#star-dust-wanderer

[petitelepus]

Hello! I'd love a kny demon match up please! Normal/Yandere both SFW and NSFW if possible. I'm a 5'1 woman, introverted, artistic, oftentimes short tempered, physically a bit chubby, with shoulder length wavy hair. Very reserved until I gain the confidence, I love to cook and bake, I'm very loyal and attentive as well, with a bit of every love language. Stubborn and anxious as hell and other times very playful and a bit mischievous. Very sensitive as well and if sensitive enough I will cry 😔🥺

Very loving (Gomez Addams type) towards my lover and will defend/protect them fiercely (attracted to men). I hope is enough description, thanks!

I match you with Kyojuro Rengoku!

Kyojuro is a very open and happy person, always smiling and, well, talking loudly. He is happy to make new friends and can have a little trouble noticing when people are put off by his loud and bright attitude.

You're a good Slayer with huge potential so he will happily accept you as his Tsuguko! You may be a little anxious about how you are going to survive his training, but too stubborn to give up right away.

At first, your relationship would be purely platonic, but with time your feelings start to evolve and grow stronger. Just like you grow stronger as the Flame Hashira keeps training you.

You remind Kyojuro a little of a cute little hamster with a huge attitude.

It doesn't help his case when you're being cute and so kind. Like, as you grow to care for each other, you go out of your way to do something special to show your way of love. Like breakfast or something sweet made with him in your mind, or the sweet compliments you shower him with.

This man loves good food and you love cooking and baking. Kyojuro promises to you that once you have slayed Muzan Kibutsuji and defeated all Demons, he and you will open your own little restaurant or bakery and maybe even start a family.

Kyojuro knows firsthand that you are protective when you set yourself between him and enemy, sword pointed at the Demon and ready to take their life for hurting someone so close and beloved to you like the Flame Hashira.

The man won't let either one of you forget that and he may scold you that it wasn't your fight and that you could have ended up dead... But then you start crying about how scared you were, but you were brave because you didn't want to see Kyojuro being hurt or worse, killed.

You're that loyal to him and that's how he realizes it that you are truly the one for him. He promises to you that he will not die and that he will make you happy, no matter what.

When the two of you become a couple, he learns just how mischievous you can be and he is ready to accept your challenge.

Kyojuro isn't the type to play with his food and then again he is?

Like, he wouldn't mind it if you covered yourself with sweet caramel or perhaps even slightly bitter chocolate sauce and asked him to clean you up.

"Nope, no hands!"

"What?"

"You gotta clean me without using your hands."

"How do I-?" Then he realizes what you mean and you grin, "Bon appetit~"

Oh, it's ON. He will clean you with the best of his abilities and once he is done, he will eat you!

Hantengu is Yandere for you!

You're so sweet, so young, and oh so kind. Hantengu has seen you from his hiding spot, how hard you train and work, and despite being a Slayer, you were not as scary as other people of your kind were.

The weak Demon has plenty of time to look at you or think about you during the daytime when he can't hunt and he grows extremely fond of you.

Truly, if you knew how innocent Hantengu really was then you would lower your Nichirin sword and abandon Demon slaying so you could spend your days and nights showering him with your love.

One night, the Demon confronts you, fully knowing that you would attack him, unaware of his innocence, but he could handle little pain if it meant teaching you and you would learn soon as his clones would take over.

As soon as you behead him, Sekido and Karaku come out, but they don't put up much fight at all, tricking you with a false sense of victory. Soon it's you against 4 freakishly strong Demons and you are no match to them so they disarm you and take you with them.

Once somewhere dark and safe from the sun, Urogi and Aizetsu hold you down as small Hantengu comes up to you and explains that he isn't like other Demons, no, he is innocent and never meant to hurt anyone, nothing is his fault, you have to believe him!

You're so kind-hearted, you want to believe him when you see him shivering and crying, but he was still a Demon... But innocent?

Hantengu is a master manipulator and soon enough he manages to manipulate you to show him some pity and overtime love.

If you grow and show some undying loyalty, he is ready and willing to turn you into a Demon also. But that could still wait.

Your many ways of showing love would come in handy with Hantengu and his many clones.

Sekido would be annoyed by how fond of you he grows, thinking of it as a weakness, yet he doesn't make any moves that would indicate that he wants to get rid of you. He does enjoy gagging you. He highly enjoys both silence and the small pathetic noises you make around the gag in your mouth.

Karaku can't get enough of you! You're so playful when you grow fond of him and others and he loves learning more about you. He enjoys teasing you and seeing your reactions to different things, such as hot and cold, soft and sharp. When you moan or whimper, it sets him off.

Aizetsu loves you just as much as Hantengu and other clones, but he has a sad view of things. He doesn't miss a chance to tell you how sad would it be if something were to ever happen to you because he loves you so much it almost makes him cry. He loves submitting himself to you, trusting that you treat him right.

Urogi loves having you around! You're so cute yet mischievous! He likes showing you off but he also happens to love giving you a hickey or marking you with his teeth where everyone can see it. Especially his fellow clones which in return sets them off around you.

Last but not least, Hantengu loves everything about you, but he especially it when you give yourself to him, body and soul. Letting him rest his head on your lap is so nice also. You're so soft, it's like he died but instead of going to Hell, he went to Heaven, where he thinks that he would rightfully belong. If he ever dies, he wishes that you would grieve for him.

[keikakudori]

mini tag dump since tumblr seems to have forgotten all about my tags. ignore this.

aigin [ MY LUNGS ARE PUNCTURED—YOU TAKE MY BREATH AWAY ]

aishin [ I WANT MY HEART TO SHUDDER AT A TOUCH ]

ichimaru gin [ most honored poison of my heart ]

aizen sousuke [ the beaming sun itself; something dangerous and yet captivating ]

kaname tosen [ i knew a man once / who fought like he could cleanse the world with the blood on his knuckles ]

[ verse: blood war ] as I cannot be the hero let me be the monster and lesson them in fear in place of love.

[ verse: fukutaichou ] it is still too early to believe; what's truly frightening is the betrayal you don't see.

[ verse: soul king ] all the stars will fall from grace with your name engraved in the dust of their deaths.

[ verse: muken ] you said i killed you so haunt me & drive me mad; only do not leave me in the abyss where i cannot find you.

[ verse: vizard ] can you still feel the battles on my skin stitched across my back? am i rebuilding bone by fragile bone?

[ verse: wanderer ] i need something different. I don’t know what it is but I need something new.

[ verse: hueco mundo ] there is a massacre ready behind his eyes & war written on his body.

[ verse: sternritter ] when the silence of absence deepens

[tellescope]

A new piece of info came to light for me in Sonic Frontiers.

I previously headcanoned that Maria was penpals with Ivo. They would've been about the same age as kids after all and he seemed to idolize Gerald which to me implied some sort of contact with the ARK. Guess I was wrong. But I really like that headcanon and will be sticking with it as my Maria is already canon-divergent. However for anyone writing Ivo if they want to stick closer to canon I will make the following adjustment:

Maria did write letters to Ivo from aboard the ARK. But transport ships were infrequent, so the letters were few and far between. If perhaps they never made it to Ivo, well that was beyond her control. She wouldn't be deterred by a lack of replies. She would just assume him busy and try again with the next transport shuttle. But it's entirely possible that all her attempts were for naught.

[astranne]

I dont have his skin YET but i will be getting it soon. It doesnt help that ill be sticking him on a team with two harbingers and his brother, my DPS team. (yes i did in fact cave for the ginger and he came leaping into my arms with 20 pulls)

I already have enough artis for him but some were HORRIBLE rolls and i really want him to be a EM God with Childe and Kaeya (and Scara. He will come home.) i have so many plans.

-🪶

yay!! diluc’s skin is gorgeous, even if his hair is still… questionable, but he is forgiven 😌

also, tell me how this team works for you then 👀 quite curious abt it

AND WTF- HOW ARE YOU SO LUCKY, I NEED THIS LUCK FOR MY RAIDEN AND ALHAITHAM 😩

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: alastor being a bit egotistical

↳ song: si j'étais blanche—joséphine baker

↳ notes: got any ideas for stuff i should do next? reblogs are appreciated

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It wasn’t your fault you’ve always had a messed up sleep schedule

• Even while living, nighttime had never been able to tame you. It was just your luck that the habit carried on into hell. Figures that the world wouldn’t give you a break even in death

• You weren’t exactly an insomniac, per se. It was quite the opposite in fact. Just a simple case of falling victim to spontaneous naps in the most random of places. Yet never at night

• Narcoleptic & nocturnal were the terms that your friends used to use for you. With grins, they’d compared you to an owl; always up at night wandering aimlessly. Sometimes for days on end you’d carry on doing this and that, only to curl into a ball the next day and remain that way

• The habit never was anything more than a nuisance until you’d started living at the hotel. The place was just so big, with so many places for you to lie down before the thought of your bedroom even crossed your mind

• Angel Dust was the first person to find you passed out. He had been strolling into the kitchen, looking for something to consume that wasn’t drugs for once, when he spied you hunched over the counter snoring softly

• In your hand was a wooden spoon covered in a creamy batter of some sort, a bowl beneath it with the same concoction. Almost as if you had been making something before passing out

• Briefly checking his phone, the spider confirmed that it was only two in the afternoon, and approached you with a sly smile

• You were promptly startled awake by a loud shout directly next to your ear

• “I’m sorry—“ Angel laughed wildly as you fumed, not sounding sorry at all. “—but you should have seen your face.�� He clutched his stomach as he fell into another laughing fit

• “Hey! Watch it!”

• He ducked with a frown as you sent the spoon flying at his head, just barely missing the porn star’s styled hair

• Everyone quickly made their own discovery about your weird sleeping habits soon after. Each in their own embarrassing ways

• Vaggie witnessed you lying on the stairs looking positively drained one morning, and Charlie even found you face first on the bar counter while Husk wiped away at a cocktail glass

• “Too much to drink?” She asked the cat, lifting up one of your arms between her thumb and forefinger carefully, almost as if you’d wake if she pressed to hard

• Husk laughed to himself at the question, remembering how he had turned to make you a shot before coming back to the sight before him now

• “Not exactly.” He huffed

• Perhaps best example of just how bad your timing was came in the form of an impromptu staff meeting

• Alastor had called everyone— more like demanded them —into the main parlor for an announcement one day. A mere week after the kitchen incident with Angel, in fact

• With a flourish of shadowy magic and a twirl of his hands, the overlord presented some sort of home made commercial on the age old TV the place had, looking very amused with himself as he did so

• You tried to pay attention, you really did. But at one point the actors and stray blood splatters started to look like the back of your eyelids

• By the time it was over, Alastor was tapping his fingers along the top of the picture box rhythmically while everyone looked at him with awkward smiles

• But you? Well—

• “So!” Alastor cheered with a cheesy grin as he spun on his heel. The rest of the members in the room watched him awkwardly, not noticing that your head had hit the back of the couch at a rough angle. “What do you all thi— are they asleep.”

• Static bled into the demons voice at an alarming rate as you let out a half jolt at the shift in mood, falling off the couch with a yelp in your wake

• You took a moment to swipe at your face wildly before blanching at Alastor towering over you nervously

• “Uh, my bad?”

• Alastor’s smile strained itself so thin, you thought it would split his face in half

• “Glad to know I’m keeping you entertained.” He all but laughed happily. But the white knuckled grip on his microphone told you otherwise

• You recall Charlie telling you something about ignorance being one of Alastor’s least favorite things. Especially when it came to his little spectacles

• “Maybe we’ve had enough peer feedback for today—“ Vaggie cut in cautiously

• “I concur.” Came your quick agreement

• You made sure to avoid Alastor for a few days after that

[angelsheartts]

୭ JEALOUSY ˚. ᵎᵎ ~

#pairing : lucifer, adam, alastor, angel dust, husk, valentino, vox, x gn reader.

#cw: jealousy?, +18 in valentino's/vox's part, suggestive content ig, cuss words lmao.

#notes: u guys don’t know how much i wanna know why lilith made a deal with adam, and how could she even fumbled lucifer.

⋆.ೃ- LUCIFER .

i don't think lucifer gets jealous easily, at least, but if he is jealous, he will surely become reallyyyy clingy and will try to show off. i mean, he's the sin of pride, after all.

being the partner of the king of hell really meant that there would always be people staring at you, even ones who had no shame at all and would flirt with you, sometimes even in front of lucifer.

"would you mind if I bought you a drink, sweetheart?" a powerful overlord asked you, making lucifer raise an eyebrow and look at the overlord with one of his annoyed characteristics expressions, and before you could even reply anything, lucifer had already bought you both the whole menu of drinks while clinging onto you. "do you think this is enough for you, (name)?" he asked, making the overlord stop bothering you both and making you gasp a soft sigh, knowing he did all of this with such an innocent face, as if he wasn’t getting annoyed just a second ago.

⋆.ೃ- ADAM .

his ego is too big for him to even consider the idea of being jealous, but boy, does he want to get rid of the fucking asshole who is talking to you.

even though you were adam's third wife/adam's first husband, you were nice to being around. not like your husband, who always made snarky comments about everything and everyone.

sometimes, though, people would flirt with you without you noticing, making your husband really irritated and dragging you away while flipping off the angel who initially flirted with you and making some snarky remarks about them. "(name), that bitch was literally fucking you with his eyes! you should have called me before, next time make sure to be around me, got it?" adam called out, making you giggle since his insults were sometimes so unexpected.

⋆.ೃ- ALASTOR .

alastor is the kind of guy who wouldn’t get jealous; maybe once an extermination you would see him acting a little possessive over you, but really, this guy knows your soul belongs to him, so why would there be a need to feel jealous?

actually, only your friends at the hazbin hotel where the only ones who knew about your relationship with alastor; it made sense, since he knew you could get in danger if someone else found out.

that didn’t meant that angel dust wouldn’t take the opportunity to flirt with you as a joke while trying to get a reaction from you. "(name), i think you would get pretty popular if you started to appear on my films" he said jokingly to you, while alastor just looked at him with his usual smile "i don’t think that (name) would want to get involved in that kind of stuff, angel dust, isn’t that right, dear?" alastor answered, kissing your cheek, and leaving you speechless since he mostly kept his affection for when the both of you where alone.

⋆.ೃ- ANGEL DUST .

for me, he may get jealous depending on who's hitting on you; if it’s some random imp, it won’t really bother him; he will just tell them to fuck off themselves and leave you alone, but if it’s someone like valentino, oh boy, he acts VERY different.

angel dust didn’t really like you being in the porn studios were he works, because he knows that valentino is waiting to say anything to you, and because he simply thinks you don’t belong in a place like that. he thinks you’re much better working at the hazbin hotel or wandering around the pride ring.

"(name), aren’t you a supportive one? you know that if you want, i could make you a star lik-" "val, we're on set soon" angel dust spoke, looking angrily at valentino. "well, looks like your little boyfriend doesn’t want me to talk to you; i’m sure we’ll have plenty of time the next time," valentino whispered, making you stand there awkwardly.

as you both were finally at the hazbin hotel, anthony asked you not to come next time, since he really didn’t want valentino talking to you ever again. "(name), you know i really don’t want to get you in trouble, and you know that outside of the studio we can do whatever the fuck we want, but still, thanks for the snack you brought." he said, smirking, and letting you cuddle into his arms like you always do after an exhausting day.

⋆.ೃ- HUSK .

husk would only get jealous or, well, mostly, frustrated if someone interrupted you both, like if you both are just having a wholesome moment and someone just steals your attention from him, he’s a cat after all AND will be grumpy afterward.

you were having a nice chat with husk while having a drink at his bar, but as he was explaining you something, alastor came along and asked you something between the lines of 'if you had seen charlie or vaggie' since he had to talk to them about some business about the hazbin hotel.

after alastor left, you turned to look at your partner, noticing how he had been growling this entire time. it wasn’t really loud, though. "tsk, that radio demon really needed to ruin the atmosphere," he said, making you give him a look "what? you know, i dislike the idea of him thinking that he can just do whatever he pleases with my stuff." hearing your partner's words, you knew you had to reassure him that even though alastor had interrupted you both, your attention was still set on him and no one else.

⋆.ೃ- VALENTINO .

he’s valentino, he surely and kind of obviously gets jealous whenever you’re talking to someone that isn’t him.

the workers in the studio know that since you worked there, you've only filmed with valentino; nobody questions why, and nobody really cares whatever reason their boss has to not let you fuck with others.

today, though, a worker intended to jokingly flirt with you. "(name), i think that if we make a video together, even the most pure souls would want to watch it" oh, well, that wasn’t even a little funny to valentino.

"such a slut for me, mmh? you really thought my sweet (name) would even think about fucking with you?" valentino smirked, while thrusting into you. he had his eyes set on the demon who flirted with you, not even caring about the fact that he was on set.

⋆.ೃ- VOX .

this man has the same jealousy problems, or even worse, than valentino. he's actually such an attention whore, so he obviously would despise everyone who tries to flirt with you.

actually everyone who works for the vees knows how jealous vox is, and that’s because this is a situation that often happens: if someone is even looking at you a little longer than usual, he will become insecure and try ANYTHING he can so he can have your attention on him. like i mentioned, he’s an attention whore.

today, the outfit that velvette chose for you might have made some people stare back at you. i mean he can’t judge them; you looked so fucking good in it, but hell does he want to have you all by himself, so what does he does? take you to his office so he can have you all by himself.

"(name)," he mutters while keeping his hands all over your body. "you knew what you were doing, huh? making everyone stare at your body, but i’m such a good partner for not making a fuss about it, right?" he asked, waiting for you to atleast praise him, 'cause like a already mentioned he’s an attention wh- lmao.

[girlboypersonthingy]

Big reward. I meant for that to be a smut request, my bad.

OMFG I BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!!! Yessss finally some Valentino smut. I love it~ I’m honestly soooo inspired by @sweets4dolls and her Val x bunny!reader smut 🤤 literally so good. He’s so toxic. 10/10 would smash. Go check her stuff out! And I hope you enjoy my stuff too ❤️‍🔥

Notes: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, THIS ENDED UP LONGER THAN EXPECTED OOPS I’m gonna have to excuse myself now, geez 😳

TW: oral s*x (m receiving), DDLG, unsanitary, unprotected s*x, spit, creamp*e, rough, dirty talk, 18+ only MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Valentino x reader- Superstar 🌟💖

“And cut! That’s a fucking wrap!” Valentino shoots up from his seat so fast his chair tips over behind him as he claps obnoxiously. Boy had stars in his eyes, even his assistant was shocked by his display of pride and admiration. “Damn, baby. That was a helluva show, fuck! That’s why she’s my favorite~” Val smirks as he eyes your figure still up on set, still down on your knees and trembling. He snaps his fingers, yelling out to his back stage crew. “Alright! Come get the vibrator off her, hurry up.”

Yeah…although the scene had ended and the cameras cut at least 2 whole ass minutes ago, you’re still in position waiting for the boss to give you the okay. Down on your knees, hands bound behind your back with thick pink ropes, your pretty lacy lingerie disheveled and drenched in all kinds of different bodily fluids and, of course, Val had one of his most sturdy and powerful vibrators tucked up against your heat, making you grind down against the carpet below you just to get off. The worst part- he made you leave your panties on the whole time. Finally, after a few orgasms had already wracked your body, the vibrating in your crotch disappears, leaving you only half satisfied.

The entire shoot, all he had you do was suck as many dicks as you could, swallowing every single load for the camera. Gagging on cock is hot to some, maybe not to others- but there’s something about how darling you look choking on another demon’s dick that just sets him and his viewers off. Your pretty lashes dusted with tears, your nose and cheeks pink, your forehead shiny with sweat, your bare chest covered in spit and cum, your cheeks and throat stretching to fit every inch. Not that you mind! You’d do anything for Val but damn, you were aching for a real fuck. All the vibrator did was get you prepped and wet and now you need some real friction.

“Everyone, out! Now! I need to talk to (Y/N).” As all his employees scramble to leave the studio, Val walks over to you, still bucking your hips against nothing now. He kneels in front of you, taking your face in his hands. You’ve been staring at his hard on since half way through taping and now that he was right in front of you, dick about to rip through his pants, you feel your walls clenching longingly. “Wow. Holy. Shit.” He lets out a deep chuckle as he stares at your face, your make up smeared under your eyes. “I did okay?” The question has Val scoffing as he looks you up and down, watching as your thighs quiver. “Baby, you did fan-fuckin-tastic. You’re gonna make me so much fucking cash, I’m not gonna know what to do with it!”

With his hands still holding your face, he pulls you into a sloppy kiss, letting his tongue wander into you immediately. You happily tongue him back, leaning into him as you struggle to keep your balance with your hands still tied behind you. Breaking the kiss, his large hands travel down your neck to your chest, his fingers giving your sensitive nipples little squeezes. Val looks down to see you’ve scooted closer to him and you’re still rolling your hips in the hopes of finding something to fill you. He eases your pain by gently thrusting forward, his hard bulge up against your needy crotch for a moment.

“Aww~ I know, amorcito. Such a long shoot with such an empty hole. You must feel so hollow right now, baby. Does my little girl need more?” Nodding frantically, you kiss him again before moaning your pleas into his mouth. “Please, fuck me, Valentino.” His smirk becomes sinister as he leans away, refusing your kisses now. His shift causes you to fall forward into him more, your tits squished against his stomach now. “Ah ah ah. Try again.” His scolding makes you whine, makes tears begin to form in your eyes. “Hmm~ please f-fuck me, daddy~” and within seconds, he’s tearing your once disheveled lingerie completely off of you, your strained voice making his dick twitch.

“Hmm~ yeah, that’s my little superstar.” Within seconds, he had you turned around on your knees once again with your face pressed to the plush red carpet. Val made little effort to remove your panties, leaving them bunched up around your knees. Finally, with your face on the floor, your ass in the air and your throbbing cunt free of the fabric, Val gets a good look at your eager pussy. He yanks off his belt and quickly frees his dick without even pulling his pants down much. He can’t wait much longer and neither can you.

He swiftly leans over, one hand on each of your ass cheeks as he spits on your hole, earning a whine of anticipation from you. With no hesitation, he sits up and thrusts into you all at once, filling every bit of you instantly. “Oh my fucking-“ Val growls loudly as his hands grip your hips, his cock immediately moving at an unforgiving pace. Giving you no time to adjust, he continues to pound into you as he leans forward, putting one hand on the side of your head then forcing it down onto the ground. “Ah~ such a clean little cunt you’ve got, just patiently waiting to be filled by daddy, huh?”

All you can muster up is a collection of moans, whines and gasps. Right as you catch your breath, Val spanks your ass hard and his pace slows. “Use your words~” Despite the stinging hand print on your ass, his voice is soft and sweet, so sultry and exciting. “Yes! Ah- oh! I’ve been waiting for you all day...” Your begging goes straight to his head, pulling a hearty chuckle from him. “You’re such a good girl, amorcito. Always doing exactly what I say, right when I say it. And you do it all sooo welllll~”

His thrusting had stopped completely now and suddenly, his hands are on your shoulders, pulling you up to be parallel with his body. Your back against his chest and you now sitting on his dick, he wraps one of his strong hands around your throat loosely and pulls you back against him before whispering in your ear. “Good girls get to cum sooner. You wanna cum now, baby?” And you couldn’t take it anymore, you began to squirm against him. “Yes, yes! Please keep goinggggg~”

And Val obeys, wrapping his arms around your torso tightly then helping bounce you on his dick. He is so strong, he is literally lifting you completely off of his lap before slamming you back down again, making your stomach bulge as he swelled inside you. A moaning mess covered in sweat, you had lost control of your legs and were now relying on him to keep you going. Now you’ve found yourself thanking the stars that you had done good today and impressed him. He was always willing to service his favorites and this was so worth the wait.

He moved one hand up to your neck again, squeezing it as he pants and growls in your ear. With every up and down of your body, you can feel yourself getting close, your tummy feels so full and your walls won’t stop tightening around his dick. “Yeah~ lemme hear you, mi cariño.”

Moaning at a higher volume now, Val couldn’t hold back anymore and he sunk his teeth into your shoulder, drawing blood. As a squeal leaves you, he keeps his mouth latched to you, still thrusting up into your sopping cunt as he licks the blood away. Finally, once you feel yourself fall off the edge of pleasure, your legs tense up against him and your hands bound behind you were searching for something to grasp. “Oh fuck~! Th-thank you, daddy. Thankyoudaddythankyoudaddythankyoudaddyyyyyyy~!” Your cries are harsh, babbles of appreciation pouring from your dry mouth as Val continues to buck up into you.

Without letting you catch your breath, he pushes you back down into the carpet, your weak body going limp as you lay flat against the ground. Panting and whining still, you squeeze your legs together once you realize he’s not inside you anymore. Not a moment later, Val was gripping your bruised hips and pulling your ass back up in the air. Legs shaking violently, you couldn’t control your loud whining as he thrusts back into you again, resuming the same rapid pace as before. Val grunts and hisses at the feeling of your slick dripping down his thighs now. “Hmmph…gonna cum in you. Gonna fill my pretty girl up.” With a firm slap to your already tender ass, Val lets out a rumbling laugh as you pant into the carpet, tears of overstimulation cascading down your burning cheeks.

Already so fucked, you couldn’t even close your mouth for long enough to form a single word. Your only option was to relax into his grip and enjoy it for as long as he lasts. “F-fuck.” Val stutters out as his fingers dig into your soft flesh. With one final thrust, burying his dick inside you completely, he let out a throaty grunt followed by soft sighs. It nearly brought you to another climax feeling his hot cum spill into you. After a few seconds of being still, Val slowly pumps in and out of you, lewd squishing noises sounding from where your bodies connected.

Another hard smack to the ass is followed by Val slowly pulling out of you with his eyes locked on your swollen pussy the whole time. Glancing back at him, all you could see through the blurry tears in your eyes was his huge, satisfied grin as he watched his thick load dribble out of you. “Mm mm mm. You are so delectable. Such a good girl.”

Without another word, Val stands and pulls his pants up, adjusting himself before fastening his belt. You had since collapsed completely, your body heavy and flat against the floor beneath you. Val stepped over your quivering form and skillfully untied your hands with amazing speed. Your arms came flopping down to your sides as you inhaled fully then exhaled deeply. “Get yourself cleaned up and go rest for the night. I’m gonna need you to do all of that lovely hard work again tomorrow. You can do that for me, right baby?”

“Yes, daddy~”

[ivyppoison]

THEY LIKE THE WAY I GRIND

pairings. cowboy!leon kennedy ⠀𝒙⠀ farmer’s granddaughter!fem!reader [ au ]

𐙚 warnings : slightly ooc leon ( bc he’s a southern boy in this fic obviously ), oblivious reader, suggestive content, derogatory language

words. 1.311k

note. am i finally satisfied i managed to write this fic ?! yes, yes i am. this came to me in a dream so i decided to write a fic about it because why not. i have an obsession for southern boys and their silly goofy accents even tho their ancestors fought for slavery & i wouldn’t be here today :3 ── yours sincerely, maxine

The family barn was some sort of fever dream for you. You’d only visited once or twice, and every time you left, you promised yourself you wouldn’t come back to the outskirts of your grandparents' home town. However, one thing, one sole person kept you coming back. 

A childhood friend, and possibly even a sweetheart who had you wrapped around his fingers ( those said fingers you wished were somewhere else ), your first kiss, your first time, the muse of your daydreams.

With his star studded boot, and dusted cowboy hat. Calloused hands and a whiskey-laced tongue.

Leon motherfucking Kennedy.

The soft, grassy and dewy smell of the countryside suffocated you as you stepped out of the farmhouse, making your way over to the barn where you could see Leon working.

You let your mind wander, your eyes flickering over his body, his bare arms flexing as he carried out his work, his blond strands falling into his face before he flicked it backwards.

Walking further towards him, you leaned against the fence with your legs crossed at the ankles, your nimble fingers playing with the rings that adorned your fingers as you waited for him to notice your presence.

A few moments passed before his blue eyes locked with yours, his gaze flickering up and down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs before meeting your stare once more.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself, pretty girl?” He asked, his Southern accent drawn out long, dropping the hay bale before dusting his hands and walking towards you.

“I came to see you of course,” you answered, your stomach softly fluttering at the close proximity of his body to yours. You could tell he was distracted by the clothes you decided to put on today: a pair of denim shorts and a flimsy blouse ( with a few buttons undone ). 

“After thinking you abandoned me for that big city of yours, you finally came back, didn’t you darlin’?” He asked, his eyes staring you down as the corners of his lips twitched up into a smirk. “Did you come back to see your grandparents, or did you come back to see me?”

You held your bottom lip between your teeth as you searched your brain for an answer.

“I came back to surprise them, Leon,” you lied, letting out a small sigh escape your lips, as you watched him search you for the truth.

“So, you didn’t come back to see me?” He feigned disappointment, placing his hand on his chest as he placed his hand on the fence beside your head.

“Of course I did,” you whispered, your voice faltering slightly as you started dumbly at him. 

The proximity of his body brought your mind into a trance rather than out as he closed the small distance between the two of you.

Leon’s eyes trailed down from yours to your lips as he leaned in slowly causing you to close your eyes. Before your lips met, however, he quickly pulled away, patting you lightly on the cheek as he watched you. 

“A lot has changed since you last came,” he continued as if nothing had happened, his hands resting on his hips as he looked to the side. “I have something to show you.”

Your eyes lit up at this as your fingers played with the hem of your shorts, following him as he led you across the barn to where the horses were kept.

Leon let out a whistle, searching for a particular horse before reaching for your hand. He placed your hand on the animal, smiling as you did so.

“Guess her name,” he said, watching you with an intensive smile.

You raised your eyebrows as you thought of an answer, shaking your head once you gave up.

“Named this beauty after you,” he explained, his gaze flickering over the horse as he stroked its forehead.

Your expression turned into one of a smile as you felt extremely flattered. 

“You named a horse after me?” You laughed, copying his actions.

“Gives me a reason to say your name,” he replied, “but now you’re back, I have more of a reason to say it, don’t I, pretty girl?” 

“Maybe we’ll get you on her, and you can go for a ride,” he suggested, crossing his arms as he looked over at you. 

“I don’t know how to ride horses, Leon,” you replied, drawing small patterns on its skin as you looked over at him.

“Why? I thought you were a natural after last time,” he replied, winking at you as you let out a sigh. “Maybe, later today, I could teach you how to ride. And I’m not talking about this darlin’ right here,” he added, whispering the last bit in your ear as he placed his thumbs in the belt holes of his jeans. “You could practise on something else.”

His eyes locked on something behind you as he started walking away.  

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. Remember my offer,” he said, facing you before turning around and leaving.

You seriously needed a drink.

For the rest of the evening, you spent it in the comfort of your bed, sipping on a beer you took from the fridge as your mind recalled every moment that happened with him.

A foreign sound brought your attention to your window, pebbles knocking at the glass, as you decided to open it and peer down.

There he was, the devil himself, still clad in his clothes from earlier, a small smile lacing his lips as he noticed your head poking through the window.

He managed to make his way up to your room, crawling through the gap in the window before making sure his hat was secured to his head.

“You came,” you hummed, a grin adorning your face as you watched him.

“I’m not going to be the only one ‘coming’ tonight,” he replied, a smug expression as he closed the gap between you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, knocking at the enclosure of your ribs, his hands holding you at your waist as he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Almost unconsciously, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his head down as you deepened the kiss, a small gasp escaping your mouth as he bit lightly on your bottom lip. 

Your hand trailed down to the hem of his jeans, your finger looped in his belt hole as you pulled him closer.

“Getting confident, ain’t we, sweetheart?” He asked, staring down at you before taking off his hat and placing it on your head. “You look so pretty. I bet you’d look gorgeous riding my dick like the little cowgirl you are,” he whispered, causing a rupture in your stomach as it fluttered, your cunt getting wetter as he went on, addicted to the sound of his voice. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he kneaded the skin of your hip with his thumb, caressing small circles with his thumb, his lips nipping at the crook of your neck causing you to let out a small whimper.

“Be quiet for me, darlin’. Don’t want your grandparents waking up to the sound of their precious granddaughter getting railed by their farm boy,” he added with a small chuckle, looking up to see you practically crumbling under his touch.

“Come here,” he smiled, leading you towards the bed as he laid down on his back, resting his weight on his elbow as he looked over at you whilst his free hand toyed with his belt, unbuckling it before tugging it off. 

Watching him like this sent a shiver down your spine, the feeling accumulating in your stomach as you pressed your thighs together. Your fingers began to unbutton your blouse, earning a low whistle from Leon.

“Atta girl, you know exactly what to do.”

[happy74827]

He’s Got The Fire

[Johnny Lawrence x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: To your surprise, Johnny shows up at your window unannounced, but it doesn’t take long to realize it’s not for kicks {GIF Creds: pilvimarja}.

WC: 2076

Category: Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Fluff, Introverted(ish)!Reader

Honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t started writing this franchise earlier given how it’s about equal with my love for BTTF

『••✎••』

The sun had already gone down a while ago, the air was crisp, and the sky was starry. It was the perfect evening to watch the moon rise. The wind carried a chill, and the trees were almost bare, swaying in the breeze.

With a sigh, you closed the book you had been reading and stretched your legs, looking out the window of your room. By now, everyone had been asleep for a few hours, and you worked on upcoming assignments to pass the time. But when you had gotten to your last one, you just couldn't be bothered anymore, so you set it aside.

The quietness was nice, and the light from the moon cast a blue-ish glow on everything around you. You were so calm, but there was still something that had you feeling off.

Johnny.

He was never around much lately. It wasn't surprising, but it was disheartening. Ever since that championship loss a while back, he had been training even harder, and when he wasn't training, he was out doing god-knows-what.

You understood how important Cobra Kai was to him, but the fact that he was putting everything else on the back burner really had you worried. He had a tendency to go down the wrong path and not think about the consequences until after the fact. You hoped that wasn't what was happening this time.

Pulling your knees up, you rested your head on them and looked out at the night. There was a full moon, and you wondered if Johnny had noticed. He used to love taking walks at night just to see the moon and look up at the stars.

He had changed so much since then. That fire inside of him burned so brightly that sometimes you wondered if it would burn him, too.

Sitting like that for a while, you lost track of time. It was easy to get distracted and drift away from reality when your mind wandered. It was something you were trying to work on, and you were actually doing pretty well.

Until you heard a pang on your window.

Sitting up, you looked around, wondering if a bird had flown into it, but you saw nothing. Your mind immediately went to a branch falling or something like that, and you were ready to dismiss the strange noise and go back to daydreaming.

But the pang came again, and your heart leaped in your throat. You stood and cautiously moved toward the window. At the same time, a face popped up from below, and you shrieked.

He motioned for you to open the window, along with attempts to hush you. It was a very frantic gesture, and you felt your heart rate rise. You quickly opened the window and stuck your head out.

"Johnny?!" You whispered-yelled, and he was pulling himself up. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh!" He held a finger to his lips and looked behind him, and your eyebrows furrowed.

"Johnny-"

"Do you want the whole neighborhood to know I'm here? Let me in!"

You stared at him for a moment longer before helping him through the window. It didn’t go as smoothly as one would expect, like the movies, but he managed to tumble in. You stood there, arms folded, as he dusted himself off.

You haven’t seen him in so long, and the day you choose to miss him, he shows up out of nowhere. You would’ve called yourself psychic if it weren’t for the fact that Johnny always did the unexpected.

He looked… good, to say the least. The red jacket still fit him perfectly; his blonde hair was combed and fluffy, and his eyes were still focused and alert, even if his body language seemed a little sluggish.

To be honest, Johnny was the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on. His sharp jawline, his toned muscles, and that cocky smile of his. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and the way he always looked at you like you were the only girl in the world.

For a while, you didn’t understand why he chose to pursue you, of all people. He could have anyone he wanted. You weren't exactly a social butterfly, and you always got nervous and shy in the presence of others.

Johnny was the opposite of you. He was outgoing, and his charisma attracted everyone to him. And the way his voice was so smooth and deep. He could be the most annoying person on the planet, but when he said your name, you would melt.

So when he asked you out, you thought it was some sort of joke. I mean, he was the hottest guy in school. And you were just… you.

But then you realized there was more to him than just the bad boy exterior. He had a sensitive side, and his vulnerability was endearing. His family was… well, a lot. His mom was nice, but she had her fair share of issues, and his stepfather was a piece of work.

It only took one date to realize the Johnny you were accustomed to wasn’t the real him. The real him was like you… except he could kick ass and had some pent-up anger issues.

And yet, here you were.

"Johnny-" You began, but he stepped toward you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You stood stiffly, arms at your sides.

"God, I've missed you."

That was the last thing you expected him to say. You felt your face heat up, your chest warm up, and your shoulders slumped. You melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him.

"I've missed you too."

You could feel him grin against the top of your head, and he squeezed you a little tighter. He was so warm, and it made you forget the fact that he was literally climbing through your window at almost midnight.

After a minute or so, he pulled away and held your face in his hands. You were looking into those piercing blue eyes, and you could feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Why are you here?" You asked, your voice a little above a whisper.

He hesitated, and that was the moment you knew something was wrong. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I, uh… I needed to see you."

You raised an eyebrow, but you didn't say anything. You were waiting for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, you sighed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the bed. You sat on the edge, and he followed.

"Johnny," You said, turning toward him and placing a hand on his knee. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just… wanted to see you."

You didn't say anything. You knew better than that. So you waited.

"Okay, okay," He sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna lie to you, but I can’t tell you why."

"That's reassuring."

"It's just… things are… well, I just needed to get away. It's nothing, I'm fine, don't worry."

You were silent. You didn't really know what to say. There was so much going on, and it was hard for you to believe him when he told you not to worry.

"Is it… Is it Sid? Your mom?"

"Just…” He shook his head and stood, rubbing the back of his neck. He started pacing, and that was when you knew he was really upset. “Just drop it, alright? Everything's fine."

“You ignored me for the past two weeks, Johnny. Something is wrong."

He stopped and glared at you, and you froze. You were taken aback by the expression on his face. He seemed frustrated and almost angry.

The look… you knew it wasn’t directed at you, but you couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. He was always so hot-headed and stubborn, and when his mood shifted, you had a hard time knowing what to do.

He seemed to realize his expression and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh.

"Sorry, God, I'm sorry, it's not you. I'm just-" He sighed and plopped back down on the bed next to you, running his hands over his face. "I'm a fucking mess, okay? Just forget I came."

It was weird how, in certain situations, you could completely shift into a different person. You’ve seen it in movies and TV, and it was a cliche. You didn’t think it would ever happen to you.

And yet, the second you heard the words come out of his mouth, you were hit with an overwhelming urge to turn his head towards yours, grab his face in your hands, and kiss him.

So you did.

You couldn’t really tell him why you did it. It just felt like the right thing to do, and it was an impulse. You figured it was the best way to let him know that you were here and he wasn’t alone.

The second your lips met, he was leaning into you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. You could feel the passion and desperation behind the kiss, and it took you a moment to match his energy.

He was rough and intense, and he pulled away after a few moments, moving to your neck. You gasped and gripped the collar of his jacket, feeling the heat of his lips on your skin.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. And it was true. You had missed him more than you had thought. You had almost forgotten how much of a force he was to be reckoned with.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to form words, but failing. Instead, you tugged on his jacket and pulled him towards you, hoping he would get the message.

And he did.

His lips found yours again, and he was pushing you back, holding himself above you with one hand. His other was moving up your shirt, his fingers grazing your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers danced across your ribs. His lips were rough, but they moved with such grace and delicacy it was hard to keep up.

He pulled away for a moment, and you looked up at him, catching your breath. His blonde hair was messy, and his eyes were a little hooded. He looked like a mess, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

You reached up and brushed his hair back, giving him a soft smile.

“Is that…” His eyes peered away from you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Do you still have that damn elephant?"

Your eyes followed his, and you spotted the elephant in question. It was a gift Johnny had given you back when things were different. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure you were together at that point.

"Why wouldn't I?" You asked, and he chuckled. “Ozzy's special."

"You named it? What are you, ten?"

You swatted his arm, and he laughed again. His eyes found yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. It felt like old times.

"Don't make fun of him. You gave him to me."

"Yeah, whatever," He rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Can't believe you kept him."

"I keep a lot of stuff, Johnny. Especially when they're meaningful."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes still focused on you. The moonlight was shining through the window and casting a shadow on his face.

"I keep a lot of things, too."

Before you could say anything, he was leaning down and kissing you again. You could tell this one was different, more meaningful, like he was pouring his heart and soul into the kiss.

And he was.

He wanted you to know how he felt about you without actually saying it. And although you weren’t really sure what was going on, you had a feeling this was what it was.

The fire inside of him was burning again, but finally, after so long, he realized that he needed to take a breather every now and then. Add some water to the flames.

It was a delicate balance. And although he may be bad at showing his feelings, talking about them, or acknowledging them, you were there to make sure he didn't lose himself in the heat.

And maybe, just maybe, the flame was a little more subdued, and the burn a little less harsh.

[stay-mon-army]

Daydream Kisses

Word Count: 4,040 words

Warning(s): Self-doubt, pining, like one swear word, angst (I really need some healing and OPLA Sanji is giving it to me)

Pairing: Sanji x GN!reader

After the conversation you had with Sanji, your life on the Going Merry couldn’t possibly have been any better. You felt calmer around Sanji, able to simply enjoy the company he was willing to provide. You spent time with all of the crew, laughing and drinking and making memories, but you spent the most time by far with the chef.

You were able to ignore the teasing looks and whispers most of the crew gave you when they noticed you spending so much time with the cook. You knew what they thought – you had heard it all from Nami, but you weren’t going to let them goad you into thinking bad thoughts again. After all, your conversation with Sanji had cleared it all up, you were feeling good about spending time with the chef in whatever capacity made the both of you happy.

However, your mind never could totally shut off.

One night, you lie awake, tossing and turning as you think over and over all the little things that happen between you and Sanji. You had sworn you wouldn’t think about what Nami had said to you that fateful morning, but you couldn’t help it.

Be with Sanji? Was that something you wanted? What would that be like?

Your mind wandered off, imagining the lovely life you could have with the chef. You already spent hours beside him, talking, working quietly beside each other, sharing quips and teasing glances and gentle touches. When you went into town with him to shop for groceries for the next voyage, he would often grasp your hand in his, ensuring you didn’t get separated in the crowded markets. He would lean into the counter to watch you while you talked, and he would always watch you closely, eyes dancing between your eyes and your lips as he let you try a taste of his newest recipe. He would pull you into a hug whenever you shared something even a little sad, like the time you saw a really pretty dragonfly get eaten by a flying fish. He was always right beside you during any dangerous moments, putting himself between you and the perceived danger.

What more would change, truly, if you were to tell Sanji you liked him?

Well for starters, he might kiss you. You imagined telling him, whispering your feelings to him one day in the kitchen, playing with your hands in a way you hope shows your excitement and your fear in equal measure. He would grin that beautiful breath-taking smile, like the world was opening up to swallow you whole. He would reach out for you, his hands resting against your elbows, then sliding up, up, up until one held your back and the other looped into your hair. He would pull himself ever closer, tilting your head to angle towards him, his lips coming down to just a hairs-breadth away. His breath would smell like mint and tobacco, ghosting against your lips as he breathed out a quiet, “may I, my love?” And the shiver your body gave in response would be all he needed before he dipped down and pressed your lips together in a slow, sweet kiss like you had never imagined.

Yeah, that would change things.

But there were some things you wouldn’t mind changing between you both.

You could imagine coaxing him from the kitchen after a long day of cooking, the contented, tired look in his eyes that he gets after another successful day full of recipes. Your hands would tug his, leading him out to the deck, where you would find the comfiest spot. You would lay down beside him there, on the deck, underneath the star-dusted sky, watching the way the world rocked from the waves lapping against the sides of the boat. You’d curl into his arms, your head resting against his shoulder as he held you, letting you point out particularly bright stars or what you imagined to be the constellations. You’d talk about your days, even though you spent most of it together; you’d talk about the future, dreaming of what would happen when you found the One Piece and the All Blue together. You wouldn’t be able to resist reaching up to press kisses against his collarbone, neck, cheek, lips, loving the way he melted into your touches, letting you do whatever you wanted because he just loved you this close so much. You could see yourself falling asleep like that, tucked underneath a blanket, wrapped in the chef’s warmth and comforting scent, drifting into a dream-filled sleep with thoughts of Sanji in your head.

Let’s just say sleep was hard to find when you thought of what you might want, how that might change things.

Some nights, you would wander out onto the deck, enjoying the sea breeze in the hopes it would chase away your aggressive thoughts. You hated that you worried so much – you had gotten better in some ways at dealing with your crazy thoughts since talking to Sanji, but in others you had become a total mess. You didn’t worry about your interactions with Sanji, but man, the moment you thought about your internal feelings? All hell broke loose and you hated every minute of it.

Tonight was one such night where your hammock and the darkness of your bedroom seemed like a war zone of battling desires. You hadn’t been afraid of the dark in years, but suddenly the moonlight created shadows of the blond chef, making you wish he was beside you in ways that sent shivers down your back.

You breathed in deep of the salty spray, staring up at the sparkling expanse above. Nothing settled you quite as much as the stars – they were soothing in their silent watchfulness, observing without judgment, taking in the lives of everyone below without malice or opinion. They wouldn’t comment on your wild thoughts, your deep-seated worries, your hopes and desires. They would simply watch, stand witness to the life you lead, beside you through all of it. The stars never leave.

You almost miss the tell-tale tapping of dress shoes across the deck, your mind too distant racing among the stars.

“Why are you awake so late, darling? You’ll catch your death out here in the cold.” Sanji drapes his coat across your shoulders, smoothing the sleeves against your arms before moving to stand beside you. The gentle press of his hands against your arms, even through the fabric of your shirt and his jacket, brings back the thoughts you had come out to avoid and you tried to blink away the embarrassing heat that courses through your body at the feeling.

“Couldn’t sleep, is all.” You say, pinching the edge of the jacket between your forefinger, middle, and thumb to tug it closer around your body. You don’t look over at the man beside you, afraid to meet his gaze after the thoughts that had been devouring your consciousness for the past few hours. “What are you doing up?”

“I had to prep for breakfast tomorrow. I was thinking of making a quiche with some breakfast potatoes.” You smiled, nodding to yourself. Of course, what other reason could he have for being awake. “If you’d like, I could make you some tea to help you fall asleep, my dear. I would hate to leave you with a restless night.”

You shake your head, finally looking over at the blond. He’s watching you with kind, gentle eyes. He wasn’t worried or anything, just attentive – paying attention to your needs and asks of him with precision. “I don’t think tea will do much.” Making jokes was the only way you could deal with the thoughts running through your head.

Sanji raises his eyebrow, smiling at you with that comforting look still gracing his eyes. “What could I do to assist you in sleep, my love? Perhaps you’d like to talk about what’s keeping you awake?”

You flush, quickly looking away, laughing awkwardly at the clear sign you just gave. You raise a hand to rub at the skin of your face, hoping it will make the blood go away and save you from your embarrassing moment.

“I don’t know. I don’t think that will fix much either. Might just make it worse.” You mumble, looking back up at the stars, wishing you could be scooped into the moon’s cold embrace.

“Would you rather I leave you alone then?” You turn quickly to face him, nearly losing the suit jacket draped over your shoulders before you clutch it closer to your body, like it will keep Sanji beside you longer.

“No! No, please stay. I don’t think being alone will fix much either.” You smile up at the chef, who is grinning widely down at you as well. You knew he loved hearing you tell him to stay, telling him that you wanted him around. You have a feeling he likes hearing it even more than you do.

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll let me.” You sigh, settling yourself down onto the deck, laying down with his jacket wrapped around you so you could look up to the sky. Sanji hesitates for a moment, before sitting down beside you, watching you quietly.

He sits with his arms back to brace against the deck, one leg extended, the other bent to point to the stars. You can’t help the small peeking glances you steal from the corner of your eye as you try not to think about how close this was to some of your daydreams. You try, but fail, to ignore the way the silence hangs suspended but soothing around you both, like a warm blanket; the way that you’re so close, you would only have to reach out your hand and you could be touching him, nearly a hand-span away from contact; the way you can see every lock of blond hair falling over his shoulder as he tips his head back to also stare at the stars.

“Like something you see, darling?” You blush, looking away even though you had already been caught. He chuckles softly, looking over at you and smiling. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what kept you up?”

You breathe deeply, debating with yourself for a moment. One the one hand, you trust Sanji. You know he wouldn’t judge you; he had never judged you. He was so kind, always offering you comfort and understanding in all things – never expecting anything but your honesty. You knew he would take anything you had to say to him in stride, never once faltering in his devotion to being caring and compassionate. On the other, you were terrified of what your thoughts might mean. The ways in which your relationship might change if the words were spoken aloud. You never wanted to lose that comfort that Sanji had to offer, and the thought that he might change his view of you scared you. You worried that there would be new expectations, new understandings, new problems to arise with the brief mention of your desire to kiss and hold the blond chef. The last thing you wanted was change. Right?

So why did your mouth open and your tongue begin to form words? Why did you spill out the inner secrets you had kept hidden for weeks after the incident with Nami?

“I just recently have been thinking about what Nami said, about us being a thing. I never really thought of it before she said it – we’re just friends, I like being like that with you, but I don’t see any problem with friends acting the way we do. But at the same time, now that Nami mentioned it, I can’t stop thinking if I might want something more. At night is the worst, when I’m alone after spending all day with you, I just can’t stop my mind from making these new ideas. These new scenarios where I get to hold you, hold your hands, curl up against you,” you hesitate before whispering, “kiss you.” You throw your head back to rest against the deck, staring up at the twinkling night expanse above to avoid the look you know will be gracing Sanji’s face. He’s a flirt through and through, you know that he’s going to love the idea, even if he only ever said he was okay with being friends. He wasn’t going to take this admission without a little outward joy and playful teasing. “And the worst part is I don’t know what I want so I haven’t said anything and just held it all in. Because if I say this and then decide that I don’t really want things to change, then I’ve led you on and that’s wrong. But if I say this and then do something about it, everything will change and I might still lose you. But if I keep it all inside, I won’t lose you – you never have to know and I can pretend like nothing is wrong and I can just keep that all inside. It doesn’t hurt anybody in there. It just takes away a little bit of my sleep, and I’m okay with that as long as I’m still able to have you in my life.”

You roll your head to the side to finally glance at the man who you had just poured your heart out to for what felt like the millionth time since you’ve met him. It was getting easier and easier to share your inner fears and thoughts with him, the more you did it. As though the beginning was a dam cracking, opening up so that the water could seep out and flood through his river, releasing your pressure to share the load with him. It felt nice, you couldn’t lie.

He simply stared at you, an unreadable look on his face before he sighs, nodding, looking down at the deck.

“Okay, darling, that was a lot to process.” You had never seen him so stoic, so calm. Especially after you shared about your feelings, you weren’t used to him not simply bursting into action, face and body nearly splitting open at the sheer excitement at hearing your feelings, about him or otherwise. Usually emotions were Sanji’s forte so you couldn’t figure out why he seemed so withdrawn today.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just dumped that on you. It isn’t fair for me to unburden myself like that on you – you’ve always been there for me and I’m just always so ready to share my thoughts and feelings and I never stopped to think how all this might make you feel. That was so selfish of me, I-”

“Don’t call yourself selfish.” The cold edge to his voice makes you freeze. Where was your flirty, playful Sanji?

“What?” You watch his face carefully, see the way his eyebrows furrow and his mouth dips down in the corners – the closest you’ve ever seen it to a frown. His eyes come up to look at you and there’s a depth there you haven’t seen before. As though all this time, there was a wall hiding his deeper mind away from you.

“Don’t ever call yourself selfish. You went out of your way, worrying about how I would feel or what I would say to your feelings, so much so that you lost sleep over it. You took into consideration everyone else’s thoughts and feelings and ignored how this all hurt you, bothered you. You were willing to let it continue to bother you until I made you say something. You are anything but selfish, and anyone who says otherwise is ignorant. You are the most selfless person I know.” His eyes are hard, as though he’s trying to convince you with his look alone. You nearly crack under his gaze, but you nod anyway, showing you understand what he’s saying.

His shoulders loosen at the sight, his eyes softening to a look of endearment as he looks at you.

“Now, I’ve said this before, but I will continue to say it, however many times it takes for you to believe me. I will be anything you need from me, my love. I can be your friend, your confidante, your lover; anything you want from me. All you have to do is say the word. I won’t leave you, you won’t lose me because of a change in feelings. Unless you tell me to go, I’m here, until the ends of the Earth.” He reaches out a hand, brushing back a piece of hair off your face. “The way I care for you can’t be put into words. You’re a god amongst men, a divine revelation of the true beauty of humanity at its core, you show the warmth of kindness and the darkness of fear and you do it all with the poise and delicacy of a butterfly in flight – you have never been anything less that magical, and to be in your life has been an honor I could never imagine finding anywhere else.”

You swallow against the lump growing in your throat, hoping that the burning in your eyes is because you’re tired and not because you’re about to cry in front of Sanji right now. You’d heard him say things like this before – Sanji was known for his kind words. But for some reason, hearing them now, you wanted to sob in relief. He didn’t have to say those nice words about you; he didn’t even need to care about your stupid feelings and listen to you complain and worry about why you can’t sleep.

Sanji sits up, opening up his arms for you as he whispers, “come here, love” and you can’t stop yourself from dragging your body over to curl into his arms.

Hugging Sanji, or in this case, Sanji hugging you, wasn’t an uncommon occurrence – you both were very affectionate people, so you were never shy about being close with any of the crew before. Yet somehow, this time felt different. His arms pulled you close, squeezing you against him as though he was pressing all your pieces back together, bringing you into his body as a shield where you could become complete again. His hands rested flat against your back, fingertips just digging into the skin as though he was afraid you might be pulled from his grasp if he wasn’t careful.

The scent of Sanji enveloped you; cooking oil, cigarettes, something else just distinctly him. You never could quite place that scent. You breathed it in, closing your eyes to the world as you relax into Sanji’s embrace. He rests his head against the top of yours, his lips pressing against your hair.

“Now, as for your confession.” You take a deep breath, not quite sure where this was going to go. “I don’t think I need to tell you again how dedicated I am to you, sweetheart. I would be honored to love you in any capacity you would like to have me. However, you have to make that decision – I am not going to pressure you any way. You can tell me exactly what you want from me, when you want it from me. You can change your mind at any time, I won’t hold it against you. Ever.” His voice was strong, confident, everything you weren’t feeling right now. You didn’t know how to take his words.

Part of you really wanted to leave things alone, to just stay like this, curled in Sanji’s arms until you slept. That you could stay this way, without anything changing and becoming awkward, was a comforting thought that you wanted to hold onto. However, the more you thought about it, the more you thought that maybe your daydreams and sleepless nights were telling you something. If this was causing you so much distress, maybe it was because part of you really wanted those things to happen. Maybe it couldn’t hurt to test out these new feelings and desires, especially if Sanji was the one saying that he would be willing to accept your changing mind if things don’t go well.

You lift your head, pulling back slightly from Sanji’s embrace. His arms loosen around you, allowing you to back up enough to look up at him; his hands still hold onto your sides as though he isn’t quite ready to let you out of his hold.

“If I asked to try… this,” you say, watching his face closely, the way his eyes shine in the moonlight. “But then I changed my mind and wanted to go back to being friends…”

“You need only say the word, love, and I would give you anything you wanted. Your wish is my command.” He smiles that stupid flirty smile that you know he’s flashed at a million women through his time working at the Baratie, and yet you couldn’t help the flare of warmth that shoots through your body.

“Fuck it.” You whisper, reaching up to grab his face. Your hands slide over his jaw, cupping his cheeks to pull him down to meet your lips with his own.

You had thought about kissing Sanji for a while now; what it would be like to have his lips against yours, what he would taste like, how his lips, his tongue, his teeth would feel against you. And yet all your daydreaming hadn’t prepared you for truly living it. You had a pretty good imagination, so it wasn’t like you hadn’t imagined how amazing it felt for him to press his lips against yours, pulling back a little between each kiss and feeling his warm breath against your face. But feeling him against you, feeling his hand slide up from your waist to thread through your hair, gripping softly when you nip at his lip – that was something else entirely. The way it lit your body on fire was hard to ignore.

When you pull back from the kiss, breathing deeply as you continue to cup his face, you met his eyes in the dim light, close enough to feel his breath fan your face with every pant he lets out. Your heart tightens as you look at him, feel the warmth of his body pressing against you, debating going in for another kiss.

“Is it okay if I kiss you again?” You whisper, afraid of breaking the moment you felt encapsulated in. It felt as though the world stopped turning, the wind stopped blowing, time stopped ticking as you glued yourself against Sanji’s body.

Sanji simply smiled and leaned back in, pulling you in by the back of the neck to capture your lips again. Your body arches up to meet your bodies together, needing to be closer to him. His hand that isn’t tangled in your hair slides to the small of your back, tightening to help you arch against him further, as though he wants to pull you into his body, make you one with him in the same way you want to curl into his body yourself.

You couldn’t deny it any longer, being with Sanji was too good not to want to be with him forever. You still felt a little fear – you never knew a day without some concern of how life would play out for you, how others would react to everything you do. However, feeling Sanji’s arms around you, being this close to Sanji, you loved him enough to overlook that fear for a little while. You didn’t think you needed him this way so badly – kissing him, holding him, loving him – but now that you’ve had a taste, you didn’t think you could go a day without having him this way. Your dreams hadn’t prepared you for the incessant need that began to grow in your bones.

“You can kiss me whenever you desire, my love. I will be waiting for the chance to hold you like this again, every day until I die.” Sanji’s kind words were drowned out by the pounding in your chest at the thought that he felt the same way you did.

Yeah, you could see yourself spending hours with him like this. Maybe daydreaming wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[rzvera]

so, talking about mayakovsky's influence on disco elysium. to me the most obvious parallel (and my favourite one) between his poems and disco elysium is probably usage of stars imagery.

elysian communard writes: "in dark times, should the stars also go out?" and i think, famous revolutionary poet mayakovsky asks a very similar question in his poem "listen!" ("послушайте!"). there are different translations, but my favourite is probably this one:

Listen, if stars are lit it means -- there is someone who needs it. It means -- someone wants them to be, that someone deems those specks of spit magnificent. And overwrought, in the swirls of afternoon dust, he bursts in on God, afraid he might be already late. In tears, he kisses God's sinewy hand and begs him to guarantee that there will definitely be a star. He swears he won't be able to stand that starless ordeal. Later, He wanders around, worried, but outwardly calm. And to everyone else, he says: 'Now, it's all right. You are no longer afraid, are you?' Listen, if stars are lit, it means -- there is someone who needs it. It means it is essential that every evening at least one star should ascend over the crest of the building.

stars are something that makes it possible to keep living ('he won't be able to stand that starless ordeal'), they are something that makes the world around less terrifying ('now, it's alright. you are no longer afraid, are you?'). stars are something that makes life meaningful despite the darkness around. so it is essential that stars are still on the night sky, and this is the answer to the question asked by elysian communard.

stars in mayakovsky's poem can mean different things: art, love, hope, beauty of the world around. in any case, he uses stars to describe something that helps us keep going, just like disco elysium does.

[tellescope]

What does your heart look like?

Tagged by: @earthssprout Tagging: Anyone interested!

A guiding, golden light

Just because you cannot see your own heart doesn't mean that others can't. Your heart is blinding, captivating, a fire so bright that others can't bring themselves to look away. It illuminates the path they follow and cements you as a guiding star for their own wayward hearts. Every experience you've lived through has built your lighthouse heart up just a little higher. You are inspirational, a light that doesn't go out.

Iced over, out of the sun

Your heart is very lonely, isn't it? Is your fortress of ice self-made? Are others afraid of you, or are you afraid of them? Are you afraid of hurting them, or of being hurt? Vulnerability and connection can be frightening, but that's no reason to shy away from their light, to tuck yourself small into corners, to build up frigid walls to keep yourself from feeling. You will heal when you allow yourself to draw closer to the flames and thaw.

Broken, missing pieces that once were there

Your heart has been torn before, chipped and maybe even shattered. Some pieces will never be recovered, and you are shaped by the loss. But it can still be shaped into something tangible, something good, even with its flaws and imperfections. You don't have to do all the work of rebuilding by yourself. Allow other hands to leave their fingerprints on the new heart you create from the remnants.

A compass that doesn't waver

You are someone who is certain of what you want. Maybe you always have been, or maybe you made a discovery that you haven't been able to tear your eyes away from. Your heart is set and certain. You fight endlessly for your goals. Above all else, you know who you are and what you are trying to achieve. Just be careful not to tear yourself or others apart in pursuit of your ideals.

[hashbrowpn]

──★ `WANNABE ARIEL, YOUR LOVER ̟ !?

ARTIST: LINK

WANDERER'S your lover. And he's a merman. How cool is that?

NOTES: this won the poll and honestly i dont blame u guys wanderer is so silly as a merman i wanna see him do some tricks like a dolphin in minecraft idk maybe he could do a lil flip in the water

"What's it like?" you ask, kicking yout feet into the crystal clear water that shimmered.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. "What's what like?"

You pause to study him, his eyes that seemed to shine in the low light, his wet raven locks sticking to his face and his nape, his lips that quivered as if he was holding back a few snarky remarks at the way you were looking at him. "To have a tail like that," you finally say, nodding to his tail that was ever so often swishing gently.

He looks at you with an expression that spoke he was either exasperated, irritated, or in thought. Perhaps all of the above.

He watched as you dip yourself further into the water, leaning on your elbows.

He crossed his arms and laid them on the shore, chin resting on his forearm. "You aren't all that bright in the head, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Hey!"

"Say, if I were to ask you," he suddenly reached out and grabbed your ankle, squeezing a yelp from you, ""what is it like to have legs?", what would you say?"

You sigh. "Good point, I guess."

he chuckles dryly at your defeat, tilting his head to see you feign annoyance, eventually giving in and huffing out a small laugh. He lets go of your ankle, the mark of his tight grip still visible on your skin.

There's a moment of silence.

"You're breathtaking, you know that, right?" you mumble, sitting up straight.

Wanderer looked caught off guard, and you savour that moment of him staring at you before saying, in a voice way too loud, "If you're trying to flatter me, it isn't working."

"Mhm." you gaze at his face dusted in red.

"I mean it!" he says.

You lean in and cup his face, pressing a kiss on his nose. He grunts a little, his tail fin sending ripples of waves into the water. You snicker and gently stroke his cheek with your thumb.

He's gazing into your eyes so dreamily.

Then he pulls you by your hips into the water.

You shriek with laughter as you join your lover in the water, the stars watching over you in the dark sky. "Wanderer!"

You thread your fingers through his locks of hair as he kisses you, tender and lovingly.

🍰. BONUS !!

"I am not letting you ride on my back."

"Wanderer, please?"

"..." he eyes you warily. With an exasperated sigh, he leans forward. "Fine, get on. Just this once."

You squeal, wrapping your arms around him, where his human flesh blended into scales, and got on his bare back.

"Hold on," he warned, before diving off into the waters.

You yelped, feeling the wind kiss your face. "Slow down, wait, wait wait, stop, sto-"

And he stopped abruptly, prompty launching you into the water.

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back as you stared at him in embarassment.

"That wasn't funny!" you huff, gently smacking his shoulder. He was grinning from ear to ear as he pressed a kiss on your lips. "I'd do anything just to see that again."

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Dancing With the Devil

A Vampire!Rhys x Reader Fic (because I am a SLUT for him) based on this post.

Content Warnings: Smut and blood, you know, typical vampire things.

___________________________

How you ended up on the dance floor in the middle of the Velaris Estate, being spun in dizzying circles by masked males as stringed instruments swell on a phantom wind, is anybody's guess. You think it might have been Nesta’s idea, but whatever schemes landed you in this dark, shadowy world is lost under the swell of music and rustling of skirts. You’re sure your friend is here somewhere, dancing her heart out, but the bodies clustered around you in a sea of dark lace and velvet make distinguishing anybody hard. She’ll find you by the end of the night, once she’s ditched her shoes and had a little too much to drink, for now, you’ll have to keep yourself entertained in one of the many options the party of the recently returned lord of the estate has to offer.

You don’t know much about Rhysand, other than the rumors that he came from very, very old money and had been away on the Continent while the Vampire Queen Amarantha’s reign of terror had ravaged the courts. He’s something of a local legend, always throwing these extravagant masquerade balls, the doors of this sprawling, gothic estate open until the sun begins to rise in the morning, without ever showing his face. He has to be here somewhere, directing the staff and making sure there’s no mischief happening in the locked rooms on the upper floors, but no one can tell you what he looks like, how old he is, any defining details. Honestly, realizing this was where you’d be spending the evening had been nothing short of a thrill. The war against the vampires had taken your father and left your older brother as heir of the Spring estate, he hadn’t let you out much to explore since.

Gloved hands twirl you around the dance floor again, the candlelight from the iron chandeliers overhead glittering like a thousand stars as you throw your head back and embrace the sheer weightlessness of the dance. It’s exhilarating and freeing, and you find yourself wishing that every night was like this. You’d thrive in this kind of freedom, no locked doors in empty mansions, no guards just to walk you through the gardens, only your wits and your whims dictating where you’ll go next.

The dance requires you to change partners often, so it is no surprise that a different, stronger set of hands settles on your hips as you come out of a spin and move into a more complicated three step. However, the tall stranger, with eyes so blue they’re almost violet beneath a mask shaped like a bat, is far better sight than the last male.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, and his voice is a lover’s purr, made for the darkness of a bedroom. 

“Immensely,” you say as you chase him through the steps, one hand on his firm shoulder, other atop his own against your waist. It is unlike you to keep your hands firmly planted on a male’s body, even while dancing, even with your brother’s watchful eye far away. Better to be cautious than be accused of having wandering hands, but you can make an exception. Forget you have ever done anything else, because the male wears a corset to accentuate every muscle in his lean body, dark shirt beneath left half open to show off a swirl of dark ink on his bronze chest. Every piece of clothing looks like an open invitation to touch. He knows it too, grinning when your hand slides a little lower on his chest.

“You dance beautifully,” he praises, perfect teeth biting at his lower lip as he drinks in the plunging neckline of your gown.

You’re thankful that your own mask hides the blush dusting your cheeks. “So do you.” He moves with inhumane grace, so fluidly you wouldn’t be able to track every step if he wasn’t pulling you along with him. 

Three more steps, then a fourth before the music begins to slow and he’s dragging your body closer to his own, large hand sliding over your hip to your lower back. 

“Will you dance another with me?” He asks, warm breath fanning your face as he leans in to be heard over the swell of a harp.

You nod eagerly, anything for a chance to have those hands on you a bit longer.

Two dances turn to four, then six, until you’ve lost count entirely, the night slipping away from you. At some point, he asks if you want to stop and get a drink, and you might have said no because this was just too good an opportunity to pass up, but the mischief in his violet eyes make you think better of it. You soon find yourself pulled through the swirling of bodies that hasn’t let up all night, and into a darker corner of the room, where couches and chairs and tables line the walls for people to observe the dancefloor with a little privacy. Quite a few of the couches are occupied with couples embracing in the shelter of the dark, where there are few candles to be observed under.

There’s a couch in the corner, beneath a large window, moonlight streaming over the dark cushions that’s empty and your companion leads you right to it. In your defense, you are expecting to be plied with a little wine before anything happens between the two of you, so you are unprepared for him to slide into the seat and pull you right into his lap!

Heat flares in your cheeks, body awkwardly tangled in your skirts as he pulls your hips forward to get you situated atop his powerful thighs. 

“What happened to drinks?” You ask, a little breathless from dancing and trying not to stammer under the brazenness of the display. You’re no blushing virgin, but you’ve certainly never been in this compromising a position in front of an audience before.

He brushes his nose over the column of your throat and places his plush lips against your skin, making all thought eddie from your mind.

“I intend to,” he says into your skin before he nips gently at your sensitive flesh.

Your whole body shivers, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Rhys,” he says as he kisses his way up your jaw.

Rhys as in… 

As if he can read your mind he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin, “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”

He hums as he scrapes his teeth playfully over your throat. The edges of his mask tickling your skin as it brushes against you, the contrast between his warm breath and the rough fabric sending a thrill down your spine. You should be absolutely mortified that you’re perched in the lord of the estate’s lap, but you can’t find it in you to care, can’t find it in yourself to do anything but settle a little more firmly against his body and let him explore.

“Mind reading is one of my many talents,” he purrs as his gloved hands slide over your hips, skirts bunching up around your thighs as slender fingers need the soft flesh of your ass.

You instinctively rock your hips forward, clothed core scraping over the budding tent in his slacks. The contact makes your head spin, makes you tip your head back a little as he sucks a mark into your throat. You’ll have to wear a scarf tomorrow to hide it from Tamlin.

“And what other talents do you have, M’lord?” You tease, because you’ve never believed in such magic. 

“I think I’d rather show you, Darling,” he says, but his mouth doesn’t form the words, they’re an echo inside your head, as if they’re your own thoughts in his voice.

You still your movements in his lap; this is not the magic of witches or mages, not some clever party trick of the traveling magicians that often pass through Prythian. They say only Vampires can possess talents like this.

Rhys grins at you as the realization clicks into place, and whatever glamor had been used to hide his fangs slides out of place, canine’s glinting in the moonlight. You put your hands on his chest, firm, but there’s no heartbeat beneath your palms, intending to push yourself off him before he can sink those fangs into your throat, but his grip on you tightens to the brink of pain. Your bones feel fragile, brittle under his supernatural grip.

“Relax, Darling,” he instructs and a shadow of sheer, undiluted power brushes over your mind, freezing you in place. “I promise this will be pleasant for the both of us.”

“Let go of me!” You squeak, still trying to push yourself free. “Or I’ll start screaming!”

He chuckles, the sound of it skittering over your bones, and the dim candles nearby flicker out, leaving you only visible in the moonlight. A few of the couples nearby cheer excitedly, as if that’s some sort of signal. 

“Here’s the thing,” he explains as he brushes his nose against the column of your throat again. When you try to squirm away, he only pulls you closer, lips hungrily tracing the pulse pounding in your neck. “I could go out into the woods, feed on some vagrants nobody cares about, spend my nights hunting for a warm body to take my fill of. But after a thousand years, the chase gets a little boring.”

A thousand years. Rhysand is a thousand year old Vampire?

“Why waste my time and energy, when I can bring a meal right to my doorstep?”

“Please,” you whimper, body trembling. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anybody.”

“I know you won’t,” he says, kissing your throat far more gently than somebody holding this tightly to you should. “That’s why I picked you. I know you want an escape from your life of locked doors.”

You still as he drags his lips along the edge of your jaw until he meets your ear. “Let me show you a way out.”

Your skin is sensitive there, his breath makes you shiver in delight, goosebumps prickling your skin. He can’t possibly know all this just by looking at you, he had to have been rummaging around in your head, probably while you were dancing. It’s an invasion of your privacy, and you should keep fighting for any chance to escape him, but there’s a piece of you that wants this. Tamlin will never give you a way out, the more you beg for your freedom the more doors he locks in your face, and if you go home in the morning, if you let him pick a husband for you, it will never be any different. There will only be more locked doors, only keeping a stranger’s bed warm, his house run, tending boys that will have more freedom than you’ll ever get just because they’re boys. You will be lucky if you’ll get to keep to your books and your sketches, lucky if you get to keep any hobbies at all that don’t include tending a house. You’re trapped in a cage no one can save you from if you don’t take this one key.

His fangs scrape over your earlobe as he nips playfully at it. “It’s an even bargain,” he prompts. “You let me feed, and I’ll show you a world of nothing but open doors, hmm?”

You’re a fool, and you’re pretty sure an agreement will damn your soul forever. 

“Will it hurt?”

“Only for a moment.”

A moment’s pain for an opportunity of unbridled freedom. “It’s a bargain,” you say, tipping your head back to fully expose your throat. You shut your eyes though, unable to watch it happen.

“Good girl,” Rhys purrs and there’s a little tingle, like electricity in your fingertips and palm that makes you crack an eye open for a second to look at the black whorls that now cover your fingertips, up your hand and over your wrist. Some sort of permanent bargain mark.

There’s no time to ask about it before Rhys sinks his fangs into your throat. The coppery scent of blood fills your senses, mind spinning to comprehend all that’s happening as pain flairs in the muscles in your neck. 

“So sweet,” he purrs into your mind. “Just as I’d hoped.”

He’s not letting up, but the longer it takes, the less pain you feel. The longer his fangs are in your neck, the warmer your body becomes. Your muscles slowly relax, pliant in his iron grip. When he rocks his hips, slowly, testing, you can’t help the groan that escapes you. Even as the last little rational bit of your mind screams in protest, your hips once again work over the bulge in his pants, chasing the heat budding in your core. 

When he removes his fangs from your throat, he laves over the wound with his tongue, not letting a single drop of your blood escape. “I’ve fed on a lot of humans,” he whispers, “but none as sweet as you.”

You can’t seem to stop moving, chasing after the pleasure building quicker and quicker as you rut your hips against his. “What’s happening to me?”

When he kisses you, it’s the coppery tang of your own blood on his lips. “Vampire venom is an aphrodisiac. Makes feeding a pleasurable experience for everybody, wouldn’t you agree?”

The scrape of his slacks is delicious, makes you squeeze your eyes shut and move without thinking about how brazen you look, but it’s not enough. You need more. Need him deeper. Need him moving inside you with the same fervor he had when feeding on you.

“Need you,” you whimper and he kisses you again, one hand tangling in your hair, absolutely ruining the updo you’d carefully constructed hours earlier. The other slides under your skirts to find the hem of your underthings and he gives the elastic band a testing pull before he rips it off entirely. 

You gasp in surprise into his mouth at the sheer strength of him.

The leather of his gloves is a cool texture against your bare skin as he drags a thumb over you and you rock your hips into his touch, desperately seeking more. He’d been right, this was definitely a more pleasurable experience than you anticipated it being. 

Rhys breaks the kiss as he slides a finger inside you, and you throw your head back and moan unabashedly. You don’t truly have the presence of mind to look at the other couples nearby, but judging by the sounds coming from around you, you’re not the only one partaking of this kind of pleasure tonight. The cover of darkness and music shields your activities well enough, but perhaps there are more than a few vampires in Rhys’s court, and they won’t risk their own hunts letting anybody look too close in your direction.

Plush lips move down your jaw again, like he just can’t stay away from your throat. You’re inclined to let him bite you again and again and again just to feel like this for a little while longer. Heat and pleasure builds at the base of your spine, burning white hot through you as he slides a second finger in your wetness, stretching you out.

“All this for me, Darling?” He scrapes his teeth over your skin, not biting but marking you as he searches for the collar of your gown. When he finds it, he starts dragging it away from your body with his teeth, deft fingers untying the laces at your back to let the excess fabric fall.

The cool air against your flushed skin has you whimpering, eyes screwed shut as you draw closer and closer to the edge. 

His fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes stars swim across your vision and you bite down so hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming you draw blood. Like a moth to flame, his lips leave where he’d been sucking a mark into your shoulder to lap the slight trickle of blood off your lower lip. 

Maybe you’re wrong for it, but the sight is hot, makes you core tighten around his fingers, addicted to the way he craves you, as if you’re some sort of drug. You drag your hands down his chest, unclasping the last button you can reach before the corset gets in the way. You want to tear it off him and run your tongue over the firm planes of his chest, taste him just as he is you, but that will have to be another time. Your hands move lower, trying to find the laces of his pants around the bunched up frill of your skirts, needing more, unable to convey it around the white noise building in your head. It’s too much and not enough; the best you’ve ever had and you haven’t even cum yet. You’ve never felt so desperate for anything in your life.

He chuckles into your mouth at your neediness, hips rising off the couch to both tease you and give you the leverage you need to find the laces of his pants. You’re really not sure how you manage it around your skirts, how you can think about anything but the movement of his fingers inside you or all the filthy things he keeps whispering in your ear. It’s nothing short of a frenzy as you finally manage to get him free of his laces and guide him directly where you need him most.

He’s not your first by any means, but he’s definitely the biggest, and it takes a moment for you to adjust to his size. By then, the world around you could have been on fire and you wouldn’t have noticed anything but him. There is no orchestra playing, no music besides the sounds of his moans of pleasure as they mingle with yours, no thought but the two of you and how your bodies merge and join. 

That white hot pleasure keeps building tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock inside you, and you steady yourself against the back of the couch, chests brushing as you fight to remain steady. His fingertips will certainly leave bruises on your hips with the way he holds you. 

You’re so close to the edge, dangling over the precipice, his name a prayer on your lips as he once again sinks his fangs into your neck for a taste. Release barrels through you as he moans into your bruised flesh, his own release not far behind as you slump exhausted against his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, body trembling as you come down from your high.

Rhys strokes a gloved hand over your ruined hair as you catch your breath. “I was going to turn you tonight,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But I think I want a few more rounds of that first.”

You huff a laugh into his chest. You don’t hate the idea. No part of your bargain said he had to turn you immediately. “Is that all vampires do? Feed and fuck?”

Violet eyes gleam playfully in the dark as he says, “Darling, you’ll have all eternity to find out.”

[dulcesiabits]

where the stars fall.

summary: in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, you and your childhood friend, Childe, and his little brother try to survive amidst the wreckage of a broken world. things take a turn for the worse when you meet a stranger who shatters what you think you know of the world.

notes: 11k words, author's notes, descriptions of violence, murder (specifically through the use of a gun and of an unnamed stranger), unhealthy relationships, angst with no comfort

It’s the end of the world, and your childhood friend is the only person you have left.

Glass crunches underfoot as you and Childe slip in through the broken window of an abandoned grocery store. There’s not much left on the shelves: a stale loaf of black, furry bread, a forgotten wrapper, a dusty row of cracked children’s toys. Everything good has already been scavenged by other survivors.

Like most other grocery stores you’ve scavenged, the broken fridges buzz with flies swarming rotting meat. The remaining fruits are so moldy they’ve permanently stained the shelves with their decaying juice. The smell barely registers anymore; you’ve long since gotten used to the scent of the world dying.

Childe gestures at you and then the left side of the store, before pointing at himself and waving at the right side. His meaning is clear; you nod, and the two of you separate.

You pad noiselessly down the aisles, eyes wandering over the remains of a forgotten life. You’ve ended up in the beauty section: crusted lotions, murky shampoo, eyeshadow palette spilling their candy-colored guts all over the floor. 

You stare longingly at the shampoo bottles, but you can’t take any. It’s an unaffordable luxury, even though you’ve forgotten when you took your last bath. The heating and electricity in most houses is failing, and the encroaching winter means the outside water sources are out of the question.

The dry goods section is desiccated. Most of the food is gone, but there is one stale sleeve of crackers left. You drop it in your backpack, grinning at the lucky find. 

You straighten, before your eyes fall on a door labeled “employees only.” There might still be something worth scavenging there. You pull out the kitchen knife you keep sheathed in your pocket, the blade glinting dully as you crack open the door.

The room is dark, save for a cracked light that flickers off and on in aimless intervals. There’s a clock on the wall, frozen permanently at 2:13am, and a table in the corner where employees must have taken their breaks, alongside a microwave and– lucky for you– cardboard boxes still piled up on storage shelves. You hurry over, pulling one down. Nothing but dust, more dust– aha! A crinkled bar of chocolate. It’s still sealed, but it would be a perfect present for Teucer. 

Something groans behind you, and the hair on your arms tingle. Your heart pounds as you tightly grip the handle of your kitchen knife, whipping it out as you spin– just in time to see a baseball crack through the zombie standing over you.

Blood and rotting flesh fall to the floor in wet chunks as Childe hits the zombie until it collapses to the floor. Then he hits it again. And again. Its arm twitches, and Childe smashes the limb until the bone cracks. He doesn’t stop, even when the zombie stops moving, not even when it’s just a pile of meat and pooling blood.

Childe isn’t even breathing hard when he drops his arm. His eyes are hard flecks of ice as he stares down at the zombie. For a second, he looks like a stranger.

“You okay?” Childe whispers, his gaze melting into something familiar and warm, and the familiar concern coloring his voice brings him back to you.

 The two of you try to limit communication to wordless gestures and hand signals when you’re traveling outside; noise risks attracting zombies. “I’m fine,” you reply.

Childe nods, before looking over you up and down carefully, as if to confirm the veracity of your statement himself. He takes your hand without a word, lacing your fingers together. The blood on his hand smears over your combined fingers, rust and iron seeping into the folds of your skin.

But it’s Childe. You won’t pull away. You can’t, even if you hate the feeling of blood.

He doesn’t let go of your hand the whole time the two of you carefully make your way out of the grocery store, slinking down streets, sticking to the shadows and pausing to listen to the shuffle of undead feet. You keep a grip on your kitchen knife and Childe’s hand never strays far from his baseball bat, but it’s an uneventful trek back to the hotel where you’ve set up a temporary base.

The entire first floor is a wreck, the former grandeur blighted by blood and smashed furniture, wallpaper peeling off in strips, the patterns in the carpet hidden by layers of grime and dirt. The room you’ve chosen is up on the third floor; neither you and Childe have bothered to venture farther up the hotel stairs beyond that.

The electronic locks and elevators have long since broken, and the door of room 302 creaks open easily. Inside, Teucer is fiddling with a radio in his hands, a ratty blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a flashlight shining like a beacon next to him, huddled by the foot of the farthest of the two beds in the room. He looks up at the two of you, his eyes bright and expectant.

It’s not until Childe securely closes the door behind him that Teucer finally launches himself at his brother, arms clinging tightly. “You’re back!” Childe barely has time to ruffle his hair before Teucer tears himself off and falls into your arms instead. 

You pat his back, and a crackled voice emanates from the radio in Teucer’s hands. You can just barely make out the broken words; it might as well be a broadcast from another planet.

“... Gov… Facilities… North… Repeat…. North… Nat… tate of… gency… Repeat… Govern… North…”

Nothing you haven’t heard already. The radio has been playing the same message, over and over, for the past few months. After all, it’s only the promise of potential safety and protection that drives you and Childe to travel so far north. That, and resources are dwindling with each new city and town the three of you encounter as you follow the voice promising safety.

“I have something for you,” you say, and fish the bar of chocolate out of your bag. 

Teucer’s eyes light up as he unwraps the treat. “Oh, wow!” He pauses, staring at you and then Childe, and breaks the bar into three uneven pieces.

He offers a chunk to you. You hold up your hands. “Teucer, it’s okay. That was for you.”

Teucer pouts. “Well, you gave it to me, so it’s mine now, and I get to do what I want with it. And I want to share it with you.”

You hesitate, before accepting the chocolate with two fingers. It’s softening already, leaving soft smudges on your hand. When you pop it into your mouth, it melts like a dream, flooding a sweetness into your system you haven’t tasted in months. Maybe you’ll never taste this sweetness ever again.

“Anything happen while we were gone?” Childe asks casually. Teucer fiddles with his radio again, illegible voices warbling in and out of focus like ghosts from a distant plane of existence.

“Nope,” Teucer chirps. “Just a few zombies passing by when I peeked out the window, though.”

“Teucer, I told you not to do that. What if one of them sees you?”

“Why not? I was careful, and I wanted to see when the two of you were going to come home.”

“Well, we’re home now, and Teucer is safe. Everything’s fine, so no arguing. We need to head out tomorrow, anyways,” you interrupt gently. “I think we’ve stayed here long enough.”

The two brothers nod at your words, and when they do that, Teucer looks just like an echo of Childe. Same messy hair, same freckles, same mischievous gleam in their eyes. You head towards the bathroom. If you’re lucky, there might be a trickle of tap water left if you turn on the sink.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to play something today?” Teucer chirps.

“I’m not…”

“You always said a good violinist should practice everyday so their skills don’t rust,” Childe adds. “Come on, aren’t you a professional?”

“The noise might draw an entire hoard of zombies to our door,” you say.

“The walls are soundproof,” Childe says.

“Just one song,” Teucer says. “I’ll even let you choose which one!”

You let out a little sigh before moving towards your violin case, snugly hidden by the side of the bed. It’s an unforgivable vanity, you know, to carry this with you. An extra weight, when you should have a bag full of rations or cold weather supplies instead. But when you were fleeing your home, facing threats from the undead and other desperate survivors alike, it had been Childe who shoved your violin into your hands. The electricity was failing. The water was tainted. Food was running out. And yet, Childe had handed you your instrument. 

“We can’t take this with us,” you tried to reason with him.

“Don’t leave it behind,” Childe said curtly. “You love it, don’t you?”

You had grasped the instrument in your hands, a lifeline in the rising tides. 

It’s not as if the world has any rooms for violinists now, no matter how good you are at playing. Bach and Tchaikovsky can’t save you from dying, and all the concert halls have turned to ash. 

But when you fling open the lid, the glossy wood gleaming in the low light, when you tighten the bow and reverently run the horsehair along your amber rosin, when you attach your shoulder rest and bring it to your chin, it doesn’t feel like a mistake at all. Your violin slots under your chin perfectly, right where it belongs.

You pluck at the strings, turning the little knobs, listening, adjusting the pitch, and then you raise your bow letting the first few sweet notes sing in the air, before you launch into a short, bouncy waltz.

It almost feels like it used to, in a way that it hasn’t in a long time, and you’ll never feel again: you, and Childe, in Childe’s own living room. You force him to listen to you practice, something you’ve always made him do, even if he can’t even name all the notes on a sheet of music. Teucer is on Childe’s lap, too young to really pay attention, blinking sleepily in the afternoon light, which shines on you like a spotlight. It’s a poor audience, but this audience of two has always been your favorite, even if you dream of sold out stages and prestigious awards. 

The memory is painful, and you shove it back down, with everything else you can’t bear to think about. There is no past for you. There’s only here, and now. There’s Teucer, smiling, old enough to finally pay attention. And there’s your friend– the one who knows you best– Childe. He’s listened to you from the beginning, and he’ll listen to you until the very end.

Childe watches you, the same way he’s always done: face turned towards you, rapt. He’s listening to you play, but it feels like it’s you he’s paying the most attention to, not your music. As if in this dying world, you’re the only one who can save him.

The three of you steal out of the hotel in the blue light of dawn, the cold a bitter chill as you creep down the stairs and make your way to the highway again. You have a map, but following the local highway is the easiest way to proceed to your location, a manmade road marking your path to safety. Cars bead the roads in one long necklace of crushed metal and metal corpses. 

The cars are the remains of panicked people who tried to leave town as fast as they could, but the sheer flood of people meant the roads had easily jammed and cars idled in place. The lucky ones, who got out quickly, rode their cars until they ran out of gas before abandoning them. The others discarded their trapped cars to idle and rust as they fled on foot. And the unlucky ones, like you, Childe and Teucer, have no choice but to run as far as your legs could carry you.

Teucer is sandwiched between you and Childe as the three of you walk in silence. The world is so quiet now, a silence that has its own weight and texture. Nothing works, and there’s no one to talk to. You can’t even speak to your companions unless you want to risk the attention of zombies or other survivors.

Teucer’s portable radio hangs limply in his hands, and he lets out a raspy little cough. Instantly, you turn to him, a hand on the top of his soft curls.

Teucer shakes his head, and gives you a thumbs up. You and Childe glance at each other, before Childe sweeps Teucer onto his back. Teucer digs his heels into Childe’s sides as a protest to be let down, but Childe continues resolutely forward.

You let out a little sigh. It’s a familiar sight; ever since Teucer was a baby, Childe was always reaching for his brother with his chubby hands, holding him close to him like a treasure. You like Teucer, but you’re an only child; you can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling you love so much.

The road is long, winding and endless in front of you, but even the monotony of your travel can’t stop you from pricking your ears, listening for the shuffle of feet, or a long, winding groan. It’s not safe out in the open, and unease prickles your skin.

You pass a car, and a zombie slams its hands against the window, rotting fingers leaving stains on the glass as it claws at you, eyes sunken. Your stomach shrivels, and you bite your lip to prevent your startled cry from escaping. You can guess what happened here: someone was bitten by a zombie, escaped in a panic, but had turned before they could get very far. Still, the eyeless face turns your stomach. That could be you, if you’re not careful enough. 

In the next moment, Childe takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. You look at him questioningly, but he simply smiles in return. Maybe it’s a habit from the time you’ve spent together, but Childe is always reaching for your hand. To reassure you, to reassure himself, or just to comfort you.

Childe takes care of you. He knows your moods before you do, valiantly throws himself in front of any perceived threat to you, and wants to solve all of your problems. When you were little, when he sensed you were upset, Childe used to throw rocks at your bedroom window until you let him in. He reminds you a little of a dog, but if you tell him that, he would only grin.

You sigh, but before you can even signal your thanks, a low, broken shout pierces the air. Instantly, both you and Childe tense; you grab your knife and jerk out of his grasp as you run towards the voice.

There’s a young man lying against a car, a snarling zombie snapping its jaws at his face. The young man is holding it back with his gloved hands, but he’s quickly losing purchase. There’s a gun a few feet away from him; he must have been caught unawares.

Before you can think, you dart towards the zombie and angle your knife through its neck and into its brain. The zombie howls; the noise isn’t good. It could attract more of them– but then the zombie’s voice cuts off abruptly. It totters and slumps over, and then you see why: the young man has somehow shoved a knife within the zombie’s mouth.

“Fuck,” the young man mutters. He’s still slumped over on the ground.

You hold out your hand. “Are you okay?” you mumble.

The young man looks derisively at you, before slowly rising to his feet. “Yeah. I had it under control.”

“If you say so,” you say doubtfully.

“Hey, is everything okay?” By now, Childe has caught up with the two of you, his baseball clutched tightly in his hands. Teucer is trailing behind him.

“Yeah,” you say. “This guy was in some trouble, but it’s okay now.”

Childe kicks the body of the zombie, and you flinch at the weight of the sound. “Okay, great. Let's move on, then.”

“Wait.” You turn back to the young man. “Do you need any medical treatment? Did the zombie get to you in any way?”

“Are you asking me if I have a zombie bite?” the young man says contemptuously. “What would you do if I did? Going to stick your knife into my throat?”

“If they won’t, I will,” Childe says, his smile still pleasant. “They saved your life, so the least you can do is verify that you’re not a threat to us.”

“I just want to know if you’re okay,” you persist.

“I said I’m fine,” the young man says. “You know, do you want to draw the zombies to our location? Why don’t you both just shut up, and then we can all move on, hm?”

“We saved your life,” Childe says. “You don’t think you owe us for that?”

“They saved my life, not you,” the young man interjects. “And I don’t owe you anything for sticking your nose in my business.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” you suggest. Childe and the young man both look at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. “I did save your life, and there’s safety in numbers. You’re heading north, too, right? To the government shelter? We could help each other out.”

“Don’t just assume my plans,” the young man mutters. His mouth puckers, as if he’s swallowed something sour. “Fine. If you’re so desperate for my assistance, I suppose I can accompany you for a while. We can call it even that way. But don’t expect any favors from me after that.”

You nod. “Okay. What’s your name?”

The young man eyes you distrustfully. “I suppose… you can call me Scaramouche.”

After introducing yourselves to Scaramouche, who makes sure to collect his gun, the four of you set off. Scaramouche lingers a bit behind your group. Childe, for his part, keeps a tight grip on Teucer’s hand, who keeps trying to look back at the stranger. Neither men look particularly happy.

Maybe this is a bad idea. Still, even if Scaramouche does become a threat, he’s easily outnumbered; he can’t risk using his gun without drawing in zombies with the sound. Besides, if you just left him to wander by himself after a zombie attack, you’d worry over him. This is for your own peace of mind.

The next town descends into view before sunset, a place whose name was lost when all its inhabitants fled. A town without people isn’t really a town at all. Crumbling buildings, deserted cars, broken windows and overflowing trash on the streets: every place looks the same now. This might as well have been the place you left this morning.

A few zombies prowl the streets. The four of you avoid main roads and storefronts, and it’s at this point that Scaramouche leads your little group. He must be familiar with the area, because it’s not long before you reach a residential district, and Scaramouche nods his head at a nondescript house, with intact windows and a sturdy door, which you go up to open.

The lock is stuck, but you strike at it with your knife until it loosens. The three of you step into what looks like someone’s living room: leather couches, bookcases, widescreen television. The books are dusty with disuse, game consoles lying lifeless on the ground.

You, Scaramouche, and Childe sweep the premises, but there’s no zombies– or other survivors– in the place. It makes sense; most people fled as soon as they could, when the weather was still favorable. You, Childe and Teucer are part of the stragglers, the last few people still on the road. Other survivors aren’t common to encounter anymore, and those that are left are quick to look at each other with suspicion and hostility, if not aggression.

Scaramouche’s reaction is normal, all things considered. To him, you’re probably the odd one out. The world has turned to shit. It takes some measure of courage, tenacity, cunning, or even selfishness to survive. You can’t fault anyone for what they do to live.

But still. You can’t imagine completely turning your back on other people. After all, you and Childe have been supporting each other all this time. Neither of you could have made it this far without each other.

“I’m taking a bedroom upstairs,” Scaramouche says abruptly. “Don’t bother me unless you need me.”

“Get some rest,” you say. You set your violin case carefully down onto the floor, but Scaramouche pauses to watch you as you do.

“What the hell is that?”

“My violin,” you say simply.

“Really?” he says, scowling. “A violin? Do you think this is a school field trip? Are you going to subdue the zombies through music?”

“We could also subdue the zombies by tying you up and throwing you to them as bait,” Childe says pleasantly, stepping in front of you so you’re hidden from Scaramouche’s view.

You can still see him, though, and Scaramouche rolls his eyes at Childe’s words. He  must not be in the mood for a fight, because he disappears up the stairs without another word.

“Gov… north… natio… state of… gency… repeat…” Teucer is fiddling with his radio again, cross-legged on the living room, and the sound echoes in the small space. He coughs as he adjusts the antenna, wiping his running nose with the back of his sleeve. 

“Are you sure you want him with us?” Childe says quietly, so that Teucer can’t overhear.

You lightly grasp his hand, and Childe curls his fingers around yours. “He could be helpful. We can at least stick with him for a few days.”

“Got it. We’ll do what you want to do. But if he ever tries to hurt you or Teucer, then I’m going to take care of him.”

The way Childe says it leaves you no doubt that he’ll make good on his threat the second he perceives Scaramouche has turned his back on your group. Even when you were younger, you always thought Childe was like a pack animal: friendly and warm to anyone in his inner circle, but unrelentingly distant to anyone outside of it. 

You remember the zombie that had almost attacked you at the convenience store yesterday, and the way Childe hadn’t stopped hitting it, not even when it stopped moving. 

Childe relishes violence in a way you can’t understand. He was quick to pick up a weapon the second the zombies started showing up, and hasn’t put it down since.

He’ll make good on his threat. You can read it in his eyes alone. Hopefully bringing Scaramouche along isn’t a mistake.

Over the next few days, as the four of you continue to travel north, you’re still trying to make sense of Scaramouche. 

He has a sharp tongue, and he’s not sociable whatsoever, but he never ignores your questions, even if there’s a scathing reply on his tongue more often than not. He pulls his weight, finding his share of supplies and sharing them with the three of you. And more than that, he dispatches zombies with ease. Scaramouche moves as fast and merciless as Childe, smashing brains into the pavement and aiming bullets directly at undead hearts and spines that cause the corpses to crumple to the floor, his silencer muffling all sound.

Maybe you’re the odd one, because you can’t stop thinking about how these zombies used to be people, with hopes and dreams dashed before they knew what happened to them. Still, there’s no time for regret; you have to do what you can to protect the people you love.

Overall, it’s nice to have another person around to hunt for resources, to watch your back when you’re out, or to have someone back at your makeshift bases to help look after Teucer.

And, surprisingly, it’s Teucer who Scaramouche seems to get along with the most. He’ll listen to Teucer ramble on, and spend more time with him than either you or Childe.

“He’s a nice guy,” Teucer tells you simply, when you ask him about Scaramouche. “I don’t think he’s really that mean. Sometimes he looks a little lonely, though.”

One night, Teucer’s radio breaks, the voices sputtering to a stubborn halt. Neither you nor Childe have any experience with machines, and not even Teucer’s crestfallen look can will the two of you to bring it back to life.

“Maybe I should just hit it a few times,” Childe mutters, turning the machine over and over in his hands.

“Are you an idiot? Give that to me,” Scaramouche snarls, snatching the radio out of Childe’s grasp.

The three of you watch as Scaramouche doctors the radio, unscrewing the back and checking the wires. A second later, sound crackles through the machine, a faint voice mumbling words you can’t hear.

“These things wear out easily,” Scaramouche barks at Teucer. “Try to keep it from overheating.”

“Thank you!” Teucer throws his arms around Scaramouche, who keeps his arms dangling awkwardly in the air before patting Teucer once, his hand gently curling around his head. He seems familiar with children, and it makes you wonder if he has– or had– a little brother before.

“That was sweet of you,” you say to Scaramouche, when he passes by you and Childe. Teucer is adjusting the radio’s buttons again, trying to find any sort of signal.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he says, scoffing. “I would hate to see that brat crying, that’s all. It would attract the undead.”

“Sure,” Childe breaks in easily, smiling. “You’re big brother material, you know.”

“Shut up,” Scaramouche snarls.

Scaramouche is an enigma, but he’s an asset. It’s only when Childe quietly murmurs that he hasn’t noticed any signs of zombie bites or symptoms of infection on Scaramouche that you can bring yourself to trust in him a little more.

“I still think he’s bad news,” Childe tells you in a quiet voice, when Scaramouche is busy entertaining Teucer in the room over. Teucer’s laughter drifts through the wall. “There’s something off about him. The sooner we ditch him, the better.”

“Teucer likes him,” you say.

“Teucer is young.”

“Are you sure you’re not jealous of him?” you tease, elbowing Childe in the side.

He shakes his head. His eyes are distant, staring at somewhere far away from you, some place you can’t join him in. Childe has that look often these days, and it’s the same one he has whenever he sees a zombie and his hands flex on his baseball bat.

Maybe it’s the apocalypse, or maybe it’s always been a part of him. But it’s frightening, because he’s never been unreachable to you. If you just whisper his name, he’ll usually come running straight to your side. But when he gets like this, you wonder if your voice will reach him at all. You take his hand instinctively, as if to ground him back to your reality, and Childe squeezes your hand in return.

He’s here. He’s here, even if the rest of the world falls to ruin, and he’ll always take your hand.

“I just have a bad feeling,” Childe says.

“We’ll be careful,” you promise. 

Childe closes his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Okay.”

Maybe he’s trying to ground himself with your touch, too, so the two of you stay in that position for a long while longer, where you simply soak in each other’s presence, lost in your own thoughts.

As you travel over the next few days, the temperature turns frigid and the ground icy, and the four of you stick to camping out in empty buildings. If you’re lucky, the houses might have an indoor fireplace to huddle around. If not, then you make do with thick, lonely, faded blankets forgotten in closets. If you can’t make it to town, there’s always cars to break into and huddle in for the night. It’s been easy to avoid zombies with the cooling weather; frost gathers in their joints, and they move more slowly. On cold enough nights, you can’t see any at all.

It’s in one of the countless abandoned homes you pass that the four of you stop by for the night. You’re huddled by a fire pit, blankets curled over your shoulders, having pushed the couches closer to the hearth to trap the heat. There are framed pictures over the mantelpiece, of a blond family: two daughters, one with a ponytail and another with pigtails, a mom, a dad. You wonder if they’re alive. Then you turn your head back to the fire, flames flickering in a slow dance, and makes it hard to think of anything else.

Teucer is asleep, his head on Childe’s lap. You’re curled up on Childe’s other side, shoulders touching. Scaramouche sits farther apart, his shoulders hunched, legs folded under him.

“Okay, spit it out. Are the two of you dating?” Scaramouche says suddenly.

“What?” you hiss.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? All the touching? And he–” Scaramouche jerks a thumb at Childe– “Keeps acting like the two of you will die if you’re apart for a single moment.”

“We’re not dating. We’re just friends,” you say defensively, even as Scaramouche raises an eyebrow. “I’ve known him since I was born, okay? We grew up next to each other.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Oh, how sappy.”

“Are you interested in us?” you challenge, annoyed. “That’s a weird thing to bring up all of a sudden.”

Scaramouche lets out a short barking laugh. “Hardly! You two were just so annoying to watch. I needed to know for sure.”

“Well, now you know,” you say tersely. “We went to the same school all our lives. Our families were friends. But we’re not dating.”

Teucer lets out a series of coughs, stirring in his sleep. His coughing has gotten worse over the last few days. If it doesn’t get better, you’ll need to stop and look for medicine. All of you freeze, and Childe strokes Teucer’s head softly.

“You guys can talk, but try to keep it down,” Childe says. Under the shelter of your blanket, hidden from Scaramouche’s gaze, his pinky grazes yours. You link them together. There’s something intimate about the gesture. Maybe it’s because you’re doing it in secret, right under Scaramouche’s nose.

Scaramouche stares into the fire, unblinking, his gaze reflecting the flames. “So you’ve known him your whole life.” His voice is quieter now, and you try to match his low tone.

“We went to different colleges, though,” you say. “I was majoring in musical performance. Childe and Teucer were visiting me during spring break at my apartment when…” Your voice trails off. There’s no reason to look back to the past. It’ll kill you. It’ll kill you if you stop moving forward, if you think about the family you’ve lost, the stage you can never return to.

“Yeah, we were visiting them when the apocalypse broke loose,” Childe interrupts easily, continuing for you. “We waited a while before fleeing, and we’ve been traveling ever since we heard about government shelters in the north.”

“And what if those communications are lies?” Scaramouche says. “And there’s nothing up there? Or what if it’s a trap?”

“Then we’ll make do,” Childe says. “We’ll survive.”

“It’s easier if we’re together,” you add.

Scaramouche scoffs. “Sure.”

“What about you?” you ask. “Where did you come from?”

“Nowhere,” he says tersely.

“Sure. You just popped out of the ground,” Childe says. “No family? No friends?”

“No one worth talking about,” he says. “Everyone is dead or gone.”

You nudge Childe’s hand with your own, signaling him to drop the issue, and Childe falls silent. There’s no point in pushing Scaramouche about things he doesn’t want to talk about. No one has a happy story these days.

Scaramouche’s eyes drift to your violin case, positioned snugly on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re still carrying that thing with you. You might as well use it for scrap wood,” Scaramouche says.

“I am not doing that! It’s important to me. I know it’s inconvenient, but I can’t just leave it behind.”

“That’s just sentimental drivel,” Scaramouche snarks.

“Maybe it is, but it’s my decision to live with, not yours,” you reply evenly.

“It’s nice to have a little music sometimes,” Childe breaks in. “Not that I know if you understand what it’s like to do things that make you happy. Do you do anything other than glower and scowl?”

“Shut up. You act just like their dog. You’re both hopeless.” Scaramouche stands, still clutching the blanket tightly around him. “I’ve had enough for tonight. Don’t bother me.”

When he stalks off, you lean your head on Childe’s shoulder. “Thanks, Childe.”

“That’s what family and friends are for,” he says lightly. “We look out for each other, especially now. I’m always here for you.”

You really don’t know what you would do without him. Scaramouche’s words stung, not the least because you used to have a crush on Childe when you were younger. Everyone has always teased you about how the two of you were going to wind up dating, but those childish ideas have no place in this dying world. Romance is an embarrassing indulgence, worse than your violin, and love doesn’t seem like the right word to describe what the two of you mean to each other.

It’s like there’s a string, knotted somewhere in the hollow of your heart, tying you to Childe. And everytime his heart beats, you can feel the tug of that string, a reminder of someone who’s more of you than you yourself are. If either of your hearts were to stop, then the string would snap, and the searing pain of that loss would kill you.

No, love isn’t the right word at all. 

“You can sleep. I’ll keep watch,” Childe whispers, and your eyes drift close. You can almost feel the ghost of lips brushing against your forehead, but you’re too sleepy to tell for sure.

The next day, Teucer wakes with a fever burning his skin and shortening his breath. You help Childe carry him to a spare bedroom and pile up the blankets against the chill, but it’s not enough. You melt ice and snow outside into water which Childe uses to dip rags into and cool Teucer’s forehead.

The two of you have been by his side for hours, trying to coax water and stale crackers into Teucer’s mouth, but he only turns away. At some point, Scaramouche has come to hover wordlessly by the door. There’s a tight, almost worried, expression on his face, but you don’t have time to pay attention to him and his shifting moods.

“The fever might still go down,” Childe mutters, but he’s talking more to himself than he is to you. “It’s not that bad yet.”

“We’ll need medicine,” you say. “I’ll go find some. You should stay here and look after him.”

“By yourself?” he says tersely.

“No, Scaramouche will come with me,” you say resolutely. 

“I never agreed to do that,” Scaramouche says, the first words he’s said since he’s shown up.

Childe stands, grip tightening around the rag in his hands to the point his knuckles turn white. “I don’t have time for you right now. Teucer is sick, you asshole. You can either help us or keep your shitty opinions to yourself.” Scaramouche holds Childe’s gaze in one long, hard unblinking moment. You tense, wondering if you’re going to need to shove them apart.

Scaramouche is the first to duck his head. He glances at Teucer’s prone form, then glances away again, too fast for you to decipher the emotion in his eyes. “I’ll go. He needs the medicine. Besides, they–” he jerks a thumb at you– “Would probably die without someone to look after them.”

You bite back all your complaints at his tone. There’s no time for fighting, not when more important things are on the line. “Fine. Then we’re going to head out right now to look for supplies.”

The wait to grab your gear and trek outside is short and tense. The air is bitterly cold, causing your breath to cloud in the air as the two of you slink down sidewalks and alleyways, scanning for any sign of zombies. Snow and ice slick the ground, and the sky has a sickly gray pallor to it, like unhealthy skin.

The nearest grocery store is a half an hour walk away. In the silence, you’re acutely aware of Scaramouche next to you. This is the first time you’ve been alone with him since he started traveling with you. His steps are surprisingly elegant, his posture graceful. Something about him doesn’t strike you as a typical college student; maybe he was a dancer? It wouldn’t surprise you.

But Scaramouche’s past, which he clearly doesn’t want to share with you, isn’t important right now. What is important is Teucer.

The grocery store, once you arrive at it, is as dilapidated as all the others; they were some of the first places to be scavenged. This place reminds you a little of the one you had explored with Childe, almost two weeks before. You shrug off the thought and gesture to the left side of the store, pointing at yourself, and then the right side of the store, pointing at Scaramouche. He nods, and the two of you separate.

Your heart beats an anxious rhythm in your chest as you peer at the shelves, looking for the telltale glint of plastic bottles and wordy labels. You need basic fever medication, or, hell, you would even take an over the counter painkiller. Anything to relieve Teucer’s pain. Without a doctor or proper supplies, if anything were to happen to him… no. You don’t want to think about it.

You browse the shelves, stepping over fallen merchandise, dirty stuffed animals and books with their pages splayed open like ribs. Nothing. Maybe you would make your way to Scaramouche’s side of the story instead; you’re clearly in the entertainment section, and the medical supplies might be further off. 

You round the corner, and run right into a man in a puffy winter coat. You stumble backwards, hands already reaching for your knife, when the man throws his hands up.

“Whoa, take it easy,” he murmurs. 

Despite his words, you keep a hand firmly on the hilt of your knife. You’re close enough that if he makes any suspicious moves, you can easily threaten him or disarm him. The man must realize this, because he backs away a few short steps. 

He has winter boots scruffy with snow, and days old stubble around his neck. His eyes are red and heavy with dark eyebags, his face drawn with exhaustion, and his hair is greasy. You probably don’t look any better.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“Just someone trying to survive,” he says lowly. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Well, it’s the same for me,” you murmur. You can’t sense any signs of aggression or hostility from him. 

“I’m not a threat,” he says again. “Don’t be hasty, stranger. Please. There’s no need for violence. Look. I don’t have any weapons.” He waves his hands again, keeping them spread in front of him.

“How do I know that for sure?”

“Because I’m tired of fighting with every other person I’ve run into. I know the world is shit, but we don’t need to treat others so poorly,” he says, and there’s a creeping edge of genuinity to his voice.

You let out a little breath, then sheaf your knife. Still, it’s close enough that you can grab it if the man turns out to be dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Looking for supplies. Same as you, I presume?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. You’d be a fool just to trust him based on appearance and kind words alone, as much as you want to believe in his good intentions. It’s probably better not to clue him in on the most vulnerable member of your team.

“Are you by yourself?” the man asks. “Hey, so am I. If you want, we could–”

A soft click of the gun echoes in the air. Both of you tense. “Too bad for you, but they aren’t alone.” Scaramouche digs his gun against the back of the man’s head. His posture is loose, casual, even, as if the man in front of him isn’t trembling like a rabbit.

“What are you doing?” you hiss. 

“Something you’re too stupid to do,” Scaramouche says disdainfully. “Really, I can’t believe you would lower your guard when there’s a threat in front of you.”

“He isn’t a threat!”

“He just wants you to let your guard down,” Scaramouche reasons. “You have no idea what he’s planning to do.”

“I wasn’t planning anything! I just thought– if they were alone, we could just team up– I didn’t have any other intentions!” the man insists, voice shaking. “I won’t do anything to you two, okay? I’ll leave the two of you alone. I promise. Just let me go.”

“And why should I trust that?”

“I’m just trying to survive! Come on, man. You know how it is these days.”

“I know exactly how it is these days,” Scaramouche says, and pushes his gun against the man’s head again.

“Scaramouche,” you say tensely. “Leave him alone.”

“Why? So he can turn around and betray us?”

“I won’t do that. I promise I’ll just go,” the man pleads. “If we see each other again, I won’t even talk to the two of you. Promise. Come on. Just cut me some slack.”

No one breathes. The moment stretches out, distorting before your eyes, stretching into an agonizing infinity. You might have always stood here, watching Scaramouche and this stranger, rooted to the spot, as civilizations rose and fell with a roar in your ears.

“Scaramouche,” you whisper, trying to plead with him again.

Scaramouche momentarily links eyes with you, his gaze as hard as his gun, and the man slowly reaches his hand down– towards his pocket? You can’t tell– you don’t know what he’s doing– and then – before you can say or do anything at all– Scaramouche’s trigger finger flicks and, in the next instant, the man is falling, blood spraying from his head in a wine-red arc, and it’s sickening how graceful the spill is, how the calm the man looks as his eyelids flutter and his mouth slackens, and Scaramouche is quietly slipping his gun back into the holster on his belt.

You couldn’t hear the sound of a gunshot at all. His silencer must have been on. And that’s the worst part, really, how easy it is. How quickly death passes, in seconds, like a butterfly alighting on a branch before flying away again.

This is the way the world is, and you want to cry or laugh or scream, but nothing comes out of your throat at all.

There’s blood. Warm and wet. Spreading in a pool by your feet. The man has fallen down, face first, and his wounds gapes open at you. You don’t even know his name.

Scaramouche crouches down by the man, digging into his coat pockets, before pulling out a switchblade. He flicks the blade out, his smile ghostly in the silver reflection.

“Knew it,” he whispers. “This fucker was reaching for this.”

The moment breaks, and you grab Scaramouche by his jacket, slamming him against a metal shelf. Your breath is heavy and fast, and you can feel the pounding of your own blood through your veins, resounding in your head, louder than thought. You can see the reflection of your own wild animal eyes in Scaramouche’s. 

His eyes are dark and reflect nothing, not even his own thoughts, like a sheet of black glass you can only pound your hands against, over and over.

“What the fuck,” you spit out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he drawls. “You should thank me.”

“He was innocent,” you say quietly. “You don’t know if he was reaching for his knife or not. He was just lowering his hands.”

“Really? Be honest with yourself,” Scaramouche says. “What else could he be reaching for?”

“Maybe he wasn’t reaching for anything at all. You don’t know that he was going to grab his knife. You had a gun to his head!”

“People do desperate things in desperate situations. You’re naive,” he says, spitting out the word like a curse.

“And you’re a bitter asshole.” 

You could tear his throat out right now. You could slam his head against the wall until it bleeds. You could do anything to Scaramouche right now, but it wouldn’t matter. A stranger is dead, and you will never know what he was really doing in his final moments.

For the first time, you understand what Childe feels when he raises his weapon against a zombie. 

“Are you going to threaten me all day? Don’t you have more important things to worry about?” Scaramouche says.

Scaramouche is worse than any undead threat. Childe is right. Bringing him along is a mistake. But no matter how you feel, there’s more pressing matters at hand. You clamber off of him, and he dusts down his winter jacket, before throwing something at you. 

You catch it with ease. It’s a bottle of fever medication for children, orange pills encased in thick plastic, happy fruit shaped mascots dancing in front of the packaging.

“I found that. So let’s go back. The noise might have drawn zombies near us,” Scaramouche says.

Before you leave, you manage to cover the corpse with a ratty white blanket that you found shoved in the corner of the grocery store. It’s not much, and you can’t give him a real burial, but the idea of leaving his open body to the air feels wrong.

The silence is suffocating on your way home. Neither you nor Scaramouche speak much to each other. There’s nothing to say.

Back in the house, Childe is still crouched over Teucer’s bedside, holding his brother’s hand and speaking soothingly to him. He probably hasn’t moved since you stepped out of the house. You don’t know where Scaramouche went when you both returned. You don’t want to know.

“You’re back. Are you okay?” Childe asks. 

He knows something is wrong without you saying anything, like some sixth sense or an animal’s intuition. When you sit next to him on Teucer’s bed, he lifts a hand to cup your face. He scans you carefully, as if looking for any sign of visible wounds.

“Childe. If there was someone who we didn’t know was a threat or not, what would you do?” you whisper.

“Easy. I would do what you wanted to do,” Childe says cheerfully. “And you’d probably want to help them.”

“But what if I was wrong?” you press. “What if I trusted someone I shouldn’t have, and then you and Teucer got hurt because of it? Would it be wrong of me to have done that? Should I just have left them alone?”

“I don’t know,” Childe says. He’s stroking soothing patterns on your cheek now, his fingers dancing across your skin. “We wouldn’t know they’re dangerous until they betray us, right? And it would be their fault for betraying you, not yours for trusting them. Besides, if anyone hurt you, I would just kill them.”

“Is it really that easy?” you ask. Killing others, being killed. Trusting others, distrusting them.

Childe shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be? We take care of each other, right? If you mess up, I’ll cover you. And if I mess up, you’ll do the same. Why? Did Scaramouche say something to you? Want me to punch him?”

You let out a shaky little laugh. “Sort of. Something happened, but I can’t… talk about it right now. I’ll tell you later.”

Childe lets go of your cheek, and before you can react, softly kisses your forehead. His lips are dry and cracked, but what surprises you most is how gentle that single touch is, how cognizant he is of every inch of you. He handles you like you’re more precious than gold, more rare than diamonds.

“I’ll watch over Teucer, so get some rest. Thanks for getting the medicine for me.”

“I’ll take over in a little bit,” you say.

Childe waves a hand in return, and you stumble down the halls. You touch your forehead, where the kiss burns, marking you forever in some intangible way. 

Maybe Childe is your salvation, as much as you’re his. You believe in him more than any god out there, anyways, and if you are to pray, it would be to him. Childe is the only one who will answer your prayers.

By the next morning, the medicine has reduced Teucer’s fever somewhat, but there’s still no point in traveling when he’s too sick to move. For the next two days, all of you are stuck in that house. You and Childe take shifts watching over Teucer. You don’t know where Scaramouche is; he hasn’t shown his face in a while.

In fact, you’re starting to wonder if he’s left permanently. You’re absently polishing your violin in the living room on a slow afternoon, when Scaramouche walks right through the doorway. He’s wearing a backpack, his jacket buttoned tightly to his throat. 

“Do you still plan on bringing that thing with you?” he says.

“Yes. There’s no reason not to. Besides,” you add, “It’s not your business what I decide to bring with me or not. It doesn’t affect you.”

“It’s going to weigh you down,” he says.

“No more than anything else I bring with me,” you say evenly. “It was my dream, you know? To play at a concert hall. To become a famous musician.”

“You’re foolish.”

“What’s your problem?” you ask. “If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to come with us. We can go our separate ways. There’s no reason for you to stick with us anymore.”

“You want to know why? It’s because I knew someone who was just like you. A foolish idiot, who was abandoned by his mother, and then fell into a group of people who he thought he could trust. He thought he could trust them because they saved him, because they were kind and believed in the goodness of others. There was a little kid with them, too, who that boy really cared about. But then they all ended up dying because they trusted the wrong person, and that idiot was left all alone. That’s why I can’t stand you. I can’t stand anyone like him,” he spits out. 

“But it isn’t the boy’s fault for trusting the others,” you argue. “It’s terrible that all of that happened to him, but the one who betrayed him is really at fault.”

Scaramouche laughed. “Well, that’s just the way the world is, and it’s semantics to argue otherwise. The stupid boy shouldn’t have trusted anyone in the first place, and he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. It’ll be best if you learn that before long, instead of clinging to your stupid dreams. Everyone will leave you eventually, you know.”

Something about his phrasing prickles in your mind. Scaramouche, you notice, is wearing boots indoors. He usually takes off his shoes before entering rooms.

Something clicks in his hand. It’s his gun. The silencer is off. For a single moment, you hold your breath, wondering if Scaramouche is going to shoot you in cold blood, right here and right now, and you’ll end up like the stranger in the grocery store.

But no– he doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he heads towards the front door. You don’t even close your violin case as you follow him.

Unease weighs down every step. “What do you mean? Scaramouche? What are you doing with that?”

He doesn’t bother replying before he opens the door, a gust of cold winter air swirling around you. The night sky is bitterly black and cold, like the bottom of the ocean. “You know, I always hated your fucking attitude. Oh, the world is a good place! Oh, you can trust others! Oh, Childe is always going to help me out!” he says, but there’s something gentle about the cruelty in his voice. Like he’s really doing you a favor. “Someone has to put you in your place.” 

“Scaramouche–” Your words are cut off as he raises his gun and fires it into the sky. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound richots off the houses around you and into the depths of the neighborhood, like the toll of a church bell.

And then– groaning. Faint groaning and shuffling, carrying over the wind. In the distance, darkened shapes lurch toward your door, lumpy shadows that are too numerous to count. Congregants, summoned by Scaramouche’s call.

Scaramouche has summoned a zombie hoard to your location. The knowledge hits you just as Scaramouche leaps out the door, giving you one last smile. There’s something bitter curling along his grin, but you don’t have time to interpret the meaning before he waves his gun in a single farwell.

“Good luck,” he says mockingly, and vanishes into the night.

You slam the door closed, heart pounding. Oh god. What are you going to do? The backyard– that’s your best option. You can escape out the back. But, shit. Teucer. Teucer is still recovering. You can’t move quickly with him still sick- and the cold weather could make him worse.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Someone pounds down the stairs. Childe is by your side in an instant, grabbing your shoulders. 

“What happened? Are you hurt?” His eyes are wild, and his fingers cut into your shoulders. “Where’s Scaramouche?”

“He left,” you say numbly. “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. It’s just–” Something slams against the door, a wet thud that echoes into your bones. Multiple bodies are beating against the door, and Childe peeks through the peephole. He glances away, his hand around his mouth, and you look, too: it’s an endless sea of corpses. Scaramouche must have summoned the entire town to your door.

“Fuck. Did he do that?” he whispers. There’s an odd edge of elation to his tone, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit quite right in your current circumstances. 

“Yes,” you say, and Childe takes your hand, pulling you along, up the stairs. 

“Focus!” he hisses, grabbing onto your face, pulling your gaze up to him. In this moment, the only thing you can focus on is Childe’s eyes, pure and open, like the endless expanse of the sky. “I know he did something shitty, but focus! We have to survive. We have to make a way through this. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I’m here. I’m here for you.”

“You’re here,” you repeat, and Childe lets you go. You slap your cheeks, shaking your head. There’s no time to regret, to mourn, to scream. There’s no choice but to keep moving.

For the next few moments, you and Childe pack two backpacks, shoving them full of whatever supplies you can carry.

You head into Teucer’s bedroom next, where he stirs weakly. “What’s going on?” he mumbles.

“Emergency. We have to go now,” Childe says lightly. Teucer holds out his arms obediently as Childe helps him into his jacket, tenderly shoving a hat on his head, tucking it around his curls of hair.

“Can you walk?” you ask Teucer.

“A little.” His speech is still slurred with fatigue and illness. He’s in no condition to move, but you have no choice.

“I’ll carry you if you get tired,” you say. “Childe and I can take turns.”

He nods, and Childe picks him up. Teucer curls his head into Childe’s shoulder. You grab his radio off the bed stand, and Teucer grips it tightly, close to his chest like a heart.

“You need to put on your jacket, too,” you whisper to Childe. “What, are you going to run out like that?”

Childe smiles. “Not at all.” He guides the two of you to the backyard door. For now, the immediate vicinity is free of zombies: yellowed grass, a barren tree with skeletal arms piercing the sky, a wooden gate with a fragile latch at the very end. In the darkness, you can’t make out anything beyond the fence. It’s better that way, because you know all you see will be zombies piled everywhere.

Childe helps Teucer pull on his backpack, and you slip on your own.

“Not bringing your violin?” Childe asks quietly.

“There’s no room for it,” you say bitterly. Scaramouche is right about that, at least. It’ll just slow you down at this rate. 

Childe sets Teucer down at your words, carefully pulling out a chair for Teucer to lean against. “Wait for us for a little bit, buddy. We’ll be right back.”

Teucer nods absently, and slumps on the chair. He’s playing with his radio again, the static crackling through the air.

Childe guides you to the living room, where your violin case is still open on the floor. He bends over and picks up the rosin, running one thumb over the closed plastic cap, before handing it to you. “I’ll bring you your violin later,” he says. “So just take this with you for now.”

“Childe. What do you mean? You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

Ever since you were young, Childe has been unable to lie to you. You know him too well for that, and you grab his elbows at the look in his contemplative look in his eyes. He must know better than to try now, because he only smiles at you. His smile is– it’s excited, almost, as it has been since he first saw the zombies around the house. You want to throw your rosin at his fucking face. 

“There are too many zombies around the house right now. Someone needs to be a distraction so the others can get away.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you!” you say desperately. “I can stay, too. I can help you. Isn’t this how we’ve always done this? You and me. We can do this together.”

“Someone has to take care of Teucer. I can’t risk him,” he says quietly. 

“God damn it!” Tears are streaming down your face, and you can’t even wipe them away. 

For a second, you imagine leaving Teucer behind. You’ll drag Childe with you, and just the two of you can leave. Childe has to survive. He has to. He’s the only one in this world you care about anymore.

But Childe would never forgive you if you do. And you would never forgive yourself. How can you think like that? Teucer is a child. You were there when he was born. 

Childe presses his thumb to your face, catching your tears. “I’ll catch up to you guys. I won’t die.”

“You don’t know that! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just leave us like this!” You hold out your hand to him, hoping that he’ll take it, but Childe only looks at it quietly. He doesn’t move to take it. It’s a rejection, your first rejection from Childe.

“I’m not like Scaramouche. I’ll come back to you. I won’t betray you like that. Trust me,” he says. “I’m going to keep both of you safe.”

He kisses you. He kisses you, and all your bubbling complaints are swallowed by his lips. Your hands are trapped against his chest. He kisses you once, and twice, over and over, like he’ll die if he pulls away. Your kisses are salty with your tears. Childe licks your bottom lip, and you finally shove yourself away from him, because you’ll drown in his arms otherwise.

“You promised,” you whisper. “So you better keep it, or I’m going to come back and kill you myself.”

“I’ll always come back to you,” Childe says. “It’s you and me, right?”

You walk back to the dining room, where Teucer is sitting sleepily. Childe has his baseball bat in hand. He kisses his brother’s forehead once. 

“Be good, Teuce,” Childe murmurs. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I have some business to take care of. But I’ll catch up to you soon.” And then, in a low whisper, tha only you can hear, “don’t look back,” he says.

You finger the rosin in your pocket. “I won’t.”

You head out in the backyard, Teucer’s hand in your own, the night air so cold it sears your lungs. You can hear the shuffle of zombies through the fence, too numerous to count. 

You and Childe stare at each other through the glass door for one final time, and then he’s gone, running towards the front door. You head towards the gate, heart hammering in your ears as you listen to the shuffle of zombies. You’ll wait until the noise dies down enough to make a break for it, when he’s drawn most of the attention to himself.

A minute passes. Another. The zombies are slowly lurching past you. There’s noise from the front of the house, but you don’t want to think about what’s going on there. 

When it’s finally silent enough, you burst out into the street, Teucer’s hand in your own. The two of you run, and run, and run.

You don’t know how long you run. At some point, Teucer falters, and you sling both your bags to your front, and pull him onto your back, and keep going, his arms tight around your neck. His forehead burns against your neck. His fever must be flaring up again.

“My brother…” Teucer whispers reedily in your ear. 

“He’s right behind us,” you lie, tears burning your throat and choking your words. “I promise.”

You keep running. You keep running, even when your legs are screaming and your lungs are burning and your breathing is uneven. You keep running until you can’t feel anything anymore, not the ache of your arms or Teucer’s weight on your back. In the endless darkness, you keep going, because if you stop now, then you’ll turn right around and go back to Childe and render his sacrifice meaningless.

Is this your fault? Should you have never trusted Scaramouche and just left him there to fend for himself when you first saw on the highway? Maybe you should have stuck your knife in his ribs yourself the second he pressed his gun to a stranger’s head.

Childe might be dead already. He could be dying right now. But, no, Childe has promised to come after you. He never breaks his promises. He’s always there for you. And now you’ve left him behind, in a zombie swarm.

You remember his smile, too, the way he never hesitates to beat against zombies until they’re pulp on the ground. As much as he loves you and Teucer, he loves the violence of a dying world, too. Does he fight because he wants to protect you, or does protecting you give him an excuse to fight?

Resentment bubbles in your chest, trickling along with your tears. How can he ask you to leave him behind? How can he look excited at the thought of going single handedly against a swarm of zombies?

You can never ask him now.

The world is a cruel place. Your family is dead. Or worse, they’re alive but you’ve abandoned the aunt and uncle who raised you to their fate, without even heading back to your hometown to check if they were still alive. Childe, at least, had the decency to want to go home until it was too late to go anywhere but north. You just wanted to run. 

You should have smashed your fucking violin into pieces when you had the chance, instead of carrying it with you all this way. There’s no concert halls left, no audience, no one who cares about your dead dreams.

Something crackles in your ear. Teucer’s radio, turned so low only you can hear. “Gov… north… repeat… state of emergency… shelter…”

Keep going.

But why are you going? What’s left for you?

Keep running. 

But what if there’s nothing left? What if everyone is dead, and there’s no one up north to help you?

Keep moving forward.

It’s snowing. You don’t know when it started, but snow clings to your lashes like frozen tears. You stumble over something hard, and you crash into the ground, skidding along the icy dirt. You keep a tight grip on Teucer the whole time, and his radio goes silent as it shatters on the floor, into cold metal stars.

“Teucer?” you whisper, but all you can hear is his labored breathing. If he stays in the cold for any longer, he might really die.

Maybe you should just stay here and die with him. You’re too tired to move. The cold is numbing your joints, seeping into your body. You’ve run for so long. You can’t run any more.

“Look,” Teucer whispers in your ear, and you force your eyes up.

In the distance, a bright light glimmers, a firefly in the winter. A fire, or a flashlight. You can’t tell, but you do know what it means. Other people. You’ve found other people. But there’s no guarantee they’ll help you. Maybe they’ll rob you, leave you for dead in the snow. How can you trust anyone else now?

Scaramouche has betrayed you. Childe is… no, Childe isn’t dead. He’s promised you. He’ll come back for you. If you die here, then you can’t wait for him. If he comes to find you, and you’re not there, then you’ll have betrayed him in the worst way.

Childe can hurt and betray you all he wants, but you can’t hurt him.

And Teucer. Teucer is right here, on your back, still clinging with his fragile arms. Still believing in you to keep him safe.

Your rosin is in your pocket. You force a gloved hand into your jacket pocket to feel its worn edges. You’ve used the same one for years, to coat your bow so it can glide over your violin strings, wearing it down to almost a sliver.

You take a breath. Then another. And then you get up, and you head towards the light.

[maybe-its-5sos]

Beautiful (Cathleen Bate Smut)

Requested: No

Summary: Cathleen can't stop herself after you go to an event looking like that.

Word Count: 1144

Warning(s): Sex, Female reader

She couldn't take her eyes off you, your dress hugging your curves perfectly as you laugh with your friends. Star had invited you to an event with her, she loves showing you off and this was a perfect opportunity. You both dressed to the nines looking as gorgeous as ever.

What she didn't take into account was that some of your friends were also going to be there, pulling you away from her. You weren't far away from Cassie by any means, her hand resting on your hip, but your attention was else where, drink sloshing in your glass as you laugh.

"Hey baby, I think it's time to go," she whispers leaning closer to your ear, you smile and nod as you say goodbye to your friends and finish up the drink in your hand.

"We're leaving early," you chuckle, squeezing Cathleen's hand that is now in yours. "I can't wait any longer, you're too beautiful to resist," she lets you know, winking, a bright blush dusting your cheeks. Cassie starts briskly walking towards the waiting car outside, pulling you with her as you yelp, trying to catch up. "Wait up, I can't walk that fast in these heels," Her walk slows but not by a lot, the door to the car open as you both slide in quickly.

As the driver takes off, Cassie's hand rests on your thigh, rubbing small gentle stripes up and down with her thumb, giving you goosebumps, a wicked look in her eyes. The drive isn't very long, but her strong fingers have made their way higher and higher up your thigh, causing you to clench your thighs together, a wetness spreading in your probably already ruined underwear.

Before you can indulge in your arousal, the car comes to a halt, looking out the window you see the front of your shared home. "Well that was fast." you muse to yourself scootching closer to the door as you had been leaning into your better halves side without even realizing it.

The door opens, Cathleen's hand out reached. She helps you out of the car and without a second to process, she picks you up in a bridal carry, quickly making her way to the house.

The door slams behind her as she disregards her own shoes, quickly taking you to the bedroom. With your heels still on you're a lot closer to being of a similar height.

Her lips crash into yours like a tidal wave, your hands pulling her into you by her hips. She doesn't put up any resistance. Soon the back of your legs touch the bed and you both come up for air. "What's gotten into you?" you ask breathily, not complaining about the intimate situation. "When I saw you in this," she says running her hands up and down your sides "I honestly thought that we should skip the event all together." She informs you kissing your lips once more, her hand gently making it up your inner thigh, the dress lifting with it. The sensation sending a shiver down your spine. "But then seeing you smile at your friends like that....Damn am I lucky to have you, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on." She confesses effortlessly, kissing down the side of your neck, nibbling every now and then. A breathy moan escapes your throat, as you slide one of your hands down her arm, the other gently placed on the back of her neck.

" I think the title for most beautiful is all yours baby," You moan as she makes her way to your collar bones.

Cassie gently pushes you to sit down on the bed, gently caressing your breasts, leaving small love bites before pulling one out of the confinement of your dress all together. Her tongue flicks your nipple causing you to let out a needy moan.

"Don't keep me waiting baby," You beg as she slowly plays with your nipple. "All in due time gorgeous," She says with a smile, teeth grazing over the sensitive skin. Your back arches into her, a moan so desperate leaving your lips.

Her wandering hand finally makes its way all the way to your soaked underwear as she gives your clothed pussy a small rub. " So wet already and we just started." She chuckles, her lips making their way back up to yours, the kiss fervent.

Her hand leaves your clothed cunt, causing you to whimper from the loss of contact. "Open up." Cassie commands, gently pushing on your thighs. You slide your legs open wider, as her finger hooks around your panties. She pulls them off in one swipe.

She kisses up your ankles, gently nibbling on your sensitive inner thighs as she makes her way to your weeping cunt. She licks a strip up from your hole to your clit a gorgeous moan coming from her. "I'll never get used to how good you taste." She tells you, going to town on your sensitive nub. Your head falls back as she pulls your heeled leg over her shoulder, giving her better access and lapping up all your juices, her skilled tongue working magic on your pussy. As Cathleen works her magic, the pleasure that has been building finally crashes over you with a breathy yet loud moan of your lovers name as your pussy pulsates. Cassie never stops, riding the high while liking up everything you give her. "Even you moaning my name is beautiful," She smiles as she looks up at you thru her lashes.

As your high subsides she moves her face away momentarily. "Hope you didn't think we were done yet, pretty." she says, slowly inserting a finger into you in one smooth movement, before pulling it back out. She sucks off your juices while looking at you, eliciting a moan.

She slowly inserts her finger again, this time her tongue making its way back to your sensitive bundle of nerves. She slowly pumps her finger, loving how your body reacts to her. She pulls your other leg over her shoulder, her movements getting faster.

Soon she ads another digit, curling them, making you feel oh so full. The ocean of pleasure receding again before coming down in a violent tsunami. "Y/n, I love you so much." she Mumbles between licks as she helps you ride thru the wave. she slowly pulls away and puts your legs on the ground gently.

"I don't think I can wear this dress again," you state in a matter of fact manor, causing Cassie to laugh. You grab her by the chin, pulling her up to you, giving her a kiss. It's much sweeter this time around, you can still taste your arousal on her lips.

You shift so she's laying on her back, lips never disconnecting.

"Your turn," you tell her with a wink.

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With love,

-K