#vice usage mention

[coryosbaby]

ꜰᴜᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴘ !

♡ content warning . dubious consent, mentions of drugging, sex work, breeding kink, cum play, weird usage of condoms, dom! Coryo

You didn’t know how you ended up like this.

Being an escort wasn’t an easy job. There were times when you were completely disgusted at the men who approached you (if not all of them). Coriolanus was supposed to be a normal client— someone that would fuck and go. Even with his ranking, you never suspected that he would… keep you.

You had had a few weird clients— some asked for the most vulgar, filthy things. Some of them followed you around before your boss had told them off.

But none of them have ever took you home.

You usually weren’t this stupid, this hazy minded, but Coriolanus had scooped you up with his wit and his charm and a bottle of something you hadn’t had before the economy went downhill. You had heard of him— of course you had—- the powerful, handsome, and extremely intelligent, Coriolanus Snow. And before you knew it you were being tossed onto his king sized bed and his tongue was scraping against the roof of your open mouth. You didn’t even have time to gape in drunken wonder at his enormous bedroom— all you could think about was the cock gliding in between your legs, meaty and thick and wet. He had become completely bare to you, regardless of your opposing position. You were still clothed in your pink floral dress and your basic cotton panties.

Coriolanus’ lips grazed over your jugular, his tongue nipping at your skin. You had never been this hot for anyone, especially not a client. Your panties were soaking, your clit was throbbing and you needed to cum. What was happening to you?

“Cor…” you tried to slur out, as your eyelashes fluttered.

“I know.”

His voice was incredibly gentle, and his big hands groped your tits through your dress. He lifted up the hem, made sure to expose your panties to him, and groaned. You could feel his precum smear against your thigh as he ground his aching member against you.

“Can’t even say my name, can you?” Coriolanus continues. “I have an idea. You can just call me Coryo. Short enough for your little brain to remember, yeah?”

Coryo. It was a nice name. A perfect name.

You moaned out when you felt the cool air hit the peaks of your puffy and swollen nipples. Coriolanus—Coryo— was peeling your dress off of your body. When the fabric was thrown across the room his mouth latched to one of your nipples. You mewled, hands going up to grasp his blonde curls, your chest very sensitive all of a sudden. You could feel that familiar organ probing at your folds, and— when did he put a condom on? You didn’t know, but relief would’ve coursed through you if you weren’t so aroused that you were practically drooling.

“Want it,” you whined out, scraping his scalp with desperation. “Coryo. Please.”

Huffing out a laugh, he reached down and wrapped his hand around his shaft. He gave it a few tugs, made sure the precum pearled over and made a sticky white stain on the inside of the latex. He used the tip to part your pussy lips and find your hole. He pushed in, slow at first, but your pussy was so wet from whatever he slipped in your cup that it was almost easy. Even with his overwhelming size, your cunt accepted his cock greedily, sucking him inside your tight canal. Coryo groaned, practically going cross eyed at the feeling of your warm, wet pussy.

“Never had a cunt so tight,” he grunted against you. “even with all the men you sell yourself to, you’re still squeezing me like a fucking vice, sweetness.”

Your mouth dropped open, his words making you impossibly hornier. Usually you would be offended by such a vile statement, but his big cock was throbbing and wading through your walls with such precision that it had your legs shaking.

And Coriolanus had this charisma about him— something that made his words even more powerful than most. And after that statement, he just kept talking.

“Oh, Angel. My good, special girl,” his thrusts were impossibly fast now, the plap plap plap of his balls slapping against your sore and raw fucked pussy making you cry. “You’re mine now.”

His. His, his, his. Your fingernails dug into him, his chest touching yours sending tingles all throughout your body, and he kept spewing out dirty innuendos. You never thought being fucked could feel this good. His fingers reached down and rubbed your swollen clit, and it was like magic, the way your pussy spasmed and your orgasm washed over you. Seizing up, you mewled out his name as you came on him.

Coryo was mesmerized by your cunt squeezing him so tightly. Your pretty folds, lips spread out and wet, your hole sucking him in like he was meant to be there, like he was meant to fuck his cum into your womb, it was all so much. No amount of classism could keep him from you. Not after this. District or not, he would make you his gorgeous little wife. He would give you everything, love for you, kill for you. With the thought of this possession towards you, his hips began to stutter. Your eyes were closed, but you were still humping yourself against his awaiting thrusts. His balls drew taught, and he could feel his awaiting cum begin to flood the condom wrapped around his length.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t right.

Not to Coriolanus. Not now— your pussy needed to be fucked full of his hot cum. You needed to be bred. And he was going to keep you and make sure of it.

Coriolanus watched your fluttering eyelids, the small smile grazing your features as his thrusts slowed. Something primal coursed through him, and he slowly pulled himself out of you. Watching your gaping hole made his cock twitch again, and he used his fingers to slowly twist the condom off of his cock. Full of his cum, he spread your lips with two fingers and turned the latex upside down. His spend dropped out of it and onto your used little hole, and you whimpered out as his cum splashed against your cunt.

“Coryo? What’r you doing?”

“Just getting you nice and wet for me, little bird. Close your eyes.. let me fuck you again.”

And like clockwork, his cock was probing your entrance for a second time— his sticky cum being pushed into your fertile womb by the tip of his pink mushroomed tip, his balls making more seed for your perfect pussy, and he was claiming your spent body with everything he had. <33

[nikkeora]

For All the Mary Janes

summary; 'in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spider-man. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well'. what about the mary janes, then?

or, in which you're the mary jane to miles's spider-man

pairing(s); e-1610! Miles Morales x reader, e-42! Miles Morales x reader

warning(s); i didn’t have any specific gender or race for r in mind while writing, but rio calls r ‘mija’ once and i think that’s ab it

maybe some incorrect usage of Spanish? Spanish speakers who can respond to my weird questions pls hmu

maybe ooc but it’s been in my drafts so long i just wanted to get it out tbh

implied/mentioned parental issues with reader, not proofread, written (mostly) at ao3 hours

You and Miles were always joined at the hip. Your parents knew each other well, so your families were together a lot. Mr. and Mrs. Morales saw you like their own daughter, often joking that you and Miles would be engaged when you got older with the way he could never leave you alone.

At least, up till around two years ago.

You and Miles started to grow apart when you got into Visions Academy. He thought it was a stupid school full of stuck-up rich kids who only cared about making connections that would help them along further down the line. You thought it was a good school that had a good track record of producing students that had a lot of success in what they wanted to do.

Some things were said the day before your transfer.

Since then, the two of you rarely texted or called. Mrs. Morales would often come by for coffee with your mom, tell you about how her son was doing and gush over 'how much you've grown' from last Tuesday, but that was about the only way you knew the vague outline of what he was up to.

You'd admit you felt lonely for a while. After all, Miles had been your best friend ever since you could remember. But you also weren't going to go running to him after everything he'd said.

I mean, was it really that bad to want a good future?

Soon enough though, you felt like yourself again. You met new people, made new contacts, and actual friends. Because contrary to popular belief, the people there weren't all mini business men and heartless CEOs in the making. They were just kids, after all.

And then, Miles won the draw. Just a few weeks before the start of the new semester, your parents mentioned that he'd be going to your school from now on in passing.

You didn't think much of it at first. I mean, everyone has that one childhood friend that they fell apart with, right? For the first week or so, you didn't even see his face much. In fact, you didn't see him at all, not even a glimpse in the halls.

That was about to change drastically.

Short story shorter, you caught a glimpse of him walking on the side of the school with pigeons stuck to his hands. A month or two later, Spider-Man climbed through your dorm window, ripping off his mask and ranting about some villain of the week.

"I couldn't even catch the guy-"

"Miles?"

"...You're not Ganke."

The two of you made up that night. He apologized, admitting he was being unfair and was upset that you were leaving his school. It didn't exactly clear everything, but it was a start. The two of you caught each other up on everything they had missed. In the end, the sun was about to come up and the both of you realized you hadn't gotten a minute of sleep on a school night.

From then on, the two of you get closer again. He went to you for the occasional rant or patch up, and he actively sought you out in school now, relieved to see a familiar face in the halls. Gradually, you got close to the point you'd call him one of your best friends and vice versa after around a year of radio static.

Everything was great. He was cute, funny - in an awkward way, but hey, he made you laugh - he looked out for you, and when he talked to you he did this cute little thing where he would play with the strings of his hoodie which he somehow always managed to layer on with like two other jackets and—

Oh yeah, did we mention the crush you had on him?

Because there was one.

Big huge one, right here. Materialized out of thin air looks like.

Which should have been fine. You were perfectly capable of hiding a crush. I mean, come on, it's high school. You would've been eaten alive if you couldn't.

Normally, you would even be confident that you could make your crush like you back. I mean, why wouldn't he?

Two words. One person.

Gwen Stacy.

It was like he could never go even one conversation without mentioning her.

Slight exaggeration? Maybe. Maybe not.

"Oh yeah, that's cool! Y'know, Gwen told me one time that—"

"You got an A, I knew you could do it! I told you so. Did you know Gwen got A's in—"

"Oh hey, you got your hair cut! Reminds me of that time when me and Gwen—"

At first, it was bearable. Sure, she came up annoyingly often whenever you talked, but she had just left this dimension, never to be seen again. Of course he was gonna miss her.

You laughed at all his stories, listened to every one even though he told the same six or seven ones over and over again. You even grew to like Gwen, as if you'd known her for the short amount of time Miles did, too.

But then two months passed. Then six. Then a whole year. Before you knew it, a year and four months had passed since the departure of Gwen Stacy.

And he still. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.

You had tried to understand. You really did.

But you can only hear the same damn jokes so many times before you get a migraine.

Pick any story. You could list off every variation of how Miles would tell it off the top of your head.

Gwen Stacy became the daughter of one of your mom’s friends, so to speak. That one girl in the neighborhood you couldn’t help but envy.

And worst of all, it was like he wished you were her.

Whenever you did something, he would tell you how Gwen could do it better. He would ask you whether or not you thought Gwen would like certain trinkets he found around town, and kept a collection of them in one of his drawers so he could give them to her one day. He was even studying quantum physics instead of art so that he could make his own multiversal gateway - a safe one, so that he could unlock the multiverse, possibly for good.

It hurt when he zoned out while you were telling him about you, thinking about her; your day, what you wanted to study, how your parents were fighting a lot again lately and you were struggling because of it, how you'd joined a new band—

"A band, huh?" Miles suddenly perked up, finally looking up from his sketchbook. "Did I tell you Gwen's in a band? It's called the Mary Janes—"

"Miles would you please stop?"

A pause, both of you mildly surprised at how you'd snapped at him.

The two of you were at your dorm, seated side-by-side on the bed with your legs folded in front of you. It was Friday, the day before Mr. Morales’s pre signing-in party.

The boy looked at you, a questioning look on his face. "What's wrong?"

And that tilt with his head - he really didn't know, did he? You couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

"Miles, I know Gwen's in a band," He tried to say something, but you didn't let him speak before you continued. "I know she's a drummer, I know she does ballet, I know she had to shave half of her head because you couldn't control your powers - hell, the whole school knows that—"

"C’mon, don’t bring that up—"

"—I know every single story she told you while she was here, and I know every single detail of what you two did and how you did it. And I know she does everything I can do and she does it better. I’m tired of hearing it, Miles." His eyebrows furrowed, a slightly hurt look flashing across his face. "I’m sorry you miss her and I’m sorry she’s gone, but I just can’t be around you if all you’re gonna do is compare me to her."

A moment of silence settled in the air. You hoped Miles would understand. Surely, he’d see how tedious this was getting.

"All I’m asking is for you to tone it down."

Another beat passes without a word from the boy. He’s looking into your eyes, but it doesn’t seem like he’s all there. Like there’s a world past your irises that he’s seeing for the first time.

"I- I’m sorry, y/n, I can’t do that." Miles finally says, his gaze turning away from yours and to the sketch he’d been working on for the last hour. You glanced down at it as well, the bright blue eyes of the one and only Gwen Stacy meeting yours.

"You’re the only one I can talk to on this," he said quietly, softly closing the sketchbook and tapping a finger nervously on the cover.

"Ganke?"

"Ganke’s fine, he’s great, he’s just.. not someone I can go to for these things."

You took a deep breath, the guilt of having to tell him ‘no’ building up in your chest. You knew his relationship with his parents were complicated at the moment, and he didn’t really have friends outside of you and Ganke. But still.. it was like he wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in your life ever since your initial reconnection.

It wasn’t like you expected a complete 50:50 give-and-take in relationships, but honestly you felt like you were talking to a robot with very limited audio cues.

"Miles, you don’t listen to me anymore. The only time you actually respond to anything I say is when it’s something even remotely related to Gwen."

"That’s not true!" Miles protested. You watched as he tried to find something to argue his point, only to come up empty. His shoulders sagged a little.

"But you gotta understand, Gwen - I’m not gonna see her again, at least until I figure out.. everything." He said in a quiet voice. "I need to talk to someone. Can’t you understand?”

"I’m not trying to shut everything down, I’m just asking you to pay attention to me every once in a while." You sighed. "And if you’e not willing to do that… do you even think of me as a friend?"

-

Miles left your dorm not long after that little talk, sneaking out the same way he snuck in; through the window. You dug your nails into your palms, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm to push down any sadness you may have felt. It was the second time you and Miles had grown apart, this time maybe your fault a little more than his. It felt like it, anyway.

Still, you felt like you’d done the right thing.

You hoped so, anyway.

-

It was an hour before Jeff Morales’s technically-not-captain-yet-but-will-be-soon celebration. Your dad and yourself had come early to prepare everything and set up all the decorations. Your mom apparently ‘couldn’t make it’. It was the third time in the last two weeks she cancelled on plans that your dad was involved in.

You stacked red plastic cups on one of the tables, a cooler full of ice and two-litre soda bottles to your left. Miles’s parents had insisted they didn’t need any help, but your dad had insisted right on back that the two of you wanted to. You didn’t mind. You’d cleared your evening for the event anyway, so it’s not like you had anything better to do.

The one thing that made you kind of regret coming was your lack of a jacket. It’d been really sunny in the morning, so you’d figured it would be a warm night. A breeze picked up and sent a light chill through your body, causing you to just barely shiver.

"Mija," Mrs. Morales called, coming up from behind you and laying a hand on your shoulder. "You’re freezing."

"Oh, I’m fine, mama," you replied, smiling at her. She gave you a look that said ‘we both know that isn’t true’.

"Miles might have something in his room," she suggested, "I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you borrowed one of his clothes."

You thanked her but refused, claiming it might get warmer once the guests started to arrive and the party was at full swing. She must have noticed something was off when she mentioned Miles, because she raised an eyebrow and shook her head lightly before asking,

"What did he do now?"

Either you’re really bad at hiding things from her or her motherly sixth-sense worked on you too. You hesitated, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell her. After all, Rio had always been like a mom to you.

"We had a fight - if you can even call it that, anyway, about a girl," you said, fiddling with a plastic cup. "We’re not on real good terms right now, I don’t think…"

Rio looked slightly surprised for a moment, then something seemed to click into place. She sighed and put her hands on your cheeks. "He’s a little bit slow," she said, giving you a sympathetic smile. "But he’ll get there. Eventually."

She then squished your face before immediately letting go, making you laugh. "Now go get yourself a jacket. I don’t want my only daughter to freeze to death."

You held your hands up in surrender as she pointed to the stairs, swiftly making your way down to the Moraleses’ flat. You had a spare key that Miles’s parents had given you a long while ago, when your parents used to have full on screaming matches in the middle of the living room every other day.

Within a couple minutes you’d grabbed one of the dozen coats, hoodies and jackets strewn about Miles’s closet, pulling the soft material over your shoulders as you took a glance around his room. Everything was about the same as you’d seen two or three weeks ago, save for a few new stickers laid about the desk.

There was an all-too-familiar sketchbook on the bed, one similar to what Miles had been scribbling in last night in your dorm, just in a different color. This one looked a bit more used, so you supposed he’d gotten it and packed it full of Gwen Stacy just after she left this reality. The thought put a bitter taste on your tongue.

-

A half an hour into the party, Miles still hadn’t showed up. He was supposed to be here at least twenty minutes ago, and you could tell his parents were getting both worried and annoyed. Rio asked around for her son as Jeff chatted with some colleagues. Suddenly, an auntie shoved a mic into Mrs. Morales’s hand, drawing everybody’s attention to her by clinking her glass. Jeff looked away in what could only be described as complete horror.

"Um, hi…"

You grinned as she continued with embarrassing stories about her husband, from little anecdotes from when they were dating to how he was almost 10lbs as a baby. It was then that Mr. Morales jumped in, quickly taking the mic away from her and giving his own speech.

"—And to my son…"

You grimaced as he raised his cup, looking around for someone who wasn’t there. The two of you met eyes instead, and you shook your head to tell him he hadn’t showed with an apologetic look. He turned to his wife, only for her to do the same. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"…The reason I do any of this in the first place. So.. I love you Miles."

Afterwards, the DJ put the records on again. People are talking, laughing, congratulating, creating a warm, buzzing atmosphere. You’re dragged away by a few little kids to play with them over by a small cluster of barrels, which they’ve decided is their ‘lair’. You play make believe with them for a little while as their parents stand a bit away with your own dad, occasionally glancing over at you to make sure the kids are behaving.

It’s then that Miles finally shows up, pushing the door open with two boxes in his arms. You follow him through your peripheral vision as he tries to avoid his parents, ultimately failing. You’re not sure what they’re saying, but it doesn’t seem to be going that well. He shows them the contents of his boxes, which doesn’t seem to impress them too much.

After a couple more words, Mr. Morales raises his voice, the DJ trying to divert people’s attention away by upping the volume but ultimately giving up.

"What do you got to tell me so bad?"

"You know what? Never mind."

Miles walked away, pulling his hood up as his dad yelled after him about him being grounded for two months. Must’ve been really bad, huh?

You waited for the music to come back on before you made your way to the exit, ruffling one of the little kids’ hair as he skittered away with his sister. You’re just going to check on him for a minute, just to see if he’s okay. You can do that… right? I mean sure, it might be awkward since things had ended like that last night, but still.

No one else was going to.

You let yourself into the flat once again, approaching Mile’s room with soft footsteps. You’re just outside the door when—

"Are these your drawings?"

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart freezes right along with you. For a moment, you felt like a deer in headlights.

A feeling crawls its way under your skin, cold and slippery. You don’t know how you know, but you’re absolutely positive.

"Missed you too."

Gwen Stacy.

-

You’re on your way home, your hands rubbing up and down your arms to try to warm yourself up during the walk. You lived a little while away from Miles’s place, but it’s nothing you can’t walk.

You’d left the jacket on the Morales’ couch, turning on your heel and leaving the moment you heard her voice.

Damn it.

When had she gotten back? How had she gotten back? What was Miles’s reaction?

What were they doing now?

…Did you really want to know?

As your brain clouded over with questions, you took a wrong turn. Maybe two. Or three. Honestly, you didn’t know. Once you realized that this definitely wasn’t your neighborhood, you stopped yourself mid-step, looking around to see if anything was familiar at all.

Your eyes settled on a building, as there really wasn’t anything other than that around here other than some roads and bridges. One of the windows were glowing.

Then the whole structure began to rumble.

The ground beneath your feet started to turn… black…?

Wha—

-

You fell.

Not for too long, but you did.

You dropped around six feet onto hard concrete, twisting your ankle in the process. You cried out in pain and surprise.

"What the—?"

"Y/n?"

You looked up at that. You knew that voice.

Except, you didn’t.

The first thing you noticed is that this definitely was not the place you were in before. This place was more narrow, more dark. Light rain pattered on your skin as your hands supported your sitting position, wondering what the hell was going on.

The person who’d said your name was at the entrance to the alley you’d been.. teleported? to.

They took hesitant steps over to you, and, for some reason, you didn’t feel scared that this complete stranger had cornered you in a place you’d never even seen before.

Maybe the voice is what made you think it was alright.

Or maybe it was his face, which made your heart stop its primary function for the second time today.

"Miles?"

But he wasn’t Miles. At least.. not your Miles. This one was skinnier, just a little shorter. His accent had more of a Spanish touch to it and, most of all, his hair was braided into two sections that reached just below his shoulders.

No. He was very much not your Miles Morales.

Nevertheless, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. There was something in his eyes — regret? Happiness? Sadness? Anger? Confusion? Probably all of the above.

He got closer, and closer, and closer. Once he reached where you were half-laying, he crouched down and tilted his umbrella until it sheltered your body more than his.

"…Are you hurt?" He asked, giving you a once-over. You just nodded, still putting all the pieces together.

Had you—

Did you—?

The boy in front of you studied your face for a little while, but then ultimately shook his head and shrugged off his jacket, handing it over to you.

"Come on. It’s cold outside."

[luvyeni]

THE DEMON IN MY MIRROR • PARK JONGSONG

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ demon!jay x fem!reader wc. 4.7k+

𓄷 warnings... jay is half human. mentions of a curse. jay is guiding her in her head. exhibition kink? mutual masturbation. oral ( m. reciveing ). unprotected sex.

nia's notes: jay is done ,, the series is almost over 😔,, the last chapter is next 🖤!!!

sunghoon | lucifer masterlist | ending

With a loss of light I fall , like a Lucifer…

Your little warmth , a ray of light that brightens my world…

Just like that two months had flown by; every single day had been a whirlwind of craziness— you and jake spending even more time together; having him help you clear out more stuff in the house, even helping bring in some of the new furniture your parents had delivered— which also led to six hours of you both straight arguing about the usage of instructions, eventually going to sunghoon , who even though was annoyed that you would bother him with something so trivial did it anyway.

speaking of sunghoon; things did get better between the two of you; he slowly but surely came to the conclusion that you in fact weren't like your grandmother and weren't gonna force him to hurt anybody; he became much nicer, yeah he would still like to act annoyed whenever you called for him; but that never stopped him from coming.

then it was the sex; it did take some time to get used to having sex with one demon; let alone two demons; two with different personalities. jake was always on the more softer side; sometimes borderline subby— but sunghoon; sunghoon was never on the soft side, he was in control , that's how he wanted it, and that's how you liked it.

the three of you eventually crossed the line into having sex all together; it first happened one day when you invited kai over— they really didn't like that; but you had promised kai another date, and you wanted to cook for him. that meant jake and sunghoon had to go into hiding; they for sure hated that. then when kai went to kiss you for the night; leaving— that was the last straw for the both of them.

that night; it ended up with both of them taking turns, fucking you; using your body for their pleasure. it was hot, sunghoon was his usual rough self; but even jake was rough, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as they pumped loads of your cum inside of them. that was the first time; after that it was basically free game, some days you'd just have sex with one of them, but there were some days you'd want both of them, or vice versa.

spending your days with both of them; the summer months slowly coming to an end, the questions hanging in the air everyday—what would you do when it was time for you to leave? you thought about the question everyday, so much the boys even listened in for it, sunghoon eventually trying to tune it out. “I don't want to hear your internal battle , think about something else.” is what he would always say. Jake on the other hand , would get sad every single time, you'd comfort him, telling him you'd make the right decision.

then it was the obvious elephant in the room; well the demon who doesn't show himself; jay— after confirming that it was him who shown himself in the mirror you were sure he'd eventually show himself, but he never did; but it was like you could feel his presence even though you didn't know him, you knew he was there, and he knew you knew.

jay; much like sunghoon hated your grandmother, but if he liked one thing about her, as a young girl she was just as vain and cold as she was as a elder woman, and loved to buy mirrors and placing them all around the house just to stare at herself— it annoyed him, watching her just stare at herself whenever she walked by, sometimes jay just wanted to shatter the glass; he hated what she made sunghoon do, but what could he do, he was a prisoner just like sunghoon; matter fact he was a prisoner much longer than sunghoon.

his liking for the mirrors came with you, you never really stopped to look at the mirrors, but he would catch glimpses of you, when you walked around the house the first night looking in all the rooms; when you first met jake, he was looking in the mirror, chuckling at how jake would stutter, and you tried to get away; he told jake not to startle you, but he knew his brother couldn't help it. He was pissed when Sunghoon tried to lure you into the wrong tunnel. He was the one who let jake know what his other brother was doing; he could have rescued you, but he let jake do it; he just stuck to watching you.

he didn't mean to look into the bathroom mirror; he was just looking through each mirror, hoping to get another glimpse of you that day; noticing you were naked , he quickly gave you the privacy you deserved, but he knew you had seen him; maybe a small part of him wanted you see him; he wanted it to be you; the first person to see him in 200 years.

jay was falling for you much like his brothers; sunghoon too, even if he swore he would never fall for you— and he knew your time was coming up, and he knew you had a decision to make, and regardless of the decision you make he wants to meet you formally once, even if he knew it could be his first and last time.

“it's been 200 years, he's probably just shy.” jake said, sunghoon snickering, watching the show, shoving food down his throat; no he didn't need it , he just like making a mess, leaving you and jake to clean. “maybe he hates you.” your mouth hung open and jake threw a pillow at him. “he doesn't hate you, he doesn't even know you, sunghoon you aren't helping.” then demon shrugged. “just saying the only time he saw you was through a mirror.”

“well why'd he stop coming out in the first place?” you asked. “I don't know.” Jake said, but you didn't buy it. “im serious, don't lie to me right now.” sunghoon groaned. “you two are annoying, look jay is a reserved person, no one knows why he stopped coming out , he just did.” sunghoon said, you both stared at him. “and if I take the necklace, you sure there's not a way I can leave him here?” you said , he glared. “no , sadly he comes with it as well.” Jake said. “haha , Jake won't save you later.” and with that he disappeared. “he's gonna hurt me one day isn't he?”

“kill you? no he's way passed that? but i can't be to certain that your mouth won't get your walking abilities put on pause for a few days, which could be bad for you.” you nodded. “I'm willing to take that chance, I like seeing him get upset.”

‘stupid fucking sunghoon’ is what you thought limping into the bathroom, looking in the mirror, your neck covered in bruises and marks from him practicing trying to suck the skin off your neck; grumbling curse words under your mouth. “I told you.” Jake yelled from your bedroom. “Jake, I will take this necklace off.” his eyes widened. “why would you even joke like that?” he whined. “You know I'm sensitive about it.” you shook your head. “my god for a demon you surely do have the emotions of a human still.”

looking for your concealer that sat on the counter, trying to cover it up. “i have to go out today.” you whined. “sunghoon!” you shouted. “he won't come out.” Jake said. “he took my concealer, i know he did.” you cursed at him. “he's the one stealing my stuff , I know he is.” you said. “yeah cause im stealing your things and not the one you found in your closet.” you heard his voice. “hey , I didnt take anything.” Jake argued. “yeah and why are her pink panties under your pillow?” you shook your head hearing Jake trying to defend himself, and sunghoon mocking him.

ignoring them both , you continue on with what you were doing; checking the bruises on your neck. “guess I’ll pick up some more concealer.” you said to yourself— then you see it; in your peripheral vision, written in the fog. ‘hi’ you furrow your eyebrows. “jake, sunghoon are you too playing around, stop drawing on the mirrors.” you realize how crazy that sounded, so did they. “why the fuck would I do such childish things?” you heard sunghoon say. “it's not me.” Jake said.

then you saw it with your own eyes; slowly words showed up in the mirror. ‘its not them’— you look around confused, looking back into the mirror. “it's you isn't it?” and then you see him in the mirror; and you remember the face immediately. “I'm jay.” the one you swore you'd never see; right in front of you with all his beauty. “not too bad yourself.” he smirked; he was reading your mind as well. “You're actually even more beautiful now that I can see you and not just through glimpses of you walking past a mirror.

“well maybe if you came out you could actually see me.” he nods. “You are right, not yet though.” he said; you tilted your head to the side. “not yet princess , when the time is right.” he said. “I'll see you real soon; just needed good glimpse of you today.” he smiled. “but— he's coming.” he was gone , you looked confused. “the hell is wrong with you?” sunghoon standing behind you. “I think I just met jay.” you said , looking back into the mirror; huffing at the mirror; ‘sunghoon, concealer, trash.” spinning around. “you asshole, you threw my concealer in the trash.”

“stop throwing things in the cart.” you scolded jake. “i swear it was him , unless you have another demon brother I don't know about.” sunghoon studied the food. “these cannot be that healthy.” you sighed. “Why did you guys come anyway?” you asked. “No fucking help.”

“yn?” you saw kai approaching you, sunghoon holding your waist, Jake glaring at the boy. you bump the boy in front with the cart. “hi kai.” you smiled, he returned the gesture. “i see your cousin is back.” he pointed to sunghoon. “nice to see you again.” sunghoon rolled his eyes. “and who is this?” jake spoke up. “I'm jake.” Kai nodded, his eyes lowering to where sunghoon's hands rested. “I'm not her cousin.” he said. “yeah we're her— they're my close family friends, they came back to help me with my grandmothers house.” he nodded, looking at the bruises on your neck , and then back at sunghoon, who grip got tighter. “oh , okay.” he frowned , finally getting sort of a sense of what was going on. “i have to go stock the shelves, I'll see you soon , hopefully before you leave.” he quickly walked away, you glared at the boys. “seriously?”

“did you come here just to intimidate him?” sunghoon removed his arm. “you did , both of you?” Jake gave you that smile, that got him out of everything. “i can't , I'm gonna go talk to him and apologize.” sunghoon stopped you. “doesn't matter now.” he said , cold as always. “yeah but he deserves an explanation.” you said. “he'll find a pretty girl and marry soon anyway.” he said. “and you can see the future.” you said, he looked at you. “i've got to learn to stop asking questions.”

“and why do I have to carry all these backs.” Jake struggled behind you. “because sunghoon I expect this , he won't ever change , but you jake I expect more.” you said, he pouted. “it wasn't my idea.” he mumbled. “did I put a gun to your head?” sunghoon said. “You're not in the clear , put them up.” you started up the steps , the boy glared , standing up. “I told you about telling me what to do.” you smiled, knowing he had no choice. “yeah well I had to pay 8 dollars for a new concealer so.”

making your way into your room , pushing the door open; your eyes immediately going to the mirror that sat in front of the bed, was he there? walking over , looking inside it. “are you there?” you knocked on the mirror; no answer. “Was I really going crazy earlier?” you start to question yourself. “ugh! these damn marks.” you groaned, seriously thinking about putting that boy on a sex ban. “That's gonna piss him off even more.”

your eyes lit up wide upon hearing the voice, you stood up and there he was; no he wasn't in the mirror, he was standing behind you. “turn around.” you turned around, facing him. “you were looking for me,” he smiled. “in-in the mirror.” you stuttered. “Oh, would you like me to go back?” he asked. “no.” you said, you thanked god for sending you three beautiful men, whatever you did in your past life , you hope to do it again. he smirked, his hand coming up to your cheek, his warm touch. “not god baby.”

His aura was different; he didn't seem like sunghoon or jake, you could tell they were human, because they still possessed certain human traits; jealousy being one of course. “i can hear what you're thinking,” he said. “human turned demons are pretty jealous, but demons who were born as demons are worse.” he said , his hand holding your jaw. “i get jealous all the time , watching them interact with you.” he said. “watching them fuck you, I love my brothers and I know you're ours to share.” his hands tighten just a bit. “But I can't help it , it's in my nature.”

he heard your heartbeat quickening, your face heating up in his hand, the smell of your scent about to set him off; not yet though. “Why did you only show yourself to me in the mirror?” you asked once he let your face go , his hands resting on your waist. “because I needed confirmation,” he said. “What is that?” you asked. “if you really were ours.” he said , his nose was so close to yours. “and?” he nodded. “I'm here aren't I?”

“jay?” jake was the one who broke the obvious sexual tension. “oh shit she really wasn't losing her mind, I thought she was.” sunghoon sat on the bed. “200 hundred years , and she's the one to pull you from the depth of your hellish like room.” Jay's eyes were trained on you. “He's serious I see.” Sunghoon said. “Should we give you some privacy, can't say Jake won't be listening though , we all know he's a perv.” Jake was about to defend himself once again when Jay turned to both of them. “no , I'll come back,” he said, turning back to you. “I'll see you soon princess.” and just like that he was gone. “You must really be something special.” Jake said, you smiled, your face still hot.

‘even though he said he didn't need it , he surely slept like he needed it’ you groan, hearing jake snoring next to you; something he did now so he never had to leave— but he slept like he'd taken 40 melatonin's; and the ache in between your legs prevented you for going to sleep. you tried calling for sunghoon; he ignored you the first three times , before telling you to go to bed in your head, which annoyed you.

After much deliberation with yourself, you decided that you weren't gonna get any sleep unless you got off; so here you were , Jake next to you as your hands traveled in between your shorts, rubbing yourself through your drenched panties. you bit your lip, whimpering as you drew lazy figure eights on your sensitive clit. “now I know that's not doing much, is it?” you heard a voice; not jake's, he was still sound asleep. “In the mirror baby.”

It was jay; he was looking at you through the mirror again— he was looking at you pleasuring yourself, you were about to pull your hand out, embarrassed he heard and saw you. “did I say stop?” you could hear his voice in your head. “keep going , I want to watch you play with your little clit.” his words made you moan. “take the blanket off; your little shorts too, I wanna see your pretty pussy.”

moving the blanket off of you , sliding your shorts down your legs. “good girl, open your legs.” spreading your legs, the air hitting your heat. “so wet, you're dripping all over the sheets baby , keep touching your clit , get your pussy even wetter.” you could hear him groan. “fuck i should've fucked you earlier, told them to leave just so I could have you all to myself.” he moaned; was he touching himself? “fuck yes I'm touching myself, you think I'd just help you out baby.” you moaned. “J-jay.”

“moaning my name and I'm not even physical there , nasty girl.” he said. “use those fingers, two of them.” he said, two of your digits pressing against your hole. “good , now stuff your pussy with your fingers.” it wasn't a much of a stretch, but it still made you moan out in pleasure. “fuck your pussy is so tight , can't wait to stretch you open with my cock.” he said. “my cock is getting harder just thinking about it.”

you tried to imagine what his dick looked like , how it would feel. “soon princess, soon I'll stuff you full of my cock.” he groaned again. “fu-fuck jay I'm gonna cum.” You moaned , you could hear him moaning. “fu-fuck me too.” he said. “cum all over those finger.” you covered your mouth , almost letting out a scream as you came. “fuck you're so sexy, next time it's not gonna be in your pretty head -fuck- I'm gonna make you cum with my cock.” he grunted. “fuck I'm cumming!”

your eyelids grew heavier, sleep ready to consume you. “Good girl, get some rest.” you heard him say. “good night jay.” you said out loud. “goodnight princess.” you heard him say in your head, just before letting the sleep consume you.

“right next to me.” Jake said the next morning; sunghoon ready to be sent back to hell just to get away from the boys complaining. “you got off right next to me, while I slept, I don't even need sleep , I sleep because of you.” he said. “and this is how you repay me , you masturbate with jay right next to my body.” he said. “Jake , it just kinda happened , plus you sleep like you were drugged.” sunghoon spoke up. “and this is nothing, you'd be surprised what we've done while you were sleeping.” you let them argue over that for a while— the question looming over your head seeming more and more clear , but you still weren't sure yet.

“jesus girl I thought you were dead.” yeji said. “Did you find some new summer dick up there and forget that you have friends back here.” you laughed. “not exactly.” you said. “god , I only talked to you like 3 times and it's been 2 months , leave me hanging like that again and I'm calling for a wellness check.” she scolded. “I'm serious.” you let your friend go on and on about all the updates you missed. “fucking tina is already complaining about work , like girl it's a paid internship and your spot of confirmed at the company.” you laughed. “yeah , thats cause she's fucking the CEO.”

“Which is crazy, but can't blame her.” you agreed. “But now to the serious topic.” she said. “Who is giving it to you , cause girl I can practically hear the glow dripping off of you.” you rolled your eyes, if only you could her , you would but she'd never believe; she might even push that wellness check to now. “do I need someone to fuck me in order to be happy?” you try to defend. “Girl, given that you sound like you hate life 24/7, yes, so tell.” she said. “no one.” you said. “Well whatever vibrator you have , I need it.”

She eventually talked herself until she was tired , letting you go. “one more month and we'll be together soon.” you said. “Of course and then we'll start our life together and have beautiful babies and get married.” you laughed. “yeah , many many babies.” you said. “don't go crazy up there girl , I'll talk to you soon.” she said before hanging up.

getting ready for the night; the boys doing whatever the two demons did when they weren't bothering you; you took a long hot shower, washed your hair; did a face mask , just enjoying the quiet before getting out, wrapping a towel around your body , making your way out of the bathroom. “i’ve been waiting a long time, princess.” you jumped a little holding the front of your towel. “That towel isn't covering anything I haven't seen already.” he smirked. “twice.”

standing up walking towards, you look to the side , at the mirror. “you look just as good in person as you do in the mirror princess.” he said, coming closer to you, raising his hand up to the towel. “although I would like to see you in the mirror all fucked out.”

he grabbed the towel , tugging at it , letting it fall to the ground; leaving you naked in front of him. “so pretty.” the demon , pushed you down on the bed. “J-jay.” You moaned out, he smiled down at you. “be a good girl.” He took your hand , guiding you down to his pants, you unbuckled his pants, freeing his cock. “fuck, put it in your mouth.” the demon groaned , looking in the mirror as you bobbed your head up and down , gagging occasionally on his thick cock. “fuck your mouth feels so good , grabbing your wet hair , pushing you further down on him. “fuck , I'm gonna cum.” he pushed your head down. “fuck take it , take my cum.” his head lolled back as he pump a load of his cum down your throat. “shit.”

Barely giving you a moment to take a break, before ridding himself of his clothes. “ass up princess.” he stroked himself. “fu-fuck look in the mirror baby , just like the first day I saw you.” he grabbed the back of your head , turning it to the mirror. “all pretty and ready for me to fuck.” You felt his cock head pressing against your hole. “I want you to watch as I fuck you.” you moaned as he pushed himself inside of you. “oh fuck , you're so tight.” he groaned , fully bottoming out. “ja-jay.” you tried to close your eyes. “no, no.” He stopped moving. “open your eyes.”

you forced your eyes open, the sight in the mirror so lewd , you couldn't help but moan. “see how fucking pretty you look, the prettiest I've seen in -fuck- hundreds of years.” the grip on your hips tighter as he began to plow into you. “ja-jay fuck I'm gonna cum.” you screamed. “shit , cum.” he pressed your head further into the mattress. “cum all over my cock.” he howled.

your body giving up , going limp as you came, he held you up , using your body to get himself off. “fuck, fuck, fuck.” his thrusts were relentless. “fuck I'm cumming.” He grunted. “shit!” he pumped his load into your cunt. “you feel so good.” he slowly pulled out of you. “so good baby.”

letting you shower again; dragging a jealous Jake from his room to help him look for your pajamas to set out for you; sending him back on his way, this was his time with you. “go, now.” he glared at the boy. “She's gonna ask, she asked all of us.” he said before disappearing, again. “Was that Jake , what did he want?” you asked , smiling at the display of clothes. “Thank you.”

“So why'd you stop coming out for 200 years?” you asked, he sat at the foot of the bed. “my dad banished me here years ago , when the first owner owned the house,” he said. “your dad?” you asked. “your dad was lucifer?” your eyes widened. “I've gotten that look at least 300 times.” he said. “the first guy found the necklace and that's how it all started , he summoned me and I was a prisoner ever since.” he said. “why did he send you here?” you asked.

“because that's what happens to abominations.” he said, you were even more confused. “my mother was a human, he seduced her , she fell in love with him and brought her to hell because well she was a naive human.” he said. “but he quickly fell out of love with her, because he's a heartless bastard— but he didn't kill her because she was pregnant with me , and regardless of me being half human , i was still part demon, and he thought if he raised me that would get rid of the good.”

you are now sitting up, listening to him talk. “hundreds of years later he realized there was no changing me, no matter how many murders he made me watch, the screams of the tortured souls in hell, none of it made me happy, like it made him.” He said. “He didn't want to kill his only son , so he banished me here,” he said. “and your mom?” his jaw clenched. “She's roaming around hell, she can't escape and I can't find her,” he said. “and even if i bring her here she'll age in human years within a second.” All these boys had terrible back stories, you felt extreme empathy for every single one of them.

“so why did you come out for me?” you asked, he smiled. “because I can feel it.” he said. “out of all the people who've had the necklace, you're the one who bonded with each one of us , you've even managed to bond with sunghoon and trust me he wasn't just like that because of your grandmother.” he said. “I believe you were meant to have the necklace— the last person to have the necklace.” he said. “You can break the curse.”

“break the curse?” you asked. “what does that mean?”

“This curse could end with you,” he said. “multiple years ago, when Jake first arrived, my dad came to me , if we could find someone willing to take the necklace and keep the necklace until they die then he'd set us free, jake and sunghoon could crossover and he'd allow my mom to cross over.” he said. “and you?” he smiled. “there's no crossing over for me, that's not apart of the deal.” he said. “What happens to you?” he lowered his, but you lifted it back up. “I will go back to hell and become the heir,” he said. “But it's what I'm willing to do for my family,” he said. “if they'll be happy in the end , I can live with it.”

“and no one has ever said yes?” he shook his head. “who wants to live with three demons attached to their hip? people get married , have families, even if they bond with one of us , they have to bond with all of us.” he said. “So normally they just put the necklace back, and forget us,” he said. “and you've managed to bond with us all, that's I came out , because I know you can break it.” he said , standing up. “i know it's a lot , you have a lot to think about.” he said. “But please promise to think about it.” he said, you nodded. “Of course, of course I will.” he smiled. “Thank you baby.”

“Now get some rest.”

TAGLIST. @deobitful @in-somnias-world @darlingz99 @luvitaria @lost-fantasy @lostinneocity @nalenhypen @heeshlove @kirinaa08 @strxwbloody @ryn000 @neosexuals @sakanelli-afc @yizhoutv @capri-cuntz @lilyuwon @criminalseung @hanhaeji @eggomi @serenijiny @luvvsnae @jakesfurry

©️LUVYENI

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Zuko Would Include:

As a yandere, he'd be possessive, obsessive, and jealous. He'd go to extreme lengths to win your affection and keep it, and would try his best to eliminate any threats to his relationship with you. He'd also have unpredictable mood swings and wouldn't hesitate to use violence to get what he wants.

He'd be paranoid and insecure, constantly doubting your loyalty and intentions. He'd have trouble trusting you and would likely resort to controlling behaviors to ensure your loyalty. He'd also likely become obsessed with you and would want to know everything about you and spend every second he could with you.

He'd be obsessive about you, wanting to constantly keep tabs on your whereabouts and activities. He'd also be possessive of your attention and wouldn't like seeing you giving it to someone else. At the same time, he'd expect you to cater to his every need and desire, placing excessive demands on you. He'd also have intense feelings of jealousy whenever someone else shows interest in you, even if there's no valid reason to feel threatened.

Besides being obsessive and possessive, he'd also be prone to fits of irrational anger, often over petty or imagined slights. In a fit of rage, he could become aggressive and abusive, verbally or even physically hurting you. He'd also be controlling and manipulative, trying to manipulate circumstances to his advantage and ensure that you remain dependent on him. If he felt you were trying to leave him, he might even resort to extreme or sinister measures to keep you from abandoning him.

Another trait of a yandere is extreme devotion. He'd be completely devoted to you and wouldn't want or need anyone else. He'd also be clingy and codependent, wanting to be with you all the time and being unable to function properly without you. He'd probably have abandonment issues, too, being terrified of losing you and clinging on for dear life.

Apart from the characteristics I've already mentioned, as a yandere, he would be highly emotionally unstable, switching between moods quickly and unpredictably. He might also be volatile and unpredictable, often being cold and distant one moment and overly clinging the next. He'd become overly reliant on you, wanting to spend every waking moment with you and being devastated when you're away from him. His emotional state would be extremely fragile, making him prone to outbursts of intense anger and jealousy if you so much as glance at another person.

He'd have a warped view of love and relationships, viewing you as belonging to him and vice versa. Any threat to your exclusivity could trigger a violent reaction. It'd become his duty to ensure that the one he love belongs to him alone, and the thought of losing you would drive him insane. As mentioned before, this possessiveness and obsession can turn abusive, and the thought of you being with another person would trigger fits of irrational rage. To an unhealthy extent, your bond would become central to his identity and reason for existing.

If you were a certain type of bender, it would add an additional layer of intensity to his possessive and obsessive personality traits. The fact that you could bend a particular element that he could not would trigger his inferiority complex, making him more paranoid and jealous. He would be constantly worried about you using your bending abilities to escape him or attract someone else, which could fuel his violent and abusive side. He would be overly cautious and restrictive towards your usage of your bending, perhaps even threatening you for even trying to use it when he wasn't around.

Affection would be another key feature of his yandere personality. It'd manifest as hyper fixation on you, to the point where his life would revolve around you. He'd be obsessive, possessive, controlling, and jealous when it comes to you, but would also be overly affectionate in an unhealthy and obsessive way. He would be overly doting and attached, showering you with attention and love, wanting you only to be his. He would be clingy and overly emotional, displaying a deep attachment and dependence upon you.

Dates would be another outlet for his to express his obsessive affection for you. He would insist on taking you out for dates as often as possible. It would be his chance to show the world that you're his partner and his alone, no one else's. It would also be an opportunity to show you that his love and devotion are endless. If you were to refuse his dates, he could potentially get angry and aggressive, so these dates would become one of the avenues for his obsessive and controlling nature to express itself.

His father and sister would be the central sources of his mental instability. His father's lack of emotional care and support for him throughout the years would contribute to a void inside him that he'd fill with possessive and obsessive feelings directed towards you. His insane sister, on the other hand, would feed his deep sense of insecurity and inferiority complexes, seeing as she's the golden child of the family and a fierce combatant. She'd constantly flaunt her skills and superiority, which would constantly make him afraid of being replaced and further fuel his already strong possessiveness towards you.

He'd come from a dysfunctional family background that contributed to his mental instabilities. His familial relationships would likely be strained due to his certain personality traits, with his family being concerned about them and trying to curb them while he was growing up. Iroh disapproved of his obsession with you and tried to convince him to stop. If he were to exhibit violence and aggression in front of his uncle, he'd be shocked and horrified at the lengths Zuko goes to keep you his. While he'd try his best to help, it'd only serve to fuel Zuko's obsessive tendencies.

He'd be prone to obsessive daydreaming about scenarios involving you and him. These daydreams would feed his possessive and obsessive tendencies and would make him develop unrealistic expectations about your relationship that could eventually lead him to become frustrated when reality diverged too greatly from these fantasies. They would act as a fuel for his hyper fixation on you, further leading him down a path of unhealthy obsessions and tendencies.

He'd often be haunted by his own feelings of inadequacy and insecurity, which would push him to overcompensate by resorting to controlling and possessive acts towards you. He'd feel ashamed about his obsessive behavior, but the fear of losing you would keep him from wanting to change, only increasing the intensity of his obsession. His insecurities would also make him fearful of losing you to another, which would increase his sense of possessiveness and jealousy, making him lash out at any perceived threat to your relationship.

If you two were to get married, he'd be ecstatic and obsessive about your union. It would symbolize his complete control over you and would give him a sense of security and ownership, seeing as he would now be your husband. He'd be overly protective of you and your marriage, viewing it as his right to keep you all to himself. Any threat to your union or his position as your husband would trigger a violent and possessive reaction. He'd be clingy, demanding, and jealous, constantly wanting to know where you are and who you're with.

Children would represent a whole new aspect to your relationship, which would cause him to become even more obsessive. He would see them as an extension of himself and his ownership over you and would want them to grow up in a stable and controlled environment where he alone had full say in raising them. Any interference from outside forces would be treated as an attack on your family, thus triggering a fierce and protective reaction from him. He'd be overly protective of your children and would want to keep them sheltered and submissive under his sole authority.

If you didn't want or couldn't have children, it'd be a major source of tension and frustration for him. It would represent yet another area of his life that he could not fully control, potentially damaging his perception of your relationship and his role within it. He would not take kindly to the news and would likely try to find a way to overturn the decision, whether it was through convincing you to change your mind or searching for alternatives - such as adoption or surrogacy - which could still allow you to have children.

He would definitely not hesitate to use his fire bending skills on you if he felt it was necessary, or he was highly agitated or enraged. His fits of aggression and violence would not take kindly to any resistance or rebellion, so he'd have no qualms about using his fire bending as a means of intimidation, control, and punishment. His fire bending skills would serve as a powerful and persuasive threat, allowing him to manipulate and control you if you disobeyed or went against his wishes.

In a nutshell, as a yandere, he'd see you as his property and would try to control every aspect of your life, wanting to keep you entirely to himself. He'd keep you from seeing or talking to other people, would expect you to give him all your time and attention, and would get jealous and possessive if you were to interact with anyone else. The obsessive feelings would become all-encompassing and all-consuming, and he'd become irrational and volatile when triggered. He'd be capable of violence and abuse, resorting to drastic and dangerous measures to keep you his.

"You are mine. You will not be anyone else's. There is no one but me who deserves to have you. No one else deserves to love and admire you, to be able to bask in your presence, to be able to possess you. Your heart, body, and soul belong to me, and I will do whatever is necessary to keep it that way. You do not deserve to be loved by anyone else but me. You do not deserve to have anyone else hold you and cherish you, to hold your hand and to kiss your lips. Only I am deserving of such privileges."

Teasing and Denial - He loves the build-up of anticipation when he teases you and denies you satisfaction. He enjoys the feeling of desire and need that sets in as he waits to finally satisfy you. He loves the feeling of satisfaction that comes when he finally allows you both to release.

Bondage - He enjoys seeing you tied up or restrained in some form. He finds the sight of you being restrained liberating and exciting, and he loves letting loose and enjoying you however he sees fit.

Dominance and Submission - He enjoys being in control and taking the lead in any situation, but he also likes it when you take control of him and make him submit to you. He loves the power dynamic involved in this and the different ways it can be explored.

Blindfolds - He finds that blindfolds can add an element of mystery and uncertainty to any situation, and blindfolding you adds an extra layer of excitement. He loves seeing you being blindfolded unlocks new levels of vulnerability.

Body worship - He loves the feeling of being worshipped by his partner, with you focusing your attention on every inch of his body. He loves being adored and appreciated, and he enjoys the feeling of being the center of your world.

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔳𝔬𝔴'𝔰

Summary: It's been a few months since that haunting morning at Saltburn, and life hasn't gotten any easier. You aren't sure if either of you have truly left that day behind, even though your bodies are miles away from those grand, boundless walls.

But together, you know you'll both survive.

Warnings: 18+, MDI! Oral (F! receiving), Face sitting, unprotected sex, AFAB, American!Reader. Some decent amounts of angst. Farleigh is going through it after Saltburn (follows canon and Felix's and Venetia's death's), but there's some corny, domestic fluff to take the edge off. A little small dose of jealous Farleigh. Mentions of alcohol and (implied) cocaine usage as a means of coping (but it's brief).

Notes: 16.9k words. Not proofread yet. @saradika-graphics, placed on Halloween night because I'm already missing fall and I'm completely shameless. Thank you to everyone who has ever left a comment and praise - it's always very much appreciated! Seriously, it makes me so happy! And I am sorry to anyone who I may have kept waiting for this. I hope you enjoy.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦- 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦

You could still taste the party on your tongue; the scent of the alcohol that had been in the air, pungent and sharp. It was like the blaring music was still playing, vibrating across your skin from the volume of the stereo system instead of the mellow country classic faintly warbling out of the diner's tired speakers. It was a harsh juxtaposition and your brain, still a little sluggish from the chaos of the night is still trying to catch up. You could still feel the sweaty bodies bumping up against you own, smelling with the salt of sweat, the artificial fragrance of face paint, and that sweet plastic scent of fake blood. It was practically embedded in your nose, even with the warm plume of steam wafting up from the plate of food sat directly underneath your face. 

You had scarfed down most of it already. You were practically starving after all of the dancing you had done. It always manages to make you hungry, regardless of the previous meals you've had. You've forgone a sense of decorum in your famished, sensitive state and shove the entirety of your last piece of toast into your mouth, leaning over in case any of the jam wiggles loose and falls. Oh, course that's when the server makes another appearance. When you're wolfing down a mouthful of food. You try to smile up him around your chewing, awkward and apologetic, before lifting a hand up to hide your mouth. 

"Need a refill?" He asks, gently shaking the pitcher of water in his hand while he looks down at you with a polite smile of his own. He's making an odd amount of eye contact with you too, but you try to tell yourself that it might just be the light adrenaline induced buzz humming through your veins making you a little hyperaware. Something about his mannerisms seem strangely familiar, but your slow-moving brain comes up empty when you try to chase after that thought. Instead, you just nod wordlessly, humming out a short "mm-hmm" in lieu of a verbal response and nudge your glass closer to him across the scratched and Sharpie defaced tabletop to make it easier for him to pour. 

The few quick seconds that pass seem entirely too long, and the sound of the flowing stream of water seems to enunciate the time passing by. It feels embarrassing for no reason, and in your effort to shed some of the shame prickling over you, you glance over at the other end of the table to Farleigh. 

It's then you notice the way that he's outright glaring at the waiter without even trying to conceal the look. His mouth is twisted into a scowl as he props himself onto the table with a single elbow, and he takes another drag of his cigarette like he needs it to keep him tethered in place. His habit has skyrocketed these past couple of weeks in the absence of his other vices. You aren't a particular fan of the indoor smoking, but you'd seen the cook pass by a few minutes earlier on the way to the bathroom with a lit cigarette dangling between his lips, so it didn't seem to be a problem. Not to mention, the server had even provided him with a tiny little ashtray which he promptly flicks the embers of burnt tobacco into.  

You send him an inquisitive glance, but he's too caught up with glowering to notice. All you can figure is that they may have some kind of history, but then you can't help but wonder why he'd let you drag him to this particular diner if that were that case. 

The server - Daniel, you note, and the name is familiar too - hasn't seemed to notice Farleigh's displeased expression, and he's gone just as quickly as he had appeared, conveniently just as you're able to swallow your toast. You chase after it with your water before settling your attention back on Farleigh who still looks just as grumpy. Sure, his mood had admittedly dampened a little bit while you were both out celebrating, but that could go the same for you as well. As much as the both of you tried to shrug it off and move on, parties of all kinds have become a little bitter, a little raw after . . . 

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat, ignoring the way the polyester cushion clings to the bare skin of your legs despite the chill in the diner. He perks up a bit, peering at you from over his mug as he takes a sip. 

"What was that about?" You ask, but he just raises an eyebrow at you like he's confused. Even while he looks so disgruntled, you can't help but muse how adorable he looks with those dark kitten whiskers smeared across his cheeks, made from your eyeshadow pallet. 

"What do you mean, 'what was that about'?" He sits his drink down on the table, letting himself recline against the backrest of the booth. 

You shrug, letting your eyes rove over the window beside your shoulders and the cut-out paper decorations pasted to the glass; retro styled Jack o' Lanterns and ghosts. Though it was probably the condensation from the since passed storm that's really keeping them secured to their places. "I don't know. It seemed like you may have known him." 

His brows perk up, almost unamused while he shakes his head. "No. Not really," he responds cryptically.  

He doesn't seem to be lying. Farleigh's ability to be convincing when it comes to concealing the truth is sort of on a spectrum. No matter the scope of the lie, he's never great at hiding them. His eyes can get shifty, or he'll get a little too animated like he forgets how to express himself normally, becoming too self-conscious. It's obviously the smaller ones, the white lies usually, that he's able to be a bit more convincing with. But whatever this is, it's enough for him to be a little restless, fidgeting with the handle of the porcelain mug like he needs to distract himself. But from what, you aren't sure. And despite claiming not to know him, there must be some reason why his mood had taken even more of a decline since seeing the server. 

"He does look familiar though," you mumble absentmindedly. 

"I'm sure he does," Farleigh replies lowly, like the comment was only meant for him. But you hear it regardless and it's said with a kind of snark that you hadn't heard aimed at you in a long time. 

The expression on your face is incredulous. For a second you just stare at him silently and the music drifting across the quiet does little to make the atmosphere feel any less foreign. The old, florescent panel lights flicker above and buzz in an insistent drone, making everything even more bare and alien than it already is. You hadn't taken the brunt of Farleigh's ire in a long time. Okay, 'ire' might be a little dramatic. Irritation is probably more accurate. But it feels so weird - uncomfortable - to have him genuinely annoyed with something that you've apparently done. You're used to his sarcasm and quips, you're on the receiving end of them on a daily basis, just like he's on the receiving end of yours. It's normal. It's a part of your dynamic, and your shared, taunting and impish kind of humor is how the both of you grew close. Long before either of you had even realized. You can count on a single hand the number of times that you've had an actual disagreement or argument with Farleigh. But you don't enjoy them in the slightest, so you'd like to find out the root of this little problem before it builds and blows up in both of your faces. 

"First of all, what is that even supposed to mean?" You ask, pulling back to cross your arms. "And secondly, what's wrong?" 

He shoots you an exasperated look, like he's unconvinced of something. You don't reply aloud. You just shrug, openly confused. 

"Seriously?" He says with what sounds like disbelief. 

"What?" 

He scoffs and pins you with a glare that's simultaneously annoyed and relieved. You can see the minute way that his shoulders seem to relax, shedding the bit of stress that had been winding his body up tight. "You really don't recognize him?" 

The question makes you feel a little dimwitted. It prompts you to lean a little in your both, towards the end of the seat and you let your eyes move away from Farleigh. Scanning the diner, searching for the sight of the waiter in the hopes to toggle free that sense of familiarity that shrouds him. Maybe you'll finally be able to remember just who he is. It's been searing at your brain all night, and Farleigh's insistence that you know him just drives the urge deeper. You finally spot him behind the C shaped bar, refilling the salt and pepper shakers that he must have collected from the vacant tables. There is something there. The kind of acquaintance that comes with seeing the same cashier at a gas station more than once, or noticing the same neighbor trimming the bushes in their lawn when you go out to check the mail. But there isn't anything more than that. The sharp jut of his chin and the tattoo peeking out from underneath the short cut of his sleeve are features that you know that you've seen before, but you just end up drawing another blank. You'd like to blame it on alcohol, but despite having spent the entire night dancing and singing at the top of your lungs in a party, you haven't drank a single drop. 

You tilt back into your seat and return your focus to Farleigh with a lost shrug. 

"Jesus Christ," he huffs. "He's served us at least four other times." 

"Oh, that's it?" You say, a little indifferent. You were expecting something more . . . exciting than that. Maybe some drama involving a drunken fight that you couldn't remember at a bar or house party, and he had been the culprit. Literally anything other than he was just you're regular server. Plus, you hardly found that enough to warrant the heavy scowl that Farleigh had been giving him earlier. 

Farleigh sags even further against the cushion of the booth, and the expression on his face is outright petulant and soaked with annoyance. When he speaks next, his voice is at this odd cross of defeated but passionate. "He flirts with you all the time." 

Ah, there it is. 

You want to counter the argument. You yourself have been a waitress who's been accused of flirting with customers boyfriends just because you had come across as overtly friendly when asking for a drink order or dropping off the bill. An exhausting symptom that seems to come with serving the public and insecure lovers out on dates. But that little comment does manage to jog something free. Vague memories of said waiter - Daniel - staring at you for a little longer than necessary or brushing his fingers along yours whenever you'd hand him a cleared plate during past visits. But that's about all. Just subtle, otherwise harmless interest that he's apparently garnered for you. "Well, clearly he didn't do a very good job, because I hardly remembered him." 

The stormy expression doesn't slip from Farleigh's face, and as much as you're trying to joke, you know that this little bout of jealousy has stemmed from something deeper. Sure, he's always had an inclination of being a little possessive. You've caught glimpses of it in the past with his old flings and exes, but the way that he grips you is entirely different from that. He makes sure to touch you in some capacity when in public; a hand on the back of your waist to guide you through crowded areas, keeping his fingers laced with yours on walks, or pulling you into his lap whenever he's able to. He always makes sure to stake his claim on you somehow. Especially whenever he feels as though someone could be a threat to your relationship, even though you do your best to talk to him and placate those insecurities. On any other occasion, you would have been annoyed that he felt intimidated by some random guy at an IHop, but for whatever reason, this just feels off. But you know that this is different. Tonight is different. 

You had seen the shift in him at the party. It was just some get together for Halloween that one of his old friends had thrown for the holiday. It was meant to be small, and that was really one of the only reasons that you had agreed to go. You had wanted to stay inside your apartment for the night, as lame as it may sound. To just spend time curled up on the couch with him against your back while you both gorged yourself on candy and junk food and watched a few horror movies that you had rented from the Block Buster down the street. But Farleigh had insisted that he wanted to go, complaining that spending the entire Halloween night inside was lame. 

A part of you had been a little reluctant. The first weeks after Saltburn had been particularly hard on Farleigh. He had been on a path of self-destruction, like he was insistent on punishing himself for Felix and Venetia. He had made sure to frequent any and every party that he could manage, drinking and snorting whatever he could get his hands on. For a moment you thought that you might have lost him too.  It put a strain on you both. With you constantly voicing your concerns and him always insisting that he was fine. It had all come to a head one night when Farleigh had made a snarky comment towards someone he shouldn't have. Despite all of his sarcasm and harsh words, Farleigh isn't a fighter. At least, not in the physical aspect. But that's all it had took. Some drunken, scathing remark, that honestly, you can't even remember. But you do remember the fist that came after it. How it had cut through the air, and the loud thump of bone hitting bone, leaving a tender bruise, blue and purple in its wake. 

Even then, you could still see the temptation in his eyes while you had dug around in your freezer for some a makeshift ice pack, the temptation to curl back into a bottom of a bottle and never come back out. Finally, you had been the one who broke down, right in the middle of your kitchen, clutching a pack of frozen peas in your hand while the anger, and fear, and anxiety welled up to the surface. He had been quick to jerk up from his seat at the table, crossing the space between you and pulling you from the fridge and into his arms with broken, "I'm sorry's" spilling from him. 

"I can't lose you Farleigh," you cried, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his scent like it might vanish. "I can't."

His self-hatred and the blame that he held his cousins didn't just clear up overnight after that. There were times where you could still see the temptation and loathing glimmering in his eyes, but he was getting better. He was starting to work past it a little bit at a time. To finally let go of all of the booze and writhing, dancing bodies; the sound of laughter and streamers drifting down in the air. The reminders of that summer night back in England, and the morning after, when Felix had failed to show up to the breakfast table. It was hard for both of you. The vacant, bleeding wound that was left in his absence. The pain that comes with it. But even worse, was the reminder that if you must be hurting from the loss, that the sheer agony that Farleigh feels is something that you'd never truly be able to understand. The anguish and torture that must weigh over him every waking moment from his cousins' unexpected death - the death that he had been blamed for in the eyes of James, all because of the words of a stranger. 

Farleigh holds you like you're a ghost. He holds you like you might disappear if he doesn't. That you'll vanish and turn to smoke, or you'll turn your back on him like the Catton's - his family - have. God, even Venetia. Sweet Venetia is gone too. That's what Elsbeth had said to Farleigh when she reached out in a phone call one random evening. The last call - the last favor, she had said that Farleigh would ever receive from her. He had been inconsolable after that. Collapsing on the floor with violent, heaving breaths tearing from his chest after she had hung up on him. He had gone completely still before the flip phone had slipped from his hand with a harsh clatter. That was the only warning that you got before he had looked up to you, and the tears threatening to spill from his eyes had ripped your heart in half. It was the pained, lost sob that tore from his chest that ripped you from your shock and had you dropping down beside him and pulling him into your embrace. 

You can't recall how long you had sat with him on the carpet, clutching him to your body while he cried and gripped at your arms, and shoulders, and back like he didn't know what to do with himself. It had been your turn to cling to him like he might have been the one to disappear if you hadn't, doing your best to swallow back your own tears as he cried into the junction of your neck. 

You know that's all that his jealousy is. Fear that you'll leave him behind like the rest of his supposed family has. Sure, he has his mother and his father. But truthfully, he's always been saddled with the responsibility of keeping the relationship between them cordial; perpetually caught between the both of them. And his relationship with his mother is strained at best. Taxed by his constant worries for her recklessness with her monetary spending, and her inability to keep track of her expenses and bills. A defect of growing up wealthy, you suppose. 

So when Farleigh insisted that he wanted to get out of the apartment. To go out and celebrate you were reluctant. You voiced your concerns about it, but you didn't fight him on it. You knew that he needed the distraction. A break from all of the loneliness, misery and pain. You both had come to the agreement not to touch any sort of alcohol or drugs during the duration of the little Halloween get together, and that was enough for you. You trusted him completely. 

The first few hours at the party had been great. Even when way more people than planned arrived; all of them bringing friends and those friends brought their own until the house filled to its maximum occupancy. The floorboards and walls had practically been pulsing with the volume of the music blasting. Everything from Rob Zombie's Dragula to old Halloween classics like Thriller and The Monster Mash had blared out from the stereo system hooked up the living room. It had been nice to just let go and relax, letting yourself enjoy the first positive party experience in close to a couple months. For a while you allowed yourself to dance, grinding and moving against Farleigh, soaking in his heat and scent from around the chaos, feeling the warmth of his palms sweeping underneath your skirt and gripping onto your hips. It had been peace despite the excitement and havoc tainting the air like a sharp, heady buzz. But you knew something was wrong when you felt the brush of his lips pause over the skin of your neck, and his body had stilled against yours. It made you stop in turn, looking over your shoulder to check him with the confused whisper of his name on your tongue. And when you caught his eyes, locked onto something past your shoulders like a deer staring into the headlights of an approaching car, you wordlessly turned to track his sight. 

It was a pair of wings. Tinted in shades of a fiery orange and violet from the lights strung around the circumference of the room. Their true color must have been a shade of soft white, but some broken part of you waited for them to shift into a rich, glint of gold. And in that moment, for a quick but painful second you could remember the scent of the summer air. Tinged and damp with dew and sweet with pollen and the alcohol that had been spilt across the lawn. The shifting bodies around you weren't people at all, they were the looming hedges of the maze, and the soft leaves sweep and scratched at your skin. It wasn't a girl in an angel costume wearing those wings, but Felix, dead and sprawled out on the lush grass while the heavy music mutated into the anguished cries of Venetia and Farleigh - 

Farleigh. 

You had snapped out the trance with a gasp. You had turned to him as quickly as you could. Gripping onto his forearms firmly, strong enough to break him from his lost stare. When he had looked down at you then, he was so broken. You could see a layer of tears glittering over his eyes from the cast of the lights; lost and defeated. "Let's go outside " you had said, sliding a hand down to thread your fingers into his own, gently tugging to lead him towards the front door, weaving through the shifting, wild throng of people who were caught up in the night. 

You left without warning, desperate to get outside to breathe in the crisp autumn air. But once you both had made it out onto the front porch, neither of you stopped. You had both kept walking with your hands tightly fastened to each other as you set off down the street, vacant now that all of the trick r' treaters had long since purged the houses of all of their candy and turned in for the night to gobble down their bounties. Soon the loud pulse of music projecting from the house party faded into silence, and the only sound was the sharp clap of your heels and the thump of Farleigh's shoes against the damp concrete while the insistent barking of an unsettled dog a couple of blocks away range out distantly. It was still. Calm. And you just walked with no particular destination in mind, focusing on the feel of each other's presence underneath your hands. You would glance up at him every now and again, silently checking on him and you could tell by the look in his eyes that a part of him was still there. Still trapped in Saltburn; seated at that grand table in a room bathed in red. 

And you suppose that you're still there too. Trapped in that chair, looking across the space that separated you to try and meet Farleigh's shocked, unseeing gaze. And so now you did your best to be there for him. Reminding yourself that you aren't there anymore. You're in the present now. You both are. You did what you could to remind Farleigh of that as well. Talking about anything that would pop up in your head to try and draw him out. You rambled about work, particularly your coworker Joy (which had to be the most ironic name ever) because he's always interested to hear the newest scoop of drama that comes from working with her. He hates Joy even though he has yet to meet her. He dislikes her just because you don't like her. It's always the highlight of your night to come home from a shift and just being able to sit down at the tiny kitchen/dining table for two and venting to Farleigh about your day. He always hangs onto each word like your gossip is an update on his favorite reality TV show. It's ritual of sorts that you'd usually save for at the night, when you were both unwinding from the day, but you found yourself rambling regardless. 

You ranted about today's most recent bout of drama. Drama that he had already heard before when he had gotten home from his own shift, but it didn't keep the story from spilling in some desperate attempt to get him to come back to you. You reiterated how Joy had been caught sleeping with two of her ex's close friends without either of them being aware of it. Adding minute details that you had previously forgotten in an attempt to liven up the story. Retelling the drama that had blown up quite fantastically this morning, with both the both of her boyfriend's showing up to confront her, with the sort of coincidental timing that should have been impossible. You and the customers scattered around the store had been quite entertained for a good ten minutes before your manager had grown privy to the situation - mostly due to the loud shouting match that broken out between the scorned men - and threatened to call the cops on the pair. 

"She deserves it," Farleigh had responded. The sound of genuine mirth had been enough to put you at ease and a quick glance had confirmed that he was smiling. It was faint. Hardly there, but you could still see the light impression of it perking at the corners of his lips. It motivated you to keep talking. About anything and everything that came to mind.  But this time you felt less anxious to get the words out. Less worried. It was all relaxed and at ease as you strolled down the street, idly admiring the decorations strung up the houses along the road, burning string lights in varieties of purple, and green, and orange bordering their roofs. There were quite a few cemeteries made in the front lawns this year; fake Styrofoam headstones with skeletal arms propped up beneath them to mimic the dead rising from their graves. 

But it seemed that your gut had other plans when you eventually found yourselves coming to a stop in familiar fractured parking lot belonging to a frequented IHop. One that could easily be mistaken as abandoned with its faded yellow paint dividing the parking spaces and the sun damaged pylon sign; muted to a dusty robin blue from all the years in the weather. You supposed that it wasn't all that odd that your subconscious brought you here. It was you and Farleigh's go to spot after a night of bar hopping. 

Before you could even ask Farleigh if he was hungry, he was already leading you across the parking lot towards the double front doors with those corny decals stuck on the windows in the shape of witches on brooms and the silhouettes of soaring bats. 

Now you watch Farleigh with a bittersweet smile on your face, tracing over the shape of the cat ears secured into the thick of his curls. It was some random headband of yours that he had dug up from the depths of your closet. To be completely honest, you aren't even sure where it had come from, but you're glad that he found them. You never knew that seeing Farleigh in a pair of cat ears was something that you needed to see. 

It's in your blatant admiration that you realize that you're being watched as well, and it's enough to break you from your trance to look back over to the main dining counter where Daniel is finishing up with refilling the pepper and saltshakers. His stare catches yours and it catches you off guard how confident he seems. There's a playful, assured glimmer in his eyes while he watches you from behind the bar. You can't help but wonder just how long he's been staring at you for, and he makes it even worse when he winks at you. 

Ugh. 

Okay, Farleigh hasn't been wrong about the flirting you suppose. 

You don't even bother hiding the disgust that seeps into your features, pulling your mouth into a scowl and you can see the way that he deflates with disappointment when you pull your focus from him and back onto Farleigh, who thankfully hasn't noticed the exchange. With the hand that balances the lit cigarette between its fingers he's absentmindedly fiddling with the handle of his mug, shifting the cup around like he's studying the way the porcelain glints underneath the pale glow of the fluorescents. You don't even think when you shuffle from your side of the booth. Farleigh watches you curiously when you step around the table to slip onto his seat until your nestled up against his side, smushing your cheek against his shoulder. A wistful smile lifts at the corners of your mouth when you feel him tilt his face onto the crown of your head, going lax against your body with a soft, inaudible sigh. You drag in his cologne in a lungful, taking in the warm spice of it, amber and cigarettes; infused with the subtle saccharine notes of vanilla and it has you relaxing even more. And with a full stomach, the influence of sleep is already beginning to pull at your limbs. 

"We should head home," you suggest, tilting your chin up to peer at him from underneath your lashes - or you look at him as best as you can with him still leaning his cheek on the top of your head. "It's getting late." 

"It's barely three," he counters. You can hear an amused puff of air leave his chest, but his tone almost sounds playfully offended, like he couldn't believe you'd propose such a thing. You just barely fight off the urge to roll your eyes. 

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" You ask, reaching for his coffee to steal a sip, drinking down the sugared beverage without a shred of remorse. Even though you can practically feel the way that he's side eyeing you. 

"Thanks for reminding me," he grouses with no real bite. 

"You're welcome," you reply easily, tone lightly teasing and good-natured. You let your head roll back onto his shoulder, knocking his chin free from its perch so that you're fully able to look at him. He's already focused downward to watch you; the dark of his eyes glittering underneath the harsh glow of the fluorescents, highlighted with flecks of honey and bronze. "C'mon, you can't say that being home right now doesn't sound at least a little bit nice. We could be curled up underneath a warm blanket right now, watching bad scary movies. And we could finally knock out that bag of candy I bought," you tempt. "Or maybe you're just blowing it off because you screamed like a girl that last time we watched horror." 

"I did not!" He denies, sounding and looking wildly offended. 

Your eyebrows perk up, an unattractive snort leaving you. "You absolutely did." 

You can recall that night quite vividly. You'd experienced Farleigh's . . . eh . . . incompatibility with horror films in the past, during movie nights and little get togethers at theaters with friends. So you had done your best to try and pick out something else to watch but he had been insistent that he could handle the movie. Unsurprisingly, he had flinched every time the harsh sound of that iconic chainsaw had blared through the speakers and had tensed up every time the camera had panned off the characters to imply a jump scare or oncoming attack from the unseen slasher. You had given him your hand to squeeze for moral support, but he had decided about midway through the movie that it wasn't enough and had practically begun to use you as a human shield, trying to wedge his body between you and the couch. His excuse had been that he just wanted to hold you, and for a moment you had believed him with how he had all but scooped you into his lap. But the way that he would nearly hide his face into the crook of your neck during the gory parts of the film was pretty telling. And when he wasn't using you as a buffer, he had tried to preoccupy himself by pointing out any plot holes and the dumb decision that any of the characters made. Not that you minded. His commentary is actually pretty hilarious when he gets nervous. 

"That's not how I remember it," he counters confidently, prompting a light laugh from you. 

"My mistake then," you reply softly, voice low but jesting. "I must have remembered it wrong." 

He hums lowly in agreement and there's the hint of a smile on his lips. With the way that your faces are angled towards each other the points of your noses brush just a bit. You can feel the gentle warmth of his body heat wafting over your skin and sinking in deep. For a second you forget that you're curled up the booth of some ratty diner, that it isn't just the two of you in the world. You think that you could stay here forever, huddled up against him with the scent of coffee and his cologne in the air. His head angles closer to you, and you can feel the hint of his lips on yours making your lashes lower, threatening to slip closed. 

"Let's go then," he says suddenly, and the gentle sensation of his lips vanish. 

You jerk back with a look of betrayal on your face, but he doesn't seem offended in the slightest. If anything, there's a sort of satisfaction and mischief glinting in his gaze. You want to offer some kind of retort, but your brain is sluggish, a little addled with the desire to sleep and the waning influence of alcohol that nothing smart makes its way to the tip of your tongue. But you do pass a cursory glance at the table and the empty plates scattered along the countertop. "What about the bill?" 

He looks at you like the answer is obvious, a sassy "really?" type of expression, leaning back against the backrest, stretching his legs out to give himself the leverage to reach into his pocket to retrieve his wallet.  "We eat here all the time, and you always order the same thing. I know how much the bill cost." 

"Damn, all right then," you mumble, watching as he throws a couple of bills onto the table between the plates and cups. Then he's nodding his chin at you, silently asking for you shuffle out from the booth, snuffing out the end of his cigarette and wedging what's left of it between the divot made into the edge of the ashtray. He's quick to follow after you with his body nudging along yours as you both slide from the seat. He tucks his wallet back into its place once he's up on his feet, already reaching to take one of your hands but the sudden projection of a familiar voice rings out, making you both pause. "Do y'all need the check?" 

You turn to see Daniel who's leaning himself away from the bar and pepper shakers like he's ready to move and make his way around towards your table. Farleigh passes the server a look that seems nonchalant, but you know him well enough to still be able to notice the subtle curl of his top lip, judgmental and unimpressed. You just barely resist the amused urge to roll your eyes at the display. 

"No, we're good," Farleigh says as he shrugs off his tux and then he's twirling the jacket around so that he's able to drape it around your shoulders in a single flourish. It's an obvious way of him trying to put a silent claim on you, but you find yourself exchanging smiles regardless; soft and almost private. He steps closer to you, and you turn on your heels to face the exit as he secures one of his arms around your waist, tugging you close against the warmth of his body. "Money's on the table." 

He gives Daniel one last glance as you press one of the double doors open; it's just a pointed as the last and the smile on his face is just a little bit smug when you lean into him. But you don't let him revel in his gloating for long before you subtly grip the hand that he has around your waist and tug him out from the cozy shelter of the diner and into the night, tossing a quick, courteous "have a goodnight!" to Daniel from over your shoulder. 

The walk back to the house seems quicker than the one before it, and before you know it, you're both slipping into the little Civic situated along the curb. Farleigh had rolled his eyes when you had expectantly held you hand out for the keys, which he had relented you to you with a small scoff. It's all for show. There's nothing he loves more than being chauffeured around; sitting in the passenger seat to tell you when the light has turned green and where to turn (even though he might just be one of the most directionally challenged people you know). 

You take the backroads home, ignoring the main drags in an effort to avoid the scattered throngs of traffic that still occupy the popular streets. It's a short drive, but that doesn't stop Farleigh from digging around in the CD binder for music. The song only gets to around the halfway mark by the time you're sweeping the car into the designated parking space underneath a glowing streetlamp, decorated with one of those Halloween tensiles with those tiny pumpkin silhouettes. He doesn't let you turn off the engine, having you let the vehicle idle until the chorus of the song is over. Then and only then are you allowed to shut off the car. Not that you can complain much, you're always more than content to hear Farleigh sing. 

Before you know it, you're both jogging up the steps of the second floor, passing by the door of your close neighbor; bordered with a garland and decorated with a Christmas wreath, already in preparation for the next big holiday. A juxtaposition to the Jack o' lanterns posted outside of your door like guards. The both of them are complete opposites of each other, with the face that Farleigh had carved in his made from smooth, seamless lines. Yours on the other hand . . . is a little less fortunate. To put it lightly, it looked like you had been under the influence of every drug and alcohol known to man and went at the pumpkin while you were seeing double; all jagged edges and overlapping corners. Carving had never been a particular talent of yours. 

You have to wiggle the key into the lock when you twist it, the damn thing always sticks and snags on some inner mechanism that you don't know anything about. And when you nudge the door open, you have to firmly push it with the point of your shoulder to help it swing on its hinges because it always drags over the threshold. But you feel nothing but relief when you step inside with Farleigh closely trailing behind you, making sure to close the door and lock it once he's inside. 

It was a comfort to be home after such a long night out, and the fragrance of a candle that you had burned earlier, fusing with old traces of laundry detergent and the distant scent of the Eggo's that you had toasted this morning (still somehow going strong) feels inviting. It's a small space. Hardly enough room for two people. But you and Farleigh happily make it work. The tight walls feel cozy, decorated with pieces of you both; framed photos from vacations and past road trips, and that painting of a gorgeous golden field that Farleigh had reluctantly gravitated towards at a thrift store (he had snubbed his nose at buying anything second hand for a while, but you had gotten him to come round to it eventually). It was your home. A safe space, a shelter from everything, and everywhere you look there are little hints of him. 

After landing back in America from that awful flight from England with James' cold, harsh words still echoing around both of your skulls, you and Farleigh had practically become inseparable. You clung to each other. You were buoys for each other, keeping yourselves afloat with the unforgiving torrents flooding through your minds. That night at Saltburn feels like a dream. A ghost story. And no matter how hard you tried; you couldn't get that morning out of your head. The flashes of golden feathers; the sight of limp, pale skin; those wine-red curtains pulled over the windows, dousing the room in an awful crimson light, making the streaks of tears pouring down Farleigh's cheeks glitter lowly, his face pinched with confusion and anguish. The memory always has something bitter and sharp washing over your tongue; your chest tightens like your heart might rip in two and burst. 

It had been you who had suggested moving in together. Only a few weeks after returning home from Saltburn. You and Farleigh had practically been cinched at the hip since then. It was odd for everyone on the outside looking in. You had always been at each other's throats before, lashing out with insults and sarcasm, but ever since returning back from England, neither of you could manage to pull away from the other for long. It was clear to see that something had happened during the trip, something to cause a fundamental shift between you and him. But neither of you ever bothered explaining much more past the fact that you had both "made up," so to speak, back in England. And you only told the necessary people about what had happened to Felix, such as Graham, who had built somewhat of a friendship with the Catton during his visits to the States. But that was all.

For a time, you struggled to find your rhythm in everyday life, to get out of that strange, muddled rut that your brain had sunk down into since Felix and Venetia's passing's. Farleigh, obviously, had struggled more than you. The cloud that loomed over him was thick and suffocating, and you could tell that it was threatening to tear him down and burry him underneath its weight. You made more of an effort to be near him, doing you best to visit him, to keep him out of his head and his guilt whenever you had time off from work and personal affairs.

He had, for the most part, moved in with his mother. Not because he had to, Farleigh had been able to save up a small cushion of money when he was still in the good graces with the Catton's, but because he needed it. He needed to be close to some part of his family. A part of it, no matter how small, that hadn't turned their back on him. Frederica did her best to console him too. But it wasn't always a help when she would often wind up just as equally as distraught as he was. Just as ravaged by grief of her niece and nephew's deaths and the hurt of her own brother fully cutting ties with her and Farleigh and renouncing them as part of the family. 

As a result, Farleigh would often spend most of his spare time with you back at your old, shared apartment with Graham. Sometimes you wouldn't even talk. You just sit quietly and feel. Soaking in each other's warmth and scent. Reminding yourselves that you were both okay. That you were still present and here. That Saltburn hadn't taken you from each other and eaten you alive. It was one quiet night just like that, with Farleigh curled up in your arms while you reclined on the old outside couch on the balcony, gazing at the neighboring complexes and looming office towers with that particular question heavy on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes idlily skipped along the glowing windows of another nearby apartment building, taking in the sight of distant silhouettes shifting within them. Of other people going about their task, glimpsing into people's lives. Like the man pacing along his living room floor, angerly shouting into his phone; a young woman a few floors above him gently rocking her infant within the cradle of her arms as she halfheartedly watched something playing on the TV; but what caught your attention the most was an older couple shuffling along their carpet, arms wound around each other in a firm but soft embrace as they danced. Just enjoying the other's presence. Like they were the only two people left alive. 

It had that question back with a vengeance, searing your tongue with the insistence to get out. But you held back. From fear, reluctance, anxiety. You weren't sure if he was ready for a step yet. The timing was admittedly a little awful. He was still mourning. Still bound and wrapped in grief. But you still couldn't help but hope that maybe this would be just what he needed. Maybe this could help to soothe him. It wouldn't heal his wounds. Not entirely. Only time could do that. But maybe it would be enough to let him know that he wasn't alone. That you weren't going to leave him. That you wanted and needed him just as much as he wanted and needed you. 

The lease was coming up in about a month. Something you and Graham had talked about extensively before, mostly because he was planning on moving out to Nashville. Something about his music career because L.A. wasn't panning out how he had imagined it to. He said that he has put out an ad for possible roommates if you wished to stay and keep the apartment. But truthfully, you didn't need a space that expensive, that big. A fresh start was in order, a place to make new memories. And you knew exactly who you wanted to make them with. Who you wanted by your side. All you had to do was ask. It was just a simple question, that's all. But it really wasn't, was it? You don't just ask your boyfriend to move into an apartment with you after not even a full two months of dating. Especially after two of his family members died and his uncle disowned him. But you have known him for years, to be fair. 

"Farleigh?" You spat it out before the anxiety could seal your jaw shut. For a second you had thought that he'd fallen asleep; the puffs of his breathing are warm and steady against your neck. You felt it more than you heard it, a low inquisitive hum that reverberated across your skin. You contemplated about lying, coming up with some kind of excuse and pretending that your question had never existed in the first place. Your silence must have caught his attention or concerned him, because he was shuffling himself back, nudging himself along your body and curling up along the sofa as best as he could without falling off of it, so that he was able to peer up at you from his place on your chest.

"What is it?" He asked, eyes glinting softly in the warm, pale lights strung up along the ceiling of the balcony. You saw something flash in them. Something vulnerable and worried, and you knew then that his brain must have been leaping to the worst possible scenario, hardwired in after all of the misery and tragedy that's fallen over him since Saltburn. It hurt you to know that he was jumping to the most horrible conclusion because of you, as unintentional as it was. It was more than enough incentive for you to spit it out. 

"Do you want to move in with me? " You nearly cringed when you said it, and you made an effort to look anywhere else but him. You were afraid to see even the faintest possibility of hesitance or disgust cross over his features. "Not here. I mean it's fine. The rent and the utilities are honestly insane, and the landlord is kind of an asshole. So, maybe we could try something new? A fresh start for the both of us. I just - it's just an idea. You don't have to agree, obviously. I know it's a lot to sort of just ask you." 

You tensed up when he moved himself fully off of you, and you adjusted yourself against the arm of the couch, drawing your knees close to your chest so that he had room to sit himself up beside you. It felt too stifling. Suddenly everything had been too loud. The sound of the traffic humming down below, the sharp honk of car horns and the squeal of bad brakes. The gentle breeze suddenly felt like it was howling and deafening in your ears. 

"You're serious?" Farleigh's voice split through the chaos, drawing you attention onto him. The expression on his face had struck you. It didn't look betrayed or uncomfortable; it was hopeful, if not a little disbelieving. All of the anxiety lumped within your chest had thawed in an instant, vanishing like it had never been there at all, melting into something warm. 

"I'm serious," you answered, the slight shake in your voice shifting into something firm and assured. 

His throat bobbed, eyebrows slightly furrowing as he stared at you like he didn't know how to react. You wanted to say something. To tell him that he didn't have to answer so soon, or at all for that matter. He didn't have to agree or disagree with you. Either would be fine. His lips parted, the corners quirking with what might have been the faint pull of a smile. "I -" he drew in a short breath like he was trying to ground himself. His throat bobbed, while his gaze roved over your features like he was searching for something. The hint of a lie or a joke maybe, but he found none. "Yeah, " he answered, wincing slightly before correcting himself. "Yes. I'd love to." 

It had only taken a couple of weeks to find something that seemed promising. Though it did help that neither of you had too many requirements to meet. As long as it was affordable (a near impossible condition to meet in a place like L.A. unless you want to live in a complete hole in the wall, but you got lucky - somewhat), and Farleigh also wanted a place that was close enough to his mother, and something that wasn't too far of a commute from your either of your jobs. Not much later, something had come up. It was . . . quaint to say the least. The size of the space was nowhere near the amount of room provided in your past apartment, nor Farleigh's old place. Something that he was less than enthused about when you were given a tour by the landlord, but it was something that he would eventually look past. Mostly. It wasn't perfect. On some nights, you can hear one of the neighbors practicing on their piano - luckily, they're pretty good at it, so it's more of a nice background music than a nuisance - and it takes close to a good ten minutes for the water to heat up, but it's yours. And with Farleigh with you, it's your home. 

And now that you're finally back after a long night out, your first goal was to change out of your costume and clean up the makeup and grime of the night. You and Farleigh went about your usual routines, putting away your clothes and somehow the both of you wind up jumping in the bath together for a quick rinse. Exchanging soft kisses while basking in the warmth of the water and sneaking gentle touches under the guise of spreading bodywash along each other's skin. It didn't surpass any further than that. Not even with that delicate warmth and longing smoldering along each and every touch, the potential to become something more. You can see it in Farleigh's eyes too, glinting like something eager and hungry. But it's also soft when he looks at you. It makes you feel cherished and so wholly wanted, that for a moment, it's almost like your chest could burst open and all of the love and devotion filled up inside might come spilling out. 

It's always been these little private moments between the two of you that you really hold dear. That you cherish and replay over and over again during idle moments throughout the day; quiet lulls in your work shift or when you're home alone. You can only hope that you can offer the same solace for Farleigh. A reprieve from his anguish. His guilt. He feels responsible for Felix, and by proxy, Venetia. You know that he does. You've seen it in his eyes, heard it from his mouth when he's distraught with the tears that come and go. He still jolts awake some nights, harsh enough to rattle and pull you from your sleep. He'll be disoriented, hazed over and still caught within the stubborn hold of sleep and bad memories. His eyes are always a little wild, glassy and damp from tears that have yet to spill over. On others, he does his best not to disturb you, doing his best to swallow down his quiet cries and slipping out of bed. But it's almost like your body can tell that he's gone. Whether it be the loss of his body heat, or the absence of his weight nestled beside your own, you never fail to wake up, slipping a handout over his side of the mattress to check for him. Clarity always rushed over you whenever you feel that he isn't there. Thankfully the panic has finally left after the first couple times he's done it, but the drive to find him never goes away. 

He's usually in the living room, absentmindedly watching the TV. Or sometimes he's at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee or tea while he looks through old pictures on his phone. You always announce yourself with a small 'hey' as not to startle him, and he'll always greet you with a smile. Sometimes it reaches his eyes, sometimes it doesn't. But you always refuse to leave his side. Not until you're able to get a genuine laugh from him, not until you can see some sort of peace reflect in his eyes and you know that the horrors of that morning in the maze finally release their claws and sink back into the recesses of his mind. Not entirely gone, but not at the focus at least. 

"What are you thinking about?" His voice pierces through the reminiscent fog clouded over your brain, drawing you from your thoughts and onto him. You have to tilt your head at an angle from the way that you have yourself tucked towards his chest with some of your back nudging against the chilled enamel of the tub. There's amusement flickering in his eyes, glittering like a dark bronze and molten honey underneath the glow of the warm bathroom lighting. 

"You." A bit of a corny response maybe, but an honest one, and it comes out low and gentle. 

"Sap," Farleigh smirks, an amused huff rising from his chest, but he presses his forehead against yours, sighing deeply when your skin brushes over his. A smile tugs at your lips, but you can't find it in yourself to form a response to his light teasing. Not with the dull lull of sleep in your system. The water is too warm, too pleasant, making your limbs pliant and heavy. And the feel of his body pressed against yours doesn't help fight off the sense of ease weighing your body down. "Come on," he calmly urges. "Let's go watch those movies you've been harassing me about all night." 

"Don't act like you don't want to," you grumbled. "You even picked out one." 

He doesn't verbally reply to you, but he does make sure to land a slap on your ass when you rise up out of the bathtub to slip into the clothes you had left on the sink. You shoot him a playful glare over your shoulder, but all you get in response from him is a cheeky smile.

That's fine, you'll tag him back. You're patient. He's quick to pull the drain on the tub before rising up and stepping over the enamel boarder, and you're hyperaware of his movements, quietly waiting for an open window to strike. You go about your business, trying not to make your anticipation obvious as you apply lotion over your body before slipping into your comfy clothes, all the while watching him out of your peripherals as he towels himself off. But he's still fully facing you, running the thick linen over his damp skin. He must pick up on your focus because his eyes skirt up to you, suspicion flickering in them and he squints at you with a smile curling on his lips. "What?" 

"Hmm?" You hum cluelessly, doing your best feign ignorance with a light shrug. "Nothing." 

He doesn't seem to be fully convinced, but he doesn't speak on it. For a quick moment you forget about your revenge completely. Getting caught inside the intimate atmosphere built within the bathroom; the humid cloud lingering over the space, perfumed with the fragrant notes of your bodywashes and lotion; vanilla, nutmeg, and cardamon. It's warm in here from the moisture, not uncomfortably so, but soothing like a rich balm. And with Farleigh here, it just helps to make the mood that's settled over you feel even more private and placid, like being wrapped inside a familiar blanket. But as peaceful as this is, you can't forget that easily, and a moment presents itself when he turns away from you in favor of reaching for his sleep plants, slightly bending over to tug them up and around his knees. You don't wait, reaching out and cracking your palm down on the soft swell of his cheek just before he manages to tug his sweatpants over his hips.

His head turns in your direction so quickly you briefly fear that he might get whip lash, but you see the warning flash in his eyes before he even moves, and luckily your body is quick to jerk into action before you have to consciously make an effort for it. You dart out of the bathroom, making sure to keep your footing and not slip on the tiles as you all but leapt out onto the carpeted junction situated between all four of the apartment's spaces. You could practically feel him coming up on you, even without the rapid patter of his feet tracking across the distance between you. There's a quick, playful shout of your name, urging you to make a split-second decision and you sharply veer off into the living room, just narrowly escaping the reaching fingers of one of his hands; you could feel them brush over your back as you flinched out of their grasp. 

An excited, breathless laugh bubbles up from you, triggered by a combination of delight and an unserious sense of nerves; a primal instinct urging you to just move and avoid being grabbed. It guides you to swing around the end of the coffee table furthest from the entrance of the room just in time to see Farleigh bolt through the threshold. He's stops himself short before he could all but slam into the coffee table, and his body is pulled taunt, muscles bunched in preparation to sling him around the small piece of furniture and in your direction at any given moment. It has you on edge, even more so than that competitive glimmer in his eyes. "You know I'm gonna catch you," he taunts, leaning forward with a type of confidence that pisses you off. "So you should just give in now, and cling onto what little bit of dignity you have left." 

You can't hold in the scoff that leaves you, the way that your mouth twists into a playful scowl. "Like I'd give in so easily." 

You know realistically, this game isn't going to last long. There's only so many places to run to in the apartment. He's going to catch you at some point, but that doesn't mean that you can try to avoid it for as long as you can. He's growing impatient, you can tell by the way that he keeps shifting to different sides of the table, trying to trick you into flinching close enough for him to reach out and grab you. But that's fine. It's good even. You use it, pretending to jerk over to the left when he moves, prompting him to lurch forward to get ahold of you. But you anticipate the move, darting back on your feet and rounding around the side of the table before he can so much as blink. A loud surprised swear rings out behind you, a strained 'fuck' as you bolt towards the open threshold. 

There's the hope that maybe if you get to the kitchen, you can hold him off better. The space isn't massive by any means, but the sparing amount of furniture provides more of an open area to move around in. The table there is bigger than the compact one in the living room, making it a better shield to provide distance. Your heart rate spikes with excitement as you dash towards your chosen destination, intent to put as big of a gap between you both as possible, tearing across the floor with a laugh. You come up on the kitchen in a matter of seconds, but before your feet can step from the soft carpet and onto the fake, vinyl flooring a sturdy arm snakes around your middle and pulls you into the firm expanse of a chest, ripping a sharp gasp of his name from your lungs. 

It's his turn to laugh now, but it sounds smug and mocking as he backs up deeper into the living room. Every step just drives in your loss. You make idle efforts to get free, squirming and shifting in his grip, but his arms might as well as be steel bands around your abdomen. "So much for putting up a fight," he teases. But you don't get time to make a comeback before you're being spun and shoved down onto the couch. The push was light, but the fall steals the air from your lungs regardless, and the abrupt change in perspective leaves you a little disoriented. It's the sensation of the cushions around you shifting from someone's weight that reorients you, forcing your eyes to focus on the figure that sweeps over your body. His body heat rushes over you with the smell of amber and spice that has you sinking further into the piece of furniture when you should be trying to shuffle out from underneath him to escape. 

The expression on his face is fully gloating, dark eyes twinkling with mirth, and the sight of it is enough to finally have some sort of retort spilling from your mouth, as delayed as it is. "Fuck you," you snap, but it does nothing to snuff out his apparent delight. If anything it seems to amplify it. 

"Careful," he warns, dipping his voice down that low rumble that you love. His hands are placed on either side of your head, keeping you comfortably trapped underneath him. He angles his head with a teasing smile, the tip of his nose ghosting over yours. The shift in mood is obvious, but not jarringly so, nor is it unwelcome. It falls over you both as easily, and suddenly the intention of calming down for the night and enjoying a horror movie marathon leaves you just as the air from your lungs has. "I might just take you up on that offer." 

"What makes you think I was offering?" You query, tilting your head so that his lips brush against yours, soft and inviting. The little amount of space between you gives you enough mobility to rearrange your legs, lifting to them to wrap securely around his waist, and he lets you draw him closer into the gap between your thighs with a light nudge. His eyelashes flutter, a minute gesture that you just barely catch underneath the intimate, dim glow of the lamp in the corner. Farleigh can hardly resist, draping himself against your body until his hips and stomach are pressed along yours and you can feel his body heat radiating from both of your clothes. Your body shifts in its own accord, softly rolling against his in a desperate motion to seek out more of him, and the thrilled look on his face makes a dull sense of embarrassment prickle at your cheeks. 

"Call it a gut feeling," he answers and the pout of his lips whisper of yours when he speaks. 

You fleetingly contemplate on taunting him back, but you toss that train of thought out the window. Instead, you tilt your chin to seal your mouth over his, swiping your tongue over the delicate skin, sweet and bitter with coffee and the smoke of a cigarette. He moans into you, light with what almost sounds like relief, and the noise, as simple as it is, is more than enough to have a dull throb of heat ripple down your spine. You slip your hands up his neck, reaching to scratch your nails up the base of his neck near the curls there, and it you're gratified to pull the desired response from him, satisfaction flaring in you when a pleasured shiver goes down his back. He licks into your mouth, languid and hungry. 

His hips grind over yours, drawing a gasp from your chest when you feel the shape of him, already hot and heavy, through the material of both of your pants. It's more than enough to get you to chase after the sensation, working your own in a desperate attempt to build the warmth smoldering deep inside the base of your abdomen until you're both humping at each other on your living room couch like a couple of teenagers. One of his hands moves to your thigh, drawing it up higher and spreading it further open so that he can lean more of his weight, dragging himself across your clothed cunt meanly. You're already a little wet, slick between your thighs, but even then, you don't feel any urgency to rush. You just want to feel him. To focus on the press of his body against your own, and to breathe in the scent of him. 

But the clothes you both wear serve as an irritating barrier. A buffer that dulls his warmth and the sensation of his skin on yours. The only thought swirling around in your head is that they need to be off, gone and tossed somewhere across the room. You slip your hands underneath the edge of his shirt, wadding it up within your hands and tugging. It earns you an amused laugh with him breaking the kiss to pull back and look at you, but not without a teasing bite against your bottom lip. "Is there something you want?"

"Yes," you say, voice almost petulant and determined. "Off. I want it off." 

You don't stop trying to slip his shirt off, shooting him a glare when it hitches underneath his armpits, and he doesn't make any effort to assist you in shedding his clothes. "Okay, okay, " he relents, shuffling on his palms to readjust himself but he must have caught onto your hair because it has a stinging heat blossoming on the side of your skull, tearing a surprised yelp from your mouth. "Fuck! Hair - you're on my hair!" 

"Wha - shit! Sorry!" He jerks back onto his haunches like you had struck him, thankfully drawing his hands back. The relief is near instant, but you can still feel the side of your scalp throbbing from the pain making you swear lowly. His gaze roves over you like he's expecting to find some kind of visible wound, and the concern in his eyes has affection curling in your chest despite the sharp tenderness echoing throughout your skull. That's what you get, you suppose, for trying to make out on a couch. 

"It's okay," you assure, and the gentleness in your tone has him relaxing. A smile makes its way on his face, and he leans down again, this time making sure to be mindful of your hair, to place soft kisses across the expanse of your face. Peppering the cushion of his lips over your cheeks, your nose, your chin; each one an apology. Neither of you can hold in the small puffs of laughter that spill from you, lighthearted and close. You stroke your hands back up his neck again, curling your fingers over the nape to draw him in closer to return your own bout of kisses along the corners of his mouth and jaw. 

"Still, I do feel bad," he says. That familiar cadence is back already, dipping low into a smoky rumble that you swear you can feel thrumming over your skin. "Let me make it up to you." 

And even with the little slip up and the brief shift in mood that had come from it, it isn't enough to have dampened that coil of desire and want that burns in the cradle of your hips. Not in the slightest. The look in his eyes is consuming, dark and glinting with hunger and longing type of want. It's a look that never fails to weaken you, it's one that you've yet to build an immunity against, and you don't think that you ever will. It's honestly a little embarrassing how quickly it never fails to make you crumble. "I can't say no to that." You try to sound collected and unbothered, but there's a pale quiver in your voice regardless; a gasp nearly catches in your throat. 

The smirk that tugs across his face is impish, entirely too complacent and a little mischievous for your liking. It's the type of gaze that you've been pinned under probably close to a hundred times already, and it's one that spells trouble and pleasure all in one. Just a pleasure that's always given on his time. But maybe . . . if you play your cards right, you might just be able to him underneath you instead. 

Not just yet though. 

"Atta girl," he purrs. 

He moves himself off of you in a nimble blur - a complete opposite of the guy who had just awkwardly caught onto your hair earlier, to situate himself down on the floor. He doesn't wait for you to follow. Choosing to grip you by the hips and tug your body to face him, threatening to pull you right over the edge of the old polyester cushions and sending you ass first onto the carpet. But you manage to get a good grip on the headrest of the sofa to secure your seating. Which proves to be helpful when Farleigh hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear in a single pull and begins to jerk them down without fanfare. His movements are impatient but fluid, working the fabric from your legs in fast rush, balling them up and tossing them across the room. He hardly gives you any time to process anything before he's grasping both of your thighs and spreading you open by hooking your knees over his shoulders. 

The tepid air brushing over the damp heat of your cunt is almost jarring and the gasp it pulls from you shudders across your ribcage. The anticipation welling up inside of you is already unbearable despite having done so little to warrant it; some dry humping and making out. But when it comes to Farleigh, you're damn near insatiable, and even the simplest things about him can set you off and dangle you over the edge. His scent, sweet and syrupy with the subtle notes of vanilla, but also warm from amber and cardamon. There's that spiced musk of cigarettes always on him too. It's never been a habit you've liked, a smell that you've ever enjoyed, but coming from him it still manages to make your mouth water. And then there's his eyes; expressive and bright despite their dark shade; dipping from what almost looks like a near black to a heated bronze, glimmering with flecks of copper and gold depending on the strength of the casted light. The sight of them pinned on you always has your body humming like a live wire and watching them skip around a room or from the faces of people, animated from the fervor of his passion or opinions never fails to make you flood with an array of emotions: peace, happiness, adoration. And then there's the sound of his voice and all of the various shades of it, from the soft, nonchalant rumble it takes during day-to-day conversations; that inflection that hits it in a playful spike when he's feeling particularly mischievous or sardonic; how low it can dip when he's got you malleable and eager underneath his palms, just like he does now. 

You love all of it. All of the various sides of him and all of his qualities and imperfections. You could blame it on the honeymoon phase. That it'll just all wear off once the freshness of your relationship has worn off and sunk in. But truthfully, everything about Farleigh has always set you on fire, practically from the moment you met him, and you don't think it'll ever go away. That the sheer amount of heat and desire that you feel for him - that the aching way that you crave him will ever dampen or dull. 

It's a realization that you've come to a while ago, but it still never fails to surprise you from the sheer scope of your feelings and adoration. Just how much you love all of him. From something as simple as waking up next to him every morning. Especially when he's asleep while the city is still sluggish and casted with the lavender and champagne hue of dawn, giving you time to admire him while he's relaxed and safe from all of his troubles. How expressive he is, all snark and sarcasm and sharp, quick-witted comments that never fail to get a laugh from you. He sometimes uses British terms and slang when he talks, and every now and again you swear you can hear a little bit of an accented lilt on his words when he speaks - especially if he's upset or impassioned in some way. And it even though it pisses you off to no end and you've given him plenty of ear full's about it, you can't find it in yourself to hold it against him when he's rarely able to keep track of time. Not even with red little watch secured around his wrist or the alarms on his phone; dates and schedules always seem to slip his mind. But he's gotten better. He's made and effort to try. And you love that little fact about him, because it's a part of him. Of who he is. And you love him so much that you wonder if it might just eat you alive and light you on fire. God, you really do love him. You love - 

"Farleigh," you nearly whimper. He snags the tender skin of your inner thigh between his teeth and lips, nipping and sucking to tease you and wind you up. 

"Be patient," he says, dragging the point of his tongue next to where you need him the most, leaving a blazing trail along your flesh in its wake." I haven't even started." There's that smug amusement saturating his tone, and you want to snap at him. To say something. But then he's slipping his hands underneath you to cup to the swell of your ass within his heated palms, slipping his thumbs towards the front of you to spread you open even more. You can feel how wet you are, smearing a little along your skin, leaving it chilled. Shame doesn't even register for you. You're already too worked up, too desperate. At this point you just want him to touch you. You know that begging him won't really get you anywhere. Not when he's like this. All you'll end up doing is stroking his ego, but you can hardly care about that right now. 

"C'mon, Farleigh, pleas-" you fully choke on your words when his tongue drags over you, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to your clit in a single stroke. Your legs twitch from the surprise and you can't help but reach out to grasp onto his hair, threading your fingers into his curls as your lungs swallow down a moan in a shaky breath. He's working his mouth against you like a man starved, like he's desperate to drink down your taste and savor every bit of you. Sure, you've been with passionate lovers in the past, people who genuinely enjoy the act of eating someone out, but the enthusiasm that Farleigh always has when he goes down on you never fails to shock you. It takes every bit of conscious effort not to cry out. You do your best not to be loud, reminding yourself that it's got to be around three a.m. by now and you have neighbors. You've already had to deal with that once before. A little after the first week you and Farleigh had moved in, he had made it his mission to fuck you on nearly every available surface in the apartment, and it's safe to say that you two had been a little louder than intended. It had made checking the mailbox compartment outside near the front desk and taking out the trash to the dumpster unbearably awkward with all the side eyed glances and glowers you had gotten. Not that you could necessarily blame your neighbors for being a little disgruntled. Still, it's safe to say that you'd rather not do that again. 

But it doesn't help that Farleigh seems to take your silence as some sort of challenge. You see it flicker in his eyes when you glance down at him, catching sight of his eyes from between your arms and the frame of your thighs. The look that glimmers in them is lethal and almost defiant, but it isn't something that you can brace for. He's always been talented with his mouth. The first night that you had hooked up on that stone balcony back at Saltburn you're pretty sure that he had damn near killed you with his tongue. And in the few months you've been together, somehow, he's gotten even more dangerous with it. He's had time to learn everything about you. How to take you apart piece by piece. What makes you twitch, and shudder, and scream, and you can tell concentrated glare that he has that he's going to do his best to pull you apart by the seams. 

He curls his tongue around your clit and sucks hard, making you jolt and then he's laving the muscle down to sweep it along your entrance. That's the only warning you get before he slips inside, dragging it slow to make sure you feel every bit of it. He's only just started, and that molten heat is already curling down your spine and building between your hips. His hands slip upward to grip onto your thighs, squeezing the sensitive skin there and mushing them against his ears. He moans against you, sending vibrations across your cunt that makes your toes curl. But even in the midst of the bliss searing at your body, your brain is still able to cling onto the fact that the noise he made almost sounded doleful. It's with a ragged gasp that you force yourself to pull your focus onto him, trying to center your attention through the low haze that's already clouding your brain. You can see the way that his eyebrows are pinch closed, almost like he's displeased or annoyed. But before that nervous flutter in your gut can become anything serious or unignorable, he's jerking away from you, forcing a mournful whine to spill past your lips from the absence of his mouth. 

"Far, what -" 

"Sit on my face." 

His request - command, really - comes out a little ragged. Breathless. And he all but flops back on the floor, letting his limbs sprawl out carelessly. But his eyes don't drift from your in his descent, they remain locked onto you with a sort of depraved yearning. For a moment your brain seems to lag, and in turn your body straggles behind, leaving you lie across the couch and stare. Too caught up in the sight of Farleigh. His breathing is already slightly labored, causing his chest to rise and fall, forcing air from his lips, which are glistening and smeared with your arousal. And you don't miss the fact that he's already hard, heavy and straining against the burgundy fabric of his sleep pants. Even with of tempting of image that Farleigh is spread out in front of you, there's still a question on your tongue. He must have been able to see your hesitance, something in your body language or a glimmer in your eyes because the look that he fixes you with is steadfast and maybe even a little exasperated. "Sit. On my face." He enunciates the words slowly, like he's giving each of them time to really sink in through your skull. 

That's really all it takes for the majority of your doubt to waver. Farleigh isn't one to ask for things that he doesn't want. And in your small time together you've already managed to build up a strong level of trust between each other, especially in regard to sex. It's enough to give you the confidence to slink off of the couch, kneeling yourself down over his legs to work yourself along his body until your hovering over his chest. But even with his anticipation palpable in the air, you still can't help but be a little bit nervous and the torrent of thoughts raving your mind does nothing to ease your concerns. 

What if you smother him? What you're too heavy? What if - 

"Hey." 

His voice gives you something to cling to, centering your thoughts with something as simple as its sound. His hands cup your thighs, gripping them with their warmth and caressing the skin with their fingertips. It pulls your focus downward where he gazes up at you from between the apex of your legs, eyebrows raised and the hint of an amused smile perking at the corners of his lips. "You've literally choked me before." 

The comment has a small bubble of laughter leaving you, despite its truth. He isn't wrong. It's not like breath play is a new development between the two of you, so you honestly aren't sure why the idea of sitting directly on his face seems so daunting. Just two taps against your thigh. That's all it would take, and then you'd be pulling yourself off of him in an instant. This really isn't unfamiliar territory in the slightest. It's just nerves, is all. That little realization, no matter how small, is enough to have excitement and heat burning through your veins; flaring and needy. 

"Ready?" You ask, trying to swallow down the faint flutter of nervousness in your stomach. 

The expression that flickers across his face is absolutely delighted, if not a little wicked. "Fuck yes," he pants, sending a warm puff of air across the slick that's smeared across your inner thighs. His hands clench around the grip they have on you when you adjust yourself forward and begin to lower yourself downward. Apparently, you were going much to slow for his liking because he's lifting his head up to meet you, tongue first. It feels as though it's been doused with liquid heat when it lashes along cunt, forcing a sharp cry from your lungs from the pressure of it. It's enough to catch you by surprise, making the muscles of your thighs twitch and give out. The full brunt of your weight would have collapsed onto his head if you hadn't managed to grab onto enough awareness to catch yourself with your palms. 

"Farleigh," You hiss, equally elated and scolding. 

All you get from him is a moan in response, but it sounds purely happy. Almost euphoric. The vibrations of it thrumming over you and the pressure of his nose nudging across your clit fully douses over what little reservations you have left. His fingers flex tight, and his strength bears down on your legs to fully seat you on his mouth, sealing the heat of it over you. If it wasn't for the fact that you're already supporting your weight on your arms, you probably would have doubled over from the sensation of it. It's completely involuntary when your hips begin to roll, seeking out the friction of his nose and tongue. You can't even find it in yourself to be worried about crushing him or cutting off his breathing with the wanton groans that start to pour from him in an uninhibited stream. It's almost as though he's the one . . . 

That trail of thought has you leaning yourself back, just barely managing the coordination and thought it requires to pull your weight into your thighs again and off of your arms. You turn your head to glance over your shoulder and the sight of his hand stroking up and down his cock is enough to tear a whine from you. Your cunt clenches around nothing, achingly empty while he laps and sucks at your clit, stroking molten bliss throughout your veins. You aren't sure when he had pulled himself free from his pants, and you aren't sure how you didn't manage to hear the low wet sound of his palm dragging over his length, slick with the flow of precum, but you're unable to pull your attention away from the sight of it now. 

You can already feel the pressure of that sultry heat coiling deep inside of you, dangling you precariously close towards that delicious edge. You mouth drops open in a silent whine when his tongue slips inside, lapping deep like he's trying to drink you down. Pleasured tremors zip up your thighs and stomach with each drag and suck from his mouth, threatening to make your eyes roll. Even then, you still have enough clarity and drive to want to return the favor. You reach behind yourself, managing a cursory glance over your shoulder just long enough to be able to grab ahold of his cock, just above his own hand. The position is admittedly a little awkward, and you can feel the strain of it simmering along the taut muscles of your back as you squeeze his length and twist your wrist over his heated skin. But it isn't enough to get you to even consider stopping. He whines against you at the feel of your palm on him, and his hips jerk up into both of the holds you have on his cock, desperately seeking out more friction with fervent thrusts from his hips. 

The two of you easily fall into a unanimous, rhythmic pace, and his hand brushes against your own as they both slip and down his girth. You make sure to squeeze the head of his cock with each upstroke, pulling a frayed moan and another flow of precum with each tug. The broken, sharp moans that spill from him help to hurdle you towards that rising, frenzied tide of bliss. The way that his tongue works inside of you makes your muscles seize, threatening to sweep you under quickly. A little too quick. You don't want this to end just yet. On just about any other time, it wouldn't have been a problem, but you don't think that you have more than one round in you tonight. Not with all of the dancing and partying you had done earlier; the emotions that had run; the small glimpses back into Saltburn and wounds that had reopened with just the small glimmer of a pair of Spirit Halloween costume wings. You wanted to feel him. You needed him. But you had to stop now before the smoldering warmth licking across every nerve and cell in your body lit up and engulfed you entirely. 

"Farleigh - wait." You gasp around a choked moan, trying not to mourn the loss, to focus on the heavy ache that racks through your body at the absence of his tongue. "Wait, wait, wait." 

Even though you can feel the hesitance in his grip he allows you to pull your cunt from his mouth, but there's a torn whine from his chest and for second he chases after your hips before letting his head plop back down on the carpet with a defeated sigh. There's a confused furrow set between his eyebrows, though you're sure he's getting mixed signals based on the way that you haven't paused or released the grip you have on his cock. 

"As much as I'd love to cum from your mouth, I need you to fuck me." It's then that you remove your hand from him.

"Okay - fuck - please, yes." He nods his head vigorously and the look that burns in his eyes is bright and eager. Suddenly the hand that he was jerking over his length is now on your waist, following as you begin to shuffle down his body until you can feel the crown of his cock drag across the heat of you, spreading your lips open around the shape of it and dragging along your clit in a delicious grind. You both moan at that little bit of friction, and as worked up as you are, you can't help but stay that way for a moment; slipping a hand down to grip the base of him so that you can roll your cunt over him with tight circles from your hips. His head tilts back against the floor and the expression that melts over his features looks tortured and dazed all at once. You take the time to just watch him; the mixture of his spit and your arousal that gleams over his lips like a perverted sort of balm; the short, almost labored gulps of air that shudder across his ribcage, only concealed by the fabric of his T-shirt; and you can see the light of the lamp glittering dimly across his hair, showing up like streaks and winks of amber and cinnamon. 

"Don't tease me," he complains, hitching his waist up to thrust the head of cock against you in a way that has you crying out in surprise; sending a smoldering shot of lust into your veins. Even then, you can't hide the amused smile that stretches across your lips. But that's as much as you bother to taunt him considering that you're already plenty of worked up yourself. You don't bother with any smug comments or sarcastic quips. Instead, you're taking ahold of him and lining him up with your entrance. And you don't bother giving him time to breathe before you sink down around his girth, taking him in with a single motion that makes him choke on an inhale. Maybe it's a little mean of you, not letting him catch up and adjust to the sensation, but the sheer delight that burns in his eyes lets you know that he isn't bothered in the slightest. 

That doubled with the flexing grip he has on your hips lets you know that he doesn't want you to stop. You press your palms flat on his chest, not enough to be crushing, but enough to provide you the leverage that you need to rotate your hips over him in smooth, deliberate rings that have you both quivering and plunged in an ecstasy that frays your senses and pulses over your nerves. He helps you along by meeting the shift of your hips, thrusting into you with deep, heavy strokes. He's insatiable, running his hands all over you. Like he's afraid you'll vanish, and he has to commit you to memory before you slip through his fingers. It has you dipping your head as low as you can without disrupting the rhythm you've built, and he props himself on his elbows to meet you so that you're able to lock your lips with his. You come together with the brush of teeth and tongue. It's clumsy and messy, but even then, it has nothing but pure want melting over your bones like wax and honey. 

The hold his hands have on you is greedy and fervent, like he wants to soak your warmth in through his palms and keep it to himself. He slips them underneath your shirt, coasting along your skin until they meet the swell of your breasts, kneading them with his fingertips. It's enough to have you keening aloud and fucking yourself on him like you'll die if you don't. Each stroke tips you that much closer to burning alive, and you can tell by the way that Farleigh's muscles tense with each grind and push from your hips, that he isn't that much better off either. You're both going to pull each other under into something alive and lambent until there's nothing left of yourselves but heaving, wrecked pieces clinging to each other. And you want nothing more than to singe and ignite with Farleigh. 

The thought alone gives you the motivation to work yourself on his length, squeezing the walls of your cunt over him, making him groan and swear under his breath against your lips. It has his head tipping back, severing the press of your mouth against his. But you don't have time to mourn the loss when he all but whines into the air, pitched and raucous like he's been overstimulated. Though the near bruising grip he has on your tits and the way that he vigorously meets your thrusts lets you know that he's far from at his limit yet. 

But you can already feel it, rising up and threatening to take you apart. You can taste it on your tongue; sweet and electric, and you chase after it with a desperation that might knock you into oblivion. And God, do you want that. It's so selfish, but you want nothing more than it to be just you and him, tangled together for eternity; caught within the push and pull of reaching limbs and constant desire and love; suspended in time - in this moment permanently. You try to warn him as best as you can, but it comes out as a jumbled pile of mess and a breathless sob when your body seizes tight around him like it wants to take him for all he's worth. It zips up over you like something white and hot and consuming. Stars blanket over your vision, sweeping over your limbs and spine with a weight that knocks you down into his chest despite the hungry grind of your hips. 

It's with a worn gasp of your name that you feel him pulse deep inside of you, filling you with a warmth that you swear settles so far in the pit of your stomach that it has you going boneless. The colorful array of stars blinding your vision blot out and fizzle like you're staring into a sky full of fireworks as pleasure fizzles and wracks through your body bone deep. You seize over him, clamping down on his cock one last time and you distantly register him hissing lowly like he's been wounded. You aren't sure how long you lay like that. Suspended and doused in pleasure and heat, floating above your body. But when you come to, Farleigh's panting beneath you, drawing in heavy lungful's of air while his fingertips run along your ribcage, tracing over the bone. 

You take him in. The moment: the weight of him still nestled within your cunt; the scent of his cologne and sex in the air and the sound of your labored gasps. This is peace, you decide. Just him and you. His heat, his presence. Him. 

"I love you." 

The confession hangs heavy. For a moment you don't register who spoke it. If it was you or him. But the tone of it, smoky and rumbling, paired with the vibrations of a voice thrumming throughout the chest pressed underneath your ear let you know who had spoken. It has you lifting your head to look at him, but his gaze is focused on the ceiling like he's afraid to meet your astonished stare. Your lip's part, ready to speak and assure him. To share a confession of your own and let him know that his feelings are returned but then his voice is drifting out again, cutting you off before the words even leave your throat. 

"I've been wanting to say it for a while," he says. Something flickers across his face, vulnerable but steadfast. "But I waited. I just . . . I didn't want you think I was saying it because of what happened - because I was hurt." 

The admission breaks something it you. It isn't angry but sympathetic and loving. It's warm - gentle. It guides you to prop yourself on your elbows so that you're really able to look at him, and it draws his attention enough to have his eyes flickering onto your face. "It's . . . I have regrets from that night. That morning -" he pulls in a deep breath to steel himself and you move a hand to cup his face, hoping that it'll help to center him somewhat. You feel a bit of relief when he leans into your touch instead of pulling away, and some of the tension in his muscles slip. His eyes suddenly seem as though they're pinning you in place; dark and certain even though there's the hint of tears welling up around them. - " things I would have done differently. You aren't one of them." 

You can feel tears of your own threatening to spill over. But these are of joy. You swear you might actually burst. That the sun might appear within your chest and eat you alive. "I love you too." 

The smile that breaks across his face is euphoric and light. Like the weight of the world has just been lifted from his shoulders from your words alone. It has you dropping your head forward until your forehead nudges against his own and you're breathing his air. His hands sweep up to cradle your face, guiding you to look at him. And for the first time in your life, you truly know what it means to be gazed upon like you had hung the stars in the sky. Like you had suspended the moon in its dark cradle and lit the sun alight. To be looked at like you are everything. "Say it again." 

"I love you," you answer without hesitation, and all you can do is hope that your own eyes convey the sheer magnitude of your own feelings. That your voice properly projects the scope of your love for him. 

"Again," he begs like he's been starved, placing soft kisses along your face. 

"I love you, Farleigh Start. I always have." 

You hardly get time to register the fact that he's flipping you over, swapping your positions with a single move until your back is pressed into the cushion of the carpet. Suddenly he's taking up the entire expanse of your vision; dark eyes twinkling and alive. The laughs that leave you both are chiming - almost musical. Airy and entirely carefree. His lips brush over yours and his breath coasts over the shape of your face, and the only thing that you can smell, and feel is him. The warm, soothing weight of his body and the familiar scent of vanilla and cigarettes. 

"We're gonna get a noise complaint one of these days," you warn without any bite. 

His eyebrows raise, and the smile that stretches over his face is entirely unapologetic. "If the dude with the piano hasn't gotten any shit yet then we should be fine." He runs his nose along yours, nudging you to angle your head so that he can brush his lips over yours. "Fuck 'em." 

You can't hold back the small bout of laughter that puffs from your chest, even as you playfully roll your eyes. "Fuck 'em," you agree just before you meet in a burning kiss. 

[bambi-slxt]

🤍𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ~ 𝐩𝐭. 𝐨𝐧𝐞🤍

𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕠 𝕩 𝕗𝕖𝕞!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

previously titled Talk Dirty

word count: 1.7k

genres/tropes: romance, dealer!chris, sturniolo au, slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers

teaser: here

summary: Christopher Sturniolo has built an unshakeable empire in Los Angeles, California. He manages "business transactions" and "cargo export and intake" along with his two brothers, Matthew and Nicolas. One night the three gentlemen attend a high-end nightclub in the more affluent district and are met with a nervous bottle-girl working her first shift. Christopher strikes up conversation in the way only confident men can until an accident causes her to spill a drink on him. In a panic, she drags him to the bathroom to clean him up, and, quite amused, he lets her. Thus, their strange friendship begins.

warnings: drug usage, alcohol consumption, guns mentioned and used (non-sexual context), smut, mature themes and topics

notes from bambi: this is a multi-part series, and updates will be sporadic. lmk if you're interested in this one <3

Cassandra's POV:

The year I almost died held more excitement, danger, and tenacity than any one person deserves to encounter. Definitely more than I knew to prepare myself for…I wonder sometimes, as I look back on the events of these last few months, if the choice to go back and change anything is one I would make. 

But then, if I did, I would never have met Christopher Sturniolo, and I can confidently say he is worth every moment I spent at gunpoint.

My life as a bottle girl seems so far away now, though at the time, I couldn’t imagine anything more glamorous. Every darkened hour of my shift filled with music and soft neon, running trays of drinks beneath beautiful people on shining poles, weaving past tables covered with swaths of chips and cards and surrounded by only the most elite clientele Orange County, California so graciously offered.

It stands to mention that at the time I felt I had no talent, no prospects, and no education, and therefore would only get so far in life. Until Christopher, I sold myself short in every aspect of my life.

The hour of 2 a.m. always buzzed–the air itself breathed to the rhythm of some unknown heartbeat, all exemplified by the lively hum of the building of vices I called “work”. At 2:07 a.m. three gentlemen in dark suits accompanied by a small entourage were ushered into Private Room 9 and as I only just clocked in, I took them onto my books for the evening.

Pressing my hand on the opaque glass, I pushed the thin, floor-to-ceiling door inward and braced myself for whatever I might encounter. Working in the pleasure business left no room for shock or awe, and though I knew better than to comment on anything I may see, my face hadn’t quite picked up that particular skill.

The entourage caught my attention first. A dark-haired and strikingly beautiful young woman sat primly on a cushion near the darkest corner of the room, running her elegant fingernail along the edge of her empty glass. To one side of her sat a scantily-clad, gorgeously built man with a side shave, his curls tamed into a neat row down the back of his neck, and to the other side, one of the men in suits. I realized then that every man in a three-piece that sat before me also wore the same facial structure–I was looking at identical triplets. 

“You look so pretty!” the man with the side shave said to me, reaching over to lay an arm behind the girl.

“Thank you, sir, I try,” I responded, hoping to keep the conversation light and fast to disguise my glaring inexperience. I was rewarded with a simple chuckle–nice job. “How can I serve you tonight?”

One of the triplets spoke up. His voice had a gravelly quality that I made sure to note internally. “Pinot noir for the room, please.” He carried on with his individual order as I kept meticulous, if not shaky, written record in my notepad. 

“For you sir?” I directed this to another suited man, this one sporting a deep red tone to his hair. 

“Champagne, thank you.”

“Are we celebrating?”

The last triplet, who had up to this point remained silent, cracked a smile in the soft lighting. “You could say that.”

“And you, sir?”

He lounged in the plush couch beneath him as if completely at ease, which rendered me baffled–though perhaps this scene didn’t phase him as it did me. The first shift at a new job has a funny way of making you forget everything you’ve ever known.

“What do you recommend?” This one’s voice flowed like honey, smooth, slow, warm. 

I paused, thoughts trampling over themselves in an effort to tumble most ungraciously from my tongue. “...That depends, sir. What taste are you looking for?”

He waved his hand. “Christopher. Call me Christopher. You’re an employee, not a servant.”

The room chuckled along with him and returned to their own conversations. 

“Alright…Christopher,” I said, tasting the name for a moment before releasing it. “We have an excellent collection of reds, if you’d like a variety…Though I have to suggest the Oak Knoll Merlot, she has a bit of a plum taste without being too sweet,” I suggested. I clenched my fists slowly in the hope none of them would notice they’d previously been shaking–I really hoped I’d just told him the right shit, because if not, this night was about to go downhill very quickly.

Christopher nodded. “That one, then. Thank you.”

I dipped my head and turned to leave. 

“Miss,” his voice hummed, “What was your name?”

I looked back at Christopher and his loosened black tie, laid in such sharp contrast to his white button-down. “Cassandra.”

He smiled again. “Pleasure, Miss Cassie.”

I ducked out of the room as blush bloomed across my cheeks.

My heart thundered down to the main floor and all the way to the bar. With trembling hands I poured the wine, and unsure wrists did their best to support the tray of drinks. Weaving back through the crowd, I managed to keep from any mishaps, but only barely. One misstep and hundreds of dollars would splash all over patrons, staff, and the freshly cleaned floor–and off of my already-measly check. Finally off the social level, I ascended the underlit staircase and made my way toward the private rooms. The music pounded through the walls, our DJ losing himself in the height of his set, and the floor seemed to breathe in time with the sultry bass. Room 1, 3…5, there’s 7, 9, here we go…

I leaned against the door with my hip and entered the room once more. A faint, sweet smell touched my nose, and it twitched of its own accord.

“She’s back,” said Side Shave. “Hey, girl.”

“Hi,” I offered weakly, trying my hardest to focus on the drinks in hand. “Champagne…for you,” I said as I placed the tall flute in front of what I hoped was the right triplet. He smiled, revealing a small gap in his teeth. Dark red hair, gapped teeth…that’s one of them. Now how to tell the other two apart? 

“For you…” I murmured to the one with the gravelly voice, and he nodded his thanks. “The Pinoit for the room,” as I placed it on the low center table, “And the merlot for you, Mr. Christopher.”

At that moment, the glass door shattered into a thousand pieces, and I yelped, jumping in shock as the wine went flying all over Christopher.

Christopher's POV:

A man fell unconscious on the floor as bits of glass tinkled down around him. The culprit responsible for the door, I assumed. Looking around, I took note of the lack of injury, at least injury of the physical. Poor Cassandra stood frozen in shock, hands trembling, face drawn, taught with fear. “Matthew. Nicolas,” I said, “Please call security and have this man removed.” My brothers nodded and, after carefully stepping over the slovenly, drunken man on the floor, disappeared down the hall. “Ms. Thompson, take our lovely server to the bathroom please-” Tara stood to lead her out, but Cassandra suddenly leapt into action. 

“Your shirt, I am so sorry sir, let’s get you cleaned up, I–oh god, I’m so sorry, so sorry, I–” As she rambled, Cassandra took a firm and unyielding hold on my wrist, dragged me up from the couch, and before I could say a word, she tugged me around Tara and Larray, out through the door frame, past the arriving security guards, and down the darkened hallway. I blinked rapidly for a moment as my body ceased to become my own, held captive by the strange woman who led me toward…the bathroom? 

Sure enough, she ducked into the Women’s room, and I couldn’t help but smile a bit in apprehension. “What exactly are we doing in the restroom?”

Her breathing had become labored as she gulped oxygen around her stuttered apologies. “Your shirt, sir, it’s going to stain, we’ve got to–here I’ll just…”

My jaw went ever so slightly slack at the sight before me. Cassandra, who only moments before had been a simple picture of nightclub elegance, now furiously loosened my soaking tie, unbuttoned my dripping shirt, slipped them off my body, and threw them into the sink, running the water as cold as she could manage, scrubbing away at the red-stained fabric. “I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t mean to–You have to know that was an accident, oh god, I’m so sorry, so sorry–”

In her manic cleansing, she failed to notice my hand until it rested on her shoulder, at which point she jumped, and my lip twitched. “My apologies. I don’t think you’re of any use to anyone if you deprive your body of air and keel over dead on the tile.”

She stood stock still, panting from the exertion of the past few minutes, her eyes locked onto mine.

“I know this wasn’t your fault. It wounds me that you think I’d be so unfair,” I said with what I hoped was a comforting smile. “After all we’ve been through together, you really think I’d take something so accidental and make it so personal?” I prayed she understood the sarcasm.

Cassandra cracked a smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared, though I would have none of it. “I saw that smile. There’s no going back now, I’m afraid.”

She looked to the floor and took a moment to breathe, or so I assumed. When she turned her gaze to me again, I saw a pooling of tears at the base of her eyes. 

Change the subject, you idiot. “Where did you learn the cold water trick for wine stains?” I asked, hoping to give her time to recover.

Cassandra went back to scrubbing relentlessly at my now-sopping wet shirt. “I know that cold water is best for blood stains, so I assumed it would work for wine as well,” she said quietly, the soft hiss of the water almost beating her out for volume. I snorted. “Do you deal often with blood-stained clothing?” Her gaze snapped to mine, and, realizing my mistake, Of course she does, you dolt, she’s a woman, I tried to recover myself. “Or do you take every man to the bathroom and strip him naked?” And now you’ve accused her of prostitution. Zero for three, Christopher.

pt two: here

request to be on the taglist here

thanks for reading!

- bambi <3

[saintsugu]

BAD HABITS. KINKTOBER DAY 2

rating: mature; mdni

pairing: rindou haitani x fem!reader

wc: 6k

content warnings: explicit content, bonten timeline rindou, sort of cnc/dubcon, drugs (pcp + laced weed) + a fairly unrealistic depiction of a high (rindou’s side), mentions of violence/murder, degradation, slight slut shaming, choking, oral (f!receiving), slight usage of a safe word/action.

author’s note: reposted fic !

You let out a deep breath as nicotine saturates your senses. It’s a feeling you’ve been familiar with for a while now. Your body feels lighter and your mind is more at ease. You know that it isn’t true peace, but it’s nice to feel it momentarily—even if it’s fake. 

Everyone has their vice, their own little escape from this wretched life that they lead. Drugs, sex, alcohol, whatever it might be. Whether we recognize it or not, we use it, and we abuse it to help ourselves. 

You haven’t really found yours. You’ve found small things that help you calm down and cope a bit, but you haven't found that special depravity. You’ve smoked several times with Sanzu— even dropped acid with him on occasion— but it never appealed to you as much as it did him. Ran’s invited you to go drinking as well, but you aren’t a heavy drinker like him. No matter what it is, nothing gets you off like it does with the other people here. Maybe it’s because you have a bigger chip on your shoulder— or maybe there’s no reason at all. 

The sound of traffic has always helped calm you, though. You figure that it’s because you grew up around it. Since getting high or drunk doesn’t scratch that itch, over the years you’ve found that the best thing you can do is go up to the roof for a smoke. 

“Thought I’d find you up here.” 

“I came up here for peace and quiet,” you don’t need to turn around to know who’s standing behind you. “It’s no longer peaceful or quiet with someone else up here.”

“Funny.” It’s as if you can hear the way he rolls his eyes when he speaks.Rindou knows exactly why you come up here, so he sees straight through your answer easily. “Why’d you really come up here?”

“Sanzu’s high out of his mind and it’s annoying me.” He hums in agreement, but doesn’t say anything; as if he’s waiting for you to continue. “And I’m sick of all this infighting,” you begrudgingly admit. 

Today, nothing went as planned and everyone’s been blaming each other. Takeomi pissed Rindou off during the mission, so naturally, Ran is pissed at Takeomi. Sanzu somehow believes that Kakucho is at fault, and like usual, Kokonoi has done nothing but fuel the fire with his snide remarks. The worst part about it all, is that you don’t even care. You just want everyone to shut the fuck up— or for better lack of words, you just want some goddamn peace and quiet. 

“There it is.” Finally, you turn your head around, solely to shoot him a glare. “Come back inside with me. I’ll get your mind off things. We can fuck around, it’ll be fun.”

“Wow. Way to sugarcoat things, Rin’.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You hear his quiet chuckle decorating the words, and you swear your lips curl up in amusement at the sound. 

“So what, you have new drugs you want to try?” You raise an eyebrow, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. 

“Correct, but you don’t have to try them with me. Just want you to keep me company, in case I, you know, go into cardiac arrest or something.” A small laugh bubbles out of your throat, despite the joke really not being that funny. You worry about Rindou a lot— all of them, truthfully. Your feet feel heavier than usual as you follow him back down the stairwell. 

Rindou is a lot different when the lights go dark and you’re left to yourselves. He’s a lot less guarded. You figure it’s just because he doesn’t have to worry about keeping up appearances, with Bonten or his brother, but either way, it makes you feel good that he trusts you enough to be a little vulnerable around you. 

“So, what is Sanzu on for him to be pissing you off so much?” He muses. 

“Shit ton of acid,” you answer, cringing at the memory of the man talking in his circles. He was rambling on and on, yet you couldn’t even understand his words due to the speed at which they left his mouth. You nodded in your head out of pure confusion for nearly 15 minutes before escaping to the roof. “He was about to snort a line before I left, too.”

“I don’t blame you for leaving.”

Currently, you’re staying at Bonten’s base. Most everyone has their own place, but sometimes they still stay here regardless. Sometimes it’s safer, and for others, it’s just more convenient. For you, it’s the latter. 

The only current people occupying the building right now are you, Sanzu, and Rindou. Haruchiyo’s access to drugs is more limited when he’s at his own place— due to Mikey’s rules— so he ends up spending more time at the base. And Rindou is only here because his brother’s fling of the week is staying in their shared apartment. You, on the other hand, don’t really have a reason. Just like them, you have your own place and you go back to it sometimes, but it feels so lonely compared to here. 

The elevator stops on the fifth floor, which serves as a lobby and leads to everybody’s rooms. When the doors open, Sanzu is sprawled out on the couch. Little white lines decorate the glass coffee table, as well as a credit card and a few opened pill bottles. Sanzu isn’t going to die from a gun or a blade— you swear  his own addiction is what will kill him in the end; you pray that you won’t be around to see it happen.

“What do you have in store for us today?” You ask as you follow him into his room and he closes the door behind you. 

His room is fairly bland. The walls are coated with the same base of gray that decorates yours as well as every other executive. The room’s layout is similar to your own, but with his bed against the middle of the wall, it feels a little less spacious. Small piles of clothes clutter his wooden floor— taking up whatever space isn’t already covered by his rug. It’s not exactly messy, per say, but it’s not spotless, either. 

It’s probably because you were just outside, but you can’t help but notice how incredibly hot it is in Rindou’s room. It’s nothing he hasn’t already seen, so you have no qualms about unbuttoning your dress shirt and letting it hang open. Still, you don’t miss the way lavender eyes flit down to the blue fabric for a moment. 

“Let me find it.” His words are mumbled together as he kneels before the nightstand beside his bed. “I hid it in case that little shit out there came looking for it.”

It’s noisy as he knocks around things in the drawer, not trying to even be remotely gentle as he looks for it. It doesn’t take long for him to shut the drawer and stand up with a small baggie of pills in his hand. 

“Ta-da,” he simply says, sliding onto the bed with you. 

You aren’t as knowledgeable as the two bonten executives when it comes to drugs, so you ask, “What is it?” 

“Angel dust.” There’s a small grin on his face as he opens the bag. “Knabbed it off the shipment from last week.”

“Ah,” you nod, watching as he pulls out three of the little white capsules. “You seem excited.”

“Cause I am,” he chuckles. “I’ve been wanting to try this shit for ages. Do you think three is too much?”

You softly nod your head in agreement. “Maybe a bit,” watching as he drops a pill back into the bag and the leftovers into his mouth. 

There’s a soft smile on his face as he turns his gaze to you. “Now we wait.”

For a while, you were against this—the drugs, but you learned to deal with it, even to participate in it. You’re a fugitive, a truth that came a little too harshly for you. You realized that in the end, it really didn’t matter for people like you. You’re able to gamble with your own life as much as you want because you have no idea the next time you’ll come home from the field. So, people like Sanzu and Rindou will find their freedom in little white pills, while you sit back and watch, silently hoping nothing will go wrong. 

A few minutes of silence pass before he speaks up in an alarmed tone. “Oh shit, I got something special for you, too,” he mumbles as he crawls off the bed and returns to his place on the floor. “I almost forgot.”

His search is faster than it was the first time, but as he stands up, you watch him stumble a bit. His hands are quick to grab the edge of his nightstand and you swear that his grip is so tight that he could splinter the wood. 

“Rin, you okay?” You figure the drugs are kicking in, but even so, neither of you know how thiswill affect him. 

“Yeah.” His voice is shaky and you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut; more than likely trying to focus on something other than whatever shit he’s currently seeing. “Just give me a moment.”

You’re sitting up now, eyes trained on him and chest filling with worry. He takes a deep breath and then returns to his spot on the bed. “‘m okay now.”

While he changes the cart in his wax pen, you settle behind him. You let your hand run up the sides of his arms until they reach his neck. He lets out a low and quiet moan as you dig your fingers into the skin. You continue on and when he drops his head, taking it as an opportunity to press a kiss into the side of his neck.

His voice sounds light as he chuckles, “Shit, you’re good at this.” You feel him shiver as you lick a stripe up his neck and he’s quickly turning his head away. “Stop distracting me or I’ll never get this shit done.”

He returns to the work he was doing and you lean your chin on his shoulder, eyes fixed on his hands and the way they move. He swaps out the carts and throws the old one into the trash can a few feet in front of him. “Here, it’s for you.”

“Ooh, lucky me,” you chuckle, taking the device in your hand and lifting it to your lips. 

You take three large inhales and return to your assault on his neck as you wait for them to take effect. 

In contrast to your usual highs, it only takes about five minutes for it to start to settle in your system. The hits wash over you like a tidal wave. Usually, three would barely be anything for you, but this… “Holy shit, this isn’t regular weed, is it?” 

“It's spiced,” he answers, words sounding tired and a bit slurred. 

Intense wouldn’t even be the right word to describe it. You can feel everything and it’s almost nauseating. Even the low-light of Rindou’s ceiling fan is overwhelming your brain. There’s an odd buzzing from outside in the hall, and it’s far too loud for your liking. God, even your clothes make your skin itch. In an attempt to feel better, you lay back down on the bed. As soon as your back hits the matress, he’s there right next to you, greedy hands pulling you closer to him.

You’ve had highs like this before, but never from a pen or weed in general. You’re too aware of everything going on. Rindou’s hands on your body, his warm breath on your skin, the cool draft coming from the vent in the corner of his room—hell, even the clothes you’re wearing. 

You flinch as his tongue makes contact with your skin and it’s no surprise that you’re also more sensitive. You suck in a deep breath, trying to focus on something in the room to calm yourself down. “You didn’t just bring me up here for drugs, did you, Rin?” You both know the answer to that question and it’s only confirmed when he chuckles into your skin. 

“Maybe not,” he mumbles, not giving you any sort of warning as he sinks his teeth into your tender skin. 

“Fuck,” you swear, eyes snapping shut as soon as you feel it. It feels good, yet it’s nearly overwhelming. For some reason, you think eliminating your sight will help rein yourself in. “Rin, you can’t just do that.” 

He doesn’t respond, simply flashing you a lazy smirk—that you can’t even see— and tonguing over the fresh mark. “Baby,” he slurs out, fingers beginning to dig into your waist. “Want you.” He lays a kiss on the base of your neck. “Need you.” Another on your collarbone. 

It feels so different from every other time you’ve been with him. You’ve been high during sex before, but it’s never been like this. Every touch lights your skin on fire, every word makes your mind cloud with lust. At this point, even if you aren’t voicing it, you’d do anything to fuck him. 

“Then take me.” What’s meant to be a statement, comes out as a quiet moan. 

If someone were to ask, you wouldn’t be able to pinpoint when exactly this started happening. You’ve known Rin for years and it just  of…of…a happened. 

You aren’t able to remember the details, but you can remember the fact that you were both drunk and in desperate need of physical contact. It started off as a mistake, then an outlet for stress, and then somewhere along the lines, it morphed into a habit.

Deft fingers fiddle with the waistband of your slacks, and you can tell that he momentarily forgets about the zipper and button because he lets out a frustrated grunt as he tugs at them. You move to do it yourself, but he quickly realizes his mistakes. 

You lift your hips when you feel him clutch the fabric and he’s quick to tug the clothing as far down your legs as he can. You help him the rest of the way and your pants end up somewhere on the floor. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he sits up, movements a bit sluggish from the drugs. A chill is sent down your spine as his hands grip both of your thighs, spreading them a bit and making you involuntarily clench at the feeling. You swear you can see him drooling a bit at the view. 

You try to close them, to push against his hands, but like every other time you’ve tried before, he’s far too strong. 

Today’s mission was especially stressful for the both of you. Unncessary killing took place, and while that wouldn’t normally be a big deal for someone as famous as one of the Haitiani brothess, he knows how you feel about shit like that. You aren’t proud of your ‘line of work’, no one here really is (with the exception of Sanzu, maybe), but he can tell that your moodin particulary gets affected by that. 

When you two got back— even though you weren’t sure when it would be— you knew you should be ready for him to pull you into his room and fuck you into the mattress. 

You made a point of putting on Rindou’s favorite lingerie: a lace and flowery set, a thong with a matching bralette, in a teal color that ‘reminds me of my hair in the old days’. Now, you’re starting to rethink your decision, due to that look in his eyes when he sees them. 

“Shit, Rin, give me…wait.” Words are failing you. Your brain feels very overwhelmed. It’s not that you don’t want this, you just don’t know how well you’re going to be able to handle it. 

He easily keeps them spread, pinning them to the sheets as if to prove some kind of point. “Gotta taste you ‘fore I go insane.”

He’s painfully slow as he licks a stripe against your clothed cunt. Even though he’s out of it, he’s still using his old tricks. 

With your eyes pointed at the ceiling and your stomach tightened out of pure anticipation, you feel the man tap his fingers against the soft skin of your thigh. 

“Eyes on me, doll.”

Even his words are setting off something inside of you. It’s as if whatever you took opened up a whole new part of your brain and your body. Now your eyes are staring deep into his as he carefully pulls your panties down. The tips of his fingers drag alongside your hips, the calloused skin tickling your own in a way that makes you almost shiver. 

You can’t tell if it’s from the contact, the anticipation of what he’s planning, or just simply the look in his eyes. With the flimsy material out of the way, he runs his tongue over his upper lip and leans closer. 

It’s easy to feel his hot breath against your bare skin and it drives you crazy. He starts by leaving messy kisses on your inner thighs, sucking multiple bruises as he goes. He’s surprisingly teasing for a man who’s desperate. 

“Rin, fuck,” you swear, breath shaky. “Just do something.”

The first contact his tongue has with your clit, has you quietly moaning, head pushed back a little as you savor the feeling. Sadly, the feeling is short-lived as he quickly pulls away and presses a kiss against your thigh to get your attention. 

He stares up at you through tired eyes, and you swear that you have to hold back a moan at his words. “I gave you an order, didn’t I?”

Once your eyes are trained back on him, he returns to his previous actions. His tongue licks a long stripe in between your folds and then a few kitten licks against your clit. He repeats this a few times and it easily gets you borderline panting—especially with the added effect of the drugs. 

Your hand finds its way to his hair, and he lets out a deep groan as you grip the strands and push him deeper into your pussy. After one last lick, he takes the puffy bud into his mouth, eliciting a heavenly sound from you. He moans in harmony with you, fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your thighs. 

He finds it so cute the way you’re fighting the urge to close your eyes— the way you’re trying your best to obey him. After all, it’s the least you can do after shutting him out all day. He was really worried about you, and it’s up to you to make it up to him with those pretty moans of yours. 

You don’t question the way one of his hands leaves your leg, but your eyes shoot open when he pushes two fingers inside of you. 

“R-Rin,” you manage to say, the feeling more intense than it has been in a long time. “I don’t think—”

You whine at the loss of contact as he pulls his lips away to speak, resting his head against your inner thigh. “How do you think you’re gonna be able to take my cock, if you can’t even handle two fingers?”

You don’t even have a response, too focused on the way the pads of his fingers brush against your g-spot with ease. He’s sloppier than usual. He doesn’t have those precise and practiced movements that usually have you screaming his name. The drugs are probably responsible for it, but your own drugs are making the experience more than enjoyable. 

“Rin,” you moan out, barely even sure of what you’re about to say. 

“What is it, doll?” His voice sounds tired, yet it maintains that teasing lilt. 

While you struggle to answer what exactly it is, he busies himself by sucking on the fat of your thigh; no doubt littering it with marks. 

“I need more.” You barely choke out the words, eyebrows furrowed as you stare at the man in between your legs. 

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you can barely handle this.” To further get his point across, he abruptly presses hard into your sweet spot. 

You can’t control the loud moan that leaves your lips as your eyes roll back. Your hips jerk against his mouth and you know that you’re almost at your breaking point. 

“Besides, weren’t you just complaining that it was too much?” 

It’s that unparalleled confidence that has always drawn you towards him. Even though he’s probably tripping out of his mind right now, he’s still as cocky as ever. As an executive, you have a lot riding on your shoulders; a lot of responsibility and a lot of choices to make. So it’s nice to have someone take control every now and then, even if it’s just during sex. 

“Please don’t stop.” You can’t even register how loud your cries are, your mind too focused on him to worry about keeping quiet. “Please, Rin, please.”

He can feel the way your thighs shake beside his head and goddamnit, it’s really been way too long since he’s gotten you like this. There’s only been time for quickies before meetings or after missions. He hasn’t had enough time to get you shaking for him in a long time, and fuck, has he missed it. 

“R-Rin,” you whine. “Rin. Want to—shit.”

“What’s that?” He hums, a condescending tone clothed by faux sympathy. “What do you need?”

You sound high out of your mind when you slur the words, “I want to cum on your cock.”

He can feel himself twitch when you speak. On one hand, he wants to make you work harder for it, but on the other hand—the compulsive hand that currently has a lot more control in his decision-making— he wants to fuck you, and he wants to fuck you right now. 

“Fuck, you’re so needy.” The strangled grunt he lets out sounds animalistic as he pulls away from you. 

You whine at the loss of contact, but he successfully shuts you up with his mouth on yours. His hands fumble with his belt as he nips at your lips, too high to worry about how he’s wasting all of your arousal by accidentally getting them on his pants. The kiss is sloppy, all teeth and tongue as he leans his frame against you. 

You’re too busy entangling your hands in his hair to notice how far along he is in stripping, the only way you can know is when you hear the sound of his belt hitting the floor. 

“Gonna fuck you real good.” Everything he does and says gets you even more drunk. You’re drunk on his taste, his touch, just him. It might be an exaggeration, but you’ve never wanted to fuck him more than in this moment. 

You whine his name, hands grabbing at his jaw to pull him closer to you. You moan into his mouth when you feel his tip push into you, slowly starting to stretch you out. 

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive,” he curses at the way you tighten around him, making it almost impossible for him to even bottom out. 

If it wasn’t for the drugs numbing his senses, he might’ve not been able to handle this. The way you're squeezing him and calling his name, even in this drugged-up state, he’s going to need to get a grip or else he might not last for long. 

You arch your back against the mattress as he finally fills you up to the hilt. Your hands travel down to his back, and he moans when you drag your nails against his skin, leaving bright red lines in their wake. 

During the time you’ve spent with him, you’ve learned all of his little tells, and he’s done the same with you. You know what makes him tick, what his breaking point is, and how exactly to get him there. You also know that he has a fixation with pain. 

Neither of you have talked about it; there hasn’t been a need. It was understood that he liked it in a sexual sense, but for a long time, you didn’t know the nature of it. He can be sadistic when he fights and has always gotten a sense of fulfillment when his skin is painted red, but that doesn’t transfer over to the bedroom. When he’s here with you, he wants to be hurt. Whether that be you pulling his hair or digging your nails into him until he bleeds, it drives him crazy. 

His strokes are messy. It’s more of him rutting his hips against yours, rather than fluid motions. Even though it isn’t precise like it usually is, it still feels so damn good. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin. 

Your chest is pressed against his, nipples rubbing against him through the thin fabric of your bralette as you push your head into the pillow. “Rin,” you gasp out as his teeth bite down on your neck, quickly soothing the mark with his tongue. When his hand slips down and he messily rubs the pads of his finger against your clit, you cum on the spot. 

He lets out a growl into your neck as you clamp down on his cock, whispering words of how fucking dirty you are. He wants to cum so bad, wants to fill you up to the brim so much that it hurts, but due to the hallucinogens in his system, he needs extra stimulation to get to that point. 

His pace never falters, continuously fucking into your abused cunt. It doesn’t take long for tears to well up in your eyes. 

“Rindou, s-slow down.” Unfortunately, your cries fall on deaf ears. He’s too focused to listen to the weight of your words. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“You can and you will,” he grunts. 

It hurts but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t also feel good. You don’t know if you physically can take it, but goddamnit, you’ll try your best. You know that no matter how fucked out of his mind he is, he’ll stop if you say the safe word, so you’ll keep that tucked away until the last possible moment.

Tears fall down your cheeks and Rindou has to admit that it has to be one of the prettiest sights he’s seen. There’s part of him that feels bad for this, for pushing you to your limits, but seeing you like this makes him want to tear you apart. He wants to get you to those limits and push you beyond that point. 

“God, you’re so fucking tight. Acting like you don’t like this… dirty fucking slut.” His words are followed by a loud and almost pornographic moan. “Sucking me in like this, but bitching about how you can’t take it. P-Pick one—fuck.”

It doesn’t take long for you to cum again. It’s more forced and rushed this time, but it still feels euphoric all the same. Now, as he still fails to slow down, you think you might actually pass out. 

You’re sobbing at this point, moaning and whining, begging him to stop, but he doesn’t. He just keeps fucking you like an animal in heat— a beast.

“Rindou, please.” You sound pathetic, you know that, but if he keeps going, he’s going to break you. 

“Shut up,” he growls, his hand finding its way to your throat. “You’ve whored yourself out to the rest of Bonten, you can handle this.”

His palm presses against the skin, fingers wrapping against the sides of your neck as he applies minimal pressure. 

“I haven’t, please, Rindou..!” You deny his accusations, desperately shaking your head. 

“Stop lying to me,” he speaks through gritted teeth as he ruts into you. “You’ve slept with my fucking brother, so you’re gonna take what I give you.”

You and Ran fooled around a long time ago, and it was also a while before anything happened between you and Rindou. He knows it was purely sex and it doesn’t bother him that much nowadays, but sometimes, the thought of anyone else getting to see you like this sends him into a feral state. 

His speed picks up and his grip on you tightens. His release is close by, right there on the tips of his fingers, but in chasing it, he’s hurting you. He should feel bad, he partially does, but it feels so blissful that he can’t bring himself to stop. How can he when you’re sucking him in like this?

His palm squeezes your throat in an uncomfortable way, and just like that, your ability to breathe is out the window. It always feels good when he chokes you, but it’s not exactly rare for him to accidentally o a bit overboard.

You lightly tap your fingers against his wrist, three times to signify the ‘safeword’ just as you have every time before, but he doesn’t stop. Your eyes widen in surprise as he keeps applying pressure. At this point he’s pressing you down into the mattress. 

You repeat the action, a bit harder this time. You’re starting to panic but he continues. You trust that Rindou would and will never hurt you, not on purpose at least, but this is alarming. It’s never happened before and you don’t know why it’s happening now. Until it hits you. 

You didn’t calculate the drugs running through him. His senses are numbed, he probably can’t even feel it. You tug on his wrist with both of your hands, but it still doesn’t get through to him. You're losing your strength due to the foggy feeling in your head, and you’re starting to run  out of options. You don’t know what to do. You try and pull his hair, but his only reaction is a muffled moan into your neck. 

You’re scared. You’re tired, weak, and far past overstimulated. Now you can’t even breathe. You want to be done. You’ll suck him off so that he cums, but you can’t do this anymore—

All of those thoughts leave your head as he buries himself deep inside of you one last time and reaches his orgasm. As soon as you feel him start to fill you up, you’re cumming with him. 

“Fuck, baby—fuck, fuck, fuck,” he rambles, too lost in pleasure to make coherent statements. 

His grip starts to loosen up after his high peaks and you gasp for air as it does. Your body is still shaking despite the pressure on your throat being gone. You genuinely thought you were about to pass out. That’s…never happened before. Rindou has always been tentative and in tune with your reactions. The only other time you had to use your safeword, he was backing off in an instant. You let out a shaky breath as you try to gather yourself on the comedown from your high. 

When your eyes finally land back on Rindou, he looks scared shitless. Even though he’s exhausted, his energy comes back in the form of panic. He pulls his half-softened dick out as he leans back to look at you. “Oh my god, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I just—”

“I’m so sorry baby, I don’t—I’m sorry I was so rough. Shit,” he curses at himself. 

“Rindou, calm down.” You rub your finger against his cheek and the way he leans into your hand is fucking adorable. “You didn’t mean to, you just didn’t notice when I tapped your wrist.’”

“Fuck,” he groans, laying his head on your chest andturning his cheek to press it against your skin. “I’m so sorry, doll.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.” Okay isn’t the right word at this moment, but you don’t need him any more panicked or upset than he already is. All that will do is make you more upset in turn. You’ll discuss this again, once you’re both sober. 

“What can I do?” He nuzzles his head into you, laying between your legs. “Would a bath help?”

“Yeah, it would,” you smile at him, running your hand through his lavender hair. 

What started as a hookup and led to a habit, has now turned into something you genuinely couldn’t live without. 

In the end, 

Rindou is your vice. 

tagging: @chaoticmoonave @dilfhos @kkittycries @enchantedforest-network @seraphdreams

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 00 Chapter 00 | Blurb⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Aizawa coughed, a wet, bloody sound that echoed in the tense silence. A spray of crimson splattered across your cheek, a stark reminder of his vulnerability. He managed to wheeze out a single word, vice weak and raspy. ❝Villain...❞his gaze hardening despite his weakened state.

❝Always so quick to label,❞ you chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. ❝Perhaps villain isn't the right word. Let's just say... I have a different vision for this world, Aizawa-sensei. And you, with your unwavering sense of justice, would just stand in my way.❞

With narrowed eyes, Aizawa, his face haggard and drawn, rasped out, ❝I knew you'd...*Cough*... become an issue.❞ His haggard figure, his labored breathing—it only fueled your twisted sense of amusement.

Tilting your head, a slow, chilling smile spread across your face. It wasn't quite playful, but held a hint of something predatory, like a cat toying with its prey.

Leaning down even closer, you brushed the tip of your nose along the side of his wounded face, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the adrenaline thrumming in the air. The contrast of your smooth skin against his rough, blood-stained flesh sent a spark of something dark through you.

❝Oh, you haven't seen a real issue yet~❞you purred, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper, the sound sending shivers down his weakened spine.

Slowly, you trailed your nose along the contours of his jawline, stopping just a hair's breadth away from his own. ❝Not by a long shot,❞ you breathed, your voice barely above a murmur. Then, with a final, teasing touch, your nose bumped against his.

With a final smirk, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his temple. Before Aizawa could react, you took control. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, flickered once before glossing over completely. His jaw slackened, his body a puppet on a string.

You had seized the reins.

..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

Humans.

Oh, how you despised them.

As the Control Devil, you couldn't help but see them for what they truly were: inferior pests that belong beneath your thumb.

So imagine your surprise that you found yourself dying at the hands of one and waking up in a world where 'Quirks' define one's worth, with no recollection of who you were.

But as whispers of your past life soon began seeping through the cracks of your new reality, you decided that a life without your reverend Pochita wasn't a life worth living.

So the question remains: What's left for you to do? ..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

╭─↬ ❗𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆❗ ↫─╮ There will be mentions/descriptive scenes of the following:

╭ ⁞ ❏. Language ┊ ⁞ ❏. Stalker-Like Tendencies ┊ ⁞ ❏. Toxic/Manipulative Behavior ┊ ⁞ ❏. Alcohol Usage ┊ ⁞ ❏. Gore/Violence ┊ ⁞ ❏. Apathetic/Antisocial Behavior ┊ ⁞ ❏. Minor/Major Character Deaths ┊ ⁞ ❏. Yandere Tendencies

Lol, I don't know if I got them all, so if you see anything I didn't list, come back and comment right here so I can add them to the list later ➡

Enjoy (•͈˽•͈)

[ladystarksneedle]

Virtue and Vice

Aemond x maid reader

A/N: I've decided to make this a mini series, after a bit of inspiration. Thank you so much for reading 💕

Dividers by @saradika

(Ongoing)

Summary: As the realm tears itself apart, a maid at the keep grapples with the changes wrought upon them under the watchful eye of an ever wanting dragon.

Part I: The eye of awe

Part II: The eye of desire

Part III: The eye of envy

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, period typical sexism, usage of derogatory language, implied smut, spoilers for house of the dragon season 2, mentions of death, attempted assault, period typical crimes and their punishments, canon divergence.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @b00kw0rmsworld

[i-am-baechu]

Chapter Ten

Wishes (M) (Season One) 

Summary: After a long day of classes, Min Yoongi decides to take a break at the music hall that has become his second home. He walks in with his cigarette lit and his blank expression quickly changes when he sees a girl playing his piano. The moment their eyes meet, their lives become complicated and Yoongi blames himself for her future pain. Was the love we had honest? 

Genre: Gang au!, college au!,  strangers to enemies (one-sided), strangers to lovers, slow burn, friendships, romance, angst,  little comedy, and smut

Main pairing: Gang leader! Min Yoongi x Pianist! Reader 

Warnings: Explicit language, smut, mature themes, gangs, violence, smoking cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol usage 

Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of death, guns, and injury. Also sorry this chapter is a big one and this is where the story will start to pick up :D

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I went to a work party and I got drunk. I spent the whole day recovering : D. If you are under the age please don’t drink and if you are at the age, don’t be fucking stupid like me for fuck sakes <3

⇜ Masterlist ⇝

Taking a chance in life can lead you down paths that you didn’t even know existed. There’s always good in the bad and vice versa. Even the smallest chance can change your life. Even when things seem so confusing, it's going to make sense. One way or another, it's going to make sense. At least that’s what you tell yourself because everyone just wants clarity in life. 

“Will you have this dance with me?”

Y/N glanced down at Yoongi’s hand and smiled, “I suppose.” 

“Please Y/N, one dance.”

The look on Yoongi’s face made Y/N nervous. It was a face that held secrets and those secrets were bursting out. Secrets that she knew he was hiding from her. Was it his guilt? Was he finally going to tell her the truth? Y/N nodded her head and placed her hand in his, “Okay..but I want you to tell me something.” 

“Anything.”

Anything...

Ten Hours Ago 

Yoongi stared at the screen and then cracked his neck. He turned his head towards Hoseok with a tense look, “He’s going to be there at the party with Joo Won?” 

Hoseok nodded his head and closed his laptop, “It appears that Joo Won has been working with Eunwoo for six years.” 

“When did Joo Won become known?”

Jimin let out a small cough and put his hands in his pockets, “He killed someone four years ago. The person was just random.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and took his phone out of his pocket, “In nine hours, we will have the party. Eunwoo will be there and this is going to be our chance.”  

Jungkook put his gun down and turned towards Yoongi with a worried look, “What about Y/N? Does she know what we're doing?” 

Jin glared at him and flicked his forehead, “Don’t mention her name.” 

Yoongi sighs and sees that Y/N called him four times. He knew there was something wrong with her but he didn’t want to pressure her. Ever since two days ago, he has been worried. It was as if the soul was sucked out of her and she wasn’t living that day. He waited for her at her school but she never came out. Taehyung was the one who found out that she stayed home. He told him that Y/N didn’t leave her room and it looked like her parents were struggling to talk to her. Whatever was on her mind, it was bad. 

He put his phone back in his pocket and turned towards his group, “No fucking up.”

“Yes, boss!” 

Y/N sighed and tossed her phone. She wasn’t shocked that Yoongi wasn’t picking up her calls. If she was hiding something, she would avoid the person she was lying to. It’s that simple but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. 

“Y/N?”

She turned around and smiled at Dawon. Dawon gave her a worried look and sat next to her with two cups, “I made us tea.” 

“I appreciate it.” Y/N took the tea and took a small sip of the golden liquid. She placed the cup on the coffee table and stared at the cup with a frown, “What would you do if you were being lied to?” 

Dawon raised her eyebrow and placed her cup down, “You've been lied to?”

“hypothetically.” 

Dawon nodded her head and looked at Y/N, “Knowing you...you would do anything to find the truth. Y/N, please be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Would you still talk to that person?” 

“No, a person that lies will continue to lie. No matter what. They see it as a tool in a relationship, it makes them think they're the ones in charge.” 

Y/N bit her lip and looked away, “Even if they're protecting you... per se.” 

“Y/N, what’s going on?” 

Y/N shook her head and picked her tea up, “Sorry...it’s just mental gymnastics.” 

Dawon placed her hand on Y/N’s knee with a worried look, “You can tell me anything.”

“I’ll tell you when I figure it out myself.” 

Dawon sighed and nodded her head, “Don’t keep me in the dark.”

“I don’t even know what’s going on, Dawon. I think it's just my mind...”

Dawon went to say something but Y/N’s mother came in with a wide grin, “Are you girls ready to get ready?”

Y/N nodded her head and took another sip of her tea, “Yes.” She sat up and stared at her phone that was on the cushion. She picked up the phone and let out a sad chuckle, nothing. 

Y/N asked her mother if she could have a breather and her mother finally agreed after her father begged her. Y/N walked towards the park and she tilted her head when she saw someone familiar, “Yoongi?”

He looked up from his phone and gave her a soft smile. The rare softness from Yoongi sent warmth to her heart but she tried to erase this feeling, “Hey.” 

Y/N scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, “Hey? Is that all you can say to me?”

Yoongi frowned and got up from the swing. He walked towards Y/N and unfolded her arms. He intertwined their hands together and rubbed her knuckles, “I’m sorry...I’ve been busy.”

“Been busy? With the case?”

“Stop bringing up the case.” 

Y/N let go of his hand and shook her head, “Yoongi, I have every right to know. It’s my life.” 

“I know it's your life.”

“Then tell me.” 

Yoongi sighed and stared down at the grass below, what the hell was he supposed to say? He couldn’t give her the whole truth because it would break her heart. Especially when it involves Joo Won. That little fucker has been ruining her life even before Yoongi entered. Y/N could’ve gotten killed like that random person. Yoongi ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head, “You make things so hard.”

“Then make it easier! Just tell me something.”

“Fine, the person that’s trying to kill you is going to be at the party tonight.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed and she frowned at this, “Wh-What?”

“I didn’t want to tell you anything...the person who wants you dead is going to be at the party.” 

“Wh-Who is it?” 

I can’t tell her...fuck I can’t, “I’m not sure yet. We’re still figuring it out. I’ll take care of it.”

“How do you have the jurisdiction to do this?”  

“I told you, Namjoon-”

Y/N shook her head and looked away, “I know but what gives you the jurisdiction to take action?” 

“Well, we’re rookies.” 

“You're a cop?”

Yoongi nodded his head and grabbed her hand, “I’ll protect you.”  Even if I have to lie to you. I’ll protect you no matter what. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this in the beginning?” 

“You would put yourself in more danger.” 

“Are you hiding anything else from me?”

Yoongi shook his head but Y/N saw his eyes. His eyes told so much and she doesn’t even think he realized it. She sighed and looked away, “I have to go...I have to finish getting ready.” 

“In an hour, meet me here. I want to take you to the garden.” 

She nodded her head, “Fine, you do remember that you're my date. Right?” 

“I do remember. That’s why I want to take you to the garden before I take you to the party.”

“What am I going to tell my parents?” 

“Tell them the truth. You're meeting your date somewhere and coming to the party.” 

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “You make it sound like it's easy. I’ll tell my dad then...he’s more on my side.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Yoongi, please don’t hurt me.”

Yoongi saw her eyes and they pleaded for security. Security that he wasn’t sure he was giving her at this moment, but he was going to try. “I won’t hurt you.” 

She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, “Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

She walked away and Yoongi watched with a smile on his face. Y/N covered her mouth, stopping herself from crying. She knew Yoongi was lying but she couldn’t stop herself from caring about him. Maybe there were some lies that needed to be set to protect her. She wanted to see him in a good light and everything but it didn’t sit right with her. 

She entered the house and her father was waiting for her, “You okay flower?” 

“Dad...I have to leave an hour early. I’m meeting my date somewhere.” 

Her dad's eyes widened and slowly nodded his head, “Is this person you're falling for?” 

“I think...I don’t know but I guess I’m giving it a chance..” I hope that choice doesn’t crush me even more.

“Taking a chance can open new paths, I’ll support you. I’ll tell your mother that you had last-minute changes in the dress.”  

Y/N smiled at this and kissed her dad’s cheek, “Thank you, dad.”

“Of course my flower. Now go get ready before your mother gets mad.” 

“Y/N! Are you back!?” 

Y/N let out a small laugh and looked at the stairs, “Too late...Coming!” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

She did what Yoongi told her to do. She left the house and went to the garden. It was harder to walk the path when you have heels on but she tried her best to keep her heels clean. She opened the gate and the smell of roses hit her nose. They were begging her to enter the garden, it was as if Yoongi told the flowers about her arrival. She closed the gate and her fingers gently traced the cold metal.

“You look beautiful.” She turned around and saw Yoongi wearing a suit and tie. She felt her heartbeat go faster when she saw the tie color, blue like her dress. He slowly walked towards her and fingers gently traced the tulle shirt that was over her embroidered dress, “Beautiful.” 

She looked up at him and gently pushed some hair back, “You look handsome.” 

“Handsome enough to get your parents to like me?” 

“One can hope.”

He brought her to the middle and they laid in the grass with the flowers around them. They stared at the night sky and it was beautiful tonight. The night sky was bright with the moon being the main attraction. The sky itself was dark but it had a hint of blue. Van Gogh would’ve painted this sky over and over again. Y/N looked away from the sky and toward Yoongi with a soft smile, “I like moments like this.”

Yoongi gave her a tight smile and she knew his mind was clouded. She didn’t want to ruin their moment by asking, “I do too.” 

She rubbed her fingertips on top of his knuckles and looked back at the sky, “Just stay with me.” 

“I’ll stay with you, Y/N.” 

“No matter what?” Even if you lie to me?

“Yes, no matter what.” Even if I have to lie to you.

He leaned towards her and placed his lips on hers. She closed her eyes and returned the kiss with their foreheads touching. When they separated, she couldn’t stop staring into his dark brown eyes. Brown eyes that held lies and her heart. Why did this happen to her? 

He glanced at his watch and sighed, “We have to go to the party.” 

“Okay...” 

The ride to the party was quiet. To Yoongi, the silence was comforting but to Y/N, it was choking her. She just wanted the truth of everything but she was scared to hear the truth. She liked Yoongi a lot but Dawon was right, she didn’t know Yoongi. She doesn’t know Yoongi the way she knew Seungcheol. She knew what Seungcheol’s favorites were while she barely knew what Yoongi's favorite color was. The most basic question you ask a person but here she was, realizing that she never asked him. It was so hard to get him to talk to her that she didn’t bother with the small talk but is she the one to blame for this too? 

“Y/N, did you hear me?” 

She looked away from the mirror and saw Yoongi looking at her, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, I am. Sorry.” 

Yoongi grabbed her hand and rubbed her knuckles, “Are you nervous for tonight?” You have nothing to worry about, I’ll protect you.

“It’s a mixture of things.” Nervous about you mostly.

They walked into the party and Yoongi's eyes became wide. He knew Y/N’s parents were rich but seeing it in real life was different. The place was bigger than any place he owned and it was most definitely bigger than the orphanage. Everyone was dressed in the most expensive dresses and suits while he was dressed in a suit he took from Jimin. It was still a nice suit but compared to everyone, you could see the difference. 

Taking a chance in life can lead you down paths that you didn’t even know existed. There’s always good in the bad and vice versa. Even the smallest chance can change your life. Even when things seem so confusing, it's going to make sense. One way or another, it's going to make sense. At least that’s what you tell yourself because everyone just wants clarity in life. 

“Will you have this dance with me?”

Y/N glanced down at Yoongi’s hand and smiled, “I suppose.” 

“Please Y/N, one dance.”

The look on Yoongi’s face made Y/N nervous. It was a face that held secrets and those secrets were bursting out. Secrets that she knew he was hiding from her. Was it his guilt? Was he finally going to tell her the truth? Y/N nodded her head and placed her hand in his, “Okay..but I want you to tell me something.” 

“Anything.”

Anything...

They twirled around and Y/N glanced at Yoongi, “Are you telling me the truth?” 

Yoongi glanced down at her with a raised eyebrow, “Is that what you want me to tell you? If I’m telling you the truth?” 

“Yes, Yoongi I need to know.”

Yoongi leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead, “I am telling you the truth.” 

After the song ended, she looked around and saw Dawon drinking champagne in the corner. She let go of Yoongi and smiled at him, “I’m going to talk to Dawon. I’ll be back.” 

“Okay.” He glanced over at the food table and saw Jungkook eating a piece of cake. He looked back at Y/N and placed a kiss on her forehead, “I’ll be by the food table.”

Yoongi watched her walk off and his face turned to stone. He walked towards Jungkook and stared down at the white table cloth, “Is Eunwoo here?” 

Jungkook lifted up a napkin to wipe his mouth and nodded his head, “He’s been talking to Y/N’s father. Taehyung said Y/N’s father has been trying to get away from him all night.”

“Predictable. What about Joo Won?”

“No sign but Jin is looking at the cameras to make sure we don’t miss him. Hyung, what about Y/N?”

Yoongi wanted to smoke a cigar to have this pain in his chest disappear. He picked up a deviled egg and glanced at Jungkook, “Right now, my eyes are on Eunwoo and Joo Woon. Y/N is my third priority.” 

“Hyung, you can’t do that to her.” 

“Jungkook, don’t forget I’m your boss. We kill our enemies.” 

“You're going to be alone forever if you don’t start with the truth.” 

Yoongi swallowed the food and glanced over his shoulders to see Y/N talking to Dawon, “Alone protects me.”

“No, friends protect you...love could protect you if given a chance.” 

“Don’t let Eunwoo leave your sight.” 

Jungkook sighed in disappointment and nodded his head, “Yes, boss.” 

Y/N glanced at Yoongi and saw Jungkook was there. There was something wrong with this party. Everything was the same but there was this air to it that made her feel sick. Something was going to happen and she wasn’t sure what. She finished off her glass and looked at Dawon with a frown, “I need time alone.” 

Dawon glanced around the room and then back at her, “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes, just need a moment.” 

“If you need me, I’ll be here.” 

Y/N walked away and headed towards the bathroom but something caught her eyes. She turned her head and she saw Ana Jeon talking to someone. She quickly left the area and went straight to the bathroom. She leaned forward on the sink as she tried to gather her thoughts. Why was Ana here? Her parents hated her parents and well Ana never liked Ana. There would be no way that she would be on the list. Something is wrong tonight. 

She heard footsteps and she ran into the furthest stall. She heard heels clicking away and she kept silent. She didn’t know why she needed to be silent but her gut was telling her too, “Y/N?”

“Dawon?” She opened the door with a grateful smile but it quickly faded away and her eyes widened to see Dawon pointing a gun toward her with shaky hands, “Da-Dawon?”

“Where’s Yoongi?” 

“How do you know his name?”

Dawon gave her a tight smile and opened the door further to show Joo Won, “Y/N, you should’ve stayed away from him.” 

Yoongi looked around the room and cursed under his breath. He picked up his phone and dialed Jin, “Where is she?” 

“I don’t see her anywhere, Yoongi.” 

“Fuck.” 

Yoongi clicked on Y/N’s number and waited. Y/N’s phone started vibrating in her clutch as she stared at Dawon in betrayal, “Dawon? What’s going on?” 

“Eunwoo told me if I didn’t work with him then he would kill me. I don’t want to die. He didn’t give me a choice...Y/N, I’m so sorry.” 

Y/N glanced toward Joo Won, “Why me? What have I done to deserve this pain?” 

“You got involved with the wrong people.” 

Yoongi looked around one more time and nothing. There was no sight of her, Eunwoo was still talking to Y/N’s parents and there was no sight of Joo Won. There was a piece that he was missing. He glanced by the drinks table and saw that Dawon wasn’t there. He knows girls go to the bathroom together and decide to look there before shit hits the fan.

Dawon gave the gun to Joo Won and looked away, “I did what Eunwoo wanted me to do, no leave me alone.” 

“Dawon-”

“She’s still my best friend. I can’t do it and I won’t do it. Y/N, I hope one day you can forgive me.” 

Y/N stared at Dawon and didn’t know what to say, “Who’s Yoongi?” 

Joo Won turned around and looked at Y/N with a shocked look, “He hasn’t told you?” 

“Tell me now.”

“Y/N, he’s the leader of The Seven.” 

Yoongi walked down so many halls that he didn’t even realize he was lost. He took out a smoke and started smoking away. The stress was getting to him and it was annoying. How can Y/N travel so fast?

Dawon saw Y/N’s shocked face and looked away. She didn’t want to see the hurt. Y/N glanced at the gun and then back at Joo Won, “Are you part of a gang?” 

“Y/N-”

“Answer me.” 

“Yes...I am.” 

It happened in a flash, Y/N attacked Joo Won. Five punches is what she got in and five punches is what he let happen. Joo Won didn’t fight Y/N. He deserved it. He caused so much hurt to her that he deserved so much more but the universe isn’t ready to give it to him yet. Blood went across Y/N’s face as she started crying. The tears landed on his shirt. Joo Won let out a cough and looked away from her, the hate in her eyes was killing him, “Go. I'll tell Eunwoo, it was a false alarm.” 

Y/N glanced up at Dawon and tears slipped down, “I thought you were my friend.”

“Y/N-”

“I did everything for you! I loved you like a sister...how could you?”

“My life was on the line. He had a sniper on my head and called me, I-I-I didn’t know what to do.” 

Y/N slowly got up and shook her head, “This isn’t done.” 

She ran out of the bathroom and down the hall away from the loud music. It wasn’t until she bumped into someone. The person wrapped their arms around her waist, she looked up and saw Yoongi's eyes widening when he saw the blood, “Y/N, are you-”

“Don’t touch me. You-You fucking liar!” 

She pushed him away but Yoongi was too strong, “What are you talking about?” 

“A fucking gang leader?” 

Yoongi felt his soul leaving his body and he looked away from her eyes, “I did it to protect you.” 

“You're not even denying it...oh my god.” She pushed him away and leaned against the wall while she looked up at the ceiling, “You fucking liar. I knew it. I knew you were lying about something so serious.”

“How could I tell you the truth!? I’m a gang leader. Will you let me kiss you? How the hell was that going to work?”

“Don’t blame this on me...You're the one that lied to me!”  

“Fuck, I’m not blaming this on you..it’s my fault. I just wanted to protect you.”

“How does it feel to hurt the one you're protecting?” 

There’s something about the silence that's comforting. It’s this unspoken feeling that makes you feel at home. There’s no one to take it away and it's something that never changes. It’s always there. No matter how hard you try. Even in moments when you're with people that make you feel something, silence is always there. You're the one to blame for the silence and you have to take responsibility before things get worse. Before things get worse...

Y/N stared at him and it was a look that he never wanted to see, “Y/N...” 

“You lied to me...You’ve been lying to me.” 

“I did it-”

“Don’t repeat it. I trusted you...all this for what? To make me look like an idiot?” 

Yoongi shook his head and brought her into him as she tried to push him away, “You're not an idiot...don’t ever say that about yourself.” He glanced down at her to see her standing still and he wiped the blood off of her forehead, “Y/N, I couldn’t tell you.” 

“Let. Me. Go.” 

“I won’t...I will never let you go...Never.” 

Tag List:

@hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @secfir @amberpanda99

@yoongibaybee

[sonicasura]

Kaiju Cores and Relics

I decided to expand more on the Knack x Kaiju No.8 concept from my asks. I'm including some things from Knack 2 alongside a few Species Swap shenanigans. The latter can be found at the bottom! Let's get started!

A good chunk of Knack's new moveset like the Sunstone Shield stems from experimenting with Kafka. Both want to get a better handle on their powers so don't be surprised at the sometimes whacky shit they get into. Lucas and Reno may had to melt Kafka out of a ice block once.

Knack is the first 'kaiju' to be marked for alive capture by the Defense Force. It's pretty clear that someone had created the golem and the higher ups want to know who. Knack barely escaped Vice Captain Soshiro multiple times thanks to his size manipulation alongside usage of the environment.

Lucas often sends letters to Charlotte, Ryder and the Doctor. He does mention his new friends in them but nothing about Kafka's unique condition. Ryder finds out when an group camping trip goes wrong.

Kafka once terrorized a horde of goblins. He gotten separated during a trip in the woods and the goblinfolk thought he would be an easy target. Rumors of a skull faced demon disguising as a human quickly spreads afterwards.

Knack wears a cat costume to walk around in public. Thanks to his small size, people think he's an eccentric mute little kid. Kafka definitely lied that Knack was his son and Lucas being his nephew so the two could get visitor passes for 3rd Division base.

Story time goes a bit wrong when small golem mentions the times he got blown up or poisoned on his first big adventure. Kafka and Reno were definitely sweating to hear Knack had been on the end of a giant teleporting mech. Nevermind the massive doomsday prophecy almost wrought by a billionaire's greed.

Kaiju No.10 vs Vice Captain Soshiro and Knack. Also the time Lucas brought a mech suit to aid the 3rd Division after convincing Charlotte. The officers absolutely didn't expect some peculiar help but takes it.

"How To Keep Your Dad Friend From Killing An Idiotic Man" Or Knack tries to stop Riot No.8 before he kills Isao. High enough friendship with both sides of Kafka, sunstone barriers and the new Relic Stockpiler are his best tools here.

Kaiju No.8 terrorizes High Goblin City. Or how Kafka officially made himself Enemy #2 to Gundahar in a short amount of time. You can't exactly trap his friends in a super hostile environment and expect him to not bust down the gate.

Lucas' gadgets become very invaluable to Kafka's friend group. Especially when Reno and Iharu get attacked by Kaiju No. 9 during their first mission. Or how the Time Dilator plus Freeze Rounds are a perfect match to stall dangerous threats.

Kafka has a built in cult radar and it immediately goes off upon meeting Xander. His golems also seem to agitate Ai so that's another red flag right there. Kafka secretly requests Charlotte to do some spying just in case.

(Special Species Swap: Golem)

Kafka's Golem form is around 2'6 at his smallest size and 34'8 at his largest. Black relics serve as his hair/fur/scales with a teal claw shaped jewel on his chest orb. When increasing in size, Kafka's visage looks similar to his kaiju form but if it had a tail.

Himbo accidentally discovers an unknown artifact and is turned into a Relic Golem. Kafka freaks out for a good five minutes before running over to Lucas. Thankfully the transformation is more controllable like an Off/On Switch and doesn't have an alternate personality to it.

Guaranteed mirror moment between two golems. Knack feels less lonely despite his concern about Kafka dealing with new side effects. The image of his older friend sneezing and falling into relics pieces is the golem's most haunting thought.

Guaranteed freakout when Kafka accidentally combines with Knack. (Think Co-OP mode in Knack 2.) It was definitely weird since both can hear each other's thoughts amongst other things. Kafka and Knack tend to combine if the situation calls for it.

Apparently Ai can also control their new golem form. It definitely feels weirder than manipulating Kafka's human body but not by much. Should Ai be in control then the gem on his chest orb will glow green to signify the swap.

Kafka uses this new form to avoid Vice Captain Hoshina and defend himself against General Isao. The Defense Force definitely mistakes him for being Knack's creator after the former incident as he swaps before Soshiro finds him. Sunstone Barriers still sit at the top of Kafka's favorite list.

Element Powers Up go a bit awry. Or Kafka almost becomes a walking forest fire when he tries to do a Relic Tornado with Wood armor. Apparently relics are good firestarters than just sticks and friction.

That's all I have for now. Until next time folks, I'll see you later!

[delopsia]

Conquer Your Demons | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 3,300 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, demon!Rhett, food mentions, unprotected sex, blatantly defiling a church, cunnilingus, mild cum eating, post-coital cuddles. Usage of the Standing Amazon Position in the beginning (in case my description was too vague)🧡 Perry Abbott is on fire. Brief Summary: Fuck, you hope nobody comes to check in on how this whole cleansing process is going. Because there is nothing that can possibly explain the sight of a demon on his knees, eating you out on the altar. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—"

"It's a little bit late for that, don't you think?" You hum, voice echoing, bouncing off the bare walls of this old, one-room church. Ricocheting through unoccupied, dusty pews and rattling up into the rafters. Built centuries ago, has been witness to hundreds of Sunday sermons, weddings, and funerals.

But never has it been witness to something like this. 

"No, no, no, please," Rhett's sweaty chest heaves, keening high in his throat, your cunt clamping down around his twitching cock like a vice. His ankles quiver against your shoulders, fluttering like leaves in a bracing breeze. "I'll be good. I'll be good."

His tail thrashes between your legs, smacking against your thighs. Horns knocking into the wooden table as his head rolls back and forth, trying to shake you away like a bed dream. Skin glistening in the dancing candlelight, muscles rippling, flexing as he squirms. Your fingertips pinch at a soft nipple, awestruck by how his back arches, jolting up from the edge of the table. 

"You should have thought of that before you tried to kill Pastor Perry," your greedy hands run across his burning skin. Roaming the vast expanse of his upper body, tickling down his sides, feeling the subtle grooves of his ribcage. So perfectly compressed, knees mere inches away from being pressed up against his chest, powerless to let you have your way with him and his cock. 

Your shoes click against the floor as you raise yourself up, knees straightening to allow yourself the room to reach down to where your bodies meet. 

"That bastard had it comin'—aa!" His hissed words cut short by the gentle squeeze of your hand around his balls. A poorly concealed warning. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry!"

And you really should be giving him more hell for that. Make him lay still while you press his pale knees into his chest and make him beg you to move. Completely, utterly powerless in this position. 

But you can't focus, not with the way the pale undersides of his thighs tremble beneath your palms. Already pushed to his limits, and you've just sunk down onto him less than two minutes ago. 

"Are you close already, cowboy?" You coo, squeezing the meat of his thighs in your hands, feeling how they flex in your grasp. 

His hair shakes as he nods his head with a whimper of a "uhuh." Those pretty blue eyes falling shut, breathy noises whittling out of his throat with every breath. 

For a demon, he sure looks like an angel. 

Sounds like it too. 

"But I haven't even gotten started with you yet," your words whiny, bottom lip jutting out to create a false pout, feigning disappointment. 

Stradling him in this position is difficult. Riding him would have been a much easier solution, and your knees surely would have thanked you for it, but there's something about this that has your heart speeding up. Rhett fucking Abbott. The deity that's been haunting Wabang for the past six years, on his back, thighs to his chest, whimpering as you begin to move. Working yourself up and down his cock that's peeking so prettily from between his thighs. 

Pearly white teeth glint in the light as his mouth falls open, unable to shut it. "Thank you, thank...thank—" your fingers delve between his lips. Unfearing as they spread out, dancing past razor-sharp canines. A short, hot tongue laps against them, twisting between each digit, sucking lazily.

"Look at you," you're musing aloud, unable to keep yourself quiet as you find your pace. Button-down shirt clinging to your overheated skin, sweat brought on by the way his leaking cock head drills up into you. The gentle curve allowing him to drag so wondrously against your g-spot, the little bundle of nerves tingling with every touch. "Aren't you supposed to be scary, cowboy?"

Those horns bump into the sides of the table once more, his head thrashing, unable to do anything more than just that. Tries to speak, but the fingers in his mouth muffle him, intelligible words vibrating through your hand and up into your arm.

"What would the townsfolk think if they saw you like this?" You're painfully aware of what your words are doing to him, those midnight blue eyes flashing open, only for them to roll back into his head. Such a sight that only serves to send a wave of heat between your legs. "The big bad demon, getting fucked in the only church in town?" 

Oh, how you can hear the town gossip now. The same gaggle of ladies, aghast as they discuss the sins committed atop the altar. Fanning their faces with their hands and speaking as if they are higher than thou.

Their loss. 

Because you are the only person who gets to experience this. 

The sweet burn in your thighs as you ride him, hips working in their favorite, languid rhythm. Your head fuzzy with the way his thick cock fills you, rubbing past every little sensitive area, nerves alight. Saliva coats your hand, shimmering beneath the candlelight like it's trying to put on a show.

"Baby, you're drooling everywhere..." pulling your dripping fingers from his mouth in favor of seizing him by the jaw. Two days' worth of unshaven scruff scratching at your skin.

Rhett's body jerks upward, snapping up into your cunt with a strength he shouldn't have. "M' gonna...baby..." His arms wind around his thighs, pulling them from your shoulders and up against his chest. Squeezing them tight, like he needs something to keep him from bursting. 

"Close already, pretty boy?" Dropping from his jaw, your hand roams down his neck. Doesn't stop until your wet fingertips find a dusky pink nipple, pinching it, if only to see him jolt.

Those pretty curls bounce as he nods his head, "Uhuh." So weak and breathy. Punctuated by a choked whimper.

"Come on then," taunting, fighting to keep your own voice level. You can already feel the way he's beginning to twitch inside of you, bumping up into those little nerves. "Cum in me like a good boy."

One of his hands snaps up. Clamping down over his mouth just in time to muffle what sounds like a squeal. Suddenly afraid to hear his own noises. Palm trembling like a leaf. Jittery. So out of control that there's not a bit of resistance when you reach up to pull it away. 

"You can do it, come on," you can't catch your own breath. Fuck, it's like he was designed to get you worked up. Your body hard to control as your walls flutter around his cock, spasming with something that makes your eyes unfocus. 

A cry catches in Rhett's throat. Cut off by the sudden convulsion of his hips, cumming with a silent noise that rattles through your ears. Familiar heat spills inside of you, his eyelashes fluttering like butterflies. 

Oh, he's so pretty like this. Face lax, almost peaceful. Until it's not. Scrunching shut, nose wrinkling, a string of confused whimpers sputtering past his thin lips. Because you're still moving. Bringing yourself up, only to sink back down on his softening cock, uncaring of the growing discomfort.

"What's the matter, cowboy?" You tease, your hands hooking beneath the backs of his knees, unwilling to let them fall off to the sides. 

"Can't," his voice unusually pitchy, "Sensitive—!" 

You can feel it. The way he twitches with your every movement. Too overstimulated to handle anything more but unable to wriggle away from it. His hands clamp down over top of yours, squeezing, needs to hang onto something. 

"You can take it," you don't know if it's meant to be encouragement or a reminder, but you're saying it regardless, "You've done it before."

That little bull tail of his is swishing between your thighs, smacking against the sensitive skin there on its own accord. He's lucky you can't reach down and squeeze it at the base, hold it down until he gives you what you want. 

There's a newfound ache in your knees as you begin to move quicker, chasing the feeling of his spent cock working in and out of you. Seeking that little spot that he's no longer hitting. Cum spilling out, running down your thighs, and falling to the hardwood floor.

"Baby, baby, please I—" his tongue loose in his mouth, "I'm—I'm sorry!" 

Too little too late. 

He should have thought of the consequences when he decided to knock that candle onto pastor Perry's coattails and set him ablaze in the middle of service. No matter how you twist it, such an act doesn't qualify as a mild haunting. A little something spooky that remains harmless. 

Your body twitches, exhausted muscles acting on their own accord. The blunt head of his weeping cock bumps into a familiar, sensitive spot. Has your pussy tightening around him like a vice, ripping that wail right out of his chest. 

"Gonna..." that deep voice of his babbles. His mouth still moving, but not a sound coming out. 

"Already?" Fuck, it's hard to feign disappointment when he looks up at you with those watery eyes. Tears welling but not quite spilling over. Not yet. 

Long gone is his composure. His ability to remain quiet. Reduced to breathy whimpers and grunts punctuated by the lewd smack of skin on skin. And maybe some of those noises are coming from you, too, because there's a rawness in your throat that wasn't there before. Gasping for air, can't seem to get enough of it. Sweat beading at your forehead. 

He knocks into that spongey spot inside by pure luck. Your dripping cunt squeezing him for all he's worth, eager for more, more, more. And he's got no choice but to lay back and give it to you. 

You don't realize he's cumming until you feel the pitiful twitch of his cock. His body going still as tears tumble down his flushed cheeks, decades worth of strong muscle contracting, back rising up from the table one more time. Mouth moving around the familiar shape of your name, but not a sound leaving his throat.

"Plaid," Rhett's voice cracks on the vowels. Shattering like glass. "Plaid, plaid, plaid—"

You're already pulling off of him. Numb feet stumbling as you finally, finally change your stance. Standing upright, soothing your clammy palms over his soft thighs. 

"Too much?" Something pops in your neck as you lean down to press a kiss to his knee, scarred from that time he got spritzed with holy water. So much for him being invincible.

His horns thunk against the edge of the table, eyes unfocused as he mouths something you can't hear. "Want..." but he doesn't finish his sentence. Leaving his thought dangling in the air as he squirms, sweaty skin gleaming in the light, fumbling up to his own two feet. 

"Rhett?" You don't understand what he's trying to do, but he's planting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you up against the corner of the altar. Uncaring of the way the sharp corner digs into your skin or of your repeating of his name.

"Want..." he repeats. 

Rhett's knees thunk against the floor, the deep noise shaking these old church walls. Nose bumping into your thigh as he leans forward, eyes closed, blindly nuzzling his face between your legs. 

Oh. 

That wet tongue licks a fat stripe between your folds, serves to stifle his whimper as he settles against you. Drool pours from his thin lips as he twirls over your clit, too lazy, too eager to spend his time working you up.

"Good lord, Rhett," your words carried by a whispy gasp, reaching down to grab hold of those study horns. None of this is what you had in mind, but as he peeks up at you, lips wrapping around your swollen clit, you can't bring yourself to care about what should have been. "Is this what you were wanting?" 

His answer comes in the form of big hands grasping the backs of your thighs, not letting you squirm away as he nuzzles impossibly closer. That tongue of his rubs back and forth, the scruff of his cheek rubbing against you. Tiny, wet sounds, viciously loud. 

Fuck, you hope nobody comes to check in on how this whole cleansing process is going. 

Because there is nothing that can possibly explain the sight of a demon on his knees, eating you out on the altar. His spent, soft cock resting against his thigh, cum staining the insides of your thighs. Your pants have likely fallen into the seventh circle of hell by now, never to be seen again.

That burning mouth of his sinks lower, tail swishing behind him as he pushes his tongue into you without warning. Unphased of the mess he's left there, languidly working in and out of your pussy, soft noises emanating from the back of his throat. The tip of his nose nudges your clit with each and every motion. Enough to have you squirming, pulling on his horns. Unsure of if you want more or less.

"Y'taste so good," he's speaking right into you, each syllable rattling up your fragile core. Fuck, fuck, fuck, when did his voice get so deep? 

It's difficult to miss that pleased grin, poorly masked by your dripping sex, as he pulls his tongue from you. Licking his way up up up to your clit once more. A dull tingle appears as he twirls over top of it, not sure if it's brought on by the act itself or the way he whimpers when your hips jolt forward.

"Cum on my face," he breathes, punctuated by an honorary pause to suck on that swollen little button once more. Can't keep himself away for more than a few seconds at a time. Such a simple thing that shouldn't have you trembling the way that it does. "Please cum on my face." 

Deep in your chest, your heart flutters. Weakly battering against your rib cage as that tingling spreads, skin pricking with it, a twisting heat blooming between your legs. And Rhett's pressing harder, whining your name, and it's too much. Too much. 

One, two, three more flicks of his tongue, and your head is tilting back. Pulling hard on those soft horns as you cum with a cry that rattles through every square foot of this old church. Hips convulsing as he licks you through it, oversensitive, but your head so far up in the clouds that you can't remember how to speak. 

Your lungs are burning.

So are your knees. Crumbling out from under you without warning or notice. 

The big arms that catch you are the only reason you don't hit the floor with an earth-shattering boom. Pulling you away from the cold hardwood and into a sweaty, sticky chest. 

Getting back up would be the wiser option; go back home before anyone decides to pop in, hoping for a glimpse of the supernatural, but you're all out of good ideas for today. Scooting until your back rests against the wallpaper-clad wall, welcoming a rosy-cheeked cowboy into your arms.

"I didn't mean..." Rhett's horns knock against your shoulder as he settles. Such pretty things, pearly white in color, once the classic steer shape, now cut short by the hands of his own kin. "Didn't mean to...I didn't think the fire would..."

"I know," you whisper, your hands curling into his hair. "But you can't be doing things like that, Rhett." He could use a good bath, but you hardly mind the salty bite of sweat as you press a kiss to his forehead. 

There's something sweet about the way that he squirms even closer, seeking refuge in the crook of your neck. Like he thinks that making himself small enough will erase the theatrics that was earlier today. The yelling. The screaming. The arguing over which hunter to call. 

Rhett's soft purr almost gets you to shut up. Almost. "Do you know how bad things could have gotten if they called the Tillerson Twins instead of me?" 

"Could move towns again," he murmurs like he's given this some thought. Has had plenty of time to, being locked up in this place all damn afternoon. 

"Yes, but what happens when someone realizes that the hauntings only occur where I live?" That's the last thing that you need. For someone to poke their nose where it doesn't belong and realize that these events follow your every move. Realize that you're actively working with a demon to make a living, scaring folks into paying your hefty fee to cleanse their home. 

"Ain't no-one fixin' to figure us out," Rhett's head tilts, leaning up to press a kiss to your jaw. The uneven edge of his horn bumps into your ear. Scratchy. "They think demons eat people, remember?" 

Your chest rises and falls with a giggle. "In some forms of the phrase, they're not wrong."

The whites of Rhett's eyes flash. Rolling back into his head. 

You hope they get stuck.

"Funny," one of his scarred hands raise, wiping at his chin, still soaked from his efforts. 

Without rhyme or reason, you're reaching out, taking hold of that strong, prickly jaw. Watching how he lets you tilt and turn his head, not the slightest hint of resistance. Your thumb presses against his lips, and they part, humming as you pin his wriggling tongue to the bottom of his mouth. Completely and utterly pliant.

Cute.

"I say," speaking with your thumb still in his mouth, sucking on it during its retreat, "that y'let me haunt that cute lil' bakery down the road." 

"I'm not letting you rob a bakery blind," you groan, head thunking back against the wall. It always circles back to the restaurants and the cute little bakeries. Like he doesn't get enough from licking the cookie dough off the spoon and quietly bugging you for bites of the dinner, he said he didn't want.

"Come on!" There's that whine of his, batting those thick lashes up at you. If he could, he'd be forcing tears to well in those deep blue eyes. "We get paid, and we get free donuts!" 

Tempting. But contrary to the popular belief of the public, you still cling to a few of your morals. And that includes not causing a pastry crisis in Wabang."I'll buy you a dozen when I pay our rent tomorrow." 

With a huff, Rhett falls back into your chest. Dramatic. "Fine," but you can hear the smile in his voice. A little bit excited. 

You need to get going. The first of the birds are beginning to chirp, and with them, sunrise is sure to come. Bringing life back to the streets of Wabang and prying eyes who won't take too kindly to the swishing tail and short horns of a demon walking amongst them. 

But he's so warm. 

All swollen muscles and soft grumbles, snuggling up like you're his favorite pillow. Content to lay here forever, with his ear listening to the quiet thump of your heart and feeling your hands roam up and down his spine. And quite frankly, you're content to stay here too. Even if the hard floor is making your ass go numb.

"Your method could use some work," Rhett yawns, rubbing his cheek against you, trying to burrow himself closer, "my back hurts."

Well, in that case... "That just cost you a donut." 

His head snaps up. Eyes wide. "You wouldn't."

"I would," defiantly sticking to your guns. 

You have a half second to scramble to your feet before Rhett is pouncing on you. All giggles and empty threats as he fumbles after you, chasing your half-naked form down the aisle. Tearing around corners and ducking between pews, hastily searching for clothes that you don't remember taking off.

"I'm gonna get you!" Rhett's only got one boot on. The other flailing in his hand as he races out the front doors, hot on your tail. 

And get you he will.

If he can ever catch you, that is. 

[lgbtqreads]

Sorry if this is too specific, but do you know any queer fantasy (or historical) romcoms? Preferably adult, kind of like Our Flag Means Death in book form (but not necessarily with pirates)?

I think the closest thing you're gonna find* with actual pirates is Peter Darling by Austin Chant, which I wouldn't actually call a rom-com (I mean, it's pretty rare for anything in these genres to be rom-coms, but I feel like this is more the "lighter romance with wit" usage of rom-com, so I'm gonna go ahead and answer that way), but if you haven't yet read KJ Charles, Cat Sebastian, or Alexis Hall, they're the authors you're gonna wanna know. Maybe start with The Queer Principles of Kit Webb or Something Fabulous or The Gentlemen's Book of Vices by Jess Everlee or The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting or Olivia Waite's The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics?

ETA: Freya Marske! I should've mentioned Freya Marske for sure, especially if you're looking for more fantastical: https://amzn.to/4arez7m

*I meant to go back and edit this because I knew it wasn't correct when I wrote it and I posted too fast. There are definitely more things out there with pirates and I definitely should've shared this post and I bet the real closest fit in Adult is the Thorne: https://lgbtqreads.com/2024/02/12/fave-five-books-for-fans-of-our-flag-means-death/

[sabokunsmalia]

❝𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞❞ ﹙ malia, 03's babe, capricorn vibes & verified wife of sabo, eren and yuta. )

❝𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬❞

﹙ eustass 'captain' kid — trafalgar d. water law — flame emperor sabo )

﹙ levi ackerman — sasha braus — eren yeager )

﹙ satoru gojo — suguru geto — yuta okkotsu )

❝𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 & 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬❞

q: who are your favorites to write about? a: oh, i made a list for each anime/manga i write for, and the characters. you might se that it's divided between categories. so please, check those lists before requesting.

q: are you writing smut / nsfw? a: yes, im just very careful with what kinds of smutty stuff i write because there‘s a lot of stuff that makes me extremely uncomfortable.

❝𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬❞

➸ my ko-fi link if you decide to leave a tip. ➸ one piece characters i write for. ➸ attack on titan characters i write for. ➸ the unsorted masterlist of written pieces. ➸ my sweet cosplay addiction.

❝𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬❞

➸ what you do to me — eren yeager x fem!reader ( fraternity vice-president x best friend | slow burn, best friends to lovers, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, smoking, teasing, cheating, heartbreak, self-doubt thoughts, groping, public sex, choking, bite marks, blood, fighting close combat, mutual pining, text messages & twitter posts involved | mdni! )

➸ kind of love — suguru geto x fem!reader ( football player x not-interested-in-popular-stuff-reader | slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers , drug abuse, alcohol abuse, smoking, teasing, mutual pining, popular boy x innocent girl, first times involved, coruption kink, choking, spanking, self-doubt etc. | mdni! )

➸ saved by you — aged up! yuta okkotsu x fem!reader ( jujutsu sorcerer x non-sorcerer | slow burn, first times, fluff, angst, pain mentioning, bite marks, blood mentioning, death mentioning, trauma and suicide thoughts, depression, curse words bc toge is involved too lol, heartbreak, weapon usage as in katana, mutual pining, text messages & twitter posts involved | mdni! )

➸ rich games — satoru gojo x fem!reader ( private school rich boy x scholarship student | slow burn, strangers to lovers, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, smoking, teasing, curse words, self-doubt, suicide thoughts, depression, choking, mark leaving, pure hate from utahime, poor vs. rich, very mean comments about money, mutual pining, text messages & twitter posts involved | mdni! )

➸ sweet dedication — levi ackerman x fem!reader ( scout regiment captain x best friend scout | slow burn, best friends to lovers, wounds, blood, death, fighting with odm gear, bite marks, lost limbs, suicide, depression, weapon usage, betrayal, cheating, titans eating humans, choking, close combat & death in those fights | mdni! )

[rash0mon]

symbolism and significance of clothing/character design in bungou stray dogs

one of the most admirable features of the bungou stray dogs series is the attention to detail in every aspect. i feel that each time i reread or rewatch, i notice new specifics that intrigue me to analyze further. character design, especially the clothes worn by the characters is definitely one of mentioned specifics. in the bungou stray dogs universe, character design does not possess merely an aesthetic function, but it aids in understanding each character - their personality, motivations, the author/work they are inspired by, and what i feel is most notable - their fate (past, present and future) and how it is intertwined with and depends on other characters. this is what i`ll attempt to showcase in the following, on the examples of a few characters.

atsushi nakajima/ryūnosuke akutagawa

naturally, these two are to be analyzed together as their design was, in essence, made to contrast each other - which, just in the start, hints at the momentousness of one to the other. atsushi is the light, akutagawa is the darkness. atsushi's eyes carry vividness and life inside of them, akutagawa's are pure gloom. however, the two are not completely black or white, they are not distinctly "good" or "bad", as they carry parts of each other - which is shown in the hints of black in atsushi`s design (the black streak in his hair, which we were robbed off from in the anime but alright, and in his clothes). the same concept, just vice versa, is seen in akutagawa`s design.

both wear clothes they got from those dear to them, or rather those who gave them a sense of purpose, a reason for living. in atsushi's case, each of the agency members, in akutagawa's case, dazai. the coat is, in a sense, a remnant of akutagawa's experienced trauma, as is atsushi's hairstyle. just from this surface-level description, it can be seen that these two, are in fact, as i`ve written in my other analyses, two sides of the same coin, yin and yang if you will. they`re similar, yet different - they complete each other.

dazai osamu

at first glance, what is most noticeable about dazai`s design are, of course, the bandages wrapped around entirety of his body. i feel that, other than being remnants of previous attempts, these bandages emphasize his seemingly invisible psychological/emotional wounds, protecting him from the real world, and from further pain.

in the dark era, dazai`s left eye is covered by said bandages. at his deathbed, oda takes them off - from that moment on, oda allowed dazai to "see", both "good" and "evil" worlds - as up until now he had only seen a world of evil and suffering, and was blind to what the rest had to offer. thus his other eye was opened.

although, even if he has seen both sides, he still wears the bandages, holding onto them even while imprisoned in mersault. he is still yet to find his reason for living, and is yet to uncover the wounds he`s gotten throughout his life, if ever. this notion of hiding the real self from the world matches well with yozo of no longer human (who i believe was a big inspiration in the making of dazai`s character).

“I have always shook with fright before human beings. Unable as I was to feel the least particle of confidence in my ability to speak and act like a human being, I kept my solitary agonies locked in my breast. I kept my melancholy and my agitation hidden, careful lest any trace should be left exposed. I feigned an innocent optimism; I gradually perfected myself in the role of the farcical eccentric."

this quote also describes the essence of dazai`s character, in simplified terms.

other than that, there exist other obvious contrasts between port mafia and ada dazai - already seen in the usage of colors. in the port mafia era, dazai wears a black coat, given to him by mori. on the other hand, once he joins the ada, dazai wears lighter clothes, symbolizing his turn to the life of good - some black still remains, however. he now wears a bolo tie with a green pendant - many suspect this was a gift from odasaku, which i also believe. dazai holds onto this as a reminder. of his past, and of what he is to do with his future.

sigma

sigma's character stands out in several ways - as he is the only character not inspired by any author, and is a creation of the book. many characters in the series struggle to find a purpose, but in the case of sigma it is even more apparent. that longing for a reason of being becomes the main feature of sigma`s soul, as well as an initiator of his every action.

he is one of the characters with the lightest color palette. i believe that this symbolizes his innocence and divinity as compared to the other characters who have experienced the horrors of the real world all too well. his outfit demonstrates how he initially sees himself - as a manager of the sky casino. it is, at first, the core and essence of his being. the ambiguity of sigma's character and reason of living is also seen with his hairstyle, which is half-and-half, incomplete. uncertain. just like his existence. it`s as if sigma is an unfinished novel.

rest of the characters

the concepts i mentioned beforehand in analyzing character design are also present across other characters in the series. naturally, they embody the works of the authors they are written after, such as kunikida's design. other characters also showcase their fated connections with others, such as chuuya wearing the hat gifted to him by mori. (i could make a separate post about chuuya`s design and how it follows his development through the series, which i might just as well do later because this is already getting too long). the contrast between the past and present self seen in dazai can also be applied to ranpo's attire (the past being before he met fukuzawa - wearing only black clothes, representing the darkness of his mental state. the present being his current look, which embodies what he sees as his main role and reason - a detective). i will touch up more on these certain characters and their designs in upcoming posts.

and...the color purple?

now, i believe this may be a stretch but as i am obsessed with color symbolism and especially purple, i will just get this out.

now, there are a few characters with purple presence in them in bungou stray dogs, as it's a rather rarely used color. i`d noticed that the mentioned characters all had something in common - an uncanny, almost haunting presence at times, as well as experiencing deep psychological distress or disorder. which made me wonder: what could purple mean in character design? and most specifically - purple eyes, which are seen to be rare among the cast?

you can already draw a correlation between fyodor and fukuchi as purple-eyed characters. but once you add yosano and mori into the mix, the reasoning changes. when you think of it, it`s all characters who have power over human lives in a sense more divine than the other characters - fyodor and yosano with their ability, as well as fukuchi with his sword and persona, mori being a doctor.

but then again, we also have sigma who is engulfed in lighter shades of purple, unlike any other character in bungou stray dogs. which makes me wonder about his possible future role.

[griefabyss69]

The Smell of Autumn

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

Let me fucking tell you. The way I could've written 69K of this. I want to delve into Steve's psyche/sexuality here so badly, but capitalism is really cramping my style these days!!!

Sadly I couldn't fit them doing more than where I left off but imagine they fuck/make out/crochet blankets in whichever ways light up your brain the most <3

The title is from my favorite Underdark song. If you like metal and screaming you'll love this song!

[ AO3 ] [ Tip / Commissions post ]

‘Pine’ wc: 508 | rated: M | cw: Allusion to past alcohol/drug usage, mention of the upside down

Steve finds a good kind of thrill in an old comfortable place. Eddie finds Steve.

Despite the way autumn lingers, the ground isn't too cold beneath Steve's feet as he walks over dry leaves on the forest path.

His arms are locked behind his back with his own grip, his legs marching on deeper with his own orders, further away from where he'd taken off every piece of clothing he had on.

Between the adrenaline and the evening sun filtering through the trees, this craving of his had won out against the voice in his head telling him that this was stupid, that he was going to get caught. But ever since the last Hellpocalypse, he couldn't serve any of his usual vices, so he was left testing his dignity instead of his sanity.

His favorite tree is all rough bark against his back and safe haven memories as he looks up at the branches he used to climb. He would sneak cigarettes high up in the branches and let the wind carry the smell off of him before he had to show his face for another tense family dinner.

Now he only answers to himself, and what a strict reign he has.

He rests, the interesting texture against his bare skin keeps him here in the present, the cool wind teasing him keeps him alert. The smell of the pine trees around him makes his blood buzz and his lungs feel clean in a way they haven't in a long time.

The sun will start dipping soon, but he's not worried about making it back to his clothes in the dim light, it'd probably make it easier to get dressed without being seen anyway.

Thoughts of getting away with this are suddenly and ironically halted in place as soon as they cross his mind by the crunch of footsteps coming down the path. He slips behind the tree and hopes for the best, careful not to lose his balance as he peers out from behind it.

His chest presses against the bark and he wants to laugh, squeezing his elbows where he's still gripping them, unable to move his arms without feeling like he's breaking a rule.

White sneakers flash through a pile of dead leaves and there's the glint of a chain against black denim – he knows he should be worried, but Eddie Munson only bites if you ignore all of the hissing that comes before it.

Maybe Steve gets caught up in his thoughts, or maybe his racing heart is chomping at the bit to take this to the next level, but Eddie clearly notices the way his head is fully sticking out from behind the trunk. He looks like he's about to ignore him, so Steve moves, showing off a flash of bare shoulder, enough to catch his interest if it's there.

"Uh," Eddie says, breathless despite his meandering walk. "Hello?"

Steve smiles at him. He was already getting hard before, but now his cock fills out properly, and he shifts so Eddie can see a sliver of his bare hip, inviting him in. Eddie's eyes go wide.

"Hello."