind the overturned desk she crouched behind. The movement caught her assailants’ attention, and the corpse promptly became riddled with bullets. From the other side of the desk, Nora peered out from cover. She caught her first target crouching out in the open, a look of shock on his face. He started to redirect his aim just as she settled hers on him.

“Shoot him.”

Nora pulled the trigger. The gun jumped in her hand, and she ended up shooting too wide.

“Lean into the shot! Pull the trigger and fuckin’ MEAN IT! This is your life or theirs! Kill them!”

She did.

She killed all three.

Tags: @takottai

As a note, dear tag lister: I have 41 (almost 42) chapters of this thing ready to go. Holler if you ever want off the ride.