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xoxo-ren-xoxo · 2 days

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Hermitcraft / Life Series Fic Recs

Because I love so many of them...

I'll split the fics into completed and updating fics, and try to only recommend currently updating fics (i.e., not abandoned). I'm going to write a little about why I like each fic and what the general vibes are - so this is also a kind of review I guess?

I've tried to @ the authors if they have a public tumblr. Sorry to anyone who didn't want to be tagged, I can remove any @ if you ask (or if I have embarrassingly tagged the wrong person). Anyway, enjoy, and I appreciate reblogs because I want as many people to see these fics as possible!!

This ended up being incredibly long so I'm putting a divider here. Click to keep reading!!! Also, fair warning: shipping ahead! Some fics will have mild sexual content, please read the tags if you are unsure <3

Updating Fics

I have already recommended Help Me To Breathe, lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart), and There Are Monsters Nearby in this post, so I won't explain why I like them a second time, but definitely check them out!!

Death's A Good Gig by @mawofthemagnetar is probably going to be finished by the time this post gets to you, reader, but I'm putting it here anyway. It's short and sweet, one of my favourite representations of Zedaph (or, Zedeath) I've read, and just a joy to experience. If you like grim reapers and discussions of unions, this one is for you. Also I need more Zedaph in my life.

Look, I'm Sorry, Please Stop Scaring Everyone by @cat-in-the-desert reminds me a lot of a particular TV drama I liked when I was younger, which followed a similar premise. This fic follows Mumbo (vampire) and Grian (ghost) as they get up to various housemate shenanigans and meet their local magic-expert and salesman Scar. This fic is fun, but still includes a nice amount of Feelings and hinted-at Angst which I really love. It's lighthearted, but never boring.

It Hurts To Hope by Inquillitory is my favourite of the "Grian crash lands into Hermitcraft and causes problems for everyone" genre. Seeing how many fics there are with that premise, I think that says a lot. It handles Grian's weird Watcher stuff really well. Honestly, I just want to know what happens next!

killing the boy in the tv by @raspberrystruck is like a sickfic on steroids. If you want Grian with so much past trauma he forgets how to function in society, this is basically the fic for you. I really love how hybrid traits affect the characters' interactions in this fic, and how everyone is kind of messed up because of the imbalance Grian brings. It is wonderfully descriptive in all the right places!

Love Me Like I'm Dead by @daniofcrows is such a gem. You know how hard it is to find good Xisuma whump? It's impossible. I absolutely love how Xisuma and Evil X are characterised in this, and I am obsessed with the unique take on hanahaki disease which I have never seen handled in this way before. The balance between flashbacks and present day is maintained wonderfully and I cannot wait to continue reading this one. Wow.

Oh, you wanted me to do a verse? by @bugbbear is... kind of indescribable. It's horror. It's comedy. It's the apocalypse. It's boatem. Scar eats someone. One of the most interesting and unique apocalypse stories I have read. Slowly updating but worth the wait, in my opinion. This one NEEDS more attention.

So Much For Stardust by @a-plethora-of-peters is basically one of my all-time favourites. Which is a damn good achievement seeing as I don't usually read ZITS fics. Like, ever. In this fic, Skizz is a human abducted and hurt badly by aliens, now recovering in the care of good aliens who don't know how 'sentient' he is. Every update of this one makes me smile, it is wonderful. I love how the characters are written and how the different perspectives are shown. It is just great.

Solar Waltz by @raspberrystruck and aroundtheclock is a brilliant and very very sad regression fic. I love fluffy regression fics as much as the next guy, but this one just... hits different. The hurt/comfort levels are off the charts. Grian is so damn cute the whole time, while also being harrowingly complicated and sad. I am so ready for whatever comes next.

Tango's Castle of Cards by @evilrat-sabre is the one where Tango is a BUG. He's just a little guy (horror). This one is so beautifully written, with poetry-type interludes and perspective changes that really make everything feel so much more impactful. Finding out your buddy is a murder bug isn't the easiest thing in the world. I love this so much.

Traveling Thieves {Dark Fantasy AU} (series) by @amethystfairy1 is basically one of the series of all time. I know I keep saying that but it really really is. I love a good fantasy au, and I love an au with hybrids even more. In this world, hybrids are treated like slaves, but it isn't all doom and gloom for the main characters of each installment. There is a lot of hurt/comfort and the different stories feed into each other in really interesting ways. I try to read as much as I can, though I've missed a few because my emails are buggy. Definitely worth reading these fics, especially since now they're all starting to come together!

Completed Fics

Solving Counting Sheep by @theminecraftbee might have rearranged my brain chemistry a little. Another strong contender for 'fics that inspire me to kill Grian', this time with a more concrete notion of "replacement". Three is my favourite fucked up living weapon. It's so rare to find Evo fics in this day and age, too. This fic had me immediately clicking on every update as soon as I got the emails.

Rescue Fire by @imaginethat0327 is one of the most unique takes on a fictionalised life series game that I have ever read. The whole concept is explained in a realistic and easy-to-follow way, as we learn what's happening with the characters. There are several brilliant storylines happening in this one, but my particular favourites are Jimmy & Tango, Joel, and of course Scar & Grian. This fic is full of whump and, well, read the tags, it isn't always pleasant, but those are my favourite things ever. Definitely worth checking out this fic and its currently updating sequel.

don't you know about me? by takenbadgering is a wonderful comedy of errors with just the right amount of angst for a realistic setting type of fic. If you enjoy polyamory miscommunications, rave aesthetics, kandi, school teacher dynamics, and a lovely blend between grumbo, cubscar, and mumscar, this is the one.

Eventually the Birds Must Land by @milo-hypno follows a polyam ship I would have never thought of, and I cannot believe how much I loved it. This married-as-friends fic premise is wonderful, and captures the main trio (Grian, Mumbo, Impulse)'s personalities so well, while balancing them with the incredibly terrifying descriptions of the Watchers and their power. There's a lot of angst here, but it is ultimately hurt/comfort to the maximum degree. I loved reading it as it updated. Yay for gay marriage!

From The Archives (series) by @sixteenth-days was the absolute inspiration for my own Comms AU, and I will never forget its influence on me. As someone basically unfamiliar with TMA, I thought this series might be hard to follow, but it was not! I read all 57 parts in the span of two days, and I think it altered my brain chemistry. Please read it, even if (especially if) you don't know anything about TMA. The Cleo and Grian storyline lives in my head rent free. I mean it. This is horror at its finest. Also there's an audio series of this fic being released rn, which is very cool.

SUPERCRITICAL by @masque-of-plague hits different. It is such a wonderful take on the superhero/HotGuy trope, and it gets so super dark at some points! This one really takes swings at it's fictional government, which of course I love, while at the same time building this brilliantly emotional relationship between Scar and Grian. I do enjoy a bit of enemies to lovers, but the actual plot mixed into the story makes this one extra special. It is thrilling, with action that I don't get to see too often! Great work.

I am weary with contending! is one of the mumscarian fics of all time. From 'this house has people in it'-type horror, to magic gone wrong, to childhood trauma, to attempted assassination, to gender fuckery, this fic has it all. Usually I don't go for convex siblings, but this one is good enough to get a pass from me. Amazingly detailed worldbuilding alongside a brilliantly creative story.

It Spreads by @foxxology may not count as a fic, actually. It's a comic. But it's posted on ao3 so it counts. I was obsessed with this one as it was updating, honestly. It rocked me to my core. The art is phenomenal. The writing is brilliant. I love sculk.

Luck of the sea by Sleepy_Duck is a lovely take on mermaid and human interactions, with Grian as a marine life conservator and Scar as a very neglected mer. This one takes us emotionally in all sorts of directions, and offers lots of hope for the future of the characters. I heavily enjoyed this fic - if you like mermaids and marine biology, check it out.

there are many downsides to being a marine biologist by donnerstag is another mermaid fic but with a pretty different vibe. First of all, it follows what I would consider a rarepair Doc/Martyn. Second of all, reading this as it updated was a thrilling experience that nearly made me cry at certain points. I love how the relationship builds in this fic. It is honestly amazing. The whole idea of experimenting on a sentient sea creature, learning that he can communicate, then losing funding and having to save him from being dissected?!?! It's crazy. I love it.

Thus concludes my fic recommendations. I hope you enjoy at least some of these, and consider reblogging to spread these wonderful fics around <3

#ben chats shit on the internet #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitshipping #fanfiction #fic recs #life series #trafficblr #traffic smp #trafficshipping #traffic series #traffic life #??? what else do i tag this uhh #long post

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faithfulren · 2 days

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accidental confession

izuku accidentally confesses his feelings for you in a moment of panic, leading to an awkward but sweet conversation.

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middle school had always been a challenging time for izuku midoriya. as a quirkless boy dreaming of becoming a hero, he often felt isolated and misunderstood. however, there was one person who always seemed to make his days a little brighter, you. your kind smile and encouraging words were often the highlight of his day, though he never quite knew how to express his gratitude or growing feelings for you.

it was another typical afternoon after school. you and izuku were in the library, working on a group project together. the room was quiet except for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional whisper between the two of you. izuku's heart raced every time you leaned in to look at something in his notebook, your proximity making his thoughts scatter.

you noticed Izuku seemed more fidgety than usual, his face slightly flushed as he scribbled notes in his ever-present hero analysis notebook.

"hey, izuku," you said softly, placing a hand on his arm to get his attention. "are you okay? you seem a bit… distracted today."

izuku's eyes widened, and he immediately started to stammer. "i-i'm fine! really! just, um, a lot on my mind, i guess." he forced a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

you gave him a concerned look but decided not to press further. "alright, but if you need to talk about anything, i'm here, okay?"

izuku nodded, his heart pounding even harder. he took a deep breath, trying to focus on the project, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the way your eyes sparkled with kindness.

as the minutes passed, you two continued to work in relative silence. then, out of nowhere, a loud crash echoed through the library. someone had knocked over a stack of books, and the sudden noise startled both of you. without thinking, izuku reached out and grabbed your hand, his reflexes taking over.

"izuku?" you said, looking at him in surprise. his hand was warm and slightly trembling around yours.

realizing what he had done, izuku's face turned beet red, and he quickly let go, stammering apologies. "i-i'm so sorry! i didn't mean to—"

"it's okay," you interrupted, a gentle smile on your face. "you just surprised me, that's all."

izuku took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. he felt a wave of panic wash over him, and before he knew it, the words tumbled out of his mouth. "i like you!"

the library fell silent again, but this time it was a deafening silence. izuku's eyes widened in horror as he realized what he'd just blurted out. "i-i mean, i, um, i like you as a friend! no, wait, that's not what i meant either! i mean, i do like you as a friend, but also more than that, and—"

you blinked, trying to process his rapid-fire confession. a slow smile spread across your face as you watched izuku's panic. "izuku, are you trying to say you have feelings for me?"

izuku gulped and nodded, looking like he wanted to disappear. "y-yes," he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible.

you felt your heart swell with warmth. you'd always thought izuku was sweet and admired his determination, and hearing his confession made your own feelings clear. "izuku, i like you too."

his head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise and hope. "r-really?"

you nodded, taking his hand again, this time on purpose. "yes, really. i've liked you for a while now."

a smile slowly spread across izuku's face, relief and joy washing over him. "i'm so glad," he said softly, squeezing your hand.

the two of you sat there for a moment, just holding hands and smiling at each other, the world around you fading away. it was awkward, it was sweet, and it was the start of something wonderful.

#anime #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha izuku #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #deku x reader #deku #faithfulren

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fanaticsnail · 2 days

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Hi, I was wondering if I could ask Crocodile for kissing booth, please? He's the Best Croco-Daddy!! LOVE HIM!!! He was my first crush aside from King and Ace, and I can't wait for him in the Live ACTION!!!!

The Kissing Booth - Sir Crocodile for Cartoonykat

Word Count: 700+

Notes: I am so excited to see where they're gonna go with him in the live action too! He's so mean, ferocious and terrifying, but look at how kind he is towards animals (One piece comic issue 860). Come and get some possessive Croco-kisses, Cartoonykat!

The thud of expensive leather hitting the gravel road with each heavy, crunching footfall had your ears stand alert to attention. A soft clink of cool metal meeting your glass jar at your side prompted your brows to draw focussed and lips to purse in focus at the person in front of you.

“Tsk, what’s this?” you heard a disapproving and unimpressed voice call to the side of you, “2,000 Berry for a kiss? That hardly seems a reasonable price for such a feat.” You furrow your brows in a deep frown at the presumed criticism at the notion of an exchange of affection for Berry.

“If you don’t like the idea of donating Berry to charity,” your pout was heard in each of your articulated words, “Kindly move along and make way for someone who does.” A soft rumbled chuckle reverberates in the chasms of your guests chest as a puff of sour smoke clouds your lungs. You cough and wince at the cruel intrusion in your breath, but attempt to brave your face.

“On the contrary,” the stranger uttered, placing a handful of papers and coins within the jar, “I would deem your lips of far greater value than such a meager amount.” The sizzle of smoke dimming rose in your ears, your blindfold truly inhibiting your ability to know the expression on the face of your new guest.

“Oh?” you ask him, folding your arms and crossing your legs as you recline against the barstool, “And what value would you place on my lips, sir- oh!” You squeak as you feel him cage you beneath him, his overpowering aura dominating you at your booth.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” he whispered against your lips, immediately surging forward and capturing your breath with a bruising and intense kiss.

Gripping the base of your stool for support, you feel something metal circle the back of your neck and draw your face up to meet him. His right hand reached down to the stool, clasping around your hand and gently squeezing your digits in a bid to have you release your chair and draw your hand up within his.

He raises your hand, placing your palm flat on his chest above his heart, while he gently brushes his nose with yours. Angling his face, he gently coaxes more intensity from you with each intentional and possessive motion.

Your hand gently caresses his chest, feeling the textures and materials of silks, satins and embroidery embellishing his broad stature. He hums into your lips, the gentle touch against his body contrasting the ravaging he was pressing into your lips.

He releases your lips from his intense oscillation, pressing one final ounce of contradicting sweetness in a soft kiss before pulling away entirely. Your lips remain parted and partially bruised, breath hitching and panting to come down from such an amassment of passion so overwhelmingly hastily placed against you.

“Hm, what would be an appropriate fee to pay for such overwhelming sweetness?” he uttered against you, a chuckle depicted in his tone. You felt the metal object gently scrape your skin as he withdrew it from circling your neck.

“While I would say you’re priceless,” he snickered gently, his hand reaching up and pinching your chin, “I would never dream of stooping so low to relay such humor as a bid to flatter you.” You heard a few more leaves fall into the jar. “Especially since you are worth much more than pretty words and a handful of Berry.”

The figure retreated, leaving you sitting stunned beneath your blindfold and processing what just occurred between you and them: You took his initial words as an insult, depicting your disdain by insulting him, prompting him to flatter you with pretty words before and after claiming your lips with his.

Your perplexion would remain with you for the remainder of the day, only growing more intense when you realized just how much Berry was in the jar at the end of the night. The hulking figure of Sir Crocodile would not leave his generosity and gratuity left unclaimed, and would return to you as your shift finishes at the end of the night to claim more kisses from you - if that was truly what you desired from him.

#one piece #x reader #one piece x reader #one piece kisses #op crocodile #sir crocodile #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #kissing booth event #follower milestone #ask snail #snail answers #fluff #flirting #kisses

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merakiui · 2 days

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angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else.

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to.

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today?

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches.

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain.

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that?

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead.

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head.

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake.

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot.

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you… Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time.

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me.

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you.

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep.

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching.

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts.

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will).

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.”

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic.

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #tw: noncon touching #tw: noncon #tw: chikan #n/sfw #tw: stalking

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shnarky-blogs · 11 hours

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-𝚄𝙽𝙷𝙾𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂-

✁___________________________________

Puppy boy reader × Werewolf hubby!

Imagine being a small little puppy boy living with you beloved werewolf husband thats so scary and bigger than you, you both are completely opposite in appearance; -You are small, cute, kind and pretty looked really much harmless.

While he is this tall hulking man, feared by anyone who locked eyes with him, but under that scary face of his he Is actually a caring, lovey-dovey and passionate person! he just have a grumpy face all the time that's why everyone is scared of ticking him off afterall he's a big scary werewolf!

When you two are alone together, he gets all clingy, whiney, begging for your attention as he nuzzles up into your neck, ears flopped down while letting out little whimpers,

"Honey!.. can we cuddle?"

"C-can we shower together, puppy?"

"Im sleepy.. let me spoon you baby.. wanna keep you safe and warm.."

He'd whine all the time if you dont give him what he wants, his begging and cries will go on until you say yes to him, like he can't take no for an answer okay!, But during his ruts, its waaayy different.

What he wants is what he gets, if he whats you bent over the bed you'd do it for him, his strong scent controlling your very form because he smells so wonderful! You'd suck on his cock till your sweet hubby is happy.

During mating, he'd make sure to make you feel every single thing of the details of his cock going in and out your hole.. he also made sure to mark you up to remind you and show people who you belong to, his growls and grunts would fill your ears as he fills you up of his seed and knot you up together on his fat knot, leaving you both tied together for maybe an hour or so?

But after that rough love making, He made sure to give you loads of kisses, praises, and a warm bath to calm your tense muscles after that session with him.

#bottom male reader #ftm reader #male x ftm reader #sub male reader #x bottom male reader #x ftm reader

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ghostofhyuck · 2 days

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NCT Dream when they received a flower bouquet from you!

Mark Lee

Mark would be eyes wide but confused because you handed him a bouquet of flowers. What's the occassion? Did he missed something??? Is it your anniversary because he's already mentally preparing an apology if he forgot it. "Mark it's nothing, I just want to give you a bouquet." "Oh. For what?" oh this poor boy is so endearing but you only gave him a smile and explained to him that you just want to. He'll probably let out a small chuckle and gives you a quick kiss as a thank you.

Huang Renjun

OH the moment Renjun saw you holding a bouquet full of yellow flowers and you hands it over him, trust me he'll be all smiley about it!! He'll admire the way you thought about the bouquet carefully, even asking you where did you bought the flowers because it looks like it's freshly-picked. He'll give you a small kiss on the cheeks and thanks you. Trust that he'll definitely FLAUNT it on social media like...he has too!! oh and he picks a few petals and hides it on his notebook as a keepsake.

Lee Jeno

He'll be so confused but in a endearingly samoyed-way when you hands him over flowers. He'll accept it nonetheless because it was a HUGE bouquet and he wonders why, "You did a good job on your work, you deserve flowers!" you told him, giggling at your boyfriend's reaction as he stares at the flowers. He'll be confused but the budding feeling of receiving flowers from his girlfriend surpassed it. He'll glance at you and hugs you, thanking you for the flowers because it was a gift from you!

Lee Donghyuck

Thinks that it was so sweet of you that you gave him a bouquet of sunflowers as a gift. He'll be surprised by it but he loves at how you know what flowers you should give him. He'll hug it and would admire it because it was a gift from you! He'll shower you with kisses too! Probably the type to brag it to his other members like,, "do you have a girlfriend that gives you flowers? none? exactly."

Na Jaemin

Jaemin will be having the biggest smile out of all! He'll feel like a princess when you surprised him with a huge bouquet of pink roses! It's roses and it's pink!! He loves it! Showers you with kisses because you deserve it and he doesn't deserve a girlfriend like you!! Would buy a vase so that he can display it in his apartment and whenever he glances at the flowers, he'll unknowingly smile because of it!

Zhong Chenle

I think that Chenle would be appalled when you handed him over a bouquet. Would be the type to ask you what's the occassion, did he missed some holiday where a significant other is required to give their so a bouquet? You will laugh it off and would tell him that you just want to give him a flower. He'll be so ?? confused ?? with ?? your ?? sudden affection because you're not a gift-giving person but he couldn't help but to coo at how sweet that gesture is.

Park Jisung

Oh he'll be eyes wide surprise too! It's a huge bouquet! a huge one that hovers on you completely and not even his huge hands can hold the end perfectly. He'll stare at it, probably stunned at the arrangement of the flowers and when it sinked into him that you gave him flowers, he'll ask why. And when you told him that you just feel like giving him one, he'll be so shy about it! But you know that he appreciates it by the way his gummy smile is showing! :<

#nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fic #nct x reader #nct #nct dream imagine #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct dream reactions #nct dream imagines #nct drabbles #nct mark #nct jeno #nct renjun #nct haechan #nct jaemin #nct chenle #nct jisung

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lowgothree · 2 days

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𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒 ❞ 𓄼˚ ▍ K.M.

❛ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ━━ strangers at a party ❜

❛ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 ━━ fuckin in the bathroom cause i did it in the kitchen so it seemed like the next step idk. lesbian sex idk what else to say. ❜

❛ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 ━━ 1.8k ❜

❛ 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ━━ got lazy towards the end and it shows but i was asked for kate smut so i wanted to deliver. say you’re proud of me. ❜

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA: sinews of nightlife and world-class entertainment. a city so full of beauty and sin you sometimes wonder if you’re meant to repent or bow down to it. an oxymoron in the way it’s a symbol of opulence and misfortune. in every direction the city spans, meets another person who could vouch for it.

no more than four hours ago, you were at home. peacefully solitary. indulging in a new show you had started recently –– then you got the call. the groan that escaped you as a result of it was disgruntled. you answered and met the voice of your friend, buoyancy dripping from her every syllable when she said…

you should come with me to hang out.

she was practically pleading, no doubt missing your presence which doubled as having you as a designated driver. she made it sound fun. or perhaps her excitement was austerely contagious. so, you acquiesce now and plan to regret later. you should’ve expected a party. more accurately, the party. flashing lights coating the room in an array of dizzying colors. talking bodies dancing around the sumptuous house in a haze. unsystematically.

hot and clamorous and mesmerizing.

“hey baby…” the voice makes you tense. you look up at the perspiring face it belongs to and that does nothing to pacify you. then the touch on your arm. a cold, clammy hand kneading along your skin. you cower. physically retracting yourself as you attempt to recoil. they are unrelenting. tight grip as their nails dig into you to hold you there –– trap you in the prison of their proximity. “what are you doin’ over here all by yourself?”

the stench of alcohol fills your senses the closer they get to you. the unequivocal slur in their voice. impossible to be underplayed or considered inscrutable. incredibly, humiliatingly drunk. you send a tight, bellicose smile their way –– hoping your hostility would be enough to make them turn back around.

you fail. or perhaps they’re just too desperate obstinate.

“i’m waiting for my girlfriend.” it’s a lie, purely for survival. their shoulder slump even if only for a moment, they take a beat and regain their audacity.

“you know…” here we go… “if you were my girlfriend…i’d never let you outta my sight.”

it could almost be charming if it wasn’t for their lack of balance as they sway on their feet. childlike. unable to walk straight even if only a step or two to invade your personal space.

“good thing i’m not your girlfriend.” you mutter, sass stricken tone as you tilt your head up –– hoping to catch any free air that wasn’t assailed by the scorch of the person in front of you.

“damn, baby…that’s cold. i like it.” tenacious. standing as straight up as they can despite their drunken slouch. you’re sure if they weren’t leaning on the remnants of their pride they’d topple over and pestle into dust.

“i’m seriously not interested. my girlfriend should be coming back soon.” you know the waters are abysmal and inclement but you test them anyway. praying that there’s a chance their ego will sweep them back to whatever hell they came from.

“i don’t think you have a girlfriend, sweet thing. i bet you’re just playin’ hard to get.” they step even closer, almost making you gag.

you send another prayer out. hoping for an angel to sweep in and make this person disappear.

“look –– i know my girl’s really pretty but i’d appreciate it if you’d leave her alone now.” a girl you can’t really make out the face of speaks. make no mistake, though the words are kind the tone is threatening. yet unlike this random in front of you, her voice catches your attention and soothes you. it catches their attention too, finally backing away in surrender. your eyes squint and the only thing that can come to mind as this faceless woman comes in to save the day is…god? is that you?

they another swig out of their red solo and send a hankering look over their shoulder before you’re finally released as they walk away. free at last.

you clear your throat of any traces of the venom reserved for insistent, drunk strangers. you cave your shoulders inwards, bending your back to release yourself of built tension before letting out a soft sigh since it feels like you can breathe again. “...thanks.”

she lifts and drops her shoulders, dismissively. letting you know the action wasn’t one she needed thanking for. she steps a bit closer so she can hear you better and damn. gold flaxen hair combed back in a ponytail so you can get a better look at all her pretty features. you espy her perfect nose and welcoming smile. verdure green eyes making direct contact with yours. and, again, damn –– the way her eyes smile at you benevolently, the kind you could get lost in. god definitely had favorites and she was the supreme. her likeness stopping you in your tracks. entranced by her.

“i’m kate, by the way.” she extends a hand, open palm to the side for you to take. you amalgamate fingers with her –– her palms soft as butter.

you give her your name as the handshake cleaves apart. she notices the lack of a red cup in your hands –– easy to spot since most everyone around you isn’t void of one –– and takes the chance. “that’s a pretty name. you aren’t drinking?”

“i’m driving.” you miss the way her shoulders relax when she hears that you’re sober. her hands retiring to the pockets of her pants as she studies you. no doubt checking you out just as shamelessly as you had done to her.

“me too.” her lips rise at the sides –– a smile that could divest the most stubborn tension. you smile back but keep your shoulders straight and command your knees to keep firm. and refuse to let them buckle for a ridiculously pretty stranger.

“do you go to a lot of parties?” she crooks her head to the side, curiosity twinkling in her pretty eyes.

“not really.” your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “do you?”

she chuckles airly. “not really.”

“what made you come to this one then?”

“my friends dragged me here. i think they just wanted my attention though. i’m a great personal chauffeur apparently.” jauntily dig that forces your teeth to bite back another grin.

“can’t blame them too much in that case. who wouldn’t want your attention?” an intuitive hunch on your end but you couldn’t help it.

“are you saying that you want my attention?” she replies back quickly, not missing a beat.

“absolutely not...” you smile teasingly, sarcasm itself probably envious of your delusive tone.

“…are you flirting with me?” you’re graced with a hearty chuckle, her lips pressing together as she clears the joke.

“absolutely.”

she tilted her head again, formal reddening spreading across her cheeks. pretty. it almost felt like the party quieted down or ceased to exist entirely as the two of you just talked. mouths spewing about anything and everything. it wasn’t long until you upped the ante, getting bolder with your flirty remarks to see that familiar blush across her cheeks again.

“wanna get out of here?” you lower your voice to a breathy whisper. daring her to step closer.

“we…we have to drive, we shouldn’t leave the party…” her breathing quickens, tachycardic heart pulsing. be responsible, kate. she reminds herself albeit reluctantly because she wants nothing more than to drag you out of here.

“not out of the party…out of this room.” you outstretch your hand again.

hell yes. her hand sliding against yours –– wide, toothy grin settling her lips. you cusp your hand in the curve of hers.

you lead her through the talking, drunk bodies you’re surrounded with. she clings to the grasp of your warm hand as you make it up the stairs. you lead her across the hall. you lower your voice. “i think this is the bathroom.”

she watches you clasp your hand into a fist and press it firmly against the closed door a few times. no answer. the most beautiful silence she’s ever heard.

you open it and see that it is in fact empty and is in fact the bathroom. and most importantly clean. you back her flush against the counter, staring at her for a fleeting moment before you whisper.

“you’re so pretty…”

she groans, kissing you with all her pent up greed –– pulling you as close as she can get you and then even closer. your hands reach down to her pants, hooking around the top of them.

“take these off..” it was something about the breathy way you spoke the words, how your eyes twinkled practically begging for it. nimble fingers desperately seeking the removal of her belt as she nods in approval.

once it’s gone, you slip your hand into her pants and past her underwear. agile fingertips reaching her puffy clit. she hisses which quickly resolves into a moan which you swallow eagerly.

it feels good. she moans as much but you would’ve assumed it by the way she struggles to kiss you back.

“please. it’s not enough, go faster.” she huffs, hips bucking into your hand.

“what?” in the palm of your hand you hold her release underneath your ordinance. she sounded so pretty askin so nicely. “tell me again.”

she grumbles, head tossing itself back and back arching into you. “please.”

you wouldn’t wanna disappoint. so you give her what she’s longing for, fingers speeding up to get her there. her ecstasy is contagious, your own body losing control as your hands move on their own accord –– raring to send her over the edge.

it’s addicting. how her eyes screw shut, the gasp she lets out as her own delectation overtakes her. you ride it out for her, wrists eventually knotting behind her neck when she kisses you.

“your turn.” she mumbles into your mouth but a knock at the door pauses both your movements, you go to move away but she holds you tighter. “...promise i’ll be quick if you promise to be quiet.”

damn. risky offer that you wouldn’t be caught dead denying. you nod, letting her dismiss your bottoms as she drops to her knees in front of you. her hot breath fans over your pussy –– near embarrassment flowing over you at how soaked you are.

she wastes no time, lithe tongue licking between your legs. lips opening and closing around your clit. you’re spoiling her, indubitably. she was completely spoiled the second your mouth got the first taste of you. she basks in the beauty of your rapture. if only for a moment more to pull away and hear you whine for desire of her. she licks your lips of the remnants of your taste on them, chin coated in your interrupted release. she couldn’t resist how perfect the opportunity to tease you right now was.

“say please.”

#kate martin x reader #kate martin imagine

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agirlwithglam · 3 days

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but honey, what about you?

you're always there for others. always listening to them about their problems, always trying to help them out, make them feel appreciated and included, but what about you? you, my sweet princess are so gentle and kind to others, are so considerate and uplifting with others, you are perfect, or at least you aim to be. but honey, what about you? you give and give and give so much love and appreciation to people in your life, but yet you dont give it to yourself? what kind of crusty musty dusty behaviour is this? it is not arrogant or rude to love yourself the same way you love others. i promise you, it is not. and if the people around you currently can't understand that, then i promise you that one day you will find someone who will.

but in the meantime, my only request is to treat yourself with the same unlimited love you give others. listen to your own problems, be gentle and kind and patient with yourself, try thinking about yourself for once, ok?

you, my dear angel, deserve the same treatment as you treat others. but then you find yourself wondering that if thats how it should be... why don't i feel loved and included? because not everyone has the same heart as you sweetheart. not everyone has the same pure intentions and heart as your own beautiful, flawless self.

remember that you are completely perfect, just the way you are. girliepops, you are thee dream girl. are you funny? caring? patient? kind? understanding? inclusive? positive? happy? loving? smart? have a good personality? then girl stop worrying. literally the only thing thats missing is the confidence and self love. you're perfect. not even kidding. stop lying down on a puddle so others don't get wet. thats not your responsibility. let me rephrase that: it is not your responsibility to disrespect or hurt yourself for others. in fact, not only is it not your responsibility, it is something that you absolutely mustn't do. don't laugh at something thats rude to you. don't be desperate in trying to entertain others. you are not on this earth to entertain others, but to entertain yourself.

by all means, love people above and beyond, but that includes you. your love for you must be unlimited. why? because every. single. inch. of you deserves love.

tbh idk how much more i can say this. love yourself. love yourself. love yourself!! please oh for the love of god, believe that you're deserving of a pure kind of love, the way you love others. you're more than deserving! own it! <3

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packsvlog · 1 day

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❛ 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐘 ❜ ﾉ⠀ 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪

✶ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It had been a decade since the jujutsu world last heard your voice or seen your face. 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 had to deal with his emotions and conflicts by himself, and when he was nearly accepting that maybe you were dead, the unthinkable happens ── 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩.

✶ 𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is the same universe as ‘𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾’ 𝗆𝗒 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗎 one shot, but obviously can be read separated (but don’t, read all of them <3), because i thought it would be cool. this one actually made me cry a lot, but as always, good ending. totally based on this song. also, i noticed i like to make the reader strong and whatever, expect more badass readers from me. mwah.

✶ 𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬: angst with good ending, mature content, blood, death, kidnapping, foul language, anxiety attack, self harm (picking skin), malnourishment, afab!reader (their uterus is actually important to the plot), happy ending.

✶ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8k

Gojo Satoru has had bruises and scars surrounding all of his fingers for almost a decade now. It’s a habit he picked to externalize his anxiety, much like Shoko with her cigarettes — ever since they met each-other, the girl would inhale one after the other.

When Ieiri became a doctor, her mission was to help healing the physical scars cause by either Gojo’s own hands or mouth, plucking the skin and tasting his blood, as if that could calm him. Maybe it could, he did felt relief through the pain. Shoko knew it was unhealthy and just the first steps before it all escalated to something more dangerous and difficult, so she tried to help.

“Let’s change this…” The brunette grabbed Satoru’s hands from his mouth, when he started to complain, she exchange it for a strawberry covered in chocolate. “For this.”

Soon, Shoko is reminded that Satoru can multitask. Blood and sweets merge in his mouth, the taste is addictive to him, much like something he unknowingly misses.

They both try cigarettes.

“Isn’t cigarettes as bad as this self-harm, you think I do?!” Gojo asks after burning his lungs and coughing the smoke all the way up his throat. There is a bitter taste that impregnates in his tongue, he can help but stick one of his fingers into his mouth and scratch the pink muscle. While he is at it, Gojo bites, tempted, his skin.

Shoko thinks that if Satoru is allowing all of this, that means he cares as much as she does, and he wants to be unhooked of this habit he has. One day, she suggests maybe he should focus on something else, like keeping his bed warm with a new person everyday. You’re never picking up your skin when you’re focused on somebody’s else, Shoko tells him.

Gojo turns it down the second she finishes her reasoning.

“Your pretty head is going to work harder for a new idea, Sho. Not in the mood for anyone else.” Shoko doesn’t bother slapping Satoru’s hands away from his mouth, the woman is to busy being stunned by his words.

“I thought you had move on, Gojo.” She didn’t meant to say it out loud, hence why it’s barely a whisper, but the contents of it could never scape Gojo. If the topic was you, he was always hearing, trained his ears in the hope to catch news a long time ago. “It’s been what? four years?”

“No, it’s been six, actually.” Gojo is not looking at Shoko, not at anywhere in the room but his hands, bruised and bloodied by himself. Shoko wonders if he is going to bite the whole thing off. “Six years since she has gone missing. Not a single news, she had no family, besides us, so no one has know shit.” He closed his hands in fists.

“Don’t you think she could have just gone away, Satoru?” Ieiri fidgets with her wedding ring unconsciously, the piercing blue eyes snap to the silver metal for a moment before returning to his lap, his long hand touching his necklace under the shirt. Shoko knew of your hate towards the jujutsu world and the men in power, but she was also your friend, you wouldn’t have left anyone behind, especially Gojo. “No, she didn’t.”

“Yeah, she didn’t.” Satoru grabs his glasses on the coffee table and adjust them over his eyes. To ease the pain of the six-eyes or to hide his tears, the woman wonders. “But I wish that’s what happened, y’know?” Gojo presses his thumb against the bottom of his teeth, tempted. “I would love her more if I knew she was far away, somewhere in the mountains, sleeping with dozens of blankets and a cat named Amour.”

Shoko doesn’t find her voice in that moment, is stuck besides her breaking heart and burned lungs. Gojo doesn’t seem to mind, he is lost in this calm and happier version of you he creates to ease his mind.

“If she isn’t, can you imagine? Can you imagine her dead?” Satoru slaps his hand over his mouth, and Shoko fears that’s the moment he will bite so hard the blood he is addicted to will paint himself, paint her, become physical enough to never be ignored like this situation they are right know. But none of that happens, Satoru simply try to hide his hiccups and cries.

It takes Ieiri a second to register what is happening, and when she does she jumps over the coffee table and hugs Gojo’s shaking form. In the six years since your disappearance, Satoru has never said out loud that you could be dead. The man thought such a thing was impossible, said that your curse energy was so strong anyone would feel it, Japan would lose its balance. He wondered if he had been wrong, had never noticed, because even if Satoru had spend all the time searching for you, he could have missed this. Could have missed you, and your last breath.

“Oh, please, my God.” Gojo begged the usual prayer: trade him for you, let him see you just one more time — he only needed a goodbye, a hug, a kiss. To look in your eyes and repent, to touch your skin and evaporate. Gojo Satoru would avoid death until the moment he sees you again, dead or alive.

“Gojo.” Shoko grabbed his face, removing his glasses and making him stare at her through his white eyelashes. He looked so young, the perfect mirage of how he was when Satoru learned of your missing. “She is not gone.” Ieiri hated herself for this, for trying to give him hope, something desperate to dig his claws in, unknown to the fact it was hope digging him, and when the truth would come out it could remove chunks of Satoru.

“Then where is Y/n?” Gojo whispered. “Where is she that I can’t find? Where is my love?”

Gojo Satoru became a shell of a man after that day. For the next four years he devoted his attention to anything related to you.

Becoming a good and happy teacher because he knew how much you wanted to be one, for the young sorceress who were obliged to give their lives for old men who couldn’t even thank them. Gojo’s spare time used to be for you, as well, searching Tokyo and hiring detectives all over the world, but now he promised Shoko to take some time at his penthouse. It sucks.

He holds himself against the large windows and knows you would love to see the city lights, when they would shine through your eyes and light half of your face, he would kiss you desperately. For a decade away from your lips, he still could remember how good it felt to be complete with you. The clouds reached the building some times, and he wondered if you were dead, this was your way of reaching. But whenever Gojo refused to believe in this, he would let the curtains take him away from the clouds.

Today is one of those days. And the sky is angry at him, demanding his attention with lightning and thunder — unfortunately, same as your cursed technique. Anytime a lightning falls at the city bellow him, Gojo hugs himself a bit tighter, to avoid himself from jumping to the windows, shamelessly looking for you.

His cell phone rings two times before he picks it up.

“Hey, are you alright? It’s a pretty heavy storm tonight.” Suguru asks right away, in the background there is two teen girls screaming with terror and then laughing like maniacs afterwards. “One lightning fell at the garden, the girls are going crazy. If you want to come, please do.” There is despair in his voice, and Gojo laughs at that.

“Sure, nothing better to do. Should I teleport in the middle of your living room to scare them?”

“Yes! That would be very much appreciated… Oh.” There is mumbling for a long time before Suguru returns. “Nanako is asking for you to bring her some of your snacks, the sour one, Mimiko says she want nothing but she likes the peanut butter M&M’s.” More talking in the background. “You are no bother, love, he is filthy rich.”

“Your daughters are lucky I love them.” Gojo mumbles getting up, before he moves there is a sound on his phone showing him a second number is calling. “I think Shoko is calling me, I’ll be right back at you. Tell your wife I’m bringing you and her something as well.”

“It better be good, last time you got her pineapple biscuits, what is wrong with you?”

“Those biscuits are good.”

“SHE’S ALLERGIC, SATORU.”

“OKAY, NO PINNEAPLES! WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING? Why am I screaming?” Satoru sighed before turning around from his cabinet with the pineapple biscuit.

He turned off the call with Geto who was busy with the girls to even notice. The second call was already off. Gojo shrugged, Shoko would definitely call again. Satoru was busy grabbing a random backpack is his closet when he heard his phone from the kitchen a couple of minutes later, he walked with the bag and picked the phone without seeing the id.

“Hi, you want to go to Geto’s house and prank the girls by teleportation?” Gojo starts to pack the bag, but stops when he hears no answer from Shoko, just breathing and thunder. “Wha…” Gojo takes the phone from his ears and checking the id find a random number. “Okay weirdo, this breathing thing is not really my cup of tea, know what I mean? I’m turning off now.”

“Don’t.” It’s a simple whisper, one word. It’s through the phone and the sound of wind, thunder clashes nearly at the exact same time. But Gojo hears your voice, and he doesn’t wonder if he heard right, but only if he is hallucinating, he would never forget your voice. “Please, don’t turn off.”

“Baby, please, please be you.” He has nothing else to say, no right question at this moment, the only thing in his head is you, has always been you.

“It’s me, Sato, I’m here.” He senses the smile in your voice, he can picture you with your eyes close and cuddling your face to the phone like he is doing right now. “Satoru, this is really, really important, okay? I need you to come get me now.”

Those ten years, Satoru had been waiting for this. Sensing the urgency of your words, Gojo removes his eye band.

“Tell me where you are, baby.”

Before you could answer, something snapped behind you.

“Here she is, dumb bitch couldn’t run that fast, after all. Still in our lands.” A man said causing not only yours but Satoru’s blood as well to run cold. You turned to him, admiring the blood dripping from the bite on his shoulder, your courtesy. “Let me make one thing clear, sweetheart, you’re never leaving here.” A slap followed his words. “Take her back to Naoya, he is waiting for the punishment.”

“FUCK.” A second man voice was present. “THE BITCH STOLE A PHONE.” All heads turned to him, in his hands was the object you dropped soon as you heard the men, the other line was silent but the call was still on.

“WHO WHERE YOU FUCKING CALLING?” The first man grabbed your hair, he approach his face to yours, forcing you to feel the putrid smell from his breath.

“I was ordering a pizza, asked for your favorite, no need to thank.” You stares at his nose for a moment, before launching at and biting it. Blood flows to your throat again in the day, he pushes you off and you stumble back, quickly getting up and spitting on the agonizing man. The other with the cellphone is scared, mostly due to the storms behind you, following the movements of your hands. “C’mon, I’m in the mood to a good fight.”

The man drops the phone. One step, is all he gives for you, all you allow before lighting meets him and he falls dead on the floor, a second hits the one on the floor. It takes you half a second to reach to phone, the call is still on but silent on the other side.

“Satoru?” You call worried for your lover.

“I’m here, baby.” You sigh in relief when he answers. He was coming your way, still.

“Did you heard me beating them?” You sit on the floor, under the rain who kisses your bruised skin softly, much like Gojo used to do. “I‘ve been waiting some time for this… How long was I out?”

“A long time.” Gojo answers are so short you wonder if you did the right thing by calling him. But if anything, he was the only number you had memorized, it was your only chance. When you first called him, he said something about ‘girls’ had he moved on? Are you allowed to be upset by this idea?

“Satoru, where are you?” It’s another whisper of yours he catch quick.

“I already said, baby. I’m here.”

You scrunch your eyebrows before getting up, turning your head for every direction, until you realized you had been so focused on the rain and Satoru’s voice, you didn’t catch the enormous red light over the trees and screams coming from the Zen’in clan’s houses direction.

“Stay where you are while I finish this, okay, baby?” He grunt, before you hear a punch being throw. “I‘ll come get you quick.”

You wait by the trees, sitting towards the entrance of the woods that you took off sprinting earlier. You were tired, had been years since you used your cursed technique, your muscles had gone missing after many malnourished sessions given by your kidnappers, as a lesson for disobedience, but you never stopped, never bowed down. For however long had the Zen’in Clan kept you, they never achieved their most sacred wish, the whole reason for capturing you. You were proud of that, even with your many scars and poorly healed broken bones, you were safe from the future they wanted, and now you were truly safe.

It’s silent before you see the first strands of white hair coming behind the trees. He moves gracefully with blood all over him, and you can tell none of it it’s his. Gojo keeps staring at the floor, but you know he knows you are there, standing up fast.

“Satoru?” You move towards him, but he catches your halfway, hugging your body like a cage you would have much preferred than the other you have lived. Your head is in his chest, and his is in your neck — both of you checking the other’s heartbeat, making sure it’s all real.

“If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up.” Satoru says against your skin. He lifts his gaze to be met with your eyes, so pretty he smiles. “But If I do, I’ll burn the Zen’ins again. I’ll take it as a sign, you are alive, you are waiting for me.” Gojo closes his eyes and bring his forehead to yours. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

“I am real, my love.” It’s you who initiates the kiss, he answers right away, hands moving to all the right places, keeping you still under him, where you have always been meant to be. Gojo doesn’t let you separate your lips, but does so when you start to giggle. “I want to leave, and after a perfect bath, we can have all the kisses in the world.”

“Do you want to see the others?”

Is a instant after your nod, and you are in the garden of a temple, hands interlock and gazes lifted, Satoru walks with you towards the entrance, he puts you behind him before getting inside a room.

“What took you so long?” You recognize Geto’s voice right away, you squeeze Gojo’s hand. “Thanks for my wife calling, Shoko and Utahime came.” Satoru is quiet in front of you. “What? Yeah, fine, I am disappointed you didn’t pranked my daughters, wife already put them to sleep anyways.” Oh, so Satoru wasn’t seeing anyone? Wait, daughters? How long you were out?

“What is it, Gojo?” Is Shoko who asks this time, but again Satoru keeps quiet. “Is that blood on you?” Your head shuffling and movement, but out of nowhere, Gojo moves to behind you, hands on your shoulders in a instant, startling everyone.

“You should check her first.” Is all he says while your old friends faces turns from shock to relief, and then tears. There is so many of those you feel your robes drenching more than before on the rain. But everything is warm, be the presence of your lover behind you or the arms of your found family, all burns away the fears of your past.

You take a shower with Satoru before returning to the living room with matching sweaters, Geto has you eating a proper meal before giving you the most extra decorated hot chocolate you had ever had. Is in his couch, under Satoru’s arm, that you start to talk.

“There was this woman many years ago, a sorcerer who could see the future, she left many letters hidden in many sealed boxes she buried all over Japan. One of those spoke about you, Satoru. She predicted your birth.” You gaze him quickly, before sipping the chocolate. “The Zen’in Clan wanted to find something about themselves, adamant she must have written when would the next sorcerer with the Ten Shadows Technique appear.”

All eyes are on you, avoidant of your trembling hands, except for Gojo, he grabs the cup from your hand and kisses your head.

“I found the boxes, it was my missions to find them for the High Ups. And I did good, but the Zen’in interfere, demanding to know just what concerned to them, and I guess someone took pity and let them read.” You gulped. “My name was on the last letter, saying that my blood was strong enough that I would bear an powerful heir, even stronger than their father. The letter specifically said who the father would be, a Gojo. with both Limitless and the Six Eyes.” You are already staring at Satoru, his eyes are all o ver your face, inspecting for the truth, there is a small smile on his face.

“I’m gonna be a cool dad.” It’s all he says before looking at your friends.

“Shut up.” You timidly said. “The thing is, the Zen’in only cared about my blood and genetics part, they thought if I give them a child, it could be the next Ten Shadows’s user. I can’t tell with certain, but I think they got the blessing from the High Ups, it was supposed to be a quick mission, even I thought it was weird, I’m always needed with weird quests. I found nothing but Zen’in Naoya, who proudly called himself my master and me his concubine.”

Your attention went to Gojo, he was biting the skin of his fingers, you grabbed his hands quickly and noticed the old scars and recent wounds, kissing all of them.

“They seized me with the help of a sorcerer from the Kamo Clan, she could power down my curse, in exchange for an heir to the Kamo’s as well, but electricity has always run on me. They learned to handle the shocks, but only for a couple of minutes. Naoya never touched me like that.” You said to calm your friends, but you as well. Had that woman been a bit more stronger, your life would have been different.

“That’s how I scape, before dinner they forgot that sorceress are humans as well, and I was left alone with her. I killed her with normal punches who turned into electrical punches. Then, I found Naoya and strike a lightning on his crouch, before I could do more damage, the others saw and i ran, grabbed his phone and called you, I thought I was going to die and needed to hear your voice.” There is tears streaming down not only your face, but everyone else’s. Your pain is being dissected in front of everyone, you had been so close all this time. “You didn’t pick up at first, but I kept trying, and you did. And it wasn’t enough, I needed to see you. So you came.”

“You called me, I will always come to you.” Satoru has you in his arms again, hugging you scared that this might all be a dream yet, he couldn’t live without you ever again, and with the way you would hold him back, he knew you felt the same.

Gojo had never been so sure of something when he made you get up from the couch with him, even confused you did and stared at your friends, their wet eyes were as confused as yours. You turn back to Satoru, and he is on one knee. Gojo hands left yours to move to his neck, removing his silver chain that was hidden under his shirt, now you see the dangling diamond ring in it. Satoru takes the ring and stares at you, hopelessly in love and devoted.

“You know I have always loved you, everyone in this room can testify to that. I knew you were alive, I knew we would see each-other again, and I promised myself that when we did met, I had to marry you.” You try hard to see Gojo through your wet vision, he smiles triumphantly even before he gives you the question. “I bought this ring after you disappeared, and it was what kept me safe, the promise that one day it would be in your finger, and your name complimented with mine. The future is what has held me, the thought of you. So please, my love, let’s start our future. Marry me?”

It’s the quickest ‘Yes’ you had ever said, you repeat it like a mantra, Gojo laughs while sliding the ring on your finger and kissing all over your hand, then he gets up and kisses you again and again and again, until Shoko, Utahime and Geto’s wife are pushing him away and hugging you, letting your fiancé to his friend.

Later that night, when the talk gets easier and calmer, with every couple holding themselves like a silent prayer of what could happen or re-happen, they take solace in their lovers. Shoko stares at Gojo and his happy smile, he looks, once more, so young. One of his hands goes straight to his lips, and Ieiri is tempted to slap it away from his teeth, but Gojo stops himself before anyone could, he simply moves one hand to your face in a love embrace and the other to touch your finger and keep spinning your ring.

The medic had been right all along, he is too busy devouring your love and attention and giving all those ten years of love he himself had kept, to focus on picking his skin. His scars would forever heal from now on, with you by his side, nothing would ever hurt again.

#❛ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐉𝐉𝐊 ⠀⠀ﾉ⠀ ♡#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru angst #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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moonshynecybin · 2 days

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i just wonder how vale’s feeling about the recent news because like. surely he knows, deep down, that whilst pecco is for sure good, he isn’t- not quite- well.

fascinated by how he will manage this from a mentor slash insane in the membrane about marc specifically perspective tbh. because his sweet little babies have never reallllllyyyy had to tango with prime marc on equal footing. yes theres been battles and skirmishes and individual races where theyve been fighting, but NOTHING so long as a year-long drag out fucking crazy ass title fight agaisnt marc with CONFIDENCE and a bike that isnt BUSTED. and the thing is. vale's done that with marc. and he LOST. so hes coming into this as ostensibly a mentorship conversation where he is meant to dispense vital wisdom and advice as a sage on high. obi wan kenobi shit. but. unfortunately the competitive experiences he shared with marc were largely unsuccessful. AND you have to factor in his own deeply personal marc baggage that makes him uniquely crazy here, AND him knowing that pecco isnt as talented as him. AND him knowing that pecco, as his protege, represents HIM in this ongoing proxy war with marc. so hes hinging his hopes of marc not equaling/beating his championship total on a talent hes fostered for the last decade that simply might not be able to measure up.... and all the anxiety and resentment that comes along with not being able to jump in there and do it himself... so i actually have to imagine this is a very grating emotional situation for vale lmao

#motogp #callie speaks #asks #rosquez

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nonuify · 8 hours

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Hey! I think the nsfw headcanons are so hot. Great work baby girl!

joshua headcanons (bf and NSFW like the one you did for seungcheol)? Or just the nsfw if you can't find the time.(I get it)

ᝰ.ᐟ 🌐 — H.JS ; ! boyfriend headcanons

sfw & nsfw is included ! minors do not interact 18+.

📓 ! i think shua is so sweet to you from beginning of your relationship like he would constantly worry about your comfort or anything regarding you.

📓 ! jisoo would get really flustered if you peck or kiss him even after awhile in your relationship he just loves you when you kiss him, it really has him feeling giddy.

📓 ! his love language is totally words of affirmation i think he absolutely loves you when you poor your heart out to him when you tell him how much he’s appreciated, but he also loves giving it to you, shua will always give you little love letters when you go to work, its just canon.

📓 ! he had a really cute habit of sending you random pics all throughout his day like one of his meals, or him working in the studio or just him singing, he absolutely loves sharing his life with you.

📓 ! he admires your beauty even when your sitting doing nothing he would just bite his eyes into your ethereal figure & face wondering how lucky he got.

📓 ! you guys have matching bracelets or any kind of accessories together its a must to jisoo!!, he will let the world know your his even in little details.

📓 ! you know where in the movies the couples share some earphones while listening to music? yeah that’s you & joshua, sharing music with you is canon.

📓 ! everyweek he’ll take you on dates wether it’s a fancy restaurant or a simple picnic or whatever he will take you & spend time with his special person.

📓 ! with fights, i think he’s really calm about it it’s very seldom he’ll blow up on you even if he does he will spend the whole days after apologizing for it, cuz he’s just a sweetie :(

📓 ! with him you guys are like a black cat & golden retriever duo, so opposite yet so right.

📓 ! joshua is very smart at reading you whenever your sad about something, i think he gets worried so much abt you so that’s why!

📓 ! he’s such a hopeless romantic he will deliver flowers to you so much, with secret love letters wether it be passionate or intimate.

📓 ! he loves calling you angel, it just suits you so much & you call him shua or shushu.

📓 ! joshua is pretty chill, but when he thinks you e gone too far playing your little tricks he will get jealous, and his jealousy isn’t easy.

! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ nsfw starting from this point.

📓 ¡ oh he’s such a tit man, he will suck, bite & kiss your tits till their colors turn & till your a sensitive mess.

📓 ¡ yeah he’s a sweetheart but in bed he’s so mean, like i stand by the meanie joshua committee.

📓 ¡ he looves to spit into your little cunt or mouth letting you swallow it like a good girl, then making you thank him.

📓 ¡ he fucks his cock into your panties till they’re soiled & slippery with his milky white cum, he’ll send you the pic of it even.

📓 ¡ joshua will be mean but he praises you never ever is gonna neglect your pretty little pussy & how it’s making him feel he’ll coo you so much but don’t get me wrong if you’re a brat he will degrade you till your a cock-drunk mess.

📓 ¡ oh he’s a pussy-slapper, he will slap your little cunt till you spew out cum out of your abused hole & your a crying mess.

📓 ¡ shua loooves when you cockwarm him with your mouth, he’ll let you there for hours till he’s satisfied enough to replaced with your wet-needy cunt.

📓 ¡ when he’s feeling it he’ll let you top him but both of you at the end of the day he’ll pound you into next week.

📓 ¡ I think he has a big big thing for you riding his thigh till his pants are soaked by your juices or even cum, he’ll look at you fucked out face & moan.

📓 ¡ shua has a big fucking breeding kink I can’t put my finger on it but seeing his cum coming out of your hole, makes him all hard again he absolutely loves the thought of you bearing his children.

📓 ¡ but shua has his passionate love-making side, he’ll make you cry from how he’s putting in so much love in you like it’s absolutely heart-warming how he does it, the I love yous & moans amusing ears.

📓 ¡ his fav position is missionary totally he loves admiring your face, holding you hands while he pumps into you.

! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ thank you for reading >ᴗ< !! i hope you enjoy this bby!!!

#seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen scenarios #svt #svt smut #joshua smut #joshua scenarios #joshua fluff #joshua imagines #joshua x you #joshua x reader #joshua fic #joshua #jisoo smut #jisoo x reader #seventeen fluff

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grind-pantera · 1 day

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How would Noa react to human reader on her period? I’m currently on mine and got this thought!

It's like you and i are the same person bc im on mine too ( The first time in like three years, im SUFFERING, ) Let's get self-indulgent. YOLO.

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. READ THE PROMPT ABOVE AND MAKE THE CHOICE IF YOU ARE OKAY WITH THIS CONTENT, OTHERWISE, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Ty ty.

Due to the environment and stress of living in the society you were placed in, your period was admittedly not regular though you tried your best to keep track of it. It got lost from time to time and you were left unsure when it would rear its ugly head back in. Sometimes, it was remarkably early by a few weeks, sometimes, it was at least a month late.

Your first period while with the Clan? You had nothing prepared. Nothing to ease your bleeding, nothing to ease yourself into some semblance of comfort. You quite frankly go into a small panic. You don’t know who to talk to - there’s no humans here, and Apes don’t bleed and have symptoms like Humans do.

Oh my god avoiding Noa for the few days out of embarrassment - How do you even begin to explain to him?

Don’t think for a moment that Noa doesn’t know something is going on. The boy has an acute sense of smell. The roll of your pheromones, how they hit him and stuck around like a fog around his head, how they adjusted ever so slightly a few days before you began ignoring him? Noted. You’re more hungry than usual - going for seconds at the evening meal. Nothing savory though - you stocked up on fruits and berries and just explained to him that the sweetness was more up your alley. He’d mention that maybe you should have some meat to balance but the absolute daggers you gave him caused him to never bring it up again. Noted. The pull to your emotions, like you were swinging from a branch, back and forth not able to teether yourself to one? You began crying one day with him next to you while watching the Baby Apes play with each other. The next moment, you were snapping at him for even looking at you. Noted. The subtle shift in your body? Becoming a bit more reserved , you often kept your hands in front of your chest, blocking him from looking at you fully? Maybe, he even notices when your arms grazed your chest that you flinched - Tender breasts. Noted. Heightened mating the last few days? Oh, absolutely noted. Not as tired as you though - Noa noticed you getting more tired during the middle of the day, asking him a few days before your period actually hit if you could go take a nap while he went with Soona and Anaya to fish. Noted.

You go to Soona and Dar in hopes that maybe you can talk to them about it and actually have them understand. You’re too embarrassed to bring this up to Noa and you doubted that he’d understand at all. Noa does show up mid-conversation though- You had been talking to Soona and Dar about something from his perspective. He doesn’t take much time to notice that, letting his green eyes rest on you for a moment longer but the tone of the voice you’re using with his Mother and Soona? Quite, hushed, like you had a secret. Noa has to admit that he’s a tiny bit intrigued and he lingers, trying to pick apart the conversation despite his brain telling him not to, that it was obviously a private matter. But… The other side of him bargained and he wondered what secret you could have that you wouldn’t want him to know about. After all, you had been avoiding him for a few days and he needed to know why if that’s what you were talking to Dar and Soona about. Admittedly, as you explained to them what was happening ( Soona and Dar ) they were more confused than you initially wanted them to be with your vague words, having to go into more detail and explain - Which was not on your bingo-card at all. You were unsure of what words/phrases they were going to understand so you had to transverse carefully around the subject. You felt like you were going to cry from embarrassment before a look of understanding flashed from Dar. ~*So, from listening to the conversation he was not supposed to be a part of, Noa gathered only a few things: you were going through something that affected females? Hence, why you went to Soona and Dar. You were embarrassed to talk to Noa about it, it must have been pretty contentious. And went through this consistently, albeit not regularly? It was a sign of Echo maturity, your body coming into its own. On a consistent basis? Noa was confused. How does your body do that?

Oh my god Noa asking you about it. The blood rushing to your face as he mentions that he had heard you talking to his Mother and Soona. Your first instinct is to get defensive. You cross your arms in front of your chest, pretty adamant in telling him that there was nothing going on. Noa retaliates in defense of himself and says, “I… just want to know why… you… Are ignoring me.” The spacing of his words gives away that he was being careful to choose what he told you. Irrational anger bubbled to surface and you just snapped, “I’m on my period! Okay? I already talked to Dar and Soona about it and now you’re at my throat? Period! Is that a good enough answer for you!? It’s not always about you Noa!” You storm off, leaving the Ape bewildered. You eventually do return an hour or so later, this time, incredibly apologetic with tears in your eyes as you’re muttering to him through a flood of tears, telling him all about what was happening and how you were feeling. Your cramps, the headache that wouldn’t go away, your insatiable need to eat everything insight, the pure driven desire you had to be both angry and sad at the same time. You even went as far as to tell him that you were indeed bleeding -Something Noa didn't have the heart to tell you that he was aware of. Remember that acute sense of smell? He noticed it. He noticed it the last few days, figuring you would bring it up when you were ready. Noa pulls you into him, lightly pressing his forehead against yours. He’s still not 100% on the details but… He hated to see you cry. Hated to see you angry as well. He tells you that it’s okay, to calm down and that it’ll all be okay. Those swinging emotions he recalled from a few days before your period? Yeah, they happen during as well and you flew off the handle. “I am calm! What makes you think I’m not?” You groaned, pulling away from him, “I’m going to lay down.” He just watches wordlessly as you walk away; wondering what he said that was so offensive.

He definitely begins to track it with fever though; just another thing for him to notice about you, and he really did his best to be accommodating despite not fully understanding the reason why you went through it. He would tell you when he knew it was coming, something that you actually came to gratefully accept because the mutiny that was your body made it hard to track yourself.

Uhm hello? Noa bringing you an herbal drink that the Elders swore by to help with mild pain in the body. Usually, it was Apes that had joint problems from age, or some from injury, but the drink did help ease your headache and cramps to a semi-bearable state.

He scours the dinner for the most sweet berries and fruits. Noa is able to tell from look and feel which ones would be more welcomed by you and he’s always so diligent to bring you two bowls. One for now, one for later.

OHHhhh my god Noa resting his hands on your stomach when you’re tangled in the nest together. He can sense the discomfort you’re in. You had tossed and turned almost the entire night, keeping the two of you awake. Now that it was dusk, you felt more at ease as he placed a hand on the lower part of your abdomen and groaned at the pleasure of feeling his heated skin. ~*Definitely becomes more of a coping action that Noa works around. If Noa senses you’re feeling either nauseated or in pain, he’s rather quick to pull you into him and ease it the best he can. Favorite position? You’re laying on your side and he is spooning you from behind. Hands on your lower stomach, lightly at first but more intense if you’re craving more pressure and heat from him. He’s noticed you like to fall asleep like that. And he’s more than willing to oblige.

Ah god the forehead touches when you have a headache? Someone sedate me. ~* He really gets into it and will wrap his hands around your head, his fingers almost meeting at the back of your neck. The heat from his hands feels absolutely euphoric against your temples as he pulls you towards him. You fall lax against him and ultimately let Noa pull you into his lap. Hands run from the back of your neck down to your lower back. He’ll place tender touches there too, knowing that lower back pain was also common.

#noa #noa x reader #listen this is so sloppy im so sorry #cryin #pota #planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #TW: period #kotpota #kingdom of the planet of the apes

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pink-tea · 2 days

Text

cute genes

☆ pairing: choi soobin x afab! reader

☆ smut

☆ word count: 3.2k

☆ sub! soobin, dom! reader, slightly dark content !!!, dubcon technically bc baby trapping, toxic behaviors (baby trapping is not okay you guys!!), riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, milking, use of the nicknames "angel" (extensive use) and "bunny", nipple play (like a lot)(both receiving), tit sucking, breeding kink

☆ soobin is worried that one day he'll have to choose between his relationship and his career. you make sure that he never has to

// heyyy...how's everybody doing? (´∀｀；)

you should be ashamed of what you’re about to do, for what you’ve been doing. throwing away the condoms and riling up your poor little boyfriend all day so that when you tell him not to cum, you know you’re setting him up for failure. his desperate cries of “please please please” doing nothing as you grind down on his pulsating cock.

“come on, angel. you can do better than this, can’t you?” you ask softly, raking your nails over his chest and hard nipples. he writhes underneath you at the touch, letting out weak noises as he shuts his eyes in a desperate attempt to concentrate. it prevents him from seeing your smug expression at his struggle, sighing contentedly as you grind your clit down into his pelvis.

“can’t,” he pants, bunny lips red and slick from all the foreplay and subconscious biting he does while trying to quiet himself down. “please, I really don’t think I can,” soobin whimpers, opening his glossy eyes to look up at you. you groan at the sight, the blonde so pretty and pathetic underneath you that it makes him cry out when you roughly grind your hips down again.

“you’re gonna cum already?” you ask, watching as he quickly nods, lashes fluttering when you don’t even stop your pace to talk to him. “but I’m not gonna cum yet,” you sigh, rotating your hips in a slow circle. you reach a hand down to card through soobin’s hair, pushing the sweaty bangs on his forehead out of the way. “you have to get punished if you don’t do what I tell you, you know this,” you patronize, grabbing a fistful of the strands so that you can lightly shake his head side to side.

he whines at both your words and the slightly disorienting feeling, desperate to please but so desperate for release after what you’ve already put him through. he recognizes the word punishment, and if he wasn’t crying already, he’s sure he would’ve teared up because he’s trying so hard to be good. it feels so unfair, and he doesn’t even know that it’s because you made sure it would be unfair for him.

knowing that he’s being set up for failure makes something inside you bask at the control. it’s bad that you’re lying to him; it’s even worse that you’re making such a big decision without even considering what he wants, but isn’t it for the better? he’s been growing so much as an idol, more and more of your shared time spent on rescheduled dates and rushed intimacy.

you know he’s been stressed; you can help with that. but you also know that lately he’s been growing less and less confident that he’ll be able to still be the love of your life, along with being a successful idol.

you’d never make soobin choose between you and his dream. instead, you decided to make sure that he wouldn’t be able to choose. your sweet boyfriend, sweet soobin who would probably condemn himself to the furthest circle of hell before he abandoned his girlfriend and child. sweet soobin, who wouldn’t think of leaving you or your kid because he’s just too good of a person to do it.

it just makes sense; it was the only other option besides forcing soobin to quit his true passion (which probably wouldn’t work in the first place), and you just didn’t have the heart to do it. besides, even if being pregnant would be a less than wonderful experience, you’d be able to do it if it were for soobin. you’d go through the weeks with only facetime calls and the texted ‘i love you’s for him and your future child.

imagining your baby with soobin’s bright eyes and adorable dimples makes your heart fond. knowing that he'd be forced to forever come back home to you makes you determined.

“don’t want a punishment, wanna be good,” soobin whimpers out from beneath you, causing you to sigh in mock pity. you let both your hands fall to hold his face, his cheeks wet with both dried and fresh tears. he’s always been a pretty crier.

“bad boys have to get their punishment,” you explain softly, not being able to stop the small smile on your lips when soobin only responds with a high-pitched and needy whine. “even if they’re trying to be good,” you hum, letting your hands trail down his neck as you continue the moment of your hips. “surely you’re not trying to get out of your punishment,” you suggest, adding a tiny mocking gasp to your words.

quickly, the blonde shakes his head. “n-no, would never!” he exclaims, eyes squeezed shut as your nails rake down his shoulders and slip to his collarbones. “wanna be good, wanna be really—” the words get caught in his throat the moment your hands trail down from the dip of his collarbones to his perky nipples.

the reaction is immediate. a sob of anguish is ripped from his throat, his back unintentionally arching as his hips thrust up to meet yours. "no, no, no, please,” he tries to plead, head thrown back, and the hands that somehow found themselves on your waist leave a bruising grip. you ignore his cries, rolling his sensitive nipples under the pads of your thumbs.

“if I didn’t know any better, i’d think you were about to cum, angel,” you say casually, only receiving a choked noise from soobin as he thrashes underneath you. it’s amusing, the way you bounce on top of him as a result of his desperate attempts to escape. he's so fucked-out that he doesn’t even realize that he’s working against his own interests, slamming harder and deeper into your warm cunt every time you come back down.

“[your name], please, i can’t—i can’t!” he doesn’t even manage to finish forming his words before he’s shaking underneath you, the hands on your waist holding you down firmly as he thrusts up one last time. a chorus of moans and whimpers make their way to your ears as you watch Soobin’s face. his eyes are shut tight, a few stray tears making their way past his pretty lashes from the force.

you feel him shoot warm ropes of cum inside you. it’s messy and gross, and it’s just the way you wanted it as you stop your ministrations on his nipples. tutting and shaking your head, you bring a hand up to tap his cheek.

soobin opens his eyes at the cue, his pathetic gaze pleading and apologetic as he stares at your faux frown. your brows furrow as you look down at him, sighing dramatically as you pull back to sit down properly on his now-softening cock. “look what you did…” you scold, already feeling the way his cum is trickling out of you to form a disgusting mix of fluids at the base of where the two of you meet.

“i’m sorry,” soobin chokes out, lips trembling as you smooth your fingers over adam’s apple.

“i know,” you respond simply, placing your hands back on his tits. He shudders as you resume playing with his nipples, letting out a whimper when you start to ride him without warning. his hands fall from your waist, and soobin’s embarrassed to think about how the way you’re using him like your own personal fuck toy is making his sensitive dick harden all over again.

“tell me what you’re thinking,” you breathe, soft pants leaving your lips as you adjust your pace to finally chase after your own orgasm rather than soobin’s. a strangled noise builds up in soobin’s throat at the sight of your tits bouncing, and the hand that you end up placing on his thigh for a better angle heats up his skin.

“sensitive,” he manages to say after a few moments, struggling to process the pleasure that leaves his spine tingling. his dick is hard again, struggling to keep up with how your pussy swallows him, uncaring of what he’s feeling as you grind your clit onto him for the friction. “m’ not gonna last,” he tries to warn you, voice climbing into a higher pitch when you abandon the bouncing to roll your hips back and forth.

“that’s okay, baby,” you reassure him, grabbing his hands and moving them so that his palms are full of your breasts. “you’re not supposed to,” you simper, groaning in satisfaction when Soobin obeys your silent demands and starts to play with your nipples. he swallows thickly, dick twitching inside of you as the flesh of your breast spills out between his fingers.

“i don’t wanna get punished,” he insists, thumbing over your nipples despite his conviction. you smile at his words, cooing softly as you place your palms back on his toned stomach. your shadow looms over him, and like this you’re given a clear view as to how soobin’s gaze seems transfixed on your breasts, the pervert.

“baby, your punishment’s already begun,” you inform him, voice sweet despite your intentions of milking him dry. this information finally snaps soobin out of his daze, brown eyes catching yours with an almost comical look of shock and dismay.

“but–”

“mm-mm, no buts,” you chastise, placing a hand over your boyfriend’s mouth to halt his complaints. “you get what you deserve, you take what I give you,” you remind him coldly. you can feel the way Soobin chokes on a tiny sob underneath your palm, his saliva slicking up your hand and no doubt making a mess out of his mouth as he struggles not to buck up into the overstimulating pleasure of your warm cunt.

“that’s it,” you praise as he goes pliant and silent underneath you, minus the whines and groans that get muffled. “you’re gonna let me milk your pretty little cock, since apparently all you’re good for is cumming inside and making a mess,” you tell him, removing your hand from his mouth and wiping the mess of saliva on the bed sheets next to you.

“not all I’m good for,” he whines in protest, making you hiss in pain when he accidentally squeezes your breasts too hard.

“yeah? what else are you good for?” you ask tauntingly, raking your nails down the expanse of his stomach and enjoying the small mewl that slips past his lips at the pain. “good at looking pretty and fucked out? good at laying down and letting me have my way with you?” you list off, endeared by the small glare soobin manages to give you through his teary eyes.

“all you have to be good at right now is taking your punishment and making me feel good. is that too much to ask for?” you huff, leaning down to brush your lips against his cute ones.

“is that too much, angel?” You ask, hands reaching up to hold on to his shoulders.

“no,” he groans in response, leaning up to capture your lips with his in a way that distracts you with fondness. normally a sweet kisser, soobin is messy. his saliva wets your lips as he barely manages to keep the two of you together, some of his own drool making its way down his chin. it’s adorably pathetic, the way it takes so much effort just to kiss you while you fuck him dumb.

“i'm already close again,” he whines pitifully into your mouth.

you don’t respond, sliding one of your hands back down to meanly grab one of his nipples and twist, and it’s all it takes before soobin cums with a cry. his hands fall off your chest, one grasping desperately at the pillow under his head while the other twists in your sheets. he’s hiccuping through each breath, and all you can think about is how you’d do anything to keep him all to yourself forever.

you hum in appreciation as you watch him—the way his eyes screw close and his nose scrunches as his back arches off the bed. his cum is still warm inside of you, and you wait for his body to stop shuddering and drop back down before you grip his shoulders and start to chase your own release.

soobin gasps in sensitivity at the movement, warm hands flying up to grab at your waist in a futile attempt to slow you down.

“wait, ’m sensitive, [your name] please, it hurts,” he cries, and it's all in vain as you do your best to milk him for a third.

you ride him with just a bit more desperation than usual. it’s already been too many weeks since you’ve been off birth control. you don’t even realize how hard you’re staring at soobin, as if you’re trying to memorize every detail of his face in the case that all your efforts go out the window and this is the last time you see him. that’s until another tear slips out of soobin’s eye, and you know that you’d never let that happen, idol career be damned.

cooing, you lean down and lick the tear off his cheek, your pretty little boyfriend whining at the wet sensation. “i thought i put your hands somewhere,” you comment offhandedly, watching soobin’s eyes flutter in confusion before his brain catches up to your intentions. with a small groan, soobin’s hands are back on your tits, and you laugh at the way his cock twitches in your cunt.

“think you can you give me one more?” you ask sweetly condescendingly, placing a wet kiss on the same cheek you’ve already defiled. soobin can only pout, giving you a quivering nod as his thumb covers your nipple, eyes fixated on it.

determinedly, you pick up your pace on soobin’s cock. he’s semi-hard, but he’s whimpering and whining and he’s twitching from overstimulation, despite the fact that he still makes a valiant effort to get hard again. his stamina was pretty decent, but you’re set on milking a third out of him.

“just—just go a little slower, please,” he begs, limbs growing heavy and he’s struggling to keep a solid grip on your tit as you bounce.

“if you have the mouth to complain, you might as well suck on them,” you scowl, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair just to hear soobin’s gasp when you yank his head up.

“can’t be a good little breeding bitch when all you do is complain instead of cum,” you add on, soobin whimpering at the harsh words. his lips are in a wobbly frown, and with much effort he lifts himself high enough to sloppily take your nipple into his mouth. he desperately kneads the other with his hand, and you let yourself moan at the disgusting visual of soobin’s drool running down his chin and onto your chest.

“so messy,” you comment, using both of your hands to keep soobin’s head up to your chest as you ride him. sometimes you pull the strands of his hair to see him jerk, guiding him to your other nipple as your thighs burn and your speed begins to slow.

he’s hard inside of you, and there’s an embarrassing amount of cum frothing at the entrance of your cunt. there’s fluids all over soobin’s cock and pelvis, and you can’t help the way you drag your clit through the wet filth as you slow your hips into a grind.

“angel,” you gasp, pulling Soobin off your nipple with a loud ‘pop’ so that he can look at you with his fucked-out gaze. he hums in acknowledgement, going pliant in your hold once your hands slide down to cup his face in both palms.

"help me cum,” you demand, and soobin only needs a few seconds before he’s wordlessly dragging a thumb over your clit as you pick up your pace. you lean down to kiss him, taking a lip between your teeth and tugging as his eyes threaten to flutter shut once more.

and it only takes a few more moments with the dizzying drag of soobin’s thumb over your puffy clit before you’re moaning into his mouth and riding through your orgasm. soobin answers you with his own soft moan, the noise breaking into a weak sob as your pussy clenches down on him. he cums inside of you for the third time with a weak pulse of his cock, giving you one more peck on the lips before he falls back onto the sheets tiredly.

you huff in amusement as you straddle him, catching your breath before you roll over to drop down next to him and let him slip out of you. there’s a wet squelch that follows, but you’re too busy trying to catch your breath before a cuddly soobin quickly begins to latch onto your side. your heart aches at the affection, and you turn to face him so that he can bury his face under your chin. his hair tickles your nose.

“good job, baby. took your punishment so well,” you praise softly, running your fingers through his hair to try and soothe the way you kept tugging on it earlier. soobin hums in contentment, an arm wrapping over your waist to tug you closer.

“you called me your breeding bitch,” he pouts into your shoulder, making you chuckle.

“you like it. maybe you’ll even get me pregnant,” you joke, dead serious. soobin snorts at the implication, still unaware of the fact that you two are actually trying with every time you fuck him into the mattress.

“maybe. we’d have cute kids,” he shrugs, and you hold onto him just a bit tighter.

“you think so?”

“'course,” Soobin yawns. “can’t go wrong with my genes,” he brags cheekily, and you give him a light smack on the shoulder that he whines about.

when you actually tell him around 4 weeks later that you’re pregnant, soobin swears that the world around him goes completely quiet. then he’s a stuttering, disbelieved, and stressed-out mess over the phone.

“what do you mean you're pregnant? i thought you were on birth control?” and you lie easily, telling him that this must’ve been one of those rare cases where the medication didn't work.

then there’s a long pause, and you’re worried that soobin might actually make you march up to a clinic and correct this mess of a situation before you’re met with the telltale hiccup of soobin’s ugly cry. you immediately hush him and reassure him that it’s alright, that everything will be fine.

soobin feels terrible; he feels so guilty that he hadn’t been mindful enough about cleaning up and showering after sex. he feels like he’s ruined your youth and that he’s burdened you with a child, even though the two of you aren’t even married yet. you tell him it’s ok, that you don’t blame him and that you’re willing to make this work. soobin promises to come see you as soon as he can and promises to faceTtme the moment he gets off work to properly talk about all that’s going to happen. he’s calmed down with your words and reassurance, but you can tell he’s still frazzled.

the last thing you say to him is “i love you," but before that, you can’t help but joke that, hey, at least our baby’s guaranteed to be cute with your genes.

#sub txt #dom reader #txt smut #txt x reader #sub idol #sub! soobin #sub choi soobin #guys im sorry for disappearing </3 #pt2 #i’m so sorry actually

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notmyneighbor · 1 day

Text

resistance | doppel francis x female reader

part 2/?

words | 5.3k

cw | explicit sexual content

ao3 link

taglist | @jazminetoad @uhnanix @fangwh0r3 @zenxvii @mistrosa

You don’t sleep much that first evening with the doppelganger in the next room.

You glare at the alarm clock and shut it off before it has a chance to sound the next morning. Might as well start getting ready for work. You enter the shower before the water has a chance to run warm, thinking maybe the shock of the cold will make you feel more alert. After that brisk cleansing you return to your bedroom, glancing down the hall on the way by, clutching your bath towel tightly around you, but you don’t hear your guest stirring yet.

You get dressed—deciding on a dress today, might as well start with the summer wardrobe now—then prod your skin as you frown at your appearance in the mirror. You’ve got bags under your eyes to match Francis’ this morning. Well, you’d just have to hope the puffiness would resolve later. Concealer will have to do for now.

The replicant seems to have had no such trouble sleeping, you discover as you enter the living room. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling evenly in a slow, gentle rhythm, one arm draped lazily over the side of the couch, fingers brushing the floor, blanket in a rumpled mess across his midsection. You’d never guess in a million years that this slumbering person was really a doppelganger, a monster hiding inside the disguise of a man.

You begin making a quick breakfast in the kitchen, starting with the coffee maker. It isn’t long before your new roommate appears in the doorway, blinking drowsily and digging the heel of one hand against his eyes. It’s such an oddly human gesture. So…normal.

“Good morning.” You’ve finished pressing the paper filter into the machine, spooning a heap of coffee grounds inside, the water already measured and poured and the glass pot sitting on the burner. You normally only make a single cup for yourself, and you’ve no idea if the doppel will be interested, but you decide you’ll make it and offer it anyway.

“Mmmm,” he hums, dragging a hand through his mussed hair. You wonder if any of these mannerisms belong to Francis. Just exactly how much are these doppels able to replicate?

“You didn’t have to get up this early. I just have to go to work.” You point to the coffee maker. “Want a cup?”

“I guess. I’ve never had it before.”

You get another mug down from the cupboard, drumming your nails nervously on the counter while you wait. Francis’ clone is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching you, and it’s making you feel self conscious. You try not to stare too much at all that bare skin he’s flashing.

At last the machine hisses and sputters and begins dripping brown liquid and the aroma of brewing coffee fills the air.

“That smells good,” he murmurs.

You fill his mug three quarters full. “I don’t know how you take it. I mean, you don’t either, obviously, if you’ve never had it before.” You add a spoonful of sugar and pour some cream in and stir, handing the mug to the doppel.

He takes a tentative sip. “Bitter,” he says. “And hot.”

“More sugar, then. You’ve got a sweet tooth, I think. And let it cool for a minute before you take another sip.”

He frowns over the term you’ve used and you elaborate. “It means you favor things that are sweet. Prefer them.”

“Mmmm.” He still looks drowsy. It’s amazing how much he sounds like his human counterpart. Francis Mosses was a man of few words. Stop comparing him to Francis. To humans. He’s neither, you remind yourself.

“Have a seat at the table. It’s just going to be cereal and toast, I’m afraid. I don’t typically cook before work.”

You watch the imposter milkman slouch into the same chair he’d used the previous evening. How strange it was to see a man occupying your kitchen like this. Well, not a man; a male, you suppose, recalling your silent reprimand from moments before. Dropping down, spreading out. He takes up room, the way only one of that gender can. Dominating. The table looks so much smaller with him sitting at it, elbows resting on the Formica table until he moves one arm to lazily scratch at some itch on his chest, the thin white shirt rumpling and shifting. Speaking of clothing…

“I’ll try to find you something else to wear this weekend. I checked the tags on your uniform already. Washed in the sink and hung up to dry in the bathroom. I know it’s not ideal, but for now…”

“Thank you.”

You fill two bowls with cereal and add milk, cutting up the last of the strawberries from the pint in the refrigerator and slotting another pair of bread slices into the toaster after the first set is finished and buttered, setting everything in front of the doppel, along with a spoon and a much sweeter cup of coffee. He takes another hesitant sip, then nods. “Better.”

“There’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. Or you can make a sandwich.” You’re not sure if he even knows what that is. You suppose it’s a little cruel to make him eat the remains of last night’s dinner cold, but there’s no way you’re letting him use the oven.

The doppelganger eyes the red seeded fruit sliced over his cereal curiously, lifting one free and munching thoughtfully. He hums appreciatively and you add that to your mental list of things he likes. Why does it matter what he likes?

You finally join him at the table, the rest of your meal ready. “What are you going to do all day?”

“I don’t know yet. Just lay low and wait for you to return, I suppose.”

“And then what?”

He’s making short work of the cereal, you notice. Toast, too. Maybe you should offer more. Maybe he needs larger portions. Why are you being so hospitable?

“Then you teach me another recipe.”

“Alright.” You take a bite of buttered toast.

“No vegetables,” he adds.

You smile softly. “They’re good for you. Maybe we can find some you’ll like.”

“Then more cake?” He sounds hopeful.

“It’s gone, but we can bake something else. I only made a small one because I wasn’t expecting company.”

He nods, finishing the rest of his coffee.

You fiddle with the handle of your spoon, trying to think of something else to say. “Were there other doppels there with you? Inside the DDD building?”

“Not that I’m aware. I wasn’t looking, though. I just got out.”

“Did you kill the men?”

He lets his utensil drop, striking the side of the now empty ceramic bowl loudly. “What do you think?”

You lower your eyes. It had been easy to pretend, for a moment there, that he was peaceful. That this was normal. How convincing and manipulative these beings are, you think. How terrible.

“What would you have had me do? I didn’t ask to be taken.”

“I know,” you mumble, wishing you hadn’t mentioned the topic to begin with.

The remainder of breakfast continues in silence. You bring the soiled cups and dishes to the sink, glancing at the clock on the wall. Definitely time to leave for work. You’re running a bit behind, actually. You’re not used to having a second person here to wait on, doing double of everything. The doppelganger follows you to the front door.

“I’ll be home around five, if there isn’t too much paperwork. I’m not planning on staying as late as I did yesterday.”

“Imagine if you hadn’t. Then I wouldn’t be here right now. I’m sure you’re wishing now that you’d left sooner.” There’s a layer of acidity there that he doesn’t bother masking.

Your eyes meet his. “You murder humans. Eat us. How else do you expect me to react?”

“Your kind slaughters animals. Do they deserve it?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Animals are bred to be consumed, for us to survive…”

“And do they not deserve a chance to survive? Do they not have a right to exist as much as you? Don’t answer, because I can see it clearly. You think they’re of lesser value than humans. Just like the doppels.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” the mimic retorts bitterly.

“Listen. I don’t know how long you’re going to be hiding out here, but I’ve been trying to be kind to you, accommodate you, and it would be nice if you could return the favor.”

The replicant’s hands, curled into fists, abruptly relax. “I’ve been trying,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Try harder. I’m leaving now. Remember not to make too much noise. Don’t go outside. I can’t be held responsible for what’ll happen if you do.” You shut the door behind you with more force than necessary, realizing your hands are shaking. Infuriating, how judgmental the copycat is. As if he had any right to be, when he’s imposing on you, putting your life at risk.

You’re mad at yourself, because there were moments, last night and again this morning, where you had found yourself enjoying his company, and that admission is something you can’t bare to fully face and analyze the implications of right now.

***

Your shift passes by without a single mention of the doppelganger’s escape the previous evening.

Indeed, if you didn’t know any better, you’d never have guessed anything had happened. The guards still nod courteously as you flash your badge before entering the facility. The standard pair, no additional forces in sight. Everyone else in the office seems calm, focused on their work.

You struggle to feel the same way. There’s a fugitive doppelganger waiting for you when you get home. You can’t stop thinking about him. About your last conversation. He’d been upset. You had, too. You’re not sure if he’ll have cooled off by the time you return.

You try to ask casually in the breakroom if anything interesting had made the news, if anything new was happening at work, but no one provides the information you’re feeling around for. So the story was kept secret, then. Too risky for the DDD to admit they’d lost a captive doppel. Maybe too difficult to explain why he was there in the first place.

Why had they taken him? Why did they alter his memories? Were there other doppels here, too? Being captured and experimented on? To what end?

Your fingers stumble on the typewriter’s keys. You’ve made so many errors today. The wastebin is loaded with crumpled drafts. You find your mind wandering again, your fingers stilling completely. You don’t even hear the phone on the first ring, relying on successive attempts to finally break through your reverie.

You’re no nearer any answers to your questions by the end of your shift. You just find yourself asking more and more. Spreading and multiplying, virus-like. Replicating like the doppels.

The trip to your car is uneventful tonight. Now you’re headed back to the apartment building. To the fugitive you’re concealing.

There’s a doppelganger in your home, and you’re not nearly as upset about that fact as you should be.

***

The day drags by.

The doppelganger isn’t sure what to do once he’s showered and dressed in clothes that are still a little damp, truth be told. The television that humans seem so fascinated with holds no interest for him. He paces the hallway and tries to plan his next course of action. He’s escaped, a free agent, but he’s left without intact memories. He’s not sure if there’s any way to recover them, but if there is, the DDD is the only means to that end.

He can hardly stroll back inside to inquire. Which means possibly putting you to work, seeing what you can discover. Risky, of course. Just like you allowing him to stay here is risky.

He’d been harsh with you that morning. He doesn’t regret it, exactly; he thinks you needed to hear the words, realize the truth behind them. But he’d rather not have had you depart immediately after the argument. It makes him feel…something. He’s not sure what. You make him feel a lot of things he’s not familiar with; has no terminology, lacks definitions for.

He knows he’s been forbidden to enter your bedroom, but he feels that is meant more for when you’re present, for privacy’s sake, so he finally enters in the early afternoon, partly out of boredom, partly out of curiosity. The dresser is littered with objects. A tray full of jewelry, a decoration that baffles the mimic nearly as much as the makeup you wear. There are bottles of various perfumes that he samples, finding most of them to his liking. It reminds him strongly of you, your presence, and he wishes you were home, instead of in that wretched DDD structure.

A wooden hairbrush, the bristles stiff but soft, several threads of your hair visible between them. He watches the way the light filtering in through the windows catches on the strands, turning the handle this way and that. He knows the feel of it, having touched you however briefly the previous evening, securing the loose hair that had spilled free. Silky soft, and fragrant.

Your robe hangs on a hook over the closet door. The doppel takes a handful, lets the fabric brush his injured cheek, inhaling your scent. He knows he’ll also find it in the pillows on the bed, but he doesn’t dare disturb that neatly made furnishing, exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

There is not much else that interests him in your home; little to occupy his time with. He rifles through the mirrored medicine cabinet. A razor. Something he doesn’t require, as his appearance is all an illusion. His face will never grow hair, because Francis Mosses does not have facial hair. He will never need the tousled brown mane to be trimmed, because the length it is at is exactly the same length as the milkman’s. His eyes will always appear tired, because the third floor resident he’s cloned has perpetual smudges beneath his own orbs. The doppelganger stares at his reflection, and for a brief moment, he lets the image shift slightly. The teeth sharpen and yellow, the eyes streak with burst vessels, the lids become red rimmed. You would not care for his real appearance, he is certain.

The milkman’s image is restored. He wanders back to the living room to sit on the couch, waiting for your return.

***

You unlock your apartment door and ease it open, seeing that Francis’ clone is seated on the couch. No disasters, then.

You hurriedly shut and lock the door behind you, stepping forward just as the doppelganger rises and moves toward you. Your handbag is set on the console table.

“How was your day?” The morning’s conversation is still fresh in your mind. The anger on both sides. Your tone is cautiously neutral now, trying to feel things out.

“Boring. Lonely.”

You feel a little ache in your chest at this admission. You don’t know what to say. He missed you, specifically, or just didn’t like having no one else around?

“Did anyone mention me at work?”

“No. Not a word. It was just like any other day.”

“Don’t you find that strange?”

“Yes,” you admit. “But that doesn’t necessarily prove anything.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I do. I just can’t reconcile that an organization created to protect us would be involved in some sort of devious experiments on the very creatures they’d promised to destroy. I tried to wrap my brain around it all day, and I just couldn’t make it make sense.” You pause. “You’re lonely? Do you have family, or…?”

“Not that I recall. Again, much of my memories are full of holes. This place is empty without you here.”

You swallow, processing that sentiment. So he did miss you. “I don’t want to fight with you,” you say softly.

“I don’t either.”

“Truce?” You hold out your hand and he looks at it curiously. “You shake on it. It’s an agreement. A promise, to keep things peaceful between us going forward.”

“You said never to touch you.”

“I’ll make an exception for this.” His fingers touch yours, threading between them instead of gripping them. “No, it’s meant to be…” Your voice trails off as you stare at that pairing, not drawing back, allowing yourself to be entangled with those warm, human feeling digits. You know they’re not real, and yet they feel it.

“Your heart is beating fast again.”

“I know.” You reluctantly drop your hand. “I should start dinner.”

“We,” he corrects.

“Yes. We.”

***

The doppelganger hadn’t been bragging. He is indeed a fast learner.

Already moving around the kitchen with a comfort and familiarity that’s surprising considering it’s only his second day here.

“You need to crack an egg. You hit it against the side of the bowl, but—” Too late. The doppel smashes the fragile item firmly against the rim and the shell shatters, pieces falling down into the bowl, the yolk running in a slimy trail down the side. “—Not too hard,” you finish, wincing. “It’s okay. We’ll try again. Wash your hands first. I’ll pick out the shell.”

When you’ve finished removing the slivers from the batter as best you can, you select another egg from the carton, handing it to him. “We’ll do this together so you can see how much force to apply. It’s a swift, firm stroke, but very precise, so you’re breaking it open as cleanly as possible to extract what’s inside.” Your hand covers his poised near the rim of the bowl. “Like this.” You guide his hand downward. There is a soft cracking sound, and then you maneuver his hand over the mixture. “Release, gently.” You feel his fingers shift and the jellylike yellow center drops down, the clear, sticky protein filled fluid oozing just behind. “Perfect. You’ve got it.” You smile, turning to face the doppel, and your breath hitches. He’s staring, not at the food he’s preparing with your aid, but at your face, with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Rich milk chocolate eyes, a delicate fringe of lashes on their borders. Full lips slightly parted, breath rushing past. In and out. His hand is so warm.

“You can…you can just drop that into the wastebasket.” You force yourself to release his hand and he obeys your command, the moment dissipating.

***

After dinner and dessert, you both sit on the couch. The television is playing softly in the background but neither of you is paying attention to it.

He’s staring at you again. You can feel it. You change positions and squirm, trying to relax and get comfortable, but it’s impossible. He’d slept here last night. His head cradled right where you’re sitting. Sprawled out. Growing warm during the evening, shoving the blanket down. Long limbs shifting.

You clear your throat. You have to stop thinking these thoughts. “Why don’t we play cards?”

Francis’ clone looks at you quizzically and you jump up, grateful to be kept busy for a few moments, distracting you from the copycat’s gaze as you rummage in the tv cabinet to retrieve a deck. You don’t play often, just an occasional game of Solitaire, but you think the imposter just might enjoy something like Crazy Eights.

“Come with me into the kitchen. We need a flat surface for this.”

You sit at the table and the doppel joins you, watching as you slide the deck free of its container and begin shuffling the cards, dividing the stack and then fanning the edges, then sliding them back together. “Want to try?”

He nods and you guide him through the process. He gets it right on the second attempt, his fingers deftly interweaving the cards.

“Good. Now the game we’re going to play is called Crazy Eights. The goal is to get rid of all the cards in your hand. The first person to do so wins the game. To begin with, we each get five cards.” You deal them out, continuing your instructions. “Leave them facedown for a second. The rest of the deck gets placed here. Top card flipped…okay. Three of spades. That means that if it was your turn right now, you’d need to play another card that is either the same suit, matching this symbol here, or else has the equivalent number value. If you don’t have either of those available, you must keep drawing from this pile here until you find one you can play. With me so far?” He nods. “Now the only other thing you need to know is that the cards with the number eight on them are special. If you place one down, you’re able to declare what suit you want your opponent to play next. We’ll just do a practice run so you can see how it goes, then we can play for real.”

It doesn’t take the doppel long to figure it out. He’s smart, you think. Really clever. Adaptable.

He has to be, you remind yourself silently. That’s how they survive.

You play two rounds, then switch to Rummy, then Spades, then show him Solitaire, something to keep him occupied while you’re at work. You try to conceal a few yawns and the doppel notices.

“You’re tired.”

“It’s been a long day. And I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Because of me.”

“I was nervous.”

“Are you still nervous?”

Yes, you think. But for very different reasons now. Aloud, you simply state that you are.

You place the cards back in the box and leave it on the table. It was time to get ready for bed.

***

The doppelganger makes up the couch while you take your shower.

It’s a simple task that leaves him wanting for things to do to keep him occupied while he waits. His eyes keep glancing to the hallway.

He’s thinking of how it had felt, threading his fingers through yours. Having you hold his when you’d been cooking together. He’s enjoyed this evening with you. You’re the enemy, the one he’s meant to destroy, to conquer, and yet…he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to harm you.

Francis’ clone sits and then stands again. He can’t. He simply can’t tolerate waiting here. He walks down the hall, waiting beside the bathroom door, listening for the sound of the water running, waiting for it to stop. There. Some rustling. Drying off. The sound of the lock turning, and you emerge, looking startled to find him standing right outside.

“Francis.”

He feels odd when you say that name. Partly pleased, because it means he is convincing as the true man. Perhaps a little jealous, too. He wonders if you find the original attractive. A little flare of jealousy at this. He wants to be the superior version. The preferred model.

“I’ve already made the couch up.”

“Oh. Good.” You adjust the height of the bath towel wrapped around you a little higher, concealing more of the curves of your breasts. “Well, I’m finished in the bathroom, so I guess I’ll say goodnight now then.”

“Goodnight,” he says, reluctantly stepping aside to allow you to cross the hall. The bedroom door closes. He stares at that door for a long time, imagining you preparing for bed, your body naked before…

No interest in anything of that sort, isn’t that what he’d promised you? So why is his body reacting this way? The replicant strips and enters the shower, still damp from your recent one, and each stroke of lathered hands over his skin seems a cruel tease, an unsatisfying supplement for what he really wants. He wants your hands touching him, especially…

His breath hitches as he strokes his growing erection. Here. Urging to mate. Sensitive, hot, flushed, hard. Your pleased smile when he does something correctly, the lesson learned. The lines of bone leading to your shoulders, visible even earlier, in the v neckline of the dress you’d worn. Just now, those shoulders bare.

He presses his palms against the wall of the shower, head bowed, letting the water cascade over the nape of his neck. Those lips. He covets those most of all. Those soft looking, pink wedges of flesh. Gates to the warmth and moisture within.

He leaves the shower, aching, unsatisfied. Brushes his teeth like you’d demonstrated. He doesn’t care for the mint flavor, but he does like the clean sensation in his mouth. Combs through his hair. Thinks about you brushing through yours. Those silky strands. Torment.

The mimic returns to the living room, switching off the lamp as he goes. He can find his way in the dark now. He lies down and crosses his ankles, staring up at the void, the blanket shoved at the other end of the couch by his feet. He’s only wearing the briefs. He’s too warm. He shuts his eyes and they snap back open.

You hadn’t locked your bedroom door.

***

You didn’t lock your bedroom door.

You’re thinking this after you’ve gone to bed, lying there suddenly not able to sleep, in spite of how tired you are.

You’re not even sure if leaving the door unlocked was intentional, that’s the crazy part.

Perhaps some part of your subconscious had been at work, providing opportunity, should the doppel be interested.

Be interested in what? You know. Of course you know.

You rest a hand on your chest and feel how hard your heart is pounding. He surely hears it. How can he hear it?

The sound of the doorknob turning makes you hold your breath. You close your eyes and try to keep still. Pretending to be asleep.

A slight creak as the door opens, a click as it shuts. Bare feet sinking into plush carpet. Pausing by the side of the bed. You know he’s there, even with your eyes closed.

“I know you’re awake,” he says softly. “Your heart wouldn’t be beating that fast if you were sleeping.”

“It might if I was having a nightmare.” You can’t help but try to defend yourself just a little. One last measure of resistance before surrendering to the inevitable.

“Is this a nightmare, do you think?”

“No.” You sit up, easing your legs over the side of the mattress. Pushing yourself to your feet. He’s right there. Beside you. You can feel the heat wafting from him.

Your hand reaches out blindly, finding his. Fingers tangling together in the darkness. “Touch me, Francis.”

“I’m not supposed to touch you, remember?”

“You’re not supposed to come in my room, either.”

You can picture him smiling at that, a little smirk. “You left the door unlocked.”

“It was an accident.”

“Was it?” His index finger slides along yours.

“No. It wasn’t.” You turn and his hand shifts, reaching up blindly to sink in your hair, his fingers trailing down your cheek and stroking your jaw. They define collarbone and shoulder and then curve around one breast. Down to your hip and then you take control of his hand again, guiding it beneath the waistband of your satin pajama bottoms.

You whimper, biting your lip when he first grazes your sex.

“No panties. Did you forget those, too? Another accident?” His fingers glide between your lips and you gasp.

“No. Not an accident.”

“You want this.”

“I do. I do want this, Francis. Oh…” He’s brought the dewy slick of your arousal back to your bud, drawing a circle, teasing the hardening flesh out of its hood.

His nose bumps your cheek, trying to find your mouth in the darkness. There. Your stomach somersaults as his lips crush against yours. He moans at that touch and you think it is the most sensual thing you’ve ever heard. Just absolute helpless pleasure and desire. You can taste your toothpaste as he strokes your tongue. Another stomach flip at this sensation. Your nails dig into this shoulder. He’s still massaging your clit as he explores your mouth, until it makes you quiver too much and you sink back onto the bed, reaching for him, urging him to follow.

You feel the weight of his knees pressing on the mattress, sinking down, braced on either side of you. Hands reaching beneath your top to massage your breasts as you struggle to get your pajama bottoms off, lifting your hips and scraping them down over your buttocks. Francis’ clone tries to help, still kissing you, still trying to explore your body while helping divest you of your clothes, everything made more complicated because neither of you has turned on a light. You laugh a little at the absurdity of it and he pauses midway through tossing aside the top you’ve finally removed in a joint venture, the bottoms already shed.

“What’s amusing?”

“Just…doing this in the dark. You can put the light on, you know.”

“But that would mean moving away from you,” he counters. He’s at your throat now, planting wet kisses there. “Besides, I don’t even know where it is. You shouldn’t have worn something so complicated. What you had on last night would have been much easier to remove.”

“You’re right.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He reaches for your hand, laying it on his chest and pushing down. You feel the lean torso of the imposter milkman, the slightly coarse texture from body hair between his pectoral muscles and then again leading down in a stripe to the waistband of his briefs. He keeps pushing, at a slower pace now, and you feel his prick tenting his briefs, hard and demanding, and a little damp spot of pre cum saturating the fabric.

Another moan of sound. You move back to the elastic band and help him shove the underwear down over his hips. Not much past that level, but you don’t think it matters, because you’re both too impatient now. Your legs are spread and he’s found his way between them, sliding his erection across your mound, over your sensitive nub and down to your entrance.

He begins to thrust inside and you drag in a harsh rasp of air at that feeling of being stretched, filled. The doppel leans and pushes further in, down and down until he’s fully buried inside and his mouth is back on yours, his fingers lacing through the hand you have resting limp somewhere near your face.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips lifting slightly, cock easing out before he pushes back inside.

“Where did you learn that word?”

“Where do you think?” He nips at your ear.

“I never taught you that.”

“No. I don’t know where I heard it. But it seems appropriate. That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking,” he pants beside your ear after another several thrusts. “Mating. Breeding…”

“Francis,” you gasp, both at his words and the sensation as he pumps in and out of your pussy.

“You feel so good,” he sighs, nuzzling your cheek. “So warm, so tight, so wet…hungry for me, hmm? What a pretty thing you are, so sweet…” His voice fades as he begins pounding into you in earnest, setting a more rapid, intense rhythm. Your pelvis rolls to meet him, knees digging into his ribs. You suck his bottom lip and squeeze the hand that you’re clutching, urging him on. He tastes like salt now, perspiration mixed with soap and musk all lingering at his brow, his cheek, the side of his throat.

Everything is growing tighter inside you, coiling, pressure building. Your bodies slap wetly together and he batters that special aching spot deep inside. He breathes your name and it sounds reverent. Overwhelmed. Back to cursing, primitive and filthy and vulgar, and you drink it from his lips, whisper it back to him. There. It’s happening. Unwinding and shattering around him, becoming boneless, soft, limp as the echoes wrack your limbs, waves that drag at the cock invading you, pulling him under with you, spilling seed, breath hotly huffed above your lips, a little noise of wonder, a groan, the fingers tightening in yours, holding on to you, keeping anchored, until he finally slips free, drops next to you, wet and panting, still tethered to your hand, in the darkness.

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