#fill me with such lethargy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bratbby333 · 10 days

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i will possess your heart – satoru gojo

-this story contains very heavy nsfw content! please read at your own discretion!-

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 content warnings dead dove fic- heavy stalking, violent obsession, manipulation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibition, drugging, mentions of blood, knives, use of restraints, plot twist, dub-con 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 synopsis for as cocky as Satoru is, it’s oddly fitting. in his mind, everything belongs to him, including you. 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 word count 8k

Satoru fumbled with a tripod as he positioned his camera onto the stand and proceeded to hit record. He was thorough, making sure his chair was perfectly centered before he sat down, staring at himself in the viewfinder while he fussed with his hair, inhaling deeply. A wide grin cut across his face before dropping back into lackluster neutrality. He looked down at his lap, his fingers ran up and down his denim-clad thighs. He snapped back onto the camera blank-faced before a deranged smile pulled at his cheeks.

Click

January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point. I’m plagued by the shadows, my entire life enshrouded in darkness. I don’t remember what things were like before. Day by day, it’s all the same. I cannot escape it—this anchoring feeling of despair. The emptiness eats away at me. I’m in search of release…of some sort of freedom from this pain. I need to fill my life with meaning, to find purpose in this accursed world…I think I’ll go out for coffee today. People watching brings me so much joy. They seem to live much happier lives than me.

Click

January 16th, 6:38 PM

My daydreams must’ve blended into reality because there was no way I created someone as beautiful as she was outside my imagination. I’m certain of it. She was sitting at the bar of the cafe down the street from my apartment, dressed in business casual—she probably works nearby. How kismet. The coffee was bland, as were most things in my life, but she awoke something in me. I hope I see her again. She somehow managed to clear the cobwebs around my heart. I think my life has finally found purpose. She is my driving force. I wonder what her name is.

Click

January 19th, 6:11 AM

Feeling well-rested today. Four hours of sleep is my new record. I plan to go to the coffee shop again. Back to the place where my eyes were first blessed with the mirage of her…where I first fell in love. I hope she’s there. People are so fun to observe when they don’t think they’re being watched…it’s simple psychology. The Hawthorne Effect. When humans notice they are under observation, they change. So inauthentic. But her? She never notices. She sits so obliviously, allowing me to take her in with ease. So good to me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope to work up the courage to speak to her soon. My heart soars at the mere thought of being in her presence once again. It’s so refreshing to feel something after all this time. I’ve been numb for so long, but she has set my heart on fire. She is everything to me, my sole purpose for existence.

Click

January 19th, 8:27 PM

I saw her again today. She didn’t see me. Just how I like it. She typed away on her computer like normal…she’s a hard worker, it seems. Driven and strong. And here I was thinking such beauty was a thing of legend. It's refreshing to have been proved wrong–that rarely happens. Oh, how I crave her. I know she’d make me feel whole again. She can save me from all this, I can feel it.

Click

January 23rd, 5:13 AM

Only two hours of sleep tonight. But, for some reason, I feel better than ever… I normally do when I find a reason for living, again. It’s her…it must be because of her. She keeps me going; my muse, my inspiration. She’s worked wonders on me already and she doesn’t even know it, yet. I’m going to the cafe again today, I cannot wait to see her. Maybe today I will finally speak to her.

Click

January 23rd, 9:53 PM

She never showed up today…I wonder what’s going on. Maybe she had other things to do. It’s fine, really. I’m annoyed, honestly. I waited around all day. I’ll keep checking until I see her again.

Click

January 28th, 7:06 PM

My sweet girl has gone missing. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. This is just ridiculous. The woman I love…is she avoiding me? No, no that cannot be.

Click

February 2nd, 8:31 AM

I haven’t slept well in days. I’ve been awake for twenty six hours now…my mind feels like it’s filled with static and yet, I feel sharper than ever. I’ve gone to the cafe every day. Still no sign of her. I’m slipping back into my old ways, the darkness is going to return any moment. I’ve begun to hear the laughter in the shadows again. They’re making fun of me, I just know it. I need her…oh, I need her so bad. How could she do this to me? Does she not know how much I suffer when she’s not around? If I don’t see her again soon, I will never recover.

Click

February 5th, 6:21 PM

I finally saw her again today. My heartrate spiked and I nearly leaped from my seat to kiss her, to hold her, sway her side to side in a deep hug. Instead, I slipped a tracker into her purse as I walked by her chair. I must know where she works, where she lives, and what she enjoys in her free time. She slipped away from me so easily…can’t let that happen again. I need to know every little thing about her. She is my one and only after all. It would be ridiculous to love someone so deeply and know nothing about them. She is too beautiful, I cannot let her wander around unsupervised. There are some crazy people out there—you never know what could happen. I can’t lose her. I must keep her safe. I will possess her heart. No one else can have her but me.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru observed her for months, shadowing her all around town. He knew the woman’s routine like the back of his hand, before he ever learned her name. Sunday’s she went grocery shopping, Monday after work was her pilates class, every couple of Thursday’s she was at the nail salon, and Friday’s were seemingly payday–he picked up on her pattern of going out to nice restaurants every other week. Satoru eventually got an upper-level management position at a company that shared the office building with her job–he is incredibly intelligent and overqualified, after all; they would be foolish to not hire him. Now he could really keep an eye on her.

That was when he finally learned her name–the two of them taking the same elevator. She didn’t recognize him as the man who seemingly had the same routine as her–it’s one of the many reasons why Satoru loved her so much: her naivety. She looked into his eyes for the first time that day, her voice was soft and angelic, and the name that fell from her lips sent waves through Satoru’s body, the same name that would now be coupled with his gasping moans every evening as he stroked himself to the thought of her.

With Satoru’s new job that brought him one step closer to her, he knew he could no longer watch her in the way he used to. His movements had to be more calculated, putting more distance between them than he normally would or hiding behind the deep tint of his car windows. If she saw his face too frequently, she surely would have caught on. Satoru smiled at the possibility of her never catching on…how she’d greet him with a smile and a friendly hug each time they “coincidentally” bumped into one another, giggling about their lives' odd synchronicities. Such a sweet girl. If only she knew.

He stopped into her job, a small gift bag hanging off his slender fingers, desperate to watch her eyes light up with the sweet gesture of an unexpected gift. He asked to see her, only to be informed by the receptionist that she had the day off.

It was no worry, he didn’t let that dull his excitement. “I’m a friend of hers, brought this in to surprise her. Do you mind showing me to her desk, I’ll just leave it there for her when she returns to work,” he said kindly. The lady working the front desk blushed under his piercing gaze and handsome features, nodding shyly and walking him to his lover’s designated area.

Satoru thanked her, stepping into the cubicle to place his gift by her computer. His eyes glazed over her workspace. It was decorated with trinkets and family photos. He picked one up, his thumb tracing over her face. His pretty girl. That smile could bring about world peace; it definitely quieted the angered voices in his head. He scanned her desk, a moment of envy shooting through him at the thought of her dainty fingers dancing over the keyboard rather than tangling in his hair. He groaned internally, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was around, before ducking down, rummaging through his beloved’s drawers. Stowed away in the bottom of the unit was a fuzzy, white cardigan. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply, stifling the filthy moan that nearly echoed through the cubicle. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, took one last look around, and headed toward the exit.

In the safety of his vehicle, Satoru whipped the clothing out from under his wing, bringing it to his face once more. He undid his belt buckle with haste, shoving his dress slacks halfway down his thighs before his large fist swaddled his cock with the fuzzy white cardigan. He nearly sobbed at the contact, the smell of his car filling with her beautifully floral perfume. He brought the free edge up to his nose, taking another whiff as his hand worked furiously against his shaft. He had never finished so quickly in his life, staggered whimpers and choked moans fell from his parted lips as fat ropes shot up onto his abs and chest. His cheeks were flustered a violent red as he wiped his sticky shame away with her top. After he came, then did his clarity, and Satoru’s body ached with the thought of how good it would feel to finally be sheathed within her sticky walls, rather than her soft clothing. I’ll be with you soon. Soon, my love.

These feelings were getting unbearable. His overactive brain had him teetering on the edge of insanity. He needed more. His imagination was no longer enough to satiate the hunger that gnawed so deeply in his core, the distanced watching and hopeless longing for the love of his life created jagged rifts in his already damaged psyche. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. A few deep breaths and the promise he made to himself to take action soon quelled his burning desire. But for how much longer could Satoru repress the demon that clawed through his body?

Satoru surveyed her while she ran to the bank, walked her dog, or took her car to the wash. But his most favorite place to watch her was from the bench just outside her bedroom window, engulfed in darkness. Pretty girl lived on the second floor, her silly little brain assumed she didn’t need curtains. She never saw him, but he always saw her. All of her. Drinking in the way her clothes were delicately removed from her pretty little frame, the way she turned and posed in the mirror–so good to him. How her skin glistened after she got out of the shower, the water droplets running along her body in the same way Satoru wanted to.

He fell into a state of bliss, feeling spoiled by the show he was getting tonight. The lotion that she worked into her body, the beautiful set of lingerie that she dawned. His eyes buzzed around his sockets, elation flooding through him. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. But his body went rigid and his jaw locked tight at the appearance of another man behind the love of his life. He sat upright, shoulders stiff and heart pounding in his ears at the thought of his sweet being in danger, he cursed himself for not being more aware of her surroundings on her behalf. But when his darling girl turned to the unknown man with a smile, greeting him with a gentle kiss with the lips that were supposed to be just for Satoru, his heart shattered into a million pieces.

Oh, no. This just won’t do, my love. You are mine.

Jealousy coursed through his veins while he looked into her room, rage balled in his fists as he watched a random man have her in the one way Satoru couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He must’ve been new in her life, judging by the way his nervous hands explored every part of her skin. Satoru laughed at this–he knew he could please his woman so much better. But betrayal nipped at the back of his neck; how could she do this to him? Had his loyalty fallen on unappreciative shoulders? No, that couldn’t be. Satoru knew she was better than that, he picked her for a reason, after all. She was just playing hard to get.

You rejected my advances and desperate pleas, and now you throw your relationship in my face. It’s punishment enough that I can’t have you, but I won't let you let me down so easily.

Feeling at a loss, swallowed whole by his hungered desperation, he did what any rational person would. He moved in next door.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru Gojo was your next-door neighbor. He moved in only a few months after you did. You were elated, chalking it up to a lucky roll of the dice that you had met by chance at your job; he had started working for the company that shared the office park with yours. It really seemed like things were on the come-up for you. He was kind, confidently intuitive, funny, and supportive. Mildly egotistical, but it worked for him. He always invited you over for dinner and movie nights and was a strong, dependable shoulder for you to cry on. You had just moved to the city, feeling utterly lost and absolutely gutted about being so far from your support systems now, and he was your first friend. You felt safe knowing he was just a wall away.

On a random Sunday, you opened your front door to see all the food you loved sitting at your doorstep–weird, you were just about to leave for the store. You turned your head, seeing Satoru peeking out from his cracked door, grinning at you.

“Was this you, Satoru? You didn’t have to…this is incredibly thoughtful,” you beamed, stepping over the grocery bags to give him a tight hug. “You’re the best, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” But Satoru did, he knew exactly what you could do for him.

When you needed a ride to work, he jumped in to save you. The two of you worked in the same building after all. It was a crazy coincidence that your new neighbor turned best friend worked just a few floors above you. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? But it worked out perfectly for the two of you.

There was a month where you were short on rent, and there was Satoru, paying the rest on your behalf.

You weren’t catching on. Sweet, naive girl. Oh, how he loved you. I need to work harder to get her attention.

Satoru was not a patient man, but for you, he would do anything and everything to get you right where he wanted you, expertly playing the long game. It began with the fated sighting of you sitting in a cafe, and snowballed into something bigger. At first, he only ever observed you, maybe the minor occasion of overstepping, but as time went on, he couldn’t sit idly by. It was time to make his move.

His disruptions in your life started inconspicuously. Leaving for a date? You found your car tires slashed and windows shattered in the parking deck. Now there’s a police investigation. Bummer…gotta cancel the date. Had a guy over? Satoru’s apartment flooded. Weird… that was the second time this month.

“You gotta talk to the landlord about this, ‘Toru,” you sighed. He had to stay at yours that evening.

You cried on his shoulder, telling him that some guy stood you up on a date you had been anticipating for weeks. There was an electrical fire in that man’s apartment that night. Must’ve been faulty wiring...or something.

His apartment flooded again. He was back at your door. You welcomed him with open arms, of course. He’s so good to you, the least you could do is help him out, as well.

Satoru, you’re slipping. That’s too many times in one month. Ease up or she’ll catch on.

Friday night, in a wild happenstance, he bumped into you while you were out with another man, enjoying a nice dinner together. He smiled warmly at the two of you, before politely dismissing himself. His cheery smile dropped into a demented grin once he stepped out of the restaurant as he anonymously called in a bomb threat to the establishment. You were so shaken up at the entire ordeal you practically begged Satoru to stay with you that night. He’d be a fool to turn you down.

Satoru got everything he wanted. You were just a tough nut to crack, is all. No big deal. He loved a challenge. After all, how could you not love him by now?

But nothing was working. You couldn’t catch the hint, even with everything he threw at you. He was always the one there for you, even when you weren’t aware of it. What more could he do to prove that he was the only person you needed? I’m reliable, witty, and loving… how can she not see this? He finally snapped. The last straw? Hearing your pleasure-filled cries while getting fucked by another man, your “boyfriend”. The lewd sounds ricocheted around your room, shooting through the thin walls of your apartment and straight into his listening ears.

Tsk, tsk. Now you’ve done it. Always been such a tease.

For as cocky as he was, it’s oddly fitting. In his mind, everything belonged to him, including you. And with that, his demented plan was in full effect. He had hoped to spare you, prayed that you would fall in love with him before he lost his composure completely. But your sweet, naive nature had proved to be a difficult wall to break down.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The sound of your front door’s lock disengaging echoed through the empty hallway. Satoru stepped in, inhaling deeply as he shoved your house key into his back pocket. It was far easier to gain access into your home than he had originally anticipated; he was fully prepared to break in, but all he had to do was tell your landlord you went out of town and you forgot to leave a key with him before you left. The manager of your apartment complex knew how close you and Satoru were, so it was an easy lie to tell. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth. You weren’t out of town, he wasn’t house sitting, and you had no intentions of having company this evening.

Seated at your desk, he opened your laptop and navigated his way to your iMessage settings, ensuring you could only send and receive texts from your laptop. Clicking on the messaging app, he stifled the gag that threatened to escape his throat as he clicked on the thread between you and your boyfriend, his contact name “my love” in your phone. He rolled his eyes, before drafting a quick text:

-Hey, baby. I have a half-day at work today…dinner and wine at my place tonight? ;)

He grinned at the quickness of your boyfriend’s response.

-I would love that. What time, my love?

Satoru scoffed at the pet name. He doesn’t deserve to call you that. Poor bastard needed to learn his place. Heat rose in his chest, jealousy emanating through his skin as he crafted his response.

-3pm…Can’t wait to see you.

Everything was going according to plan. Satoru glanced at the clock beside him: 11:17 AM. It was time to get set up, he had a big day planned for you, and his first guest would be arriving in a few short hours.

A knock rang through the apartment as Satoru finished lighting his final candle. He smiled wide, sauntering over to the door. He swung it open, grinning politely at your boyfriend. “...Hey, man…didn’t expect to see you here…” he said warily as Satoru stood to the side and gestured him in, a quizzical look painted on your partner’s face as he stepped through the doorway. The door shut and the lock was reengaged. “Where’s…” but before he could get his question out, his chin was met with Satoru’s right fist.

Satoru made quick work of dragging his body upstairs. He dug through the unconscious man’s pants, pulling out his cellphone. Satoru was disgusted to see that you were his lockscreen. This pitiful man wasn’t worthy enough to be with you. He rolled his eyes, unlocking the man’s phone and sending you a text:

-Hey, beautiful. Come straight home tonight. I’m making dinner for us. See you when you get off work.

You smiled at the familiar ding of your phone, the notification effectively distracting you from your tedious paperwork. Your heart soared at the message, sighing deeply and shifting your weight around in your office chair. Your hand rubbed at your face in an attempt to hide your blushing cheeks.

“What is it?” your coworker asked.

“Oh, nothing. I thought my boyfriend forgot our anniversary cause I hadn’t heard from him all day…but he just texted me saying he’s at my place and is making dinner for us tonight.” A giddy smile couldn’t help but drag across your face.

Satoru looked at the clock: 3:28 PM. You would be home in an hour or so. Just a few more things had to be done, everything had to be perfect.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Your heart rate spiked as you got closer to your apartment door, keys jingling against your palm as you fumbled with the lock, excitement making your movements a bit clumsier than usual. You entered and kicked off your heels, and as you turned to toss your keys onto the small table in your foyer, you noticed a small card that said “Read Me” placed perfectly in the center of the tray. You were perplexed as your eyes scanned over the note. “Go to the living room” was all it said.

You blushed, a nervous smile pulling at the edge of your lips as you crept to the other room. Your eyes went wide at the sight; deep red roses were placed in the center of the coffee table and every accessible surface around the couch was adorned with beautifully flickering candles. Another note was on the table, your fingers fumbled with the edge of the card as you opened it: “Have a seat, take a sip, and press play.” You settled on the couch, noticing a glass of alluring red wine to the right of the roses. You took a few deep, fulfilling swigs of your drink before grabbing the TV remote. Your face twisted a bit, examining the glass in your hand, the flavor of wine different than the one you were used to. It was a special night after all, your thoughtful boyfriend must have wanted you to branch out this evening. Where is he, anyway? As you pressed play, you called out for him, only to be cut off by your own confusion as Satoru’s face appeared on your TV screen. You watched with perplexity as Satoru recentered his chair, smiled, relaxed his face, and then smiled again.

No…no, no, no. What is this? You were locked in place, the melodious sounds of Satoru’s voice cascaded out of your surround sound system. He looked different though, his eyes were dull and low, his voice monotonous–his alarming difference in demeanor sent a chill down your spine. Your groggy mind inferred that this must’ve been an accident. Maybe it was casted to the wrong TV. I shouldn’t be seeing this…these are Satoru’s video diaries.

You so badly wanted to tear your eyes away from the screen, this seemed like such an invasion of privacy. But you were entranced, staring intently toward the TV, though you didn’t really have a choice, your body was completely numb now.

“January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point…” you fought to keep your eyes open, to piece together what the hell was happening, until your body eventually succumbed to sleep.

When you finally came to, you were laid out on your bed, fully nude. Soft grunts lingered in the air as you worked your hardest to refocus your eyes, your head pounding. You shifted your weight onto your forearms, your neck straining as it felt like your brain was filled with lead, eyes searching your bedroom for the culprit of the moans. One glance to the left, a quick look to the right, before you stared straight ahead at the wall directly across from the bed. Your body lurched in fear as your heart sank, the source of the sounds now looking you dead in the eyes: The man you had been seeing for the past couple of months, gagged and tied to a chair, his bloodied face twisted up in agony.

You tried to call out for him. Your feeble attempts to drag your heavy body closer in order to console him were interrupted as the room was suddenly illuminated with the streaming lights of a projector. Your movements halted as you shielded your eyes immediately, the bright interruption feeling like a flashbang to your sensitive head.

“We didn’t get to finish my show and tell,” a voice spoke up from the dark corner.

“Satoru?? Wha…what is going on?” you cried out, tears spilling from your eyes while your hands attempted to cover your modesty. You tried your hardest to sit upright, your head spinning, unsure if Satoru was the culprit or your savior. Your body felt like it was anchored to the floor, your head throbbing with every word that tore through your chest.

“There’s no need for all that yelling, sweetheart,” Satoru grinned, crouching down next to you. You winced as his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks.

Click

Metal cuffs clamped down on your wrists before you could even register what was happening. A million unanswered questions spun through the room as you frantically searched through his blue eyes, hoping to find any sort of insight into the torment he was inflicting upon the two of you.

“This is what’s gonna happen, okay? I need you to listen to me.” His voice was sickeningly sweet, each syllable that left his lips more damning than the last as he dragged your limp body up the bed, securing your wrists to the headboard and angling your body toward the projected video on your wall. A crazed grin lit up his dull face as he raised his hand, pointing the remote toward the projector. “You’re gonna sit here and look all pretty f’me while you watch these tapes, and if you move, if you stop paying attention for even a second…” Your stomach churned at how gently he was able to give such vile instructions. He turned his attention towards your partner, the blade of a knife twirling through the slender fingers of his free hand, “...He’s dead. Understand, angel?”

You nodded reluctantly, unable to do anything else but comply with his demands. Your head was spinning, trying to digest the fact that this was the same person who had paid your rent and entertained your rants after a hard day of work. You listened as his voice continued to drabble over the static of the projector, recalling how bland that day had been until he saw your face. How he must’ve dreamt of you because there was no way your beauty could exist outside of his imagination. To you, it had been a normal Tuesday afternoon. To him, it had been the start of the rest of his life.

The longer you watched, the more the realization set in that the sweet gestures he presented to you were not out of the goodness of his heart, but from the darkness of his spirit, driven by his wanton lust. Your face was slack, eyes wide in horror. Disappointment crawled through your chest at your own naivety. How could I be so oblivious? So trusting?

Satoru’s eyes bored into the side of your face as he sat beside you, his hands rubbing deep circles into your bare thighs, pure elation shooting through his veins at his sweet girl finally having a look into his mind. The look of terror that painted your beautiful face made his heart leap with joy. Satoru’s giddy demeanor dropped as pained grunts emerged from the tethered man against the wall. He stood, closing the distance between the two of them, his fist encircling your boyfriend’s throat. You began to protest, to plead with Satoru to leave him be, but the rage that filled his eyes made you shut your mouth. “Uh uh…eye’s on the screen, my love.” Your head snapped back toward the videos, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the muffled wailing of your boyfriend filled the room.

As the final video played, Satoru returned to your side, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he stroked the back of your head and rubbed at your cheeks. “Can’t you see all that I’ve done for you?” He grabbed your face, digging his fingers deep into the space under your cheekbones, forcing your lips into a pucker. “You belong to me, my love.” A deep growl rumbled through his chest, “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, his hot tongue bullying its way through your tight lips. Small whines echoed through your mouth and into his, and Satoru greedily swallowed up your sounds with ease. Whimpers of protest came from the wall across from your bed, but they were quickly drowned out by the wet sounds of smacking lips and battling tongues.

He broke away, a thick trail of spit still connecting the two of you. Satoru released your cheeks with a gentle shove, throwing his leg over yours to straddle you. He dropped his head to your neck, his white hair brushing against your skin. You winced as he licked a thick line from your collarbone to your ear. “I finally get to have you,” he whispered, nipping at your flesh, “You ready to give yourself to me, princess?” Your eyes widened in horror, your gaze affixed towards your boyfriend, blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his cheeks. Your head shook side to side, tears brimming in your eyes once more as your thoughts raced through your mind, causing a traffic jam in your throat. “I…no, I can’t…he’s…” Satoru’s palm covered your mouth, a groan erupting from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled deep into his skull. He sat back, staring down at you, his free hand running its fingertips between your breasts. “This has nothing to do with him…It’s just me and you now, my love.” Your head snapped up to stare at your captor as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your nipples. A stifled moan teased the back of your throat, an exasperated look of fear in your eyes as you stared up at Satoru.

Your cheeks flushed as you held his gaze. He grinned back down at you before rolling the hardened bud between his fingertips. Your chest arched toward him, a shameful hum dancing from your lips as he played with you. A deep laugh erupted from the blue-eyed man at your unintentional reaction, his head thrown back with pure joy as he continued to pull at your nipples. He leaned into your neck once more, his teeth grazing the outer shell of your ear. “I knew it,” he purred, “Knew you wanted me, too. You were just playing hard to get, isn’t that right?” You shook your head once more, your words constricted in your chest. “N-no…I never wanted you,” you retorted, head thrown to the side, attempting to distance yourself from him, but to no avail. The weight of him anchored your lower half to the mattress while your tethered wrists held you in place.

A deep chuckle rumbled through Satoru, “So if I feel your pussy, it won’t be absolutely soaked right now?” A pathetic whimper escaped your throat as you shook your head furiously. The rolling motion against your nipples halted and his hand trailed lower down your abdomen. “Hmm…let’s see then, shall we?” he taunted, tracing your skin before rubbing your folds and dipping into your core. “I knew it…you’re fucking drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He shoved two fingers in, shallowly teasing your hole before withdrawing, bringing his sopping digits between your faces, turning his wrist as the dim light of the room illuminated the wetness, making it glisten ever so slightly. He examined them before meeting your fearful gaze. “Why did you lie?” He sucked his middle digit into his mouth, his tongue lapping hungrily at your sweet juices as his eyes fluttered shut. A hum emanated from Satoru as his other soaked finger pushed past your lips, “Here, have a taste, pretty girl,” his long digit dancing around your tongue. “So fucking sweet. You have no idea how badly I’ve been craving this.”

“I’ll ask you again, princess…Why’d you lie to me? I thought you were better than that,” he teased, an insincere pout twitching at his lips as he cradled your chin. Your body thrashed as his hands pawed down your body, plunging two fingers deep inside you again. Your back arched toward him, his knee between your legs was the only thing keeping you open for him. “I…It wasn’t..ahh!– I wasn’t lying…I–”. Your words fell on deaf ears as a wicked smile crept across Satoru’s face.

“Shhh…shhh my sweet girl, just lay back and enjoy,” he smirked as he crawled down your body, laying himself flat on the bed with his head nestled between your legs. Satoru’s body no longer shielded you from your boyfriend, your teary eyes darted across his face, a silent apology being sent his way. Small gasps escaped your lips as Satoru continued to pump into you, the tips of his curled fingers toying with your sweet spot. When you stared down at him, the look of pure desire peered back at you, the dampness between your legs skyrocketing at the sight. A scarlet dusting of shame brushed across your cheeks at your clear enjoyment of all this, even though it betrayed every natural instinct you had. His tongue darted out from between his lips, the tip circling your swollen clit as his fingers dipped in and out of you, his movements spurred on by his own desperation.

He was delirious, suckling against your clit while his fingers worked into you with fervor, moans and growls echoing through the room as he drank you in. You so badly wanted to break away, to console your boyfriend who had an unintentional front row seat to you falling apart on someone else’s tongue, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him, his digits hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pleasure ripped through your body as a tightening sensation crept its way into your stomach. The rattling of your cuffs echoed through your bedroom as you fought against your restraints, desperately wanting to tangle your fingers in Satoru’s hair.

Your hips bucked toward his mouth, your body aching for release as your pelvis thrusted against his flattened tongue. You didn’t dare look away from Satoru, for you knew there was another set of eyes affixed upon the damning scene that was unfolding. He continued to hum and suck and pump into your core as you tightened around him, his slender fingers quickly coaxing your orgasm from your writhing body. Your eyes screwed shut as your gushy walls spasmed around his fingers, your release painting Satoru’s overly-eager face. He lapped at you some more, working you through your orgasm as he cleaned you up with his wickedly talented tongue.

A deep growl broke through Satoru’s chest as he removed his head from between your legs, the back of his hand dragging across his chin, catching the last of your release before he licked you off of him. He sat upright, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “Hope you were taking notes,” a smug grin on his face as he addressed your watching boyfriend. He redirected his attention to you. “Did so good f’me, angel. Dreamt of that for so long…” he grinned, his tongue darting out to trace along his lips, hoping there was still some of you coating his face “...I could do that all fuckin’ day.”

Your shaking chest heaved as clarity settled into your mind. Satoru untethered your wrists from the headboard, shifting your body so that you were on your hands and knees, head positioned toward the wall your partner was leaning against. Strangled sounds rang from your boyfriend’s chest as you finally met his gaze. Humiliation prickling under your skin at the realization of what you had just done. But you had no time to dwell on it as Satoru repositioned himself on the bed.

“He’s gonna watch me destroy you, my sweet girl,” Satoru was kneeled behind you, lining himself up with your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He grasped your hips roughly, sinking into you in one fluid motion. You choked out a sob as you dropped your head in shame.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. He can’t help you…can’t save you. Go ‘head, keep cryin’ for him,” he cooed, his thrusts deep and slow inside of you. Jagged moans escaped your throat as the thick head of his cock brushed into your sweet spot. “He can’t make you feel as good as I do.”

He leaned down, reaching around to cradle your throat in his hand, squeezing tightly as he turned your head to the side, his sharp eyes running up and down your contorted face. “Can’t you see that you belong to me, how my poor heart aches for you? How badly I’ve needed you?” His thrusts were agonizingly slow but incredibly deep, the pressure in your tummy betraying your desire for this to stop. “That’s it, my love. Feel you clenching down on me…you’re getting off on this, aren’t ya?” His hips rocked deeper into you, the new depth had your hands clawing at the sheets of your bed as pleasure worked its way through your trembling body.

“He doesn’t treat you the way I do. He never will. No one is better for you than me, princess,” he seethes, his hand cupping your chin, holding your head up, “Now look in his eyes while I use you.” His pace picked up, pulling you back on to him with his anchored hand around your neck. A broken sob cut through your constricted throat as he fucked into you, the visceral sound of flesh smacking against flesh and whines and cries spun through the otherwise stiff air of your room. He palmed at the fat of your ass, pulling your body to meet his rough thrusts. A choked cry left your lips as you maintained eye contact with your boyfriend, crimson droplets running down his face, mimicking the pattern of your tears. You mouthed a silent “I’m sorry” to him before your eyes shut tightly, waves of sinful bliss pulsed through your body with every mean thrust of Satoru’s hips.

“Gettin’ so tight around me–f-fuuuck–you’re close, huh?” Your face contorted in shameful pleasure as you nodded, your back arching even more to take him deeper. “That’s it…c’mon, my love. Need you to cum on my cock,” Satoru begged, his voice airy as he got lost in your tight, sopping walls. “Show me how good I make you feel.” His words ricocheted around your head as the building pressure in your stomach finally snapped, your legs shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through your body, splattering onto Satoru’s thighs and the mattress below you.

A few more strokes met your dripping center before Satoru bottomed out inside of you, thick ropes of his pearlescent seed painting your spasming walls. He finally released his tight grip around your throat, your head dropping immediately as indignity plagued your trembling frame. He pulled out, spreading your cheeks as he leaned down, an animalistic growl pulling from his chest as he watched his cum dribble out of your pussy.

Satoru rubbed soothing circles into your lower back as you worked to regain your breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered. He unlatched the restraints from around your wrists, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the purple bruises that marked your skin. He locked eyes with your boyfriend, a deranged smile dancing across his face as he reached for the discarded projector remote.

Another familiar voice flooded through the speaker, but this time it wasn’t Satoru’s. “...We broke up a few weeks ago. No, no. Really, it’s okay. She was kind of a bitch anyway.” Your pupils widened as you stared back at the man you had just been feeling sorry for minutes ago, rage mixing into the vast sea of emotions you were already feeling while you watched a grainy video of him snaking his arm around another woman’s waist. The two of them were laughing outside of his house before she leaned in to kiss him.

“My poor sweet girl.” Satoru’s hand brushed lightly against your cheeks, catching tears that you didn’t even realize had begun spilling out. “I didn’t want you to have to find out this way, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

There were a million other ways he could have broken the news to you, but that somehow wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand.

“An eye for an eye, right?” The same haunting grin that you’d grown to know all too well spread across his face again, his blue eyes slicing into your ex-boyfriend’s. “I can’t believe that my entire world was in the hands of someone so undeserving…” he redirected his attention back to you and recaptured your cheeks in his hands. He leaned down to meet your gaze, unexpected softness replacing his usual sinister demeanor. “What do we do now, baby? It’s your call.”

Your pulse was ringing through your ears. “My call?” your voice was reduced to a whisper as you repeated it back to him.

“I’m going to kill him either way, but I want you to tell me how.”

You pondered for a moment, still coming to terms with the chain of events that lead you to this one vengeful moment.

Satoru stood, sauntering over to your boyfriend, stooping down to his level while his hands hovered over his gag. “When I take this off, I don’t want to hear anything other than remorse come from that pathetic fuckin’ mouth of yours.” Your boyfriend’s eyes shifted towards you, then back to Satoru, as he nodded pitifully. The tie was pulled from his mouth. His words were broken, barely audible. “I’m -” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I -”

Your stomach lurched as a sharp smack met his cheek, the painful sound resonating through the room. “You can do better than that. You got one more try,” Satoru spat, his eyes burning into your ex-lover’s bloodied face as he wrapped his fist around his throat, jostling his head around in a fit of rage.

“Satoru,” you hardly recognized your tone let alone the thoughts that were racing through your head. The last few hours of your life had been a blur. The words you heard earlier made perfect sense now, “Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point.” You were officially at that point. “Satoru, don’t. Let’s just end this.”

It was the first time you’d ever seen the silver-haired man look surprised. His eyebrow raised, a mix of curiosity and amusement glinting in his eye. “Tell me how,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it.”

You were in a dream. Nothing more than a figment of Satoru’s imagination, just like he had said. It was the only thing that made sense to you because there was no way any of this was actually happening.

“Rip his heart out,” your voice emotionless as you gazed toward the blue-eyed man. Satoru groaned deeply, his dick twitching at the sound of your pretty voice speaking his dark language. The same depraved grin pulled at the edge of his lips as he looked back at your ex.

“Well,” he smirked, “looks like it’s decided then…” Adoration swam through his ocean eyes as he looked back at you, “I knew I picked the right one.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The lock of your front door unbolted as your bodies pushed through the door frame, giggling as four glasses of wine danced through your systems. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he mumbled against your lips. His hands grasped yours as he led you toward the couch.

You nestled into the warmth of his chest, his arm secured around you while you gazed around the room. Your head spun from the wine-induced nostalgia that this day had inevitably brought on. You were still in the same apartment, only it belonged to both of you now. A blend of sentimental gifts decorated your bookshelf that the two of you had collected over the last year. A camcorder, pressed red roses, framed vacation photos, and the first set of diamond earrings he’d bought you stowed away in a heart-shaped jewelry box. But out of all of the memories that tied you together, there was one that stood out the most.

“Should we open it?” you whispered, drawing lazy circles into his shoulder.

You didn’t have to see his face to feel his smirk. He knew his girl and he knew her well. He stood wordlessly, retrieving a jar from the highest shelf. He presented it to you, a smug grin gracing his ethereal features, the same look that was permanently etched into your brain the night he got it for you.

“Be my guest, princess.” You unscrewed the lid, peering into the jar as the strong scent of formaldehyde tickled your nose. You smiled longingly into the container, the overwhelming feeling of love reverberating through your chest. There was something so beautifully poetic about Satoru’s limerence, the lengths at which he went to steal the heart of another in order to fully possess yours.

author note: im so sorry for not posting my sweets,, i had the worst case of writer's block and i was actively trying to work on six different WIPs...i was losing my mind.

this was quite the heavy fic to write...i hope i didn't scare anyone away with it lol

alsoooo!! sending out the biggest thank you to @remlionheart for forcing me to finish this...my editor, my co-writer, the love of my life ♡ ⋆｡˚

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misseviehyde · 1 month

Text

I HAVE NEVER

It was your bullying step-brothers idea to play a game. You just wished you'd never listened...

Jordan was the bane of your life. He was stronger, taller and more attractive than you. He seemed to take a perverse delight in ruining everything in your life and when you finally got a girlfriend you could sense his jealousy.

You weren't worried though. Jenna was sweet, delightful and funny. She hated 'Alpha-Males' like Jordan and was deeply in love with you. She was best-friends with your twin sister Kate as well and the three of you got on so well.

One day the three of you were hanging out when Jordan entered the room carrying a bottle of vodka.

"Hey nerds," he grinned, "wanna play a game with me?"

"Not really Jordan, go away," sighed Kate folding her arms under her small breasts and glaring at him. "You're such a douchebag, we don't want to play anything with you."

"Awwww, what's the matter? Don't wanna have some fun?"

Placing the bottle down, Jordan opened it and grabbed four shot glasses. He poured out the vodka. "Come on losers, I'm bored and this will be fun. I bet you pathetic dweebs have never played 'I have never'."

I didn't want to play anything with Jordan, but strangely I found myself being drawn towards the shot glass the same as my girlfriend and my sister.

"That's it losers - you can't resist playing with me. In fact - you can't resist doing everything I say from now on."

A strange befuddlement seemed to throb through my head as my hand closed on the glass. I could see Jenna breathing heavily and Kate as well as they grabbed their glasses.

"Now then bitches, I'm gonna say something and if you have never done it before, you have to drink and then do the thing I'm saying."

"Th...that's not how... the game... works," groaned Jenna struggling to speak as a strange lethargy swept through her.

"It's how my version works losers - now then. I have never had my tits enhanced."

A strange tingle ran through all three of us and I found the vodka rising to my lips. I drank it and placing it down watched Jordan fill my glass back up.

The fiery vodka burned my throat and then my chest began to ache. I looked down and watched in horror as my t-shirt began to bulge and swell. My nipples were rock hard as my pectoral muscles bulged out and then became soft pliable flesh. Two round, perfect globes swelled out - big fat fake tits causing my t shirt to rip and tear. I could hear female moans next to me and saw that my sister and girlfriend were undergoing a similar transformation.

"H...how?" groaned Kate as she cupped her massive new tits. She had been relatively flat chested before, but now she had a fine pair of teenage milkers and she looked great.

"Just a little magic to spice things up," grinned Jordan. "All three of you look so much better with this big tits. Now then 'I have never shaved my pussy bare."

I felt the vodka rising to my lips again and I drank it. My cock tingled and a delicious feeling of inversion and sucking seemed to happen. My crotch was now flat and smooth - a pretty pink pussy where my cock used to be.

"Haha, this is cool," laughed Jordan. "Now then, I have never worked my booty out to become a PAWG."

All three of us drank again and my whole body ached. I could feel my ass swelling up and my body shrinking. Toned muscles rippled under my skin as my hips cracked out. I looked at Kate and Jenna - they looked like hot little gym bunnies now just like I did.

"Okay sluts - you're looking good, but we can do even better. I have never had hair extensions, fake nails, eyelashes and a tan."

My body ached and as I raised the vodka to my lips again I saw I now had cute white nails and smooth tanned skin. My short hair was now long and blonde, I could feel it tickling my shoulders. Long slutty lashes projected from my eyes and I could taste lipstick on my transformed face.

I had nearly become fully female.

"Yeah, that's it bitches - you look so much better. The bottle is nearly empty. How about one final round? I have never been a horny, popular, bitchy slut who only likes hung Alpha-males."

All three of us drank, the empy glasses tumbling from our hands as we shook and giggled. My pussy throbbed and my brain ached as I felt new urges and desires pulse through me.

I'm a slut... I'm a bitch... I'm popular. I wanna fuck Jordan, I love being a slut for him... ohhh fuck yeah.

My clothing transformed as did Kate and Jenna's. All three of us were now dressed in sexy lingerie. The three of us were mean little size queens now, sluts for bully cock. I felt my pouty pink lips twist into a dumb grin as I played with my hair.

"Like... I am sooooo drunk and I'm fucking horny. Jordan, please will you like let us suck your cock?"

Jordan smiled and unzipping his fly flopped out his big fat cock. Me and my slutty friends sank to our knees, our mouths wet. Mmmmmh, he was so good to us.

"Fuck yes. My step-sis and her slutty friends. This is such a better configuration," he crowed. "Maybe one day I'll turn you back so you can appreciate how much of a slut you were for my cock. Then I'll turn you back into this bitch - she's better than you ever were."

I had no idea what my hot step-brother was going on about. I was too busy sinking my cherry pink lips around his big cock and starting to suck as Jenna began to rim Jordan and Kate kissed and made out with him.

Glug... glug... glug...

THE END

"Mmmmmh, that's it girls - I have never had a threesome before and this is gonna be a blast..."

As I felt Jordan's cock slide deep down my slut throat, I gurgled happily. Mmmmmh, I loved playing games with him...

#evie hyde #bitchification #f2f transformation #f2f corruption #corruption #m2f transformation #bully #m2f corruption

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starrierknight · 5 months

Text

𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞

“I have little left in myself―I must have you. The world may laugh―may call me absurd, selfish―but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.” ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

MASTERLIST | 𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 | AO3

wc— 4.1k

pairing— yandere!gn!reader x defected!getou

cws/tags— dead dove: do not eat, yandere/darling dynamic, erotomania, satosugu implied, kidnapping, mentioned drugging, restraints (ropes — shibari), death threats, bodily harm threats, m!nudity, gaslighting/manipulation, (brief) knife + blood, manhandling (hair pulling), pet names: “(my) darling”, dialogue-heavy

As he gradually unfurled his eyes, the surrounding world materialised through a dreamlike mist, and his senses stirred to life. Dispelling the remnants of slumber with a series of blinks, he discovered himself within a room bathed in the gentle embrace of candlelight, where the very atmosphere seemed to shimmer and stretch with drowsiness.

Stiffness and lethargy clung to him, as though his body grappled with the lingering tendrils of profound sleep. Testing the resilience of muscles long dormant, he flexed his fingers and toes, only to find the red ropes biting uncomfortably into his flesh in response to his resistance.

Lifting his weighty head, his befuddled mind grappled with the unfamiliarity of his surroundings. There you were. There he was.

His lips received a tentative lick as he inhaled deeply, his eyes darting around the candlelit chamber. "Why am I here?"

A kind smile played across your lips. "You're safe here, Suguru."

His heart jolted painfully within his chest, and he lurched forward, a groan escaping him as his vision swam and blurred. The rush of blood and adrenaline surged through his veins, his features oscillating between confusion, anger, and a palpable spike of fear. With each heaving breath, the red ropes flexed against his skin, binding the robust muscles beneath.

Despite the overwhelming circumstances, conviction etched into his gaze, he remained unconvinced.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, don’t say that. You know me so well—better than most, even. You’re in safe hands.”

Aware that his best chance lay in maintaining the conversation, distracting you while plotting an escape, he marshalled his thoughts. Familiar with binds of this nature, he was confident in his ability to slip free. After all, he reasoned, you wanted him here.

He stared at you, eyes narrowed, before a snort escaped him, followed by a chuckle. "...You kidnapped me, and claim that I'm safe? Are you serious?"

You hummed, tilting your head with an air of casual interest as you observed him from a chair opposite where he knelt. "You're with me. The safest place in the whole, wide world. Aren't you happy?"

Your gaze traversed him appreciatively, a profound adoration oozing from your every pore. Heat flushed your cheeks at the sight alone. There he was, entirely exposed to you, kneeling with the softest, most exquisite red ropes cradling his skin. The ropes artfully secured his wrists to his ankles behind him. You had waited for this moment, to witness his vulnerability, understanding that he was safer and more loved than ever before. His sculpted form, bathed in candlelight, revealed every ridge and contour you cherished. How effortlessly easy it was to love him in that moment.

Suguru's discomfort was palpable, evident in the tight set of his jaw and the furrowed brow as he caught wind of your appraisal.

He responded with a raised eyebrow, adopting a teasing tone laced with sarcasm. "Ah, yes," he remarked, eyes rolling. "Who wouldn't feel safe being tied up—naked? You're a real piece of work."

His smirk lingered, a subtle defiance in his expression as he couldn't shake off his wariness.

Your laughter, filled with good-natured amusement, washed over the room as you waved away his scepticism. "You're so funny! Really, you're funny!" you chuckled.

While you seemed genuinely amused, Suguru's suspicions persisted. The whole situation was too dubious for his liking, and he prepared to express his scepticism in a less than pleasant manner, wetting his lips.

"And you're just insane, aren't you?" he retorted plainly.

Your laughter continued, seemingly unfazed. "Don't say that, I'm so nice! If I were a real sicko, then I would've hurt you in your sleep. But I didn't do that, y'know? I'm not a freak."

Despite your assurances, Suguru remained unconvinced. His frown deepened as he observed your behaviour, finding it too peculiar for comfort. Your abnormal kindness only heightened his sense of unease.

Anger seeped into his tone. "Why the fuck am I here?"

Leaning forward, you invaded his personal space, wide-eyed and curious. "Are you okay? D'you have some sort of impairment? I just said I'm here to keep you safe," you giggled.

His tension escalated at your proximity, a mix of irritation and trepidation evident in his eyes. Suguru was not an idiot, not a monkey. How dare you suggest that? The sinking feeling in his gut intensified as the mystery behind your intentions deepened, leaving Suguru with more questions than answers.

Suguru strained against the unyielding ropes, attempting to create distance between himself and your unsettling proximity. The bindings, however, held steadfast, allowing minimal room for movement and posing the constant threat of an uncontrolled fall. The prospect of losing consciousness in your presence once more churned his stomach, creating a visceral sense of unease.

His gaze fixed intensely on your face, scepticism etched into his features. "...You're serious. You mean it, don't you?"

Your warm smile persisted as you reached out, intending a gentle gesture by tucking a lock of his smooth, dark hair behind his ear. He recoiled instinctively, as if your touch carried a searing heat. His eyes darted around the chamber with rapid intensity, registering the plastered walls adorned with talismans, scrolls, and wards—a meticulous effort to contain him, he realised, preventing the use of his Cursed Technique for escape. A sinking feeling settled in his chest.

"You’ve really thought this over," he murmured, a realisation dawning.

"Something wrong?" you whispered. "You seem a little on edge."

Your hands gracefully extended towards the intricate red ropes, their vibrant hue contrasting against the subdued ambiance of the room. Fingers curled with a practised grace, tenderly encircling the fibres before commencing a deliberate dance of tugging and tightening. The room held its breath as you skillfully secured the knots, the subtle tension mirrored in Suguru's wince as the ropes embraced the smooth, plush softness of his chest and thighs.

A ballet of sensations unfolded—the tactile precision of your movements, the hushed whispers of the ropes tightening. As your eyes traversed Suguru's form, every contour was noted, each nuance absorbed. A knowing smile played upon your lips, a hint of amusement at the palpable vulnerability now etched on Suguru's face.

Meanwhile, Suguru's scrutinising gaze became a discerning observer, meticulously analysing every facet of your being. His senses heightened, capturing the delicate interplay of scents, the nuanced details of your features, and the subtle shifts in your demeanour. Despite the unconventional circumstances, a flicker of hope ignited within him.

There was a recognition that you, despite the enigmatic scenario, did not exude immediate menace. A strategic gambit formed in his mind; he needed to keep the conversational threads flowing, a subtle dance to buy himself precious time to untangle the intricacies of the mystery that surrounded him, ropes and gazes interwoven.

"On edge? On edge? You're the one who kidnapped me! Do I have a reason to feel comfortable?" he retorted, sharp anger colouring his tone.

You furrowed your brows, a hurt expression crossing your face. Leaning away, you huffed, "But you're with me, Suguru."

"I know I'm with you, that's the problem!" Suguru tensed, a futile attempt to move away met with the unyielding grip of the ropes digging into his skin.

The mere sound of your voice addressing him by his name stirred a slight fluster within him. A disconcerting silence hung in the air, and he leaned back, a forced attempt at relaxation. His body, weary and aching, rebelled against him, his vision of you swaying in and out of focus. The realisation struck—he must have been drugged. The thought made him cringe, his heart racing as he contemplated escape. But would getting closer to you bring more harm than good?

"Who are you?" he whispered weakly.

You chuckled, shaking your head with a grin, playfully wagging a finger at him. “Oh, you’re good. You’re good, Suguru. You nearly fooled me, but I know you.”

He eyed you warily, raising a curious eyebrow. “We haven’t met.”

Laughter escaped you once more. “Oh, c’mon! The joke’s getting old now.”

“I have no idea who you are,” Suguru asserted. The puzzle of your identity loomed, and he remained trapped in a web of confusion and suspicion.

A disconcerting smile played on your lips as you leaned forward, rolling up the sleeve of your non-dominant arm, tinged with a disturbing nonchalance. "Ah, let me refresh your memory then. I might’ve made your dose too high, but I know you don’t mind…"

You thrust your wrist forward, revealing the words etched onto your skin—'My one and only.'

Suguru's heart pounded. The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer. Those sacred words, inseparable from the memories of another time, adorned your arm. Dread seeped into his veins, realising those words were an intimate connection to a past he couldn't fathom. Not with you. What right did you have to intertwine yourself with words, a person, a past that was never yours?

Your fond smile intensified as you observed his reaction. "You’re remembering now, aren’t you?"

Memories surged through Suguru's mind, but not the ones you had in mind—mercifully so.

“I think back to that afternoon. I have done, ever since you left Jujutsu Tech,” you continued, your tone laced with nostalgia. “I used to be so jealous of you and Satoru-kun calling each other that, y’know? I was still just some underclassman… But you always saw me.”

Horror painted Suguru's expression as he watched you trace the letters of the shoddy stick-and-poke tattoo. His bound hands trembled in futile resistance, the urge to summon a Cursed Spirit to end you becoming an agonising itch. How dare you intertwine Satoru's name with your own, inserting yourself into a past that was never yours to claim.

Your fingers, with a deliberate and measured elegance, curled and glided across each meticulously tied knot in the ropes. The vibrant, carefully chosen hues of the bindings seemed to complement the subdued atmosphere, creating a visual tapestry of constraint that both fascinated and enthralled. There was an artistry to the knots, but the masterpiece was your love before you.

As your fingers traced the lines of the knots, there was a sense of admiration for the handiwork that bound him. The tactile exploration became a silent celebration of the beauty in restraint, appreciating how each knot of limitation and vulnerability. The beauty of the constraints was not lost on you, and there was a certain satisfaction in witnessing how the ropes embraced him, both restricting and revealing in equal measure.

“That afternoon when you took me to your room and we did these for each other… And you promised me, then and there, that I was your ‘one and only’. Your real one and only—not just saying it to keep Satoru-kun happy. That you said it to him, but thought of me… You always were such a romantic.”

“Let me go.”

“I’m not done reminiscing yet!” you chirped. “And don’t ask me that again, okay? We have so much to catch up on, but we have all the time in the world now. Lucky us.”

"Let me go!" Suguru's yell echoed through the chamber.

In an instant, you closed the distance, your presence overwhelming as you gripped his chin with a frantic intensity. Wide, frantic eyes locked onto his, you muttered dangerously, "Didn't I just tell you not to ask me that?"

His body stiffened, fear coursing through him. Despite your smaller frame, you now exuded an intimidating aura that sent his heart into overdrive. Your hand on his chin quickened his pulse, the blood rushing to his face.

"Let me go, you freak!”

You clutched his jaw, your nails digging into his skin. "Don't you dare say that. Don't you dare be so ungrateful, okay? I'm keeping you safe from a world that wants you dead. You need me. You can't leave me," you spat.

Pain surged through him as your nails bit into his skin, a trickle of blood escaping. Your face hovered inches from his, your eyes mirroring the intensity of his own.

"B-but I don't need you..." he whispered softly, his trembling lips barely audible.

You responded with a cheerful laugh. "Oh, you do! You do, you do, you do!"

"I-I don't," he gasped, his attempts to pull away proving futile against your unyielding grip. "I don't want you."

Your shrieking laugh filled the room, a wild grin on your face. "There's not a thing in this world I wouldn't do for you! Nothing I wouldn't do! Who else can say that?"

His cheeks flushed red, embarrassment washing over him, buried as best he could. The warmth of your fingers on his chin contradicted the intensity of your words.

"You’re delusional," he whispered back, looking away from your gaze. He couldn't shake the feeling that you were spiralling into a realm of insanity that both terrified and repulsed him.

Your giggle resonated through the chamber, your expression softening as you gently brushed your free hand through Suguru's hair. The strands glided effortlessly between your fingertips, each one a delight. The coolness of the strands against your warm skin added a subtle contrast, intensifying the experience. There was a soothing rhythm to the motion, as if you were weaving through a secret, intimate tapestry as the strands gently cascaded through your grasp, making it shimmer.

"Oh, my darling. Says the pretty man who thinks he has a chance of killing all the non-sorcerers. You wanna talk about delusion? Let's talk about you."

The sensation of your fingers weaving through his hair nearly overwhelmed him. Your words and touch held an intimate quality that unsettled him. He stared at your hand, trapped and unable to escape the touch that both repelled and intrigued him.

"I'm not delusional," he insisted, his gaze fixed on your hand.

"Oh, but aren't you? You want to go out there, facing the world without me! You think you can handle them by yourself, and look where it's gotten you!" you chuckled breathlessly.

Annoyance flashed in his narrowed eyes. "Don't patronise me," he snapped. A small gasp escaped him, surprised by the admission that followed. "I hate you."

You staggered to your feet, frustration evident as you cried out, "Hate me? What right do you have to hate me? If I didn't care for you, why would I do this? I'm not like those sickos! Those freaks, those fucking perverts!"

Suguru remained still, his eyes widening as you vented your frustration. His fists clenched in the ropes, a silent expression of the urge to fight you for daring to raise your voice. Yet, he couldn't deny the impact of your words, hitting him in a way that left him defenceless.

"You—you do care for me, don't you?" he asked softly. It sounded like a plea, a desperate hope that you would deny the undeniable.

"You gave me no choice! I’m not a bad person! You were going to ruin yourself—kill yourself—over some dream of yours!" you screamed, the intensity of your words reverberating through the chamber. "You sent me a sign, that declaration of war—your Night Parade of a Hundred Demons! You needed me! I let you have your fun for years, watching you from the sidelines and ‘taking care’ of anyone who would’ve ended you! I made sure you were happy! I let you be happy, but I won’t let you kill yourself!"

As you paced, the candle flames danced in rhythm with your steps, casting erratic shadows on the walls. Your back turned to him, you tilted your head up, your gaze scanning the wards and talismans that adorned the room. "But you’re safe now. Thanks to me…"

Wheeling around to face him, you shook your head. "I just want you to live your best life. It’s… brave, what I do for you. It’s not easy, okay? Sometimes, it makes me sick. I’m brave."

Suguru remained silent, the weight of your confession hanging in the air. The complexity of your actions unfolded before him, revealing a side of you he hadn't fathomed. The blend of concern and obsession wrapped around your words left him grappling with the truth—however twisted it might be. The realisation that you saw yourself as a guardian, however misguided, made his heart throb.

Once again, a deliberate focus settled upon the intricate knots of the ropes as you meticulously checked and ensured the security of each binding. Your fingers, now with heightened sensitivity, traced the path of the knots, delicately brushing against the warmth of his skin. It ensured the practical security of the restraints, affirming the efficacy of each knot, while also introducing an unexpected element of intimacy. Your hands shook.

"You're demented. Completely, utterly, demented," his voice murmured, a frustrated undercurrent weaving through his words as his gaze bore into you.

"I'm in love.”

"Demented," he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief at the apparent incongruity of your words and actions.

Insisting on your perspective, you countered, "Love! Love! Everything I do is for love, for you! Darling, why don't you see that?"

Your fingers clutched the ropes tightly, knuckles turning pale with the force of your grip. He winced.

“I never asked you for this! I didn’t ask for some demented half-wit to love me! I don’t want your love, I want to kill every one of those monkeys—which you are stopping me from doing!” he exclaimed, frustration boiling over.

“Oh, for God’s sake…” you sighed, rubbing your temples in exasperation.

“Don’t you dare act like for one single minute that you could understand my dream, my vision, let alone care about my happiness. You don’t give a shit about what I want, you just want me as your pet,” he accused, his eyes narrowing with resentment.

“No, that’s not true-” you began, attempting to defend yourself.

“You’ve never cared for me! You could’ve proven your devotion and joined my family, our cause, and you didn’t! You’ve festered in silence, and I hope you rot where you stand,” he ranted, anger fueling his words.

“I love you! You need someone to tell you that your idea of happiness is some dull illusion! You wonder why I didn’t join that cult of yours? Who the hell d’you think was keeping them alive all this time, while you played House? Me. Who bailed them out and took care of the Jujutsu authorities? Me. I love you, Suguru, God fucking knows that I do—but you can’t sit there and tell me that I didn’t care! That I’m not more devoted to you than them all combined!”

“If you cared, you would have joined us.”

An indignant laugh escaped you, your eyes ablaze with a wild and dangerous intensity in the flickering candlelight. “Joined? And be surrounded by those idiots who think they know a thing about you? Deluded enough to think that they’re doing you any favours, by leading you to certain death? Don’t you see, Suguru?”

“See? I know, I see—I know and see the truth and I lead my family past the lies! Behind every Jujutsu Higher-Up is a monkey that sinks their teeth in, blinding them with money and status and forcing their hands, convincing us that we should be serving the less evolved. I saved my family—I could still save you! Just let me go.”

You groaned, attempting to interject, but he pressed on.

“Everywhere you go, the lies are spread! Society is poisoned by the monkeys—even the air we breathe stinks of their foulness. Where is the hope for the children? The monkeys are organised—they spread their propaganda everywhere—that the strong owe the weak. That the weak should somehow be protected; rewarded for their inferiority. I can’t stand by and let every sorcerer be brainwashed into believing they should be protecting these—these animals!”

“Then where are they?” you said in an eerily calm voice.

"Everywhere. The monkeys, they-"

"Your family, Suguru. Where are they?"

In a moment charged with tension, you loomed over him, your gaze piercing the depths of his inky black eyes. Despite the gravity of the situation, your touch took on a deceptive gentleness as you brushed some strands of hair away from his temple. The intimate contact of your fingertips against his flesh elicited a wince.

An affronted laugh escaped Suguru's lips. "They're in my heart."

You scoffed at his response. "Your heart? And is your heart gonna save you? Answer me this: how long d'you think you've been in this room?" you murmured, your voice carrying a mix of authority and curiosity.

Suguru set his jaw, narrowing his eyes at you, then sighed. Your fingers continued their exploration through his hair, lightly pressing against his scalp but firmly maintaining control.

"Where are they, Suguru? Why haven't they found you? Ah, no. No need to answer me there, darling, because I'll tell you the truth. You're alone in this world. You’re vulnerable."

"I have a family," he insisted.

In response, your temper flared, and your fingers tightened their grip on his hair, lifting and tugging upwards. Suguru gasped, pain flaring at his scalp and shooting down the lengths of his spine to the tips of his fingers. His body instinctively responded, straightening in an attempt to create slack and nullify the pain, but your hand persisted, maintaining its upward pull. His eyes scrunched shut, and he panted, a pained moan escaping as the physical manifestation of his isolation played out in the relentless grasp of your fingers.

“I know your heart, Suguru. I’ve seen it, held it, kissed it. I know what it wants. You’re just like me, y’know that? We both want the same thing. Understanding. Security. Acceptance. Love—unconditional love.”

“You can’t give me that,” he breathed out, glaring at you.

Your nails scraped against his scalp, wrenching him forward by the hair and letting him fall to the floor. His body, once held upright, yielded to the inexorable pull of gravity. It was a less-than-graceful collapse, like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Time seemed to stretch as he tilted forward, a cascade of hair obscuring his face like a veil. The atmosphere thickened with the sound of his breath, measured and strained, the only audible acknowledgement of the impending impact. There was a profound thud, resonating through the room, as his face met the cool surface. The impact rippled through his body, a shockwave, and he lay there for a moment, motionless.

Slowly, reluctantly, he stirred and let out a loud, muffled groan.

You huffed out a laugh. “I’ve tried, Suguru, I really tried. I just… Sometimes, I wonder if you’re the same boy I fell in love with—who loved me—all those years ago in school.”

You smiled wryly, shaking your head as you lifted the arm of your non-dominant hand and traced your fingertips over the tattoo—’My one and only.’ The amateur ink work, done with a single needle and makeshift equipment, had aged poorly, leaving behind a blurred and uneven mess on the skin.

The black ink, once sharp and defined, had spread over the years, creating a smudged and faded appearance. The letters, originally intended to convey a message of permanence, now looked distorted and indistinct. The lines bled into each other, forming a jumbled mass of ink that barely resembled the original words.

Your gaze lingered on Suguru, bound and vulnerable on the floor. There was a dark satisfaction in the way he squirmed, his eyes hidden by his fallen hair, the tight binding of the rope that connected to his ankles. A mischievous smile played on your lips as you recalled the undeniable truth: he was worth every challenge, and the two of you were an unstoppable force when united. Bound by fate, by the stars.

A dreamy exhale escaped your lips, a mixture of contentment and desire. As your eyes traced the contours of his form, appreciating the sight before you, a thought crossed your mind. The imagery of him, bound and displayed, conjured the amusing image of a feast—like a meal expertly trussed with butcher's twine. A chuckle echoed through your thoughts, and you couldn't help but picture him with an apple in his mouth.

Ah, but all in good time. Gags could come later.

Your gaze, however, couldn't help but fixate on his arms, particularly his left forearm. It was a canvas that should have bore those words—’My one and only’—a distinctive mark that proved he was yours, that you were his. But in this vulnerable state, the ink was conspicuously absent.

An insidious flame flickered and danced with an unsettling intensity, gnawing at the edges of your better nature and searing hot on your skin.

Hot on your knife.

a/n: teehee love to a couple of moots who helped w/ this <3. this is my first time writing yandere or anything of this nature sooooooo. ya I hope it’s okie :3 P.S. this is not a moral guidebook!!!!! do not be like the reader insert!!!!!!!!

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

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tkaulitzlvr · 6 months

Note

can u do more tom fluff please !! <3 i luv ur work !!

COMFORT - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: when your dreaded time of the month comes at an inconvenient time, tom takes it upon himself to make the pain as bearable as possible, not leaving your side the entire day.

content: fluff

a/n: thanku sm for the request - someone requested this scenario directly but i’ve lost it cause tumblr is BROKEN, but omg this took hours cause tumblr kept glitching i hate this app sometimes. for some reason i’ve had so many requests for fluff recently lol, i don’t write it often so decide to switch things up a little. and i also hit 600 followers whilst writing this so thank you so much!!💗

the tightening pain in my stomach is the first thing my body registers when it awakes, one that is unable to be mistaken for anything else. the room is still dark, curtains not allowing any light to leak through their cracks, signalling that i probably shouldn't be awake right now, however i soon realise that sleep doesn't seem a possibility as the pain begins to worsen. clutching my lower abdomen, i soon realise that the sheets below me feel strangely damp, my eyes widening at the thought that crosses my mind, praying for the reality to be anything but what i am imagining. though when my free hand reaches to pull the covers over my frame, my eyes widen in embarrassment, a loud groan leaving my lips once i spot the deep shade of red that soaks into the once pearly white cotton.

tom sleeps peacefully beside me, his arm draped loosely around my torso, mouth slightly parted as weak snores escape it. though his slumber doesn't last much longer, his eyes fluttering open when i slowly climb out of the bed, hand reaching out aimlessly to find it empty, instead of the presence of my body beside his own. he soon becomes more alert at my disappearance, eyes fully opening to scan the room, soon softening once he spots me standing just a few feet away, clutching at my stomach whilst taking slow sips from the glass of water that sits on my bedside table.

"schatz, what are you doing up at this time? come back into bed, it's getting cold without you." he mutters, voice low and groggy, still thick with sleep, clearly not able to stay awake much longer. his eyes squint through the darkness, trying to make out my figure more clearly, unable to distinguish the discomfort etched upon my face. but when i don't respond, he soon picks up on the fact that something isn't right, sitting upright and clearing his throat, though it isn't enough to disguise the lethargy evident in his voice.

"baby? what's wrong? c'mon, get into bed." he is becoming more concerned, our close proximity making it impossible for me to not have heard him, that idea quickly being ruled out as he considers the endless reasons for my silence. but the true reality of the situation hits when a quiet sniffle escapes my mouth, followed by the presence of tears welling up, creating a glassy sheet over my irises, reminding me how dramatically emotional i get when the time of the month hits - just about anything enough to make me burst into tears.

he shuffles slightly in the bed, his brows furrowing when his leg brushes over the wet spot in the sheets, hand following the same pattern mine did just minutes ago, lifting the covers up as the realisation soon hits him, his face quickly softening. though his calm reaction isn't enough to console me, even when his eyes, filled with pure concern, lift up from the dark red patch imprinted on the material, the tears now running down my cheeks before i can apologise.

"oh honey..." he trails off, stepping out of bed and tiredly walking over to the spot on the other side of the room where i stand, his arms quickly wrapping themselves around my trembling frame, one hand reaching upward to run through my hair lazily. my sobs are muffled into his bare chest, own hands wrapping around his waist as i move closer into his embrace. in quick and short bursts, my breathing speeds up, usually reduced to its normal rate by the kisses that tom places into my hair, his voice gently hushing me as his arms maintain their steady hold on my waist.

"hey hey hey, c'mon baby, don't get upset, it's okay. don't worry, i'll clean it up, okay?" his voice is barely above a whisper, soft and calm, the tone calming my nerves and the guilt that sets in for ruining the sheets, no matter how insignificant it seems to him. he seems to sense my continued discomfort, and after placing one faint kiss to my forehead, pulls away, his hands still resting loosely on my waist before his gaze travels downward, registering the faint stain on my small shorts.

"i'm sorry." i hiccup, gesturing to both the stained sheets and my clothing, feeling utterly humiliated knowing that he is looking at me like this, having disturbed his sleep for nothing. he seems confused by my apology, lips curving into a slight frown as his eyes soften, taking in my guilty state, not understanding why i am so ashamed.

"why are you sorry? it's just an accident, i can get fresh sheets, and you can put clean clothes on. don't stress, everything is fine." his eyes look into mine, searching for any sign of me calming down and understanding where he is coming from, though i am unable to mirror his relaxed approach, having blown the whole thing so out of proportion that the guilt begins to eat me up inside. "how about i run you a bath? i'll change the sheets, and get you some fresh clothes, hm?"

i nod weakly at his suggestion, a soft smile creeping upon his face in response. the pain habituating within my lower stomach suddenly intensifies, my face twisting in discomfort as my body almost doubles over, tom quickly moving to hold me up, one hand coming upward to rub slow circles across my abdomen, his other resting on my back as my eyes squeeze shut.

"you're okay, deep breaths." he whispers, studying my face intently, slowing the rhythm of his hand on my stomach once he watches the discomfort ease, my face returning to its normal expression. the warmth of his hand resting on my stomach, paired with the gentleness of his gaze acts as the perfect natural remedy, the cramp subsiding temporarily as i force a weak smile, straightening my posture and meeting tom's gaze, only his continues to be filled with concern.

he holds his hand out, gesturing me to take it, giving my own a gentle squeeze once i do, before leading me into the bathroom adjacent to our bedroom. the firm grasp of his touch picks me up, placing me gently on the counter in one swift movement, his thumbs absent-mindedly grazing the skin of my stomach as they slide underneath my small crop top, their soft touch easing the dull aching pain there just a little, making it that small bit easier to cope with the discomfort. if that wasn't enough, his body threads it's way between my legs as they dangle off of the counter, standing in between them whilst his thumbs reach upward, wiping the tears that reside along my cheeks, and drying the fresh ones that form along my waterline.

his movements are careful, kind and gentle in an attempt to soothe me more than he already has, intent on relieving the stress in any way that he could, doing so seeming like his duty, the silent reward of my contentment all he needs to prompt him to continue, until the only evidence of my upset is the rosy tint that spreads across my cheeks. once satisfied with his work, his hands move to rest on my thighs, his touch forming goosebumps over the skin, whilst his face nears my own. his lips collide with mine ever so gently, pecking them repeatedly, the contact so tender that i almost don't feel it, though the love that radiates from each movement reminds me that the moment is real, and enough to make me forget about the pain, even if it is only for a few seconds.

"love you." he mumbles against my lips, smiling softly and kissing them once more. my cheeks heat up at his words, heart tugging at its strings, realising that no matter how long we have been together, his ability to make me blush with the smallest of actions is long lived, and i don't think that it will ever go away.

"love you too." i smile slowly, the moment only lasting a few seconds as he pulls me into a short hug, fingers fiddling with the waistband of my shorts, reminding me that they need changing, the feeling of them making me cringe. he steps back for a second, only to walk toward the bathtub, twisting the taps on as gushes of hot water begin to spill from them, the tub quickly filling up.

"get in meine liebe, i'll be right back." he says, gesturing towards the bath and shooting me another warm smile before his figure disappears from the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. my feet step out of the dirty shorts, picking them up and tossing them into the laundry basket, my crop top soon following. my hands fiddle with the strands of hair falling at my shoulder blades, scooping them upward and tying them into a messy ponytail, my body quickly shivering from the lack of warmth that my clothing had brought.

i step into the tub, sinking further and further into the water as its heat envelops my body, my shoulders quickly falling, eyes closing in satisfaction as quiet breaths leave my parted lips. the silence is calming somehow, distracting me from the pain that comes and goes, though i soon long for tom to return, wondering what has taken him so long, needing to feel his embrace despite the comfort that the water brings. so i quietly wait, fingers tracing the outline of the large bathtub, droplets of water forming along the exposed skin of my arms, the drowsiness that takes over only increasing, my eyes on the verge of falling shut, until the sound of footsteps nearing the room soon turns my attention toward the door, my face lighting up when tom walks through it.

his hands hold a t-shirt, neatly folded and freshly washed, the material spreading out and creasing slightly once he places it on the counter, revealing a fresh pair of panties and some tampons wrapped within it, my heart melting at his thoughtfulness, the smallest of things being what make me aware of how lucky i am to have him. his attention turns towards me quickly, clearly determined to take care of me despite his tired eyes and the dark circles that habituate beneath them. he walks over to the bathtub, crouching beside it and dipping his fingers aimlessly into the hot water.

"how are you feeling?" he takes my face in his hands, pulling it closer toward him carefully and kissing my forehead lightly after speaking, keeping his fingers resting against my cheek, thumb running up and down it comfortingly, whilst his free hand brushes the loose strands of hair behind my ears.

"better." i say, offering him a genuine smile, sitting up slightly to better my view of him.

"i got you one of my t-shirts to change into. i tried to find your favourite, you know, the red one? i searched the whole house, but i couldn't find it anywhere, i'm sorry baby. but i found another one that i know you wear sometimes, the white one with the purple writing, i hope it's okay-"

i let out a soft chuckle at his rambling, repeating his motion just seconds ago and wrapping my hand around the nape of his neck, cutting off his voice with my lips, pulling back after a few seconds, giggling slightly at his genuine concern over a t-shirt. he struggles to see what is so funny, though his eyes narrow in confusion, a soft smile mirroring my own spreads across his face at my own happiness. "it's okay baby, thank you."

he stands up, clearing his throat and wiping his hands that had gotten slightly wet on his sweatpants. "i'll give you some space, i'm in the bedroom if you need me, okay schatz?"

though before he can exit the room, or even get within a few steps distance of the door, my hand reaches out, wrapping around his wrist lazily. he stops in his tracks, turning around swiftly to face me once again, eyes softening at my pleading look, already assuming what i am going to ask. he had always been good at that, guessing what i will say, before my mouth had chance to utter the words, and this time proves no different, his body taking one step toward the tub.

"can you get in with me?" i ask, looking upwards with pleading eyes, widening them in an attempt to convince him, my hand squeezing his wrist gently. i know what the answer will be, certain that he would never refuse a chance to lay beside me, despite the frequency that we do so anyway.

"yeah, sure." he nods calmly, quickly reaching to tug the only item of clothing that he is wearing down, the grey sweatpants pooling at his feet. he drags them off, folding them neatly and placing them beside my fresh change of clothes on the counter. my body moves forward, giving him room to climb in behind me, and he soon does so, resting his back firmly against the bathtub. he gets comfy, sinking into the water and stretching his legs out as my body rests in between them. after a few seconds, he snakes his arms around my waist, using his secure grip to pull me backward, my back resting firmly against his chest.

his fingers sit on my stomach, tracing circles over the skin, applying more pressure when i would sigh out in pain, gently massaging the cramping away, all whilst his lips would place quick kisses into my hair, though some would linger for a few seconds, often followed with the simple phrase 'i love you', each time he would utter them leaving me in the same state - a light shade of red creeping onto my cheeks whilst my lips curved into a small smile. he would always acknowledge my flustered state, though never tease me about it as he would in any other circumstance, deciding on savouring the peaceful moment, scared to ruin the tenderness of it, as it is memories like this which will be cherished forever.

though there are a few times when his head would dip downward, lips ghosting the skin of my neck, testing the waters between loving and lustful, but he knows that there is nothing sexual about this moment, knowing better than to create something sensual out of it. so he keeps his touches caring, the pads of his fingers running up and down my sides, eyes sparkling with joy as i can sense the cheesy grin on his face from behind.

though his sleep is put on the line, he seems to show no regret for choosing me over his slumber, standing up slowly and taking my hand, his other resting gently on my waist as he helps me exit the bath, following afterward and finding a towel big enough for the both of us. his arms open outward, gesturing me to come closer, and when my body nears his, naked frame pressed against his own, his arms close around us, the towel providing us with some warmth, though the majority of heat felt comes from what radiates from tom's body as he continues to keep his arms wrapped around me, refusing to increase the distance between us.

we stay like this for a few minutes, bodies against each other, swaying side to side ever so slowly, his chin resting on top of my head, a peaceful silence between us until he steps back, handing me his t-shirt. he tugs his own clothes on, cleaning up the bathroom whilst i fix myself up, his gentle hand coming to rest at my back once i am finished.

"c'mon, let's go back to bed, you must be tired." he says, walking us both into the bedroom. by now, light had managed to leak into the room through the curtains, a medley of ambers and pinks melting across the walls, though i barely acknowledge this, my focus instead on the bed in the centre of the room. it is freshly made, dressed with crisp white sheets, the dirty ones nowhere to be seen.

tom collapses onto the bed, his head delving into the pillow as i fall onto the mattress, only alone for a few seconds as he quickly pulls me into his side, arms wrapping tightly around my waist, fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt, hiking it upward from its previous position where it rested just above my knees, the majority of tom's clothing insanely big on me, though i don't mind. he places the covers over our bodies, legs intertwined as i lay practically on top of him, this not enough for tom as he drags me closer, my chest against his. after getting comfortable and making sure that i am too, his head buries into my neck, placing a few gentle kisses there as a silent way of saying 'i love you', though his verbal confirmation comes soon after as he tiredly utters the three words, muffled by the skin of my shoulder.

"thank you for helping me. i'm sorry about the sheets." i mumble, his head soon reappearing from where it had rested, a soft chuckle leaving his lips at my repeated apology.

"it's what i'm here for. i'll always be here to help you, and you don't have to be sorry about it either. it's just some sheets, you're much more important. now get some sleep, okay? i'll be right here when you wake up." he kisses my lips softly before i can respond, only this one is much longer than the ones we had shared earlier, his hand moving to cup my cheek, only pulling away for breath when he can no longer kiss back.

"i love you." i whisper against his lips, eyes fluttering open and shut as i find myself becoming increasingly tired, quickly uttering confirmation of my love towards him before i fall asleep, snuggling further into his embrace as he gives my waist a gentle squeeze.

"i love you too schatz, more than you'll ever know."

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tomkaulitz #tokiohotel #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #kaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz angst #bill kaulitz

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flowerandblood · 8 months

Text

The Impossible Choice (49)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, anxiety, angst, smut ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

For the last few days, which had seemed to him like long nights melted into one, he had forgotten how soothing his wife's touch had been to him. How calming her warm, tight walls had been to him, clenching on him in pleasure, refusing to let him go, wanting to keep him deep inside her.

I need you, husband.

He longed to hear it.

He needed to know that he was necessary to her as she was to him. That she too only found peace in his arms, only when he filled her to the brim with his seed. He was ready to give her everything and he did indeed.

As he laid on his side with her, panting heavily with his nose snuggled into her hair, he ran his fingers along the inside of her palm, tracing with his fingertips the cut mark of the dragonglass, a reminder that she was only his.

"I'd like to spend some time with Royce. He's overwhelmed with his responsibilities. He needs me." She whispered, and he felt his stomach twist unpleasantly, his body solidify all over. He pressed his lips together, swallowing quietly.

I fucking need you.

He couldn't get the words out of his throat, embarrassed by his simple, baseless jealousy and regret. He knew that Royce had suffered as he had, that he had just lost his father, was still waiting for him to be buried. That, apart from his sister, he had no one now.

"Do you trust me?" She asked quietly, softly, and he felt a tightening in his heart. He sighed heavily, sinking his face into her hair, fighting his possessive side with difficulty.

"Yes."

And then she left, leaving him alone. He stared ahead, lying on the bed, the bedding suddenly seeming terribly cold and empty. He breathed steadily as he stared ahead, fighting the images before his eyes, fighting the sight of Borros disappearing into the fire and Daeron choking on his own blood.

He got out of bed and tied his trousers, swallowing hard. He sat in a chair in front of the fire as if in lethargy, just trying to survive until his wife returned. He had the feeling that his body was colder and tougher than before he flew out to Harrenhal.

That something had changed in him, that another drop had fallen into his goblet filled to the brim with his madness.

He squeezed his eye shut, trying to think of their child. He always saw the same thing - his wife lying in his bed, cradling their offspring in her arms, singing him a lullaby in the candlelight. This vision soothed him, filled him with warmth, made him realise that even though he sometimes didn't want it, he was still alive.

He lifted an eyelid when he heard the sound of the door opening, his wife entering their chamber, looking up at him with a gentle smile. He felt a sense of relief, which, however, found no expression on his face. He looked at her expectantly, tense. She approached him slowly, with her hands placed in front of her, and looked down at him.

"Do you wish to have a bath, my husband?"

He looked from the side at the servants who were filling the tub with hot water at his wife's orders. He wanted it to be boiling water, he wanted to feel discomfort and pain, to burn himself, to punish himself. He watched as his wife began to pour in his favourite oils, the scent of lavender teasing his nose. He realised that the last time they did this was before her beautiful body burned.

When everything was ready, she ordered the servants out of their chamber and nodded at him to come up to her. He rose lazily from his chair approaching her with an unhurried step, looking down at her. Her hands with sure, quick movements began to undo the buckles of his leather jacket.

She drew in a loud breath as his hand suddenly tightened violently on her hair, his lips pressing voraciously into her lips, forcing his tongue down her throat, robbing her of breath. She threw her arms around his neck and for a moment they simply caressed each other with their lips, intense and fast, pulling away with a wet click, panting into each other's mouths.

"My water is cooling, sweet wife." He breathed out into her mouth and she hummed softly, her hands went back to undressing him, but her lips did not leave his mouth. He felt himself getting hard again, his manhood pulsing painfully in his trousers.

She pulled away from him when she felt it, untying the binding of his trousers and glanced down involuntarily, her cheeks flushed. Even though he had fucked her so many times before, even though she saw him naked almost every day, the sight of his member still filled her with sweet embarrassment.

He ran his hand over his cheek as she lifted her bright, warm gaze to him again. He thought that perhaps she was slowly beginning to recover from her father's death and kissed her forehead.

He stepped into the bath and sighed heavily, feeling both pleasure and discomfort from the temperature. The water around him was even steaming, droplets of sweat appearing on his skin. He tilted his head back and laid it on the base. He murmured loudly as he felt his wife approach him from behind, untying the ribbon in his hair, keeping their ritual.

He felt her spill some oil water in his hair after she tilted his face back, not wanting to pour water into his healthy eye. With a gentle flick of her hand she pulled his eye patch off his head and he didn't stop her, completely relaxed. At some points he had already forgotten to put it on with her, used to the comfort of sleeping without it for weeks.

He gave himself over completely to her gentle, tender treatments, her hands rubbing oils into his hair only to rinse them away with water again moments later. He felt her fingers on his cheeks, touching him there just for his pleasure, for his sense that she was by his side again and all her attention was on him alone. He swallowed quietly at the thought.

"How is your brother?" He asked out of the blue, without opening an eye.

He heard his wife come around the bathtub, sitting down next to him on the wooden stool, dipping a piece of soft cloth into the water. She began wiping his arm, thoughtfully.

"He's trying to manage, but the new responsibilities are overwhelming him. He's afraid of marriage and he's afraid he won't make it as a commander. As a lord." She said quietly, and he opened his eye slowly and looked at her. Her hand dipped into the water with a quiet splash only to emerge and continue trailing over his body. He hummed quietly, looking ahead again.

"He's been preparing for this all his life." He said indifferently, without accusation or mockery, more stating a fact. He felt his wife look at him.

"You weren't afraid before we got married? After your father died?" She asked uncertainly, dipping her hand in the water again, and he pressed his lips together.

Of course he was afraid.

"My real father died in Eyrie." He whispered before he had time to think about what had actually left his mouth.

He swallowed loudly, glancing at his wife and met her surprised gaze, her lips parted slightly in disbelief. He felt embarrassed by his words, felt he needed to give them context.

"I told him, then, when I threatened him, that even though my mother treats you as if you were her daughter, he doesn't treat me like his son." He said, his voice trembling slightly at the very end. He could see her chest rising in accelerated breaths, her eyebrows arched in pain, her eyes turning red.

"− Aemond −" She choked out with difficulty though it sounded more like a plea, as if his words brought her pain and relief at the same time.

"Ever since that night when he saved me, I have imagined what would have happened if my father had sent me as he sent Daeron, only not to Old Town, but to Storm's End. If, after I had lost my eye, he had stated that I needed, as a future Lord Commander of my brother's army, to learn the art of war and battles, so that I could watch from the sidelines how the best army in Westeros, the Baratheon army, functioned." He felt the words literally pour out of his throat, as if he could no longer hide what he had been thinking about in recent weeks.

"If Borros had shared with me everything he himself knew, if I could have trained in hand-to-hand combat with Royce, if I could…" He said and looked at her as if he was only now seeing her for real again, her lower lip trembling, her eyes flooded with tears that ran down her cheeks, her hands lying on the edge of the tub clenched into fists.

"… get to know you sooner. Maybe then…" He said and felt his voice break.

"…maybe then I would have been a different person." He mumbled hiding his face in his hand, feeling vulnerable, weak, like a little boy. He felt her warm, soothing hand on his face, on his shoulders, his chest.

"− my beloved − I wish so much that this was true − I wish so much that I had met you sooner −" She whispered, and he swallowed loudly and looked at her, her face red with tears, her gaze full of pain and love.

Love for him.

He stood up suddenly with a loud splash of water and took her in his arms, walking with her towards the bed, heedless of her squeals, of the fact that he had wet her entire gown. He laid her on the bed and knelt over her, the water from his hair dripping onto her face as he untied the ties of her gown and sleeves, which she tried helplessly to help him with.

"− I would have taken you for myself sooner − I would have kissed you in the cold corridors of your father's fortress −" He breathed out in a trembling voice, slipping her top gown off with difficulty, his wife reached back behind her back, untying her bottom skirt, slipping it off quickly, remaining at last in just her nightgown.

Aemond sank into her lips pressing her body with his own to the bed, spreading her thighs in front of him, the tip of his hard, throbbing manhood pushed against her entrance, drawing a helpless mewl from her throat. His hand ran through her hair, his forehead pressed against hers, his other hand caught her thigh, holding her in place, not letting her escape.

"− would you visit me in my chamber? − in my bed? −" He growled into her mouth, sucking and licking her lips, sliding in and out of her, in a lazy, slow motion, her body quivering under him with pleasure, she threw her arms around his neck, holding him close, moaning sweetly, her nipples hardening visibly under her chemise from his words.

"− yes, gods, you know I would −" She mewled, responding to his every thrust with the movement of her hips, panting along with him, clasping her legs around his waist, their bodies wet with water and their sweat slapping against each other with a sticky, loud splash.

"− I would be your prince − brother − lover − fuck! −" He hissed, listening to her sobs at his words, her insides clenching around his length so tightly that he knew she was about to come.

His words were arousing her.

She wanted it.

"− Aemond − oh gods −" She mumbled out with difficulty, feeling his hips begin to accelerate, pumping his member into her with a loud splat of her juices, her hands tightening on his hair.

"− fuck, fuck, fuck −" He exhaled loudly, entering her brutally and quickly, clenching his eye, imagining him fucking her in his chamber in Storm's End.

He came hard hearing her loud moans, her violent orgasm squeezing his hot semen right out of him into her throbbing core. He ran his nose over her wet, sweaty face, placing sticky kisses full of tenderness, love and devotion.

"− my sweetest − it's okay − it's okay −" He whispered, trying to calm her shaking body, her eyes closed, her lips parted sweetly in uneven breathing, her hands stroking his naked back.

"− Aemond −"

They fell asleep in each other's entwined arms, sleeping peacefully through the night for the first time in many days. It was only in the morning that their servant woke them up, informing them that they had to prepare for the ceremony of burning Prince Daeron's body.

They did not speak to each other as the servants helped them put on their black mourning robes, both thoughtful. They left his chamber together, walking slowly through the cloisters of the keep.

Aemond pretended it was not his brother's funeral, but someone else's. Daeron was in the Citadel. He didn't know who lay on that big wooden pyre and didn't want to know. He looked with indifferent eye at Sunfyre standing on the hill above them, Aegon standing beside her and Helaena next to him, embracing their children with her arms.

His sister was trembling all over, her face covered by a dark, transparent veil, but he was still able to see the tears streaming down her cheeks and her trembling, pale lips. Their grandfather held their mother, who was barely standing on her feet hugged to her father's chest, looking somewhere to the side, distant in thought.

"− I can't −" He heard a quiet whisper and looked to the side, he, his wife and Helaena looked shocked at Aegon.

Aegon, standing in his mourning royal attire, wearing Aegon the Conqueror's crown was shivering all over, his eyes red, open wide, terrified, staring at their brother's shroud-wrapped body lying right in front of them.

"− I can't − I can't −" He mumbled, Helaena's hand tightening on his arm. She said something to him in a trembling voice, and Aegon looked at her. She stroked his face and he swallowed loudly, nodded and looked ahead.

This was the first time Aemond had seen Helaena touch his older brother of her own free will.

Aegon raised his gaze, clenched his hands into fists and looked ahead, his lower lip trembling before he uttered his order in a loud, breaking voice:

"Dracarys."

Their mother sobbed loudly as Sunfyre's maw unfolded to envelop their brother's body in a wave of flames that consumed what was left of his flesh. She wanted to throw herself towards him, but Otto stopped her, catching her in half, whispering something to her quickly.

Aemond had the feeling that he had only participated in all this with his body. He thought, surprised that he felt nothing. He shuddered when his wife's fingers touched his hands placed behind his back. He swallowed loudly, his thumb running almost imperceptibly over her palm, just as it had when he had first touched her cheek in Storm's End.

Afterwards, they were to sit down to a grand shared feast, prepared for all the lords who had come from afar to attend their brother's funeral ceremony and to congratulate the king on winning the battle. Aemond knew that the battle of Eyrie had been crucial in consolidating his power in the eyes of his subjects and magnates.

He and his wife hardly touched the food, Aegon decreed that there would be no music during the feast. It was not a time for rejoicing or dancing.

He leaned against the back of his chair, taking a sip of wine, thoughtfully, involuntarily seeking his wife's womb with his hand, her proximity, subconsciously checking that she and his child were safe. He was answered by the touch of her hand, tender, gentle, soothing.

He thought they would get through this together.

And then the door from the throne room opened, one of the guards stepped inside announcing that Lord Borros Baratheon's daughter had just arrived. He felt his wife move beside him hopefully, swallowing loudly, and then they both froze.

Floris stepped inside, descending the stairs slowly, as if her aim was to keep everyone looking at her for as long as possible. Her long, ornate, emerald gown with buff, slit sleeves from under which her nightgown shone shimmered with the colours of the Hightowers, her wordless devotion to the King despite the fact that everyone around her wore black. Her hair was combed into an ornate, exquisite braid. He looked at her in disbelief and glanced at his wife.

She looked at her sister with her lips parted, her gaze expressing pain and disbelief.

Her sister looked like a copy of her.

Aemond gave her a protracted, angry look when she finally approached their table, noticing only the same details that had caught his attention when she had come to his chamber that night to suck his cock.

Her face wasn't as smoothly formed, her hair wasn't as dark, her lips were shaped differently, her nose was rounded differently, her eyes weren't the same shade.

He felt like getting up and spitting in her face.

Floris bowed before his brother, on her face something that if he didn't know what she was capable of could be seen as gentleness and concern.

"My king." She said calmly, sweetly, with a feigned humility from which his stomach twisted. "I come on behalf of my sisters to take our father's body to Storm's End. Know that we are blessed that he died in defence of the kingdom, protecting your brother, so inexperienced in matters of war after all −" She said calmly, and he felt his jaw clench in rage, fingers of his terrified wife squeezing his hand.

He thought he'd fucking kill this whore with his own hands.

"− I place in your hands my words of assurance that Storm's End remains faithful to you, my king." She said, bowing low, everyone at the table looked at her in shock. Aemond glanced out of the corner of his eye at his brother and froze.

He knew that gaze.

A gaze full of desire for love and acceptance, a gaze full of his stupidity and naivety. He pressed his lips together in rage, knowing what it meant, that he had fallen for this cheap, feminine trick.

Floris didn't even know how much she had been hit with her appearance. By wanting to humiliate her sister, by dressing and combing like her, by wanting to show her her superiority and dominance, she had become, in Aegon's eyes, the perfect object of his desire.

A copy of his wife.

_____

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doodle-pops · 6 months

Text

Kiss It Better

Elrond x reader

Kinktober 2023: Aphrodisiacs

Warnings: fem!reader, aphrodisiac, rough sex, marathon sex, manhandling, semi-public sex, Elrond being a tease

Words: 4.3k

Synopsis: When Elrond mistakenly adds aphrodisiacs to your sleep–inducing tea, your quest for a peaceful night’s rest takes an unexpected turn. Elrond, being understanding and patient, comes to your aid, ensuring you find the sleep you were looking for through rare methods.

List of Requests

“Oh dear!” Staring at the empty contents of the supposed bottle of wormwood powder and then lifting the actually clear glass of wormwood, Elrond’s tongue kissed his teeth at the accident he caused. A first–time mishap and on a grand scale, he was sure how the effects of the mistakenly emptied contents of what should have been wormwood, but accidentally giving lavender in a copious amount, would have. You were sitting impatiently, twirling around on his stool, complaining about feeling overly feverish and sensitive. To make matters better, it was approximately eight minutes since you drank the concoction he stirred up a storm to create.

There wasn’t much the healer could do aside from staring at the bottle, defeated before silently placing the empty jar onto the shelf and stepping away with concern in his eyes. Those brown eyes darted everywhere else to inspect for any other mistaken bottles of herbs and powders he may have accidentally mixed into the tea for your lethargy. His hands moved at the same rate his eyes followed, falling on every surface of empty bottles and out–of–place containers. Even the opened books were not spared from his investigation, should he have unknowingly flipped to the wrong page, he might as well consider.

“This,” he sighed as he reached for another jar he was sure of using, this time labelled incorrectly once he smelt the contents within and became aware of it being another floral powder, “will get me into trouble once the higher effects begin to kick in. Though, it should have begun…” His eyes trailed off the half–filled jar to rush towards the page where the instructions lay before him. For a second, just a second, Elrond was almost certain that the universe was playing tricks on his brain as he decoded the measurements written on the page.

Two teaspoons

One teaspoon

Two and half teaspoon

One tablespoon…

“Lord Elrond…” Your voice echoed annoyingly from the outer room as your temperature began to increase and the sensation of having clothes covering your body became irritating. You were confused about the effects of what his homey remedy for lethargy was giving off, far different from the usual teas you consumed within the past year. Now, fanning your face and neck while giving aggravated tugs to your dress, you whined to him once more. “Lord Elrond, please, what is happening?”

With a pregnant pause, his head cocked to the side and his ear flicked at the change in your tone, you were already under the fire. Deciding that it was wiser to keep the truth about his mistake under the radar, Elrond whisked himself out of the storeroom and into his office where he came across you dabbing a cloth dipped in the bowl of cooling waters along your neck. Regardless, the action appeared more provocative than intended as you ran the material along your elongated neck and parted your lips to release a long, quiet groan. Your ability to distinguish decorum with the flames building intensely within was absentminded. There was no time to stop and become self–aware of the performance you were putting on due to his slip–up.

Elrond on the other hand was unsure if to continue standing silently in the doorway and observe how far your actions would take you or snap you out of it and treat the issue. Shifting on his feet and taking a deep gulp as you wrung the cloth and allowed droplets of water to fall against your skin to provide coolness, your eyes opened and caught him staring with a jar in hand and his eyes honed on your confrontational display. “Lord Elrond,” you called out nonchalantly as though you were not lacking decorum, “what is happening to me? I thought you gave me a tea for my tiredness?”

Scepticism flooded his expression as he attempted to avoid your gaze, solely due to the siren look you threw and the disappointment of informing you of his blunder as a healer. Walking into the room, he stepped around the opposite side of the table and away from you to place the bottle of lavender at the centre. His palms were faced down and his head hung with his lips twisting, thinking of every possible solution and answer to return. “It…It would appear that—”

No, he couldn’t say that.

Cautiously rounding the table while his fingers trailed along the edge, he turned his focus to you as he approached you from your side and came to stand beside you. Wordlessly, he gingerly pried the cloth out your fingers, careful not to touch your skin and dabbed it across your forehead, making notes of your slight shivering and increased arousal. This was the bare minimal interaction with a cloth hindering skin–to–skin contact and you were already affected. Swiftly dipping the cloth into the bowl of cool water, he continued to dab at your forehead and the rest of your face, doing his best to avoid your neck to entice any behaviour.

His lips were pursed as he remained steadfast on applying the first step into solving your crisis, brown eyes following the motion of his hands until you began sighing too frequently. His eyes fell upon the bob of your throat and the parting of your lips the moment you shut your eyes to focus on the lingering sensation of his touch. It was then he decided it was a wrong idea to become close and personal to treat you.

“This is clearly a terrible idea,” he muttered, taking a step backwards and pondering on how to properly assess you.

“Elrond, forgive me, Lord Elrond,” you corrected and hopped off the stand to step forward, crossing the gap in three strides, “please just tell me what is happening and why does my body feel this…way.” At the end of your words, you began twitching, majorly at the junction where your thighs met your pelvis. The growing ache between your legs provoked you to squeeze your thighs together and shift from left to right.

Worry befell his eyes, and he bit the inside of his mouth at the progress of actions. “Alright, you need to sit and remain still, and refrain from touching me,” he ordered, frustratingly.

“Touching you?” You frowned and took three steps backwards to meet the stool.

Building a storm within the clustered spacing of his office, Elrond rapidly answered as he reached for a clean mortar and pestle, “Yes, no touching me because you might get the urge to do something like that to sedate the pain.” Having placed the instruments on the table not too far away, he placed his hands on his hips and turned to cast a worrisome look. “I made the wrong tea due to…mislabelling. I picked up the incorrect ingredients and gave you aphrodisiacs in extremely large doses.” His voice had shrunk at the end of his confession knowing fully well that you would blow a fuse.

“What?!” you shrieked. “Elrond, are you serious? I’m trying to gain hours sleeping, not sleeping around.”

He couldn’t help but find your statement to be entirely humorous as it slipped out and released a muted chuckle, hidden by the dipping of his head. “I apologise, the fault is entirely my own,” he clarified with a clearing of his throat. “However, if you can only sit still and allow me to cure it, you’ll soon be on your way to sleep.”

“And exactly how are you planning on curing this? Because to my unfortunate knowledge, somebody gave me aphrodisiacs in large quantities and claimed it was a new sleeping tea. Perhaps it wasn’t an accident and done on purpose. No wonder why I felt odd the minute I drank it,” you muttered with apprehension and cast a side eye at him. To blame Elrond was entirely not you and only the herbs taking its toll on your frustration. All in the act of attempting to have its purpose served.

Unaware of this being an effect, conversely, Elrond grew tired of your antics and snapped with fury in his voice, laced with weariness and concernment. “And I believe you have a way of solving this problem with all your complaining?” he challenged and slammed the mortar upon the table. “You seem to doubt my ability to remove the issue.”

“Of course, I do, especially when you appear as equally as weary as myself, I have every right to question your capabilities as a healer!” you reacted, shooting from your seat and standing beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “If you were the healer you claimed to be then I would not be in this situation—”

“Your pupils have dilated tremendously,” he whispered, causing his warm breath to fan your face prompting you to lean in closer unconsciously.

“So what?” you replied.

“And your pulse is becoming erratic,” he added, becoming aware of the proximity of your body.

“Let it—I don’t mind if it goes a bit high when I’m around you.” Fingers crawling up his arm, you kept eye contact with his gorgeous brown eyes and inched yourself closer until you wedged yourself in the gap between him and the table. Bodies pressing against each other, driving you insane, you reached out to hold him closer in an attempt to step away. Albeit, he wasn’t attempting to distance himself from your close–body figure, pressing against him.

“You’re thinking too much, Elrond,” your voice seduced while your finger reached his chin to tug it forward, mending the gap. “Just admit this was all a part of your plan and you desired me as much as I do. Just imagine,” you began, standing on your toes and placing your lips beside his ear, “how good it would feel to release all your tension in me. When was the last time you had a good time?”

“Y/N, think about this carefully,” he cautioned lowly, body shuddering when your lips kissed his earlobe and knowing that sense had disappeared the minute you consumed the tea. It was only a futile and last–resort attempt.

“Picture it Elrond,” you taunted and took his hand to wrap around your waist. “Us naked and entangled while you satisfy both our needs. Just think of how good you’ll fuck me.”

You proved the power and potency of the herbs and flowers was displayed by the rush of his arms instantly knocking all the parchment and instruments off in haste and hoisting you on the table. Tugging at your leggings and knickers until they were flung across the room, your bare legs met the cold air and his fingers. You trembled under his touch, your chest heaving and sweat building as the erraticism of your pulse escalated immensely, you cried out for him to get on with the show and stop teasing. You wanted to feel his body against yours without clothes hindering the sensation.

Reaching your hands out, they haphazardly yanked at his apparel and flung each piece across the room without care and concern. Your fingers desired the need to touch his skin and have the warmth of it pressing against yours to cool the raging fire crawling like molten lava across your skin. Inch by inch it sluggishly trailed, engulfing your entire body into flames while he stood there leaving you to take care of the matter on your own. The cruelty behind his reclusive actions, palms against the tabletop and standing between your legs while he breathed in your air and left you to undress him and then yourself increased the ache between your legs. Whining his name and frowning at him for provocation failed, for all he did was stand there with his brown eyes locked upon your pouting expression.

“You want me to assist you, don’t you?” he lowly chuckled, turning on the heat. “In fact, you need me to assist you.”

“Elrond, please don’t tease me any longer,” you wailed, tugging on the neckline of his shirt to bring his lips a little closer to meet yours, only to have him pull away at the last minute. “Just…Just fix it!”

“And here I thought you said I was incapable of such,” he corrected as his right hand slid up your back to meet the laces and give the bow a tug, unravelling it. With his thumb and forefinger gripping the end of the lace, he continued to unravel it until the bow was undone, leaving the rest of the intricate lacing to loosen. Straightening his posture and left standing in his leggings and shirt, he pulled you upright to unravel the tightness of the lacing and loosen the upper portion of your dress to allow his skilful fingers to peel it off artfully slowly.

The entire time, your hands were frozen on the buttons of his shirt and your eyes focused on the sleeves of your dress being tugged down your arm until they were caught at your elbow. The palpations of your chest could be heard and figured out by Elrond through the flustered expression you cast and the build–up of perspiration. The stickiness coating your skin, Elrond’s fingers swiped against it as he tugged at the front of the dress, prying your cleavage out from the confinements and into the open for his eyes to feast upon.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he quizzed once most of the upper portion had been removed and took a step back, prying your fingers off the buttons to finish the removal of his clothes. “Is it because you need my care and touch desperately?”

His hands rubbed circles into your hipbone, provoking more sounds to fall from your lips. He wanted to witness how putty you would easily become for his remedy after all the smart–mouthing you were capable of relaying. To witness the hooded, lazily look in your eyes which morphed into want and the parting of your lips to moisten it as his body rocked into yours, enticed him to take the remaining steps to completion.

Towering above you flushed and semi–nude, both hands ran up your legs, over every curve and bump, pushing your dress until it bunched around your waist. Measuring the gap between you, he stepped closer to fill it, also yanking your body closer till it was flushed against his chest. The ripples of goosebumps once your breasts were squeezing on his chest, nipples hardened and rubbing deliciously upon the smoothness of your Lord’s skin, shot across your ignited body. Little whimpers and sighs were emitted at the action of your bodies firmly pressed without any space in between to disturb the tension being created.

Gathering the energy to reach for the rest of your sleeves and tugging it off completely, now your dress pooled perfectly around your waist, he slipped his hands under your thighs and brought them to encircle his waist. The yelp you emitted was swallowed up by his lips colliding with yours and wasting no time in giving you the chance to adjust. Elrond pried your lips apart with his tongue and went to work fervently to savour the sweet taste of your kiss. His groans, at first, were inaudible. Being devoured by your lips as you made attempts at eating his lips or rather his face—your fingers were clawing into his nape and back, pushing him deeper into your body as though you wanted him to morph into you.

For every bite of your lip, your fingers tightened at his nape and gave small tugs to his hair, and for every swipe of his tongue against yours, you dug your nails into his back to leave your signature. The kiss was unlike any other you had experienced, perhaps with the mixture of him being your Lord and you his assistant, the thrill was heightened led to his touch being voracious.

Conversely, Elrond was a master in his art and possessed infinite levels of control unlike you in this situation at a time like this. Breaking the kiss much to your disappointment, his lips remained a few centimetres apart. “Are you going to give me an answer?”

Your body jerked in his hold as his question left you furious at the leisurely time he was taking to fix the issue. The blood under your skin was boiling causing the fingers gnawing at his neck and back to force him into hurrying up. “Would you quit it and just fuck me already? Put the heat out and just make me feel good!” you wailed.

For the first time in years, Elrond felt rejuvenated at the game he played with you. It wasn’t something he was ever fond of, always preferring to make the moment romantic and full of adoration and love, but today sparked a newfound delight. All the while you were yapping and running your mouth, being demanding and obnoxious, the hands that once held your thighs already slipped between your bodies to unsheathe his cock from his leggings and guide it towards your opening. He was thrilled your attention was focused on getting him to comply that you were oblivious to your wish being fulfilled.

“Is this what you wanted me to give you?” With his body at present pressed against yours, there was no room for your eyes to witness the motion of his cock approaching your cunt, only to feel the breaching with an eye roll and heave. Thankfully your hands flopped off his back to brace your body upright on your forearms, you were given the most precious sight of his cock sliding in and out, already covered in a sheet of your arousal. The only thing left for him to do was to pick up the pace.

“You want me to give you pleasure?” he goaded. “But you told me I lacked the capabilities.”

A mischievous grin was set upon his face as the rocking of his hips remained steady and at a snail’s pace. No amount of gripping his hips or pressing the heels of your ankles into his back would increase his speed; not until you gave him an answer.

“Please, please, please. J–…Just give it to me Elrond…” crying out with a solid flop against the table, as much as your body was being stimulated, it wasn’t at the rate required to soothe the ache. “I just want your cock…”

As desperate and pitiful as it sounded, it was pleasant to his ears somehow and fuelled the course of his actions. Leaning his body lower, his hips maintained their rhythmic pattern, leaving behind the soft pitta–patter of his ball being soaked by your drenched cunt. It made his eyes widen the realisation of the desire you contained to be relieved and how much he gave you to consume. Pleased in ways unimaginable, his left hand cupped your face for his thumb to run over your lips before feeling your lips wrapping around the tip and your tongue swirling around it. Eyes widening, yet kept holding his finger, they were fixated on the motion of your lips.

Hissing, his lips formed a smirk at the inability of you to give a response before barrelling away. With his right hand occupied on your waist, he used it to guide your hips to meet the increased tempo of his thrust, awakening the temptress within you. Provocative moans from the depths of your soul escaped your lips and left him more aroused from the start. Even through the action of your sweet lips sucking on his finger, he could precisely and clearly hear each syllable of your melody the more he drove his cock into you.

He couldn’t believe how right you were about the last time he gave himself away so freely to the highs of ecstasy. Your words replayed in his head about releasing all his tension while curing your problem; considering it beneficial when he was problem solving both your issues in one shot—a good remedy.

Letting himself loose, Elrond flung his head backwards to join you in harmony as moans fell from his lips. The tightness of your cunt, a feeling he missed and enjoyed, wrapping around him suffocatingly without a moment of reprieve spiralled him into ecstasy. Your snuggly held him in possession, considering him yours with every stroke he delivered, kissing your sweet spot like no tomorrow and leaving behind stains of his precum to quench the flames. The rigidness and robustness of his cock, the perfect weight resting within your walls were accepted with familiarity. Allowing you to remodel and mould your insides to suit the shape of what he desired. A place where he could return for release and satisfaction.

With the first wave of your fire cooling from sinister rolls of his hips, loudly slapping against the inner of your thighs, you sighed in euphoria. This was the relief your body craved all these months, not sleep. The sensation of being twisted into different positions, from lying on your back to being placed on your side with your leg over his shoulder, a different type of workout that proved to be the best form of lethargy. There wasn’t a position your legs were being tossed into the deeper he drove his cock to have it touch placed unheard of. When they were considered myths, your Lord Elrond proved them false with the wicked flex of his hips to bury himself in the depths of your core, emptying the first release of tension before pummelling again.

There was no stopping when you were now being placed on your stomach, your right foot planted directly into the floor with your left hitched on the table and his hips smacking against your ass. You could have sworn that he was the one who drank the tea instead of you, but with a quick reality check of the volume of releases you made in the last half an hour, it was you.

The deliberating crawl of your cramps as he fucked you like no tomorrow, fingers massaging the back of your thigh while his lips whispered filth in your ear, eased the pain. Even when your stomach clenched and your walls cramped around his cock as the coolness of your orgasm quenched the flames, his fingers ghosting over your skin was a better sensation and stimulation. You could stand there for as long as he desired and take the vigorous pummelling he gave, even if it left you bedridden, it would been the best rest and treatment for your weariness received. It might encourage you to make checks more often than usual.

On Elrond’s end, he could say the same thing. His right hand intertwined with yours upon the table, sweaty chest rubbing against yours and finger massaging your thigh, he would have to make frequent schedules for another visit. Nevertheless, he only wished for the constant slipping and sliding of your bodies to cease. It made things difficult for him to hold and keep close, albeit it allowed for the sounds of his hips meeting your ass to reverberate in the depths of his eardrum, placing a pleasant smile on his face.

“Your cries sound better than I imagined, Y/N.” His voice trickled into your ear like caramel, melting away any remaining tension in your bones. Your body visibly sagged into his chest; head lulled atop his shoulder while your lips remained parts to release your broken, stammering moans. “Tell me, is the treatment to your liking? Would you like me to ease the ache once more?”

Breathlessly fumbling around with your words, your fingers tightened in his and pressed into the table, knocking your knuckles into the solid wood at the swelling of his cock, expanding your walls. The violent flooding of his cum seeping into your cunt and being pushed deeper with the intention of being kept there, left you shaking. Your body couldn’t handle the intoxication of his presence entering you again, speeding up the process for another wave of your orgasm to break through and mix with his. Your cries were all he was listening to while he relentlessly continued to pound away at your walls, loving the hypersensitivity he sent you into.

“Oh fuck, El–…rond!” Wailing into the heated air, your breath condensed at the rise in temperature of the office. Your body’s urge to collapse was prohibited by the gentle encircling of his right arm, still entwined with yours, around your waist to keep you upright and against his sweaty chest. The amazement you held at the unshakeable power he wielded to continue round after round as though his limit was endless. You were beginning to consider the acknowledgement of you being hit with aphrodisiacs was false and simply made up to lure you into his trap.

After all, he was a descendant of a Maia, a powerful at that, being able to ensnare you with the hypnotic look in his eyes was enough to have you at his beck and call. Imagine what his voice was doing as your insides churned and melted with the melody of his moans against your earlobe. Lips kissing the tips and breathless groaning at the squeeze you gave; Elrond summoned you to him like a siren calling its prey.

“Just like that, I’m sure you can give me another and another and another,” he encouraged, placing more pressure on your sweet spot as he ground his hips into your ass and rubbed the tip of his cock against it. “Just let me take care of you. I’ll make you feel better.”

He was unappeasible and outmatched you.

And yet, it did not terrify you, only enticing you to further give in and allow him to care and tend to your needs. His touches and words were all that were required to provoke your body into rejuvenation. He could kiss away the pain, ghost his lips over your skin or breathe against it and all would be well. His remedy to heal your ache was the best and always provided satisfaction.

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @lilmelily @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @wandererindreams @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou @asianbutnotjapanese

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jiminrings · 1 year

Note

U KNOWWWWW I HAVE TO ASK FOR SOME ANGST MISS JAY EM RINGS!!!! pretty pretty pls can we get a 478 drabble where oc is a lil more emotional and sensitive and jungkook accidentally upsets her for whatever reason

478: drabble

alternatively, jungkook says the wrong thing at the wrong time :(

[ 478 masterlist ]

You’re a little more anxious as you let it out to be.

Being just a week away from approaching your second trimester, you’ve been filled with so much nervousness regarding every single thing that you do, not just pregnancy-wise. You’ve been reevaluating everything that’s on your shoulders, the most pressing of them being the fact that the first trimester’s the most sensitive.

Except from the occasional morning sickness, the lethargy, and the ever-pressing matter of you overthinking things — your pregnancy’s going along well.

So well that sometimes it doesn’t cross your mind that your taste (and basically your whole worldview) is bound to change.

The minute you step into the bathroom to shower, Jungkook’s just gotten out of it to get his day started (read: prep your meals for work) and although your attention would normally be fixated first on the fact that he only has a towel wrapped around his waist, something else catches your attention and it irks you.

You catch a whiff of his perfume, (un)pleasantly reminded by the fact that he sprays himself with it twice; first on his bare skin, then second on his clothes when he’s all dressed. It’s only Jungkook’s first layer of perfume and yet it already riles you up for all the wrong reasons.

“Is that you?”

“Is what me?” he furrows his eyebrows, catching your drift when he sees your nose upturning. Jungkook trails off, a smirk already forming on his face this early in the morning. “Yes…? I’ve been using the same perfume for like, years, baby.”

“I don’t like it,” you quip immediately. “It’s making me nauseous.”

“What? But I love this perfume,” Jungkook frowns, taken aback because he swears you were all over with him just yesterday over his scent.

You did love the perfume. You’ve loved it for years and for some reason, the smell of cotton and musk turned sour for you overnight, making you grimace.

“You make me wanna puke.”

“Fine, I’ll change it,” Jungkook dramatically sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. His voice lilts into a tease, bottom lip jutting out before pecking your cheek. “After everything I do for you?”

Maybe it’s because of the fog on your head, and maybe it’s also because you woke up on the wrong side of the bed because you literally can’t sleep properly.

It’s that lilt in his voice, the same lilt you know would be playful for you at every other occasion, that also turned sour in your head by the minute.

“What about everything I do for you?” you mumble, brows slightly furrowed. It’s a surprise that he even hears your question.

Jungkook can’t catch on that you’re not joking with him like how he’s teasing you at the moment. He mistakes your genuine self-doubt to be your stellar acting just as always.

He shrugs, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Eh. You’re doing fine.”

The joking tone never reaches your ears because they already started ringing the moment you smelled your husband’s perfume. It never reaches you because you can’t help but to feel wired this way, literally, and you just can’t help it —

You can’t help but to feel upset.

You weren’t doing good. Not even great at the slightest. You’re doing just fine and fine isn’t good enough for you — not when you’re at the crux of your career and you have to juggle it with being pregnant; becoming a first-time mom in just a matter of months.

You go through the motions of preparing yourself for work, mechanically staying put when Jungkook kisses you goodbye.

Even after filming, you stay back on set to nab yourself an early copy of the script for your next episode and ask for notes from the director of what he needed from you; of everything that you’re lacking now that you want to give

You’ve hung back even longer than Jimin and soon enough, you realize that it’s only some of the crew that you’re alone with — them, and Yoongi.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks with a tap on your shoulder that snaps you out of your reference, surprising himself when you jolt in the slightest. He’s concerned at the way you did so good today but no one’s barely gotten a word out of you outside of filming, the look of worry etched on your face even now. “You look out of it.”

The question is warranted, although sudden in your perspective. You’re so out of it that you didn’t even know that everybody noticed.

You’re snapped out from your reverie because in either courage or foolery, you delve deeper. Yoongi’s a treasured friend to you and he would never lie; you have to hear it from him of all people.

“Am I doing great?” you ask, your lips pursed as you’re already anticipating the worst.

Yoongi doesn’t even flinch despite being slightly confused, a comforting smile immediately gracing his face.

“Of course you are,” he answers. “You’re already a great mom.”

The tears build up in your eyes so quick that you’re momentarily blinded by them, crying into the heels of your hands as an aftermath. Yoongi’s frozen on what he should do from seeing you so vulnerable.

“I didn’t even say where am I doing great at. I-I didn’t have to,” you sob. For all he knows, you could be asking about your performance at work and yet it wasn’t the first thing his mind went to. “You already knew.”

“Hey, hey. Everybody knows you’re great. The baby isn’t even here yet and you’re already doing so well,” he shushes you, tentatively rubbing comforting circles on your back. You seem to calm down by the minute, and the moment you stop hiccuping, he offers. “Need a ride?”

Yoongi opens the door for you, drives you with no question, and even leads you up to the steps of your front door. He doesn’t hang back to greet Jungkook because he has a hint that there’s some trouble in paradise, hesitant to cross lines this late into the evening so he heads back to his car.

When you come back home to Jungkook though, he’s a nervous mess.

“Where have you been?” he shoots straight up from the couch, eyes and hands frantically checking you over.

“Work. Where else?” you mumble, slyly dodging a hand that comes up to your cheek.

Jungkook knew there was something off from you since you left but he can’t place it even now; even when you came home late with your eyes still refusing to meet his.

“It’s already past midnight. It’s the next day. Why didn’t you tell me you’d be out this late? You told me today was a quick shoot,” he starts, grinding his jaw when he hears you huff under your breath.

You don’t seem to take him seriously, not even the panic that’s clear on his face and from the couple hundred texts he sent you that you didn’t even read.

“I’m a big girl, Jungkook,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m — we’re here in one piece. Yoongi drove me home anyway.”

“Where was Jimin?” he inquires instantly. “He’s your manager. Why didn’t he wait for you? He knows you’re pregnant, he wouldn’t let you strain yourself like this.”

On normal days, you’d have the patience to explain why Jimin sometimes doesn’t see you through the end of your endeavors. Technically, your work was already done hours before, it was just you who didn’t want to come home at the time.

But today’s the furthest thing from a normal day.

“I’m doing just fine, Jungkook. Stop worrying about me.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you! The two of you! Why didn’t you-…” he strains, gesturing to your stomach.

“Well then stop!” you burst, finally letting loose. “After everything you do for me, stop worrying.”

Your husband instantly freezes, the recollection of almost this same exact scene earlier into the morning playing out in his head.

His chest tightens, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Is this about what I said?”

“I don’t know, Jungkook. I don’t fucking know, okay? I’m anxious and I’m on edge with everything and-…” you inhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. The lump that builds in your throat gets in the way, making you screw your eyes shut. “Just… shut up sometimes. I don’t need to hear what I’m thinking about myself from you. I don’t want to know I’m doing a shit job.”

“You’re not doing a shit job. You’re great at everything,” Jungkook interjects, his face falling at how dense he could be. “I-I… I was only joking around awhile ago, I swear. I didn’t mean it.”

He made you feel this way and he wants nothing else but to beat himself up over it, your husband’s mind running a hundred miles per hour just thinking of how utterly stupid he has to be to even joke about it.

“I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve reeled it in sooner. I’m not gonna do jokes like that again, I promise,” Jungkook embraces you desperately, his close proximity to you making you take notice that he’s wearing a different perfume.

If you think about it longer, the perfume Jungkook’s wearing right now smells like yours.

“Perfect mom. Perfect actress. Perfect wife, everything,” he mumbles against your temple, pressing small warm kisses to your face. “You give me beyond everything that I could do for you. You’re growing a human inside you and I’m just standing here.”

“You don’t just stand around,” you mutter, slowly reciprocating his hug. “You make efforts for me too.”

“Not as great as what you do for me,” he corrects. “For us.”

Jungkook figures it’ll be a sleepless night for him because he’ll be tossing and turning just regretting what he did, but at the very least, he knows he’ll be sleepless with you.

“Do you forgive me? You don’t have to right now. I’ll still mope and you can sleep on it,” he asks. “I can sleep on the floor tonight.”

“Not even the couch?” you joke, your snort making him smile briefly.

“Sleeping on the couch wouldn’t be a punishment.”

“You want to repent so bad?” you joke with mischief painted on your face and yet it doesn’t register on him.

“Of course I do,” Jungkook nods, the playfulness never reaching his ears because he’s entirely serious. “You’re too good for me.”

#478 drabbles #jungkook oneshot #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook angst

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tiredwitchplant · 7 months

Text

Everything You Need to Know About Crystals: Peridot

Peridot (The Tears of Pele)

*Yes Peridot from Steven Universe is here. She demanded to be added okay!?

Color: Olive Green to Yellow-Green

Rarity: Easy to Obtain, Harder to higher quality

Hardiness: 6.5 – 7

Type: Orthorhombic (Gem form of Olivine)

Chakra Association: Heart and Solar Plexus

Angels: Achaiah or Raphael

Deities: Pele and Isis

Birthstone: August

Astrological Signs: Leo, Libra, Gemini, and Capricorn

Element: Earth

Planet: Venus and the Sun

Origin: Brazil, Hawaii, Myanmar, Egypt, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, USA

Powers: Purification, Cleansing, Wealth, Happiness, Prosperity, Protection

Crystals It Works Well With: Rutilated Quartz, Rose Quartz, Sunstone, Carnelian, Tourmaline, and Citrine

How It is Created: Peridot is the gemstone variety of olivine, a mineral made up of magnesium, iron and silicate compound. The higher proportions of magnesium and iron are used to identifying the key features in the gem, while the chromium and nickel impurities contribute to its beautiful green color. Some specimens of peridot can even appear in meteorites called pallisites and found during volcanic activity on the island of Oahu in Hawaii.

History: The Egyptians mined peridot on the island of Zebirget, which is located in the Red Sea. Egyptians used the gem for over 4,000 years and was even said to be Cleopatra’s favorite. It is regarded as a sacred stone during Medieval times and was even used in the design of the Shrine of the Three Kings in Germany. Peridot crystals found in the black volcanic sands of Hawaii are said to be the tears of the Goddess, Pele. Now most of the world’s peridot comes from Arizona or Pakistan.

What It Can Do:

Keep away evil spirits and great for protecting aura

Releases and neutralizes toxins on all levels

Purifies the subtle and physical body and mind

Opens, cleanses, and activates the heart and solar plexus chakra to release “old baggage”

Clears the feelings of burden, guilt, and obsession

Guides you to better influences

Alleviates jealousy, resentment, spite, anger and stress.

Enhances confidence and assertion without aggression

Sharpens the minds and opens it to new levels of awareness

Banishes lethargy, bringing to your attention all things you have neglected

Is said to heal and regenerate tissues and strengthen the metabolism

How to Get the Best Out Of: Peridot works best near the throat area and heart area of your body so a peridot pendant or necklace would be best.

How to Cleanse and Charge: Cleanse using smoke or running it over water. Charge it by placing it under a windowsill during a full moon.

Talisman:

Social Media Talisman

Peridot ring, worn on the hand you scroll with

Chalice

Moon water

1 small piece fresh or dried valerian root

1 fresh lemon slice

Cleanse and empower your ring with the ability to dispel feelings of envy and inadequacy.

Gather your materials in a sunny area during a waning moon.

Fill the chalice with moon water.

Take the valerian root in your hand and hold it in the direct sunlight.

Say, “Valerian root that calm sting, add self-assurance to my ring.” Visualize it absorbing the sun and pulsing with a gentle, light. Place it in the chalice.

Hold the lemon slice up to the sun, feeling the illumination and bright energy coming from it.

Say, “Bright yellow lemon with a bite, filter that which befalls my sight.”

Squeeze the lemon slice so the juice goes into the chalice.

Now the chalice holds a soothing brew imbued with calm from the valerian, confidence from sunlight, and optimistic realism from the lemon.

Put the peridot ring in the chalice and let it sit in the sun for about an hour.

Retrieve your peridot ring from the chalice and wear it. Pour the water into the earth.

The ring help ground you in reality while filtering your impressions of what you consume on social me protecting your self-confidence and dispelling any feelings of jealousy or inadequacy.

Perform this spell in direct sunlight, if possible, to illuminate the truth and soothe uncertainty. If you don’t have a chalice, use a bowl, or any kind of cup. Moon water is water that has been left outdoors under the full moon to absorb its power.

Sources

#witchblr #witch community #witchcraft #occulltism #crystals #crystal witch #paganblr #witch #witch blog #nature #rocks #peridot #olivine #minerals #uncut gems #geology #gemstones

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yuurei20 · 6 months

Text

Translation from Twisted Wonderland the 2nd novel: Leona and Jack (pt3/4)

"Filled with frustration and sorrow, Jack clenches his hands into fists and leaves to return to the dorm, in silence.

He has no interest in being disillusioned any longer.

Watching Jack’s turned back, Ruggie curses silently. That first-year kid goes too far.

Leona’s mood has visibly worsened thanks to this new student, who knows nothing, trying to assert his own arbitrary sense of justice.

The oppressive power of an angry lion keeps the rest of the dorm’s students at a distance from Leona. Jack has walked away without any idea of the manner of storm that he has just stirred up.

Ruggie forces his trademark smile, rubbing his hands together. ‘He’s dangerous, that one. Want me to take care of him?’

’No. Leave him,’ Leona responds with an indifferent wave of his hand. ‘He’s got no proof. He can huff all he wants—it’s useless. And his skills are too valuable to lose. Let’s see how things go.’

Ruggie wonders if he has misread the situation. He feels a chill in response to Leona’s matter-of-fact tone.

But if there is treasure to be had, someone needs to lead the way into dangerous territory. He knows the risks he takes.

‘You’ve got a good point. That’s our Leona-san,’ Ruggie responds in a conspicuously cheerful tone. ‘In that case I’ll leave our cheeky first-year for later, and get another job done tonight.’

‘Mm…always there when I need you, Ruggie.’

Ruggie seems to have finally hit on a response that satisfies Leona.

‘Well of course! It’s a pleasure to be of service.’

‘You sure talk big for someone doing this for yourself.’

The accusation is as offensive as it is accurate. Ruggie freezes for a moment, at a loss for a response.

He only made the compliment out of a sense of relief, but looking close, Leona’s eyes are just as cold as before. Ruggie’s palms begin to sweat.

‘Nah, not at all. It’s for us.’ Ruggie chooses his words very carefully. ‘All of us want to teach a lesson to the people underestimating Savanaclaw and turn the world upside down, after all.’

‘Hmph. That’s reassuring.’ Leona gives a loud click of his tongue, sending the students around him flinching in response. It seems he is still annoyed.

Behind his smile, Ruggie reflects on how unusual this is for Leona.

Despite appearances, Leona is extremely easy-going. Almost to the point of lethargy. It is rare for him to do something as fruitless as hold a grudge.

‘…that first year. He sounds like my older brother.’ Leona’s words seem to creep along the ground, and Ruggie decides to make himself scarce.

No matter how much he may long for treasure, there is nothing to be gained from deliberately stepping on a lion’s tail."

#twstnovel2 #twisted wonderland #Jack Howl #Leona Kingscholar #Ruggie Bucchi #twst translations

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dewedup · 6 months

Note

would you be so kind as to provide us with a Mountain sick-fic bc I have the Flu and I'm projecting on my tall guy 😔🙏

please enjoy sick!Mount, pack dynamics, tour travel, and a concerned Zephyr 🖤🖤🖤

as per usual a huge and loving thank you to @jimothybarnes for betaing and making me feel like I wrote the next great novel 🥰

(i may or may not have started a part two of possessive mount breaking zeph's heat when he's feeling better, it ties into the ending of this one so if that's something anyone's interested in reading let me know!)

1.8k of fluff, comfort and cuteness below the cut or on AO3 HERE

It starts with a tickle in the back of his throat. Mountain finds himself clearing it periodically throughout the day, but never getting rid of the foreign feeling when he swallows. It’s a small thing though, something he can push to the back of his mind while he focuses on sound checks, travelling and performing- basically everything related to being on tour.

He wakes up a day or two later and feels exhausted. His bones ache, his brain is foggy, the cold grip of a headache approaching from the edge of his consciousness. The tickle has doubled down in its presence, now tender and sore with every breath, word, or swallow. He feels like getting hit by a vehicle on the highway they’re driving down would be swifter and less painful than the illness working its way through his immune system.

He’s like a zombie, sleepwalking through the motions. Luckily, it’s just a travel day, spent moving from their last location to the next venue. He’s stuck on the bus for the entirety of the day, tries to spend time out in the lounge area with everyone else. But Phantom is loud and overly excited, peering through the window in utter delight as he points out the unofficial eighth wonder of the world.

They’re driving past the Grand Canyon, which honestly isn’t that grand, Mountain’s seen bigger canyons in Hell. Being a ghoul of the earth means he’s very fluent in geographic abnormalities, erosion and rocks. Instead of giving Phantom a lesson in his rocky background, which Swiss seems to be anticipating, if the roll of his eyes as he looks at Mountain is any indication, Mountain simply pats Phantom on the shoulder. He mutters good ghoul under his breath, and retreats to the sleeping bunks.

His rest is pitiful, he’s hot and sweaty, then he’s kicking the blankets off only to be greeted with a chill that seeps into his bones, limbs shaking at the abrupt changes in temperature. He never succumbs to complete sleep, lingering in a half-state of lethargy and just feeling poorly.

It might be minutes, hours or days later, when he feels a cool hand press against his forehead. He’s hallucinating now, because it feels like the hand of his mate, the same one that’s still at home, a disgusting amount of distance between them. He knows it’s not real, their sweet scent of licorice and fresh linen doesn’t fill his nostrils. But then again, he’s pretty congested, hasn’t been able to smell anything in the last day and a half.

Mountain whines as the touch moves from his forehead, shifting down to his equally heated cheek and offering the tiniest bit of respite from the fever. He’s sweating again, wants to rip his own skin off to escape the burning inside of him, when a light breeze seemingly appears from nowhere. It dances across his body, giving him the first sense of relief since he laid down in his bunk.

“Pietra,” the demon caressing his face coos, and Mountain truly must have died and went to Hell, because there’s only one soul who calls him the Italian word for stone.

He squints open an eye, meeting the concerned face of his mate.

“Zeph?” Mountain’s voice wobbles, cracking on the singular word, as tears threaten to fall. Zephyr takes a second to assess their situation before climbing right into the bunk beside Mountain, pulling their mate close.

Mountain rests his head on Zephyr’s chest as he lets out a few pathetic sniffles, mainly just feeling sorry for himself.

“We’re at the hotel, love. The others went inside, they didn’t want to wake you. My flight landed early so I’ve been here for a bit, setting up our nest.”

Nest. That’s right, in Mountain’s deteriorated state he forgot Zephyr was scheduled to go into heat any day now. The Ministry opted long ago to pay for a flight for them if Mountain was away, rather than deal with an aggravated air ghoul who would take their frustrations out on the abbey and all who stumbled across their path.

If Mountain let out a few extra tears at the thought of his mate, already on edge from their own rising hormones, putting their needs aside to care for him, well, neither of them speak on it.

Eventually, Zephyr convinces Mountain to leave the safety of the bunk and retreat to their hotel room. It involves a lot of gentle encouragement and a few filthy promises for when he’s feeling better. Mountain can’t smell anything, so he misses the slight bite to Zeph’s scent, the telltale sign of the beginning of a heat that they push down forcibly with sheer willpower, knowing Mountain is in no shape to fulfill their needs at this moment.

They share a bath, slightly hotter than Zephyr would prefer, but the steam helps to clear Mountain’s congested airways and the warmth soothing the aching in his bones. It’s intimate in a nonsexual way, how Zephyr lathers up a washcloth and takes their time rinsing the sweat and sickness from Mountain’s skin.

Mountain’s soon dry and in his pyjamas, a steady hand at the small of his back guiding him to the bed in the centre of the hotel room. True to their word, Zephyr had created a fine nest, bringing blankets from their den at home to create a soft spot for them to connect with each other. Mountain falls into the pile, burrowing his way to the perfect spot and collapsing into the down pillows.

Zephyr seamlessly joins Mountain, wrapping their arms around him in a big spoon position. It is something Mountain usually takes up in their shared bed, but his need for comfort is apparent and Zephyr isn’t too put out by getting to hold their mate in their arms like this.

Mountain falls asleep to the soft hums vibrating from Zephyr’s chest, his own purrs mixing in at the same tempo, every single part of their being made for each other.

_________

Mountain wakes up, lying awkwardly on a couch too small for his big frame. He’s confused, disoriented, and doesn’t remember where he is for far longer than he’d like to admit.

His brain feels foggy, his eyes landing on a bottle of water left on the table in front of him, the condensation having dripped to the table, creating a small puddle of liquid around the container.

The bottle brings back the memory of Zephyr braiding his hair on this very couch, enthusiastically agreeing with Rain as the water ghoul tried to force some cold medication in Mountain’s mouth. He remembers putting up a good struggle, managing to knock Rain back a few steps before Dew intervened. With Zephyr yanking on his hair, tilting his head back and Dew lying on top of him, bodily restraining his movements, Rain was able to slide home a few of the abnormally large pills. Mountain fought valiantly, but Rain pulled a demonic move covering his mouth and pinching his nose until he was forced to swallow, begrudgingly and with a promise of murder in his eyes.

Apparently, the cold medication was exactly what he needed. While he isn’t at one hundred percent, he feels the best he can remember feeling for the last week. His achy bones are no more, and he can even breathe through his nose a little, picking up the lingering scent of his mate all over his body.

A loud noise from out the hallway catches his attention, and Mountain realizes that he had the best nap of his life in the green room of the venue they were set to perform at tonight.

Except, no one else is hustling around in the usual pre-show panic.

The green room is usually filled with excitement and adrenaline, packed with bodies, as Swiss hogs the mirror to apply his black lipstick. But it’s empty, the remnants of the pre-show hurricane evident.

Mountain hears the opening rift of Kaisarion and bolts up from the couch, looking around wildly for his costume, but it’s nowhere to be found. He can’t believe they didn’t wake him up, what the actual fuck is going on.

He gets to the side of the stage much quicker than he would have in the state he was mere hours ago, looking out from the wings as his band feeds the energy to the crowd before them.

His eyes shift over his pack, watching as they back up Papa who’s already pandering to the sea of people. A crash of cymbals pulls his attention to the back middle stage, to his drum set.

It’s like a punch to his gut, but in the best way possible, seeing who is undeniably his mate, in his costume, playing his kit.

Zephyr isn’t a small statured ghoul by any means, it’s just that Mountain’s well… Mountainous.

His costume fits his mate poorly, they’ve rolled the arms up, displaying the sleeves of delicate illustrations depicting the fall of Christ, ink woven in their skin that Mountain has spent countless hours admiring. The pant legs bunch up where they fall, too much extra material with nowhere else to go.

Mountain’s heart skips a beat when he realizes Zephyr is shoeless, exactly how he normally performs.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Zeph is a natural, they’ve spent long hours in the rehearsal room with Mountain, watching him work through tricky sections or just putting his own twist on Papa’s work. He’s filled with love, admiration, and just an all-around feeling of mine while watching his mate perform with his pack.

Mountain eventually just settles on the ground of the side stage, sitting cross-legged and just enjoying the show from his secret little viewpoint. He laughs along with the jokes Papa pulls out of his ass, his smile unshakeable as he watches Dew tease Rain from this angle. Swiss is chaotic, he usually only sees him leave his platform from the corner of his eye, unsure of what exactly the multi ghoul gets up to, but now he has his answers. He’s usually so focused on his own performance he doesn’t get the chance to just sit and watch the magic happen, and it is magical, the atmosphere they craft together and the beautiful music they create.

During Miasma, Zephyr opts out of a solo in favour of handing Dew and Phantom a drumstick each. Mountain grins wildly, watching lovingly as Zeph orchestrates with their free hands while keeping rhythm with the kick drum. They encourage Dew and Phantom to bang away at the snare and cymbals, Mountain cringing slightly at the force of some of the hits. A little wear and tear won’t tarnish the memory working its way into the deep recesses of his brain though, as the utter joy and happiness bubbles over into a delighted, trilling laugh when Zeph tosses him a smirk and secret little wave.

#gloom writes #gloom answers #fic request #mountain ghoul #zephyr ghoul #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #mountain x zephyr #mountain/zephyr #the band ghost ficlet #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic

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prettyiwa · 1 year

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DO NOT MENTION MY WORKS ON TIKTOK

(previous) Relationship: Drummer!Levi Ackerman x Bassist!F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Content Tags: Band!AU, Modern!AU, POV Switch, Mentions of Cheating, Heat of Moment Love Confessions, Minor Self-Depreciation/Loathing, Mentions of Dumbification, Look guys! They're fucking in a bed for once!!, Oral (F! Receiving), Biting, Anal Fingering, Impact Play (Spanking), TOYS!! (Anal Plug & Clit Vibe), Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink (Levi calls reader a "slut"), Minor Orgasm Control, Getting Back Together Summary: You used to be his girl and he’d remind you of that fact every chance he got. Then came an offer too good to pass up, even with all the strings attached. Now you’re left without your band, without him. But hell, you can remedy that first part, right? And what’s a little not hate sex between exes? Word Count: 5,700

One Year After the Battle of the Bands

Unpacked boxes litter the floor surrounding your bed, creating a constant hum of anxiety in your bones, a constant hum of aching loneliness. The quiet melody of pattering raindrops against the windows keeps you in your current state of lethargy, constantly swaying between the lands of consciousness and not. You’re drifting along the river Cocytus, floating downstream to the deep lamentations of your soul. It would be preferable if it were the river Lethe, allowing you a momentary respite in the submergence into oblivion, erasing all of it from your mind.

The resonance of the rainfall sparks something within you, the desire to play, to jam, to create. It builds, mounts, intensifies until you’re motivated to kick yourself free from the discordant mess of blankets and pillows that pulls you under, keeps you complacent. Ignoring the boxes yet to be unpacked, you make your way to the corner of your new loft that serves as a make-shift home studio.

Closing your eyes, you listen to the pitter-patter, to the natural melody provided by this dreary autumn storm. Light shades of purple and blue dance behind your closed lids, helping you identify the note, helping identify the melody that your fingers will invariably bring to life. Music is so much more than an auditory experience for you—it colors your vision, flows from your body, affects your very existence.

It isn’t surprising when your fingers create a terrifyingly melancholy piece, filling the room with deep shades of purples and blues and greens, mirroring the light variations provided by the rainfall. All of this is so automatic, requires so little thought that you’re certain you were created for this very purpose because how else would you be able to play so effortlessly while your mind gets carried away back down the river Cocytus?

Your attention is yanked to the forefront by the sudden pounding at your door. Ceasing your ministrations immediately, you place the bass back on its hooks before walking back towards the front door. It’s second-nature to grab the baseball bat that stands next to your shitty little fridge before you look through the peephole ruined by shoddy repairs hidden by continuous layers of paint.

It’s impossible to make out the dark figure on the other side of the door, but they start knocking again—lighter as they must have heard you stop playing. Opening it hesitantly, bat in your hand just in case, you’re surprised—

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?!” Levi growls. Concern laced throughout his tone, as is agitation. He stands before you, actively dripping in the hallway.

“Shit, Levi, give me a moment,” you say, dropping the bat and running to your bathroom for a towel or two.

Placing one of your beach towels on the ground in front of the door, you usher him inside. Once the door is firmly shut and dead-bolted, you look at him again.

“Strip.”

“What? No. I’m not about to—”

“Not up for debate,” you tell him, unfolding the towel. He grumbles a bit, shooting you dirty-ass looks through the wet hair that sticks to his forehead as he kicks off his boots. His movements are weighed down by his wet clothes, making his usual fluidity sluggish and slightly uncoordinated. As soon as his jacket and top are off, you wrap the towel around his shoulders, not missing the way he leans into your touch.

“Gonna tell me why you’re here, handsome, or is it a mystery?”

“Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

You glance back towards the bed where you had last seen it. “I probably left it on silent,” you shrug. “Wait. How did you get this address?”

“If you answered your phone you would know that I stopped by your old apartment. Nanaba gave me your address,” he grumps as his pants and boxers fall to the floor and he wraps the towel around his hips.

“Go take a shower. I’ll find you something to wear,” you sigh. “We can talk about why you’re here when you come out.”

“Fine. Check your damn phone.”

“A ‘thank you’ also works.”

He pads off to your bathroom and you internally groan at the situation, making your way to the box with clothes you hadn't needed to unpack right away.

The boxes that could have easily been unpacked by now had you not been avoiding him, allowing Mike and Hange to fill up your schedule with studio time and rehearsals with their other clients. This is the first time in nearly seven weeks that you’ve had a day off, much less three consecutive days off.

You find one of his abandoned band tees and a pair of his old boxers that you definitely haven't been using as pajamas this past summer. Cracking open the bathroom door to place them on the counter, you let him rinse off in peace before searching for your phone. It's buried beneath your pillows and throw blanket and you start looking through the messages as you head to the kitchen to start tea.

Thirty-six missed texts from Amy, Levi, and Nan. Twelve missed calls from Amy and Nan. Man. You were hoping you could enjoy your time off. What the fuck?

The kettle whistles shortly before the bathroom door opens. Levi exits amidst a billowing cloud of steam, making his way over to you looking far less lethal. He watches quietly as you take out the mug that used to be his—your mug now—and hand it to him. Pulling out your tea box, he chooses an oolong blend that you've been meaning to try.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, like it’s something embarrassing.

“Always, Levi. Now. You wanna tell me what the fuck you were thinking?!” He shoots you an annoyed look, taking your phone from you to start a timer for the tea. “You can’t use your own phone?!”

“No. She broke it.”

“She—?! Who am I kidding. Of course she broke it,” you grumble as you place your forehead in your hand.

“As for what I was thinking,” he starts, placing his hands on either side of you, trapping you against the counter, “you’re my girl. I made a shitty choice and I got my shit together and am making another choice. A better choice.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his words, mouth suddenly dry. “Levi, I—why? Why did you come here? What do you want from me? Did you think that I’m going to be able to pretend like the last two years didn’t happen? Or that it didn’t fucking hurt? You left, Levi. You—”

“Then why did you let me in? Why do you keep letting me in?” he challenges, getting closer.

Why?

So many ways to answer that particular question.

It could be that you felt vindicated by the way his eyes couldn’t leave you, by the way his hands reached for you, by the way his lips caressed you.

It could be that it was a habit. You have a habit, a routine for six years, and it takes quite a while for you to break from it. It’s a compulsion, an association, an automatic reaction.

It could be that you hate yourself that fucking much and you wanted to make yourself miserable, true to the deep-rooted masochist that lives within. It could be that you wanted to make him miserable, true to the deep-rooted sadist that lives within.

You could come up with a million different excuses to avoid the truth, that he has ownership of your heart, of your mind, of your soul, and that it hurts to be without him.

“Because I’m a masochist and because I still love you and I can’t fucking turn you away. But that doesn’t mean you can just come here and claim me and act like everything is fine!”

He steps back, releasing you from the counter. “Why not?! You still own me!”

His words reverberate throughout your being, ringing between the two of you. But admissions of love don’t magically fix things. Admissions of love, no matter how passionate or ardent or resolute, don’t change that he left.

You shouldn’t blame him for it, but you do.

He grabs your hand and places it on his chest, just above his heart. Even through his shirt, you can feel the way it’s hammering, the indication of his truth, of his fear. “That’s still yours, dammit! I fucked up and I’m here to try to prove that I’m making a different choice!” It comes out fiery, aggressive, though you wonder if it’s because without that fire it would come out as a cry.

It hits you like a train—cataclysmic and calamitous. You feel the devastation of his leaving all over again, the absolute desolation left in the wake of his love. Your nails catch on his shirt as your hand curls into a fist, hot tears forming in your eyes. He takes your chin in his hand, bringing your lips to his, letting you melt against him.

It’s slow and sweet. It’s an attempt at an apology, an attempt at a confession. His lips are soft against yours, familiar, more than a drug, than the source of your favorite high, they feel like home. The hand that covered your own on his chest drops down, looping around the small of your back, pulling you closer.

And you want to be closer. And you don’t.

And you want to keep him here, beside you, with you. And you want to take him and throw him off of your fire escape.

And you love him. And you hate him.

But you don’t. Not really.

And when the two of you separate, when his eyes take in your face, when his thumb wipes away the tears that had fallen, he flips it.

“I’m yours.”

Not that you’re his girl, but that he’s yours.

And you kick yourself for giving in so easily, for the internal swoon that knocks away your resolve at putting up a fight, at demanding more because he fucking left you. Ultimately, you decide to give in, to stop fighting what feels like an inevitability. It’s too late to stop this, anyway. You’ve already fallen—hard and fast and far too long ago. The damage is already done. The least you can do now is attempt something more than fleeting moments, steamy touches, stolen kisses.

He sees it, the moment you come to that conclusion, the moment you reluctantly accept this eventuality. Your only indication is the imperceptible softening of his steel-blue eyes, the slight uptick of the corner of his mouth.

“You asked what I want. I want you. I plan on showing you that I mean it if you’ll stop being such a fucking brat about it.”

The timer goes off and he releases you, focusing on his tea.

“Nanaba said you moved out a month ago.”

“I did,” you reply, still trying to process everything that just happened.

“Then why haven’t you finished unpacking?”

“I’ve been busy with the studio and rehearsals.” He hands you your cup of tea, waiting patiently for you to take it. “So what are you going to do? Sticking together in a band with a split couple is—hnnng—ten different types of uncomfortable,” you recoil. “Not to mention that the album just dropped and you’re going to have so many obligations—interviews, shows, promo events.”

“I don’t know. I’ve talked to Gunther and Oluo about leaving and they’re on board with it, but I’d still need Amy’s vote before I could take it to Zeke with my statement of intent.”

The steam from your tea soothes you as you hold it in front of your mouth, contemplating what he can do. Without knowing the terms laid forth by his contract—and you aren’t even an entertainment lawyer—you can’t say what will or will not work. You know Zeke, and you know how petty he can be, but you can't discount his keen eye for business and PR.

“I could ask Erwin if it would be okay to meet with our legal team to go over the details of your contract. What do you intend to do about your phone?”

“Nothing. It was a piece of shit anyway.”

“You don’t think that, I don’t know,” you shrug acrimoniously, “the phone might have a monetary value beyond the personal value that you assigned it? And that you could use that to apply pressure to get Amy to agree to your separation?”

Not just that, but if it were to get out that Levi was pressing charges against Amy for the destruction of private property following a break up when the former wants to break his contract and leave while the latter refuses to allow him to do so… The PR would be horrible for Zeke. Possibly enough that you could apply pressure to get him to agree to a mutual termination.

Before Levi can respond, your phone starts vibrating on the counter. Given that Levi’s here and you texted Nan to thank her for reaching out, it’s most likely Amy. Your suspicions are confirmed as soon as you turn it over. Flashing the screen so Levi can see it, you accept the call.

“You fucking bitch!” she screeches before you can greet her.

“Thank you for calling 1-800-Fucking-Bitch, this is the Resident Fucking Bitch speaking. How may I assist you today?”

Levi gives you a slight snicker and a raised brow in response before heading towards your bed.

“I know he’s over there! Let me talk to him!!”

“I’m sorry. Here at the Fucking Bitch Hotline we service no less than five men at a time. I’m going to need you to be more specific in your query.”

“Fuck you! You know who I’m talking about, you whore!”

“Careful, now. Anyone who knows me knows I have a degradation kink,” you coo, watching as Levi examines the vibrator you currently have charging on your nightstand. He picks up your clit vibe and turns, giving you a questioning look. You shrug in response—it’s one of your newer toys, one he hasn’t seen before.

“Do you get off on being such a bitch? Or fucking other women’s boyfriends?!”

“Considering how many times your ex-boyfriend got me off, I’d say yes. Now, if you don’t have anything meaningful to request from the Resident Fucking Bitch, I’m going to have to let you go. On a serious note, don’t call again.”

She lets out a series of angry grunts and a half-shriek before hanging up. You set your phone down and finish your tea. Rinsing out the cup, you set it to dry before joining Levi near your bed.

“You didn’t have time to unpack the rest of your apartment, but you had plenty of time to unpack these?” he asks, gesturing to the vibrators on top of the nightstand and the now-open drawer of your other sex toys.

“Essentials, Levi. It’s all about the essentials.”

“Is that how you survived the last two months?” You shiver at the tone in his voice, the desire laced within. His eyes flicker to yours, pupils slightly dilated.

“It hasn’t been two months,” you excuse, licking your lips in anticipation. He notices the movement and takes no time reaching for you, pulling you to him by a surprisingly gentle grip around your throat.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Have you been a needy little slut?” A small whine escapes you and he kisses you, hard, tongue swiping along your bottom lip before diving in to swallow your moans, your whimpers, your breath. Pulling away, he brings his mouth level with your ear, breath tickling the sensitive skin. “Are you in need of a good fucking?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper before he releases his hold on you, pushing you until the back of your knees hit the mattress and you tumble back into the plush sea of blankets and pillows. He climbs on top of you, easily capturing your hands with his before pulling them above you and holding them in place with only one of his.

“Good. Cause I have every intention of fucking you until the only thought in that pretty little head of yours is my name.” He relishes in the shudder that passes through you, the hitching of your breath, the rush of blood to your face. Trailing kisses down your neck, he sucks at your pulse-point before lightly teasing the flesh with his teeth, earning a heady moan from you.

Your legs hook around his lower back, pulling him to you to give you that weight, that pressure, that friction you’re in desperate need of. He grunts before biting down again, harder, tongue immediately lapping up the blooming pain. You grind against his hips, enjoying the feel of his erection through the layers of thin fabric that separate you both. He’s quick to return the motion, to roll his hips into yours, pulling back slightly to watch the desperation blossom on your face.

“Such a needy little thing,” he purrs.

With his free hand, he begins to pull up at your shirt, slowly exposing more of your abdomen until your tits, unconstrained by a bra, are on display for him. Maneuvering down, he sets your skin on fire as he leaves a path of teasing nibbles and suckles certain to leave a lovely pattern of hickeys, making his way down your breast. He swirls his tongue around your erect nipple while his fingers pinch at the other, pulling and massaging the breast. He pulls off with a slick pop!, eyes meeting yours briefly as he tells you, “I kind of miss the piercings.”

“Same here,” you breathe as he attacks the other nipple, teasing it with his teeth. You’re wanton in the moans you give him, in the lack of inhibition as you finally get to fuck him in your bed again.

It’s been too long.

He lets go of your hands, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your chest, your abdomen, your hips before his fingers hook around the straps of your panties and yank them off of you. Hot breaths fan your swollen cunt, aching, throbbing, begging to be abused.

Without wasting any time, he grabs your legs, setting them on his shoulders before diving in, licking a long stripe from the base of your cunt up to your clit with the flat of his tongue. Your fingers tangle in his hair, silently begging him to get on with it and he brings his fingers forward to pinch your clit, pulling a sharp cry from you.

“Behave yourself, slut,” he warns before his mouth replaces his fingers, before he starts sending ripples of pleasure throughout your being. Your mind is filled with the obscene sounds of his tongue against the slick of your pussy, serving only to rile you up more. Soon enough there’s nothing but the lewd echoes of slurping and your moans accenting the atmosphere of your apartment.

Perhaps—fuck—perhaps you’ll get your earlier wish.

Perhaps he’ll take you down to the river Lethe himself because holy fuck are

are you struggling to form

coherent thoughts

He feels—

so fucking good

With a particular nudge of your overly sensitive bud, he sends you flying, clenching, trembling. All of you tingles, hums, sings pleasantly, exquisitely, a lovely lilt against the backdrop of soft pants and booming thunder overhead.

“That’s my good girl,” he hums as the lights in your apartment flicker. “How are you doing?”

“I can still—still think of other things than your name,” you taunt as you come down. Things like how you should unplug your amps, even with the surge protector, how you should find some candles in case the storm knocks out power for the night, even if it’s still mid-afternoon, how you wonder whether he’ll be staying here tonight or tomorrow or the day after.

Because you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want that, if you didn’t want every single second of Levi that he would give you and you’ve never been good at lying.

“Let’s fix that,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh before biting, sending a jolt of pain straight to your core. “Can you move, or do I need to move you?” You try moving, sitting up, and it’s enough that he removes himself completely. “Ass up, face down,” he orders as he walks to your nightstand.

You remove your shirt before rolling over onto your belly. You hear him fumble with some of the things in your drawer, and, while you’re curious, you’re more interested in the surprise. Propping your ass up, you listen to him come closer, feel as the mattress dips under his weight, feel the gentle placement of three (?) things (?).

“Is my girl clean?” he asks as one of his hands comes to massage your ass.

“Uh-huh,” you affirm, enjoying his gentle touch. A whine leaves your lips as he takes his hand off of you, earning you a hard SMACK! that brings a sharp sting across your bottom.

“Good girls wait.”

“I may be your girl, but I was never a good girl.”

He chuckles dryly and you hear the soft click of your lube opening. When his fingers rub your tight ass, it’s cool, nearly making you flinch at the temperature. He holds you in place by your hips as his fingers massage the puckered skin, relaxing it for when he inserts two fingers. He pauses at your sharp intake of breath, giving you a moment to relax again before slowly moving them, pumping them in and out, drawing out luscious mewls from you.

He picks up his pace until you’re rocking your hips back against him, crying for more as your hands grip tightly in the bedding beneath your touch. Pulling out his fingers, he immediately slaps his open palm against the supple flesh of your ass in anticipation of your sob. Not even a minute later, you feel something cold, hard, and weighty pressing against your tight hole until it enters smoothly, sending a rush of prickles up your spine.

“Oh, fuck, oh shit, oh fucking—hell,” you keen, trembling at the cold that ripples throughout your being.

“Yeah? Does my slut like that?” Levi asks, backing off the bed to disrobe.

The bed dips behind you and his hands are warm against you as they grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. He lets go so he can pump his cock once, twice, before rubbing his tip against your aching lips. He slides into your dripping pussy, the two of you nearly harmonizing in the moans that fall from your lips.

You feel absolutely filled, Levi having chosen one of your larger plugs to play with. He slowly drags his cock out until all that’s left is his head teasing your entrance before snapping his hips forward, burying himself deep inside you again.

“OH, shit,” you cry, already seeing stars. He starts thrusting, experimental and slow at first, savoring the way your pussy feels around him. His fingers thread through your hair, gripping tight so he can push your face deeper into the mattress as he begins to pound into you.

“Fuck—you’re—so—god—damned—tight!” he grunts in between thrusts. His firm grasp on your hip tightens momentarily before disappearing altogether. With the loud slapping of skin filling the room, you miss the soft buzz of your vibrator being turned on until it connects with your front. It takes him a moment, but he finds your clit, placing the mouth of your vibrator against it, immediately wrenching your next orgasm from you.

You come with a high-pitched shriek, a register you previously thought impossible. You’re certain that you’re no longer on this plane of existence but caught somewhere deep in a corner of Elysium that could only be described as sublime. He doesn’t let up with the vibrator or with the pace in which he fucks you, not letting you down from this high, from this state of celestial existence.

Levi’s whispering a constant stream of praise that only adds to the experience, to the continuous waves of pleasure that rock through your body. Your body quivers at the constant onslaught, unrelenting in his efforts to maintain his earlier promise.

“Such a needy little slut. It’s like you were made for my cock,” he tells you as his finger adjusts the speed of your vibrator, making you clench and tremble so hard that he has to stop pumping for a moment.

“Please, Levi, please, please, please,” you whine incoherently.

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” he teases. You manage to drag your hand under you, wrapping it around his as it holds your vibrator. “Is it too much?”

You nod, moan, cry, unable to form the words to get him to slow and he takes mercy on you, removing the vibrator before turning it off. There’s a loud POP! and whoosh! as the power shuts down completely, leaving you both in the murky lighting provided by your industrial windows. He takes the momentary distraction as an opportunity to pull out of you so he can flip you onto your back.

Tears stream down from the corners of your eyes as you are finally granted the opportunity to come down, exhaustion tugging at your muscles and your mind. He sheathes himself inside you once more, filling you to the brim, carefully watching the expressions you make.

He’s more deliberate with his movements now as he leans forward, cupping your face with one hand while he props himself upright with the other. His dick twitches inside you, sending small jolts through you, bringing a smirk to his face. Leaning in, his lips are gentle with yours, methodical, serene almost, as he begins rolling his hips. He swallows your gasps, your moans, your mewls, stealing the breath from your lungs—and hell, you’ll let him do this any day.

As he rocks against you, with you, you feel it mounting again, the coil tightening, preparing to snap.

“Fuck, Levi.” Small waves of pleasure course through you, gradually building until you're nearing the cusp of your next orgasm. “Shit, shit, sh—fuck I’m so close.”

“Wait,” he commands, pace scarcely increasing.

Oh.

The look in his eye is so dangerously close to smothering you, filling you up with a love that burns like a raging forest fire, a love that illuminates the darkest parts of your soul, a love that creates the most transcendent, the most divine, the most splendorous symphony. It catches in your throat, in your heart, burning through all of the hurt and misery and suffering that the two of you have put yourselves through, killing all which was already dead, leaving nothing but the opportunity for new life.

“Levi,” you croon, holding off your orgasm as much as you can—and godfuckingshit is it hard. “Come with me.”

Your request catches him off guard, pulling a small groan from him as his hips stutter, as he jolts inside of you, filling you with his cum, leaving you full.

Levi overwhelms your senses—

the faint smell of oolong and mint the steel-blue of his eyes as they maintain your gaze with singular focus the gentle puffs of air that leave him the feel of him under your fingertips the feel of him inside of you the feel of his warmth against you the feel of him everywhere

Everything,

everything

L e v i

Allowing yourself to fall off the high-dive, your orgasm courses through you, drowning you, pulsating around you, leaving you breathless.

He collapses on top of you, a panting, sweaty mess, but fuck if you don’t delight in this moment with him. Your fingers card through his hair as you press gentle kisses to what little bits of him you can reach without moving much.

“Mine,” you murmur into his hair, holding him to you.

“Yours,” he mumbles, adjusting his head so he’s facing you. He presses a light kiss to your lips before pulling out of you and rolling to his side. The two of you lay in a contented sort of bliss for a while, the only source of light coming from intermittent lightning strikes deeper in the city.

Four Months Later

He’s not entirely sure how he’s here, but he is. Somehow, you roped the Blondies Mike and Erwin, and your manager, Hange, into helping him move into your loft. Mike and Levi are working on carrying up his drum set up all twenty-fucking-five floors of your goddamned building because the weekend he had to move the elevator needed maintenance.

He and the giant exchange uneasy glances, neither certain of how they got to this point. The easiest assumption—and likely the correct assumption—is you.

You flit around causing mayhem and destruction like a goddamned hurricane, but throughout all of the chaos you cause, you manage to get shit done.

Somehow, you managed to convince Zeke to release Levi from his contract. It cost Levi his share of the royalties for the first album, but it was honestly better than needing to pay back his advance, recording costs, production costs, et cetera up front, like Zeke had wanted. If anything, Levi got off easy considering it will take several years more for the royalties to pay everything off at the shitty rate that Levi was given thanks to his contract.

Everything's been finalized two weeks ago, and, as a show of good faith, Levi had attended all interviews, all press coverings, all gigs—anything required of the band while it was being sorted. Next week, you and he will be playing at a small venue as an audition of sorts for Erwin and Mike.

You’ve managed to convince them that you two need no other musicians. A drummer and a bassist on vocals. The two of you have been practicing, playing some of your songs, and he’s confident in your ability to convince them. Your collection of pedals have only increased, allowing you the ability to produce so many other effects, on top of sounding as though you’re playing a standard guitar.

With the local name recognition that you've built, the club sold out of tickets within the first day. He can only credit Erwin and Mike's strategy of utilizing you as a soloist, as someone worth playing with and worth listening to for such early success.

You push past them on your way back down, Hange following not too far behind.

“Geez, guys, I never woulda thought that schlepping a drum set up these stairs would take so long!” they announce, patting Mike and Levi’s shoulders as they pass.

“Want to trade?” Mike offers, a grunt of annoyance slipping past his usually cool facade.

“Nope! We’re almost done, though!”

Their footsteps echo throughout the otherwise empty stairwell, noting their descent to the base of the building.

“That’s good at least,” Levi comments, more to himself than to Mike.

After another couple of minutes of silence, Mike speaks up. “Are you two ready for the show?”

“Yeah. We know each other’s style inside and out, so even if she wanted to change the order of the set on me, I’d be able to keep up.”

“Impressive. Maybe we’ll try that out one of these days,” Mike muses, sounding mildly interested. “How does it feel? To be out from under that blonde monkey?”

“Like freedom. He was in everyone’s business, micromanaging every aspect of our music. You and Eyebrows seem to give more creative freedom, though,” Levi infers, watching Mike’s face carefully.

“We wanted to give musicians the benefit of having a big record label but the freedom of an independent artist,” Mike replies with a level of insouciance that Levi enjoys. “It was actually because of Zeke that we started the Scouts Label. We saw how miserable she was while he would ‘help’ her with her projects relating to her major.”

Levi considers Mike’s statement, considers how it makes sense—why Erwin and Mike would give you so much leeway, why you were given Hange as a manager instead of someone like Nile, too uptight and by the book. They pass the sign for the 20th floor before Mike speaks again.

“I hope this thing works out between you two. She was… never mind. It’s not my business to say. I don’t want to have to answer another phone call with her crying over you.”

“There are only two things I regret in my life. The first being signing that contract with Zeke. The second was being stupid enough to leave. I don’t plan on making that mistake a second time.”

Twenty-three.

“Good. I’d hate to have to kill you,” Mike says, the barest hint of mirth behind his somber gaze.

Just as they reach the twenty-fifth floor, you yank open the door with a wide smile.

“Heya, guys! The elevator’s back up! Hange, Erwin, and I brought up the last of the stuff. Erwin’s downstairs talking to the movers right now, but I went ahead and ordered pizza from Niccolo’s.”

You hold the door open for them as they make it down to the apartment. It’s overwhelmingly domestic and contented, this life he’s never asked for. Mike and Hange banter with one another as he helps Levi establish his drum set in your music corner while you find music for everyone to listen to.

He catches himself watching you flit about the apartment, a flurry of energy and rhythm and anarchy. You stop and turn to him like you could feel his gaze, offering a smile that only he gets to see.

You’re his girl.

He tells you this each night when he pins you to the bed. He tells you this when you wake in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. He tells you this when he makes tea for the both of you in the mornings. He tells you this when the two of you finish playing together, creating melodies rife with emotion and impeccable cohesion, walking together towards the goals that you both had since you were young.

He plans to tell you this for as long as you’ll let him.

You’re his girl.

fic page (including link to the playlist) | Attack on Titan Masterlist

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #snk x reader #aot x reader #snk smut #aot smut #✒.ix writes #✒.his girl #🥔.snk #snk.✒

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bechloesupercorp · 1 year

Text

How presumptuous of her.

The crowds were thinning, chaos waning, with the rhythmic plunk thwap of weapons and fists. Her trusty bo staff rested in her hand, gliding smoothly through the air in search of its next victim.

Taking stock of her sisters, her gaze shifted to Ava, my love, adoration gracing her lips. Hands on knees, Ava's eyes lit up as she noticed her admirer. The beginning of a wide grin stretching over her-

Her face dropped. "BEA-"

It happened so fast. A sharp pain searing her side as a Tarask appeared, watching its claw swipe, sending Ava flying with a single sweep. Cruciform sword dangling in the air as it slipped from Ava's grasp.

Beatrice saw red. Piping hot furor running through her veins, charging towards the Tarask. Ducking under a claw as it swiped at her, she scooped up the sword, a sharp thrust straight through its heart, a feral scream ripping itself from her lips.

She didn’t even wait to see it fall, sliding to her knees at Ava’s side. Her eyes were shut, a trail of deep crimson dripping from Ava’s lips.

“No, no, no, my love,” she begged, watching blood mix into the dirt. “Stay with me Ava,” she breathed, ignoring the pull at her ribs as she cradled her lover. “In this life, Ava. In this life.”

— — —

She felt numb. The lights were too bright, floors squeaked with each step. Blood clinging to her skin, some not even dry yet. Beatrice had been a patient person for as long as she can remember. Just a child, back straight, alone, outside the cold doors of government offices. She’d learned fast.

But now, under the glare of hospital lights, this isn’t patience. It’s torment. Tension running a line down her back, bloodstained hands wringing in the stilted silence. Her side ached, sometimes stabbing. (“I just pulled something,” she’d protested, four hours ago, when Lilith tried to haul her into a consulting room.) Twenty hours. Twenty hours, since Ava was rushed away, weak, gasping breaths and the Halo in her back, devoid of light. So she waited, missing the slow saturation of her tactical habit, red droplets beading along the hem.

— — —

Fuck. It got me good. Ava groaned, eyes fluttering open. Her entire body ached. But that didn’t matter, as a hot hand rested in her own, tight but gentle. Strange, she thought to herself. Bea always ran cold.

"Bea," she croaked, cotton filling her mouth.

Glazed brown eyes shot up, wobbly landing on her face. "Ava," the sister warrior sobbed, tear tracks clearing lines through the dust coating her face.

She blinked drearily, squeezing the hand clutching hers to comfort, sheer exhaustion threatening to shut her eyelids. "I love you."

"I love you too." A warm trembling hand lingered on her cheek, and Ava leaned into the soft caress. She could hear the shaky breaths, like Bea was trying to restrain herself, holding in all the emotions that threatened to overwhelm.

"I'm okay Bea," she promised, a beat passed, relief diffusing into the air. "In this life."

"In this life," Bea echoed, a dazed look in her eyes. Her head bobbled slightly with each breath, swaying softly with each sluggish blink.

Ava furrowed her brows, not missing the subdued, almost slurred, intonation of her best friend's voice. Nor the pallid skin tone she was sporting.

"Bea," she mumbled, carefully grasping her wrist, stilling her lover's burning hand.

"I'm fine," Bea insisted, stubborn as ever. But the lethargy persisted.

Fatigue weighed heavy on Ava's face, and Bea could tell. "Go to sleep, darling," she murmured, almost keeling over to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be here when you wake." The heat radiating off her lips set off faint alarms in the back of Ava's head, but her eyes slipped closed on their own accord.

— — —

And she was. The second time Ava woke, just a slight twinge in her muscles, Bea was asleep, slumped partially over her lap, hands still entwined. A fond smile sprouted on her lips at the sight. She must have been exhausted.

Tenderly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from the girl’s pale forehead, her fingers grazing the skin instead. Scorching currents ran under her touch. Alarms blaring in her head as she sat up, jostling the girl as she did. Bea stayed still.

“Bea?” she called, panic clenching her chest.

Silence.

“Beatrice!” she ordered, shaking the limp form. Please wake up, please wake up. Bea’s head just lolled, pale lips parted by strained gasps for air.

“Bea!” she screamed, Halo pulsing as she turned her over.

A giant bloodstain bloomed over the blankets, a deafening trickle dripping to the floor.

— — —

Muted beeping echoed in her ears. A deep ache reverberated through her body, drained. Hushed voices slowly came into focus, with soothing familiarity. Good, her friends are okay.

She pried her eyes open, blinking blearily, She shifted her head, needing visual proof that her family was safe and healthy.

“Guys, she’s awake.”

Familiar faces entered her vision, filled with worry and relief.

Lilith, naturally, was the first to go, scoffing, “You’re such an idiot, why didn’t you tell us you had a gaping wound.” But the soft kiss to her forehead betrayed the truth. I could have lost you.

“I’m fine,” she breathed, trying to ignore the throb in her side.

“Like hell you are,” Mary retorted, leaning over to pull her into a hug.

“Language,” she chided weakly, grabbing the hand resting by her side.

Tears sprung to her eyes when she met Ava’s bloodshot ones, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand. “In this life, darling.”

Ava sniffled with a watery smile, and Bea pretended to ignore Lilith’s fake gag and the way Camila vibrated at the promise.

Mother Superion lingered protectively in the doorway. Her sisters settled around her, and she knew. She was safe, surrounded by family.

She could rest.

#a real ending for once!!#mmm sleepy time #sister beatrice #ava silva #avatrice #warrior nun #lilith villaumbrosia #shotgun mary #mother superion #sister camila #boink scribbles #hcs

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emberglowfox · 4 months

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2023 art summary yaaaay

this is the first one of these i've done in a few years, because it's the first year i didn't lose enough months to lethargy and depression to feel like it wasn't worth filling in. i didn't knock it out of the park every month, but i made something worth showing, and that's an accomplishment to me.

here's to keeping up steam in 2024.

#my art #sparks art #art summary #tbh there r a few months (such as this one actually) that could have stronger pieces but they arrrrre. not entirely sfw so. rip #in the vault they stay #also only 7/12 steelhearts was kind of a surprise but oh well

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coldresolve · 6 months

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Moneymakers, pt.xxxviii // All Saints Are Sinners

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

A note is played as a sensor detects that the front door has been pushed open. Low tiks, faint against the loudspeaker muzak, as the soles of his shoes dislodge from sticky stains on the white tiled floor. The ambient hum of fluorescent lights, of the air conditioning, of the coolers scattered all around. Gas stations all have that hum.

He makes for the drink aisle with a laziness to his step, loose straps from his backpack tapping at his chest and arms, eyes unenthusiastically scanning through foggy glass doors. Most of the options strike him as entirely unappealing, while some – chocolate milk, protein shakes, yoghurt – make him nauseous to even consider.

Renee hasn’t been high for a full day. He noticed it on waking up, and it’s only getting worse. That lethargy, the grey filter that slides down across his vision. Drowsiness that expresses itself clearly in the way he moves, as if his body will only operate in slow-motion. Boredom exacerbated, but juxtaposed with revolt at the mere thought of actually doing something about it. The hollowness of all the things which normally feel so vivid. His mood, seeping down through the concrete and the dirt.

When Lazarus dropped him off by his car this morning, Renee talked him into a quick deal before they parted, just fifty grams. The look of concern on Lazarus’ face, the begrudging acceptance, sparked a shame in Renee that’s hard to just brush off. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t cracked open that bag yet - because punishing himself with cocaine withdrawals seems more appropriate. Is that irrational? Probably. But what isn’t?

Goosebumps break out across his arms when he opens the cooler and is rushed with a front of cold air. He picks out a couple different energy drinks. As he makes his way back through the store, he grabs a small container of nuts, as well as a handful of protein bars, haphazardly discarding his pile of items on the counter. He’s pretty sure he’s forgetting something, but his mind is hazy, and he can’t really bring himself to care.

The cashier, a girl who doesn’t look much older than twenty, gives him a nod in place of a proper greeting, and starts scanning his items. Renee watches her progress, rubbing his eyes, and then his gaze thoughtlessly drifts to the magazine rack next to the counter. Among celebrity gossip and headlines that fill half the front pages, he catches an image of Conrad – that vacation photo the media always uses, taken on some pedestrian road with palm trees in the background. A black person’s arm – Howard’s, presumably - is draped over his shoulders, but their face is cropped out of frame. Conrad looks at ease in that photo, at least more at ease than Renee has ever seen him in person. There’s still an awkwardness to his posture, he clearly doesn’t like having his picture taken; but his smile looks genuine. Next to the picture of Conrad is a stock photo of a man’s silhouette illuminated from above, face obscured in the shadows cast by a hoodie.

Renee swallows, looking away before he can read the actual headline. Behind him, the door chime goes again, and he hears someone walk up behind him. A deep breath, then he clears his throat at the cashier. “Uh. Give me four packs of Marlboro reds as well.”

The girl looks up. “Do you have an ID I could see for that?”

Renee blinks. Gives the cashier a look.

“We check everybody, sir.”

Renee lets out a dejected sort of breath, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and fishes around in his pocket for his wallet. “Driver’s license alright?”

The girl gives him a patient smile. “Just something with your face on it.”

He holds the card out between two fingers, and can’t help but curse himself at the way his hand is shaking slightly. The girl doesn’t comment on it, though, eyes quickly scanning the card before she nods and turns to the shelves behind her.

As he pays credit and shovels his items into his backpack, Renee feels watched, in a way that’s more than a little intrusive, by the cashier, by the customer behind him, by the camera above the counter, by Conrad, grinning from a tabloid shelf. He shrugs the backpack on, pushing past the customer behind him and heads for the door before the cashier is even halfway through wishing him a good day.

Grey clouds swirl like a layer of cotton above the landscape, too light to threaten rain, but none the less suffocating. The wind blows across the concrete field surrounding the gas station, biting at his skin through the seams of his clothes. Would’ve ruffled his hair a week ago – now the lack makes him shudder more easily. He climbs into the Clio, discarding his backpack on the passenger seat, pulls a cigarette and lights it. He takes the first few drags in silence, listening to how the wind swirls around the car, feeling its miniscule tugs on the carrosserie.

It’s such a cliché, framing the bad guy as a menacing figure cloaked in shadows. Something about that image alone feels like a caricature that serves only the purpose of dehumanizing, othering. People always strip away the understandable parts of evil to avoid having to face it in themselves. They shut their eyes to swallow that pill.

A turn of the keys, and the Clio rustles itself awake. The sound of the old motor is starting to become more reminiscent of a tractor than a car. Cigarette burning between his fingers, Renee pulls out to the gas station’s exit ramp, back onto the highway. He loses himself in driving. Everything else becomes secondary to following his own flow, the mindless weaving in and out of lanes.

But he hasn’t been on the highway for more than five minutes before a loud beep from the dashboard makes him look down. The little light next to the gas indicator has turned on. The needle is deep in the red.

Renee lets out a groan, gritting his teeth tight, clutching the wheel a little harder. “Shit.” He fiddles with the different settings on the turn signal lever, barely keeping the car in the center of his lane as he tries to find the setting that lets him see how many miles he has left. How do you go to a gas station and then forget to get gas?

A couple minutes of fiddling with the lever pass, until he finally gives up. There are no gas stations until he reaches the summer home neighborhood, and the highway is separated by a fenced off median strip, so no U-turns, either. He’s just gonna have to cross his fingers and hope.

His teeth are gritted until he finally reaches his exit, somewhat relieved that if he does get stranded, at least it won’t be on the side of the highway. There’s a red light at the end of the exit ramp, and he cringes at having to rev up the car in first gear to avoid stalling on the incline.

The country road he turns onto is deserted, fields on either side all rows of plowed mud, interspersed with patches of skeletonized trees. Isolated homesteads placed a respectable distance from the road, and the occasional faded colors of a billboard advertising private insurance or heavy farming equipment.

He's a mile in when the dashboard beeps again, and soon after, the car starts to slow down. Renee curses, changing to a lower gear, which seems to work for all of ten seconds, but then it slows again, even as the pedal is pushed to its limit. The tractor-esque likeness of the sound seems to amplify as the engine struggles to keep up. Eventually, it coughs, lets out a spluttery death rattle, and then stalls completely.

Still rolling with the momentum, Renee stomps down the clutch and switches the ignition off and tries to restart it. Uncertain whirring, in a rhythm that makes the whole cabin vibrate, but it never takes. The car creeps to a halt on the side of the road. Renee tries again. And again. On his fourth try, the engine doesn’t even try to stir – nothing happens at all.

Renee pulls the handbrake and sits back, rubbing his face with both hands, pressing his fingers hard over the thin skin of his closed eyelids. Feels like letting out a scream, but all that comes out is a low groan. He sits like that for a full minute, breathing through his nose. Then he lets his hands dump into his lap, staring bleakly out the windshield.

In the distance, a row of trees parting two fields are being pushed sideways by a rough wind, the last stubborn leaves breaking off, dancing across the horizon.

Renee looks at his backpack, jaw working. Grabs it, finds leverage with both thumbs in a small hole by the zipper and forces it apart by pulling on the fabric. From one of the smaller rooms, he pulls out the bag of cocaine, from another, his wallet. Discards the backpack on the passenger side floor with a little more force than necessary. He fishes his phone out of his wallet and balances it flat on his thigh. Nudges a few clumps of powder onto the screen. It’s all automatic at this point, he doesn’t even have to think about what he’s doing. The clumps are broken with a credit card, and two lines are arranged side by side along the length of the phone screen. His hands are shaking as he rolls a five dollar bill into a straw.

He pauses. Feels like throwing up. Feels like strangling himself with the seatbelt. Feels like bashing someone’s skull in. Feels like...

Closing one nostril with his index finger, holding the bill carefully between thumb and middle finger, Renee lifts the phone up, leans down. It’s a familiar feeling, however gross it felt the first time he tried. Like sucking powdered sugar straight into your brain. It appears at the back of the throat, and then you have to swallow it, despite the bitter taste, like you swallow the clots of a heavy nosebleed. Renee leans back, sniffing hard as he rubs his nose, letting out each breath through his mouth. Leans down for the second line, which goes up just as easily, sniffs some more. His throat is already starting to tingle. He licks the remaining powder off the phone, drying the saliva in his jeans.

Slightly breathless, he slumps back against the seat, hand clutched around his phone. Hits the back of his head against the headrest a couple times, scowling at nothing. Stalling won’t do him any good. He grits his teeth as he unlocks the screen, filtering through contacts until he finds Davin’s number. Rests his elbow on the ledge under the side window, leaning his temple against the root of his hand, lifts the phone to his ear.

The low dial tone, dragging across the ground once, twice, before there’s a click, a muted shuffling. Renee bounces his heel against the floormat.

There’s a faint thud, like a door closing, before Davin speaks. “Yeah?”

“My car broke down,” Renee says. Winces, but keeps his voice even. “I ran out of gas, I mean. I just need a hand.”

There’s a brief silence, and then Davin lets out a sharp sort of sigh. “How do you expect me to…?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Renee bites, “Figure something out. I mean it, man, I’m stuck in the middle of… piss-all nowhere.”

Davin lets out an exasperated breath. “I don’t have a car, Renee.”

“Then find one. I’m not walking four fuckin’ hours.”

Another silence, longer this time. A deep breath. “Alright. Send me your coordinates, then.”

Renee sniffs. “Shall do.”

A split second after he has ended the call, Renee tosses the phone onto the dashboard, leaning forward, running his hands over his head. Why’s it taking so long to kick in, anyway? Two lines usually get his heart beating in no time. He’s not that tolerant, is he?

Seeping through the dirt, like the roots of a tree clawing to get a proper hold of the earth, or the fluid that leaks out of a decomposing coffin. It strikes Renee as a natural law of sorts. Gravity, but not in the physical sense.

They see him like an alien, a stereotype. They attribute his actions to something inhuman and foreign, something unrecognizable. A nightmare, a monster. A hooded figure in the dark. Evil as something extraordinary.

It’s actually pissing him off, how delusional people choose to be. The mental gymnastics they have to employ to stay blind. While Conrad sees the good in all people, Renee sees the spiteful, the malicious, the selfishness everybody tries so damn hard to deny. He sees the egocentric note that carries every act of altruism, the spite and jealousy that accompanies every form of love. Ambition is a euphemism for greed, justice always stems from a sense of superiority. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is holy. Once you start digging past the surface, the only direction you can go is down.

Despite the lightness of the clouds, a few small specs of rain have scattered on the windshield. Renee lights another smoke, watching it slowly collect and bleed down the glass. Something inside him is returning, he can feel it. It’s been hell for a while, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe Conrad got his claws into him after all. That naïveté played tricks, in its own subtle, insidious ways. Renee forgot himself in a moment of weakness, and he ended up sharing the delusion. But evil is universal to the point of banality. Despite Conrad’s insistence, there’s nothing extraordinary about what Renee has done, or about his drives. Renee only stands out for honesty.

Davin’s greed is blatant. As is Lazarus’ willful negligence, entirely unjustified despite his efforts to deal conscientiously. Even Conrad himself, so keen to keep up a façade of innocence, gets that hateful look in his eyes, and his attempts to humanize himself occasionally get marred by a vengeful, sadistic desire.

A gun or a knife, hm? Or something else…?

Gun.

Where? …Where would you shoot me?

Head.

That’s the thing: You have to own it, don’t you?

Renee chuckles lightly to himself. Leans back against the headrest, eyes closed. Maybe it’s the coke creeping in, but it feels like a veil has been lifted.

The man he was six months ago, before all of this, before he even met Davin, is still in there. Renee can feel him. That carefree, fuck-all attitude, the easy way he carried himself, the deep sense of independence, remorseless freedom. His head got clouded by the fog of uncertainty, but he can lift himself out of it easily enough. It’s all so straightforward.

You just have to own it.

💵

Thirty minutes pass. The peak of the high, Renee spends pacing for a hundred yards up and down the country road, wind chill biting at his face, but muted under the familiar sense of euphoria. Once it starts to dip, around the forty-five minute mark, he climbs back into his car and chases with another line, smaller this time, nothing crazy. Sits with his knee bumping against the steering wheel, hands kept warm in his pockets, just enjoying the sensations of being, for a while. The way his heart beats, the way the air feels in his lungs, the numbness of his throat, the back of his tongue. He feels as easy and light as he does resilient, self-assured. Exquisitely fucked up and powerful. He feels like himself.

He sees the car coming from a mile away. A small, dark dot on the horizon that slowly rides the waves of the landscape. A sedan. Renee recognizes the typical design of a Mercedes long before he can make out the logo on the front grill – something about pareidolia, the expressions that cars make. Mercedes always look vaguely pissed off. As it pulls up on the opposite side of the road, Renee can’t help but marvel a bit. No scratches or dents in the warm gray lacquer, shiny wheel rims, tinted windows in the back. The kind of car you can tell has leather seats before you even take a look inside.

Bracing his door against the impact of the wind, Renee steps out on the road in the same moment Davin does. The few strands of hair that aren’t caught in the bun on the back of Davin’s head are instead whipped about his face. The collar of his coat is turned up.

Renee lights a smoke, then points to the Mercedes with the cigarette. “I didn’t think you could hotwire cars that new.”

As Davin shuts the door, he looks at the car briefly. “You can’t,” he concedes. And he holds up his hand, wiggling a key between his fingers.

Renee frowns. “It’s yours?”

“It’s a rental. For now, at least. You reminded me why it might be a good idea to have a second car available.”

He walks toward the back of the car and pops the trunk open, pulls out a red gas canister and a funnel. Hands both to Renee, who, much to his own quiet dismay, has to throw the fresh cigarette away before he takes them.

As he fumbles with the gas cap on the Clio and sets up the funnel, Davin stands a few paces away, watching. Renee can’t help his stomach from churning at that feeling, as if every movement he makes is being noted, jotted down. The stench of gasoline fumes soon serve as a distraction, as he pours the clear, yellowish liquid down the funnel. “Listen, I, ah…” He clears his throat. “I had a bit of a mental breakdown yesterday. After I left, I mean.”

He glances up at Davin, who has only raised a brow in response.

“I don’t really know what happened, it’s just… been a crazy couple weeks, you know? I think it’s been building. But it’s all good, I’m fine now.”

Davin snorts, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. Looks into the distance for a moment, lips pursed. When he looks back at Renee, his expression is solemn. “I couldn’t have done this alone. So as much as I hate having to rely on other people, I have to rely on you. I have to be able to trust you.”

Renee grimaces. “You can,” he says. “You can, dude. I just freaked out a bit, but I’m back in business, I’m feeling it. I’ll do whatever.”

Davin nods slowly. Markedly doesn’t say anything.

For once, the ominous silence doesn’t really bother Renee, at least not to any greater extent. Although brief, he said his piece, so now it’s no longer on him.

The last few drops of gasoline are shaken off the canister, then the funnel. Renee screws the cap back in place, handing canister and funnel to Davin before he ducks into the passenger seat of the Clio, without shutting the door.

On the first turn of the key, the engine rustles awake.

Renee shoots a wide grin up at Davin. “We’re so back, baby.”

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#writing #moneymakers #renee #davin #clio

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seenoversundown · 4 months

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Sparrow Of the Dawn : Chapter 3

Sam x Willa (Fem OC) Warnings: Cursing and some light bickering, otherwise a lot of bad luck.

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary : Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.

Author's Note: This chapter is a bit lighter on the word count, but take it as the calm before the storm 😉 (next week may or may not be a long one)

Boston - Augustana "I think I'll go to Boston, I think I'll start a new life I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather"

My blaring alarm clock jolts me from my sleep. It should be illegal to need to be awake at 4:30 a.m.; even Penelope lets out a little “boof” in protest. I rub my knuckles across my lids, trying to wipe away the sleep.

“You and me both, Penny girl.” I whisper into her fur, gently petting her face, “Rest a little longer, and then you get to go see Uncle Daniel.” Alas, I have a train to catch. I can't take the chance of driving Edith all the way to Boston. I don't even think she’d make it to Portsmouth at this rate.

Lethargy is so heavy in my bones as I drag my body to the shower. The scalding water helps to wake me up, but not enough. God, I need coffee. Regret fills me as soon as the water is off and the cold air attacks me once again.

After I quickly get dressed, I hustle through the rest of my morning routine, trying to ensure I stay on time. Finally, I wrap my scarf around my neck and knot it before slipping on my coat. “Okay, headphones, bag, camera, keys,” I mumble out loud, mentally checking things off my list. “Time.” 5:02am. At least I’m on time, calling out “Penelopeeee” in a sing-song tone. She comes running from around the corner, jumping up on me. “Woahh, down, girl.” I hook her leash onto her collar and lead her out the door, closing and locking it behind me.

It's only a short walk to Daniel’s apartment, and the morning air bites at my face. I pull my scarf up a little higher to cover the lower half of my face. My breath heats the fabric, a small salvation. Piles of snow where it had been plowed into snow banks still present, the sun not yet strong enough to melt it this time of year. Let alone this time of day. Penelope stops to sniff just about every flower she comes across, delaying my trip.

I march up the brick steps, and the porch light flicks on, allowing me better vision. The sun won’t make an appearance for another hour or so. I wrap my knuckles against the wooden door a few times before Daniel opens it. The sight of him causing me to chuckle.

“Good morning, sunshine.” giving him a beaming smile. If looks could kill, I would definitely be dead. Sweatpants slung low on his hips, fuzzy socks on his feet, no shirt on, and curls in complete disarray. He shivers when the breeze crosses the entryway.

“Of course, this is the one time you’re actually on time,” he whines. “Did you honestly have to leave so early?”

“Unfortunately for us both, Daniel, yes. There was only one train into Boston that would get me there on time, and I can’t be late for this. Miss Penny has already gone to the bathroom, so that should give you a few hours at least.” I hand him her leash and she enters the house. “As much as I would love to stay and chit-chat..” trailing off as I turn to head back the way I came.

“Come on, Penny girl, at least we get to have a cuddle. We’ll get out of Daddy’s hair so he can join the world of the employed.”

“Very funny, Asshole,” I call over my shoulder, flipping him off.

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If I was smart, I would have started Edith before I left to drop off Penny, giving her time to warm up and the frost to melt off the windshield; apparently, I have chosen the path of idiot this morning. I sit in the cab, turning the key repeatedly, and she won’t start. Panic rises in my chest, listening to the sound of the engine refusing to turn over.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I grunt out, “not today, not today.” I pause and take a deep breath, exhaling through my nose, creating a cloud in the chilly air. “Come on, baby, you can do it.” I turn the key once more, and her engine roars to life. Breathing a sigh of relief, I rest my head against the steering wheel, “oh, thank god.”

I speed off toward the train station, not wishing to waste any more time.

When I arrive, the train is already stopped, and boarding. “Oh fuck” I breathe out. Grabbing my bag and rushing to the platform, I nearly slip on a patch of ice before I make it. But I do make it. Just before the crew member shuts the doors. I breathe out a sigh of relief for the second time and find a seat in the back of the economy car I paid for, a double seat. The closer we get to the city, the busier it will get, and I don't want to have to worry about sitting near a bunch of passengers.

Jesus Christ that was cutting it too close. I wait for the train to start moving before I pull out my AirPods and put them in my ears. I scroll through my playlists looking for the right thing for this trip. Finally settling on a song, I click play. The song sounding muffled when I realize that it’s playing from my phone, shit. I turn the volume down as quickly as possible, trying to keep my eyes on my phone as I feel everyone around me look over. What is in the air today? Letting out a sigh as I pull my AirPods back out and place them back into their case. I drop my head back against the seat, close my eyes, and just listen to the sound of the train moving.

I jolt myself awake with a small gasp. Please tell me they didn’t leave me on the train, and now I’m in Canada or something. I tap on my phone, 7:55 a.m., Thank GOD. Only a few more minutes and the train is slowing into the station.

I finally make it off the train, and I’m trying to hustle through the station until I see a Dunkin sign glowing at me. My stomach grumbles as I look at it; I can grab something.. I’ll definitely make it still.

“Can I get a medium hot caramel swirl latte with oat milk and the bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.. But no bacon, please?” Met with a simple ‘mhm’ from the cashier. I pull out my phone to pay, and seeing 8:10 a.m., my stomach feels nervous again.

It only takes a couple minutes before my name is called. I grab everything and practically run through the station to find the exit. I finally make it outside and check my maps to see where I’m going, grateful that it’s not too far from here. I slide my phone back into my pocket; I only need to walk a few streets down. I carefully pull the sandwich out of the bag, excited to eat something after the morning that i’ve had. Fuck me; I see the fleshy piece of bacon sticking out as soon as I peel the wrapper away from the bagel. I stare at it for a minute, trying to decide if it’s worth the hassle of pulling the bacon out. Deciding against it, god forbid it makes my stomach feel worse while I’m here, I toss the sandwich at the next trash can I pass and take a huge gulp of my latte, hoping it fills my stomach a little. Thankfully, my drink is perfect, and at this point, I’m going to take whatever win I can get. For the love of everything holy, I need the rest of today to go smoothly.

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The building is easy enough to find. I thank the lucky stars that at least one part of this journey wasn't difficult. I open the heavy metal door and head up the steps to the main floor toward the elevator. A plaque sits between the two elevators above the recall buttons. “Boston Globe - Floor 4 Suite 213.” I take a deep breath and press the arrow pointing up. I can feel the nerves in my belly, like butterflies buzzing around. Little wings flapping, sending gentle ripples of unease through me. I can’t mess this up. I have to make a good first impression. Working in conjunction with two major newspapers in different states is a big opportunity. It would put my name in the minds of people who could help me break into this job market. One I’ve been trying to work my way into since I graduated. This has to be it. The elevator dings, and my heart skips a beat, setting my nerves on edge even further.

Once the elevator arrives on the 4th floor, I step out looking for the closest suite number to gain my sense of direction. I solidify my bearings and head toward the right. A few doors down is 213. I open the door and the first person I see is a petite blonde woman. I scan the room; everyone is staring at me. Oh, this feels awkward.

“Hi, Can I help you?” her voice is high like I expected, but much quieter.

“Uhm, I’m looking for James Boucher with the Boston Globe?” My eyes dart back and forth between her and the rest of the people still looking at me. I wring my hands together, trying to satisfy my uneasiness.

“Oh, Jimmy is down the hall. They moved his office, and it hasn't been updated downstairs yet.” Just another thing to go wrong this morning, naturally. She walks over to me, places her hand on my arm, and points me down the hall. “It's suite 222. Also Call him Jim, not James and it's ‘bou-shay’ not ‘bou-sher’. He’ll like you 10 times more if you can get his name right. You’re gunna do great.” She says sweetly, squeezing my arm. “Good luck!”

“Thank you”

I walk down the hallway, pulling my phone from my pocket and double-checking the time. Still early. Thank god. Knocking on the door and twisting the handle ,I greet the front desk girl with a wave. A pretty brunette smiles back at me. Does everyone who works here have to be pretty?

“Hi, I’m here to meet with Jim Boucher. Am I in the right place?” I say nervously.

“You sure are, sweetheart.” Her southern drawl makes her that much more attractive to me. “What’s your name? I’ll get ya checked in.”

“Samuel Kiszka.” I lean against the counter, glancing down at her nameplate. She clicks a few buttons on her computer and then rises from her chair.

“Right this way, Mr. Kiszka.” She extends her arm pointing us in the right direction.

“Sam is fine. Daisy is a very pretty name, by the way. Like the flower?” I ask, smiling gently at her. A blush forms on her cheeks. She drops her head a bit, I can no longer see her dazzling blue eyes. She’s much shorter than I am, even in her heels. I shorten my stride so she doesn’t have to work so hard to keep up.

“Thank you. I was named after my grandma, and she was named after the flower. Mamaw Daisy was the sweetest, just like her pie. Oh, she made the best apple pie I’ve ever had.” She looks up at me then, eyes bright and hands clasped together.

“I’ve been trying to replicate her recipe and I think I have it close. Uh, just this way.” She instructs us to take a left; the windows on the right cover the wall nearly floor to ceiling.

“Well, maybe I can try a slice sometime.”

She stops then and looks up at me. “Uhm, this is it,” pointing to the door.

“Thank you for the escort, Miss Daisy. I surely would have gotten lost without you.” She giggles and opens the door. The room is smaller than I anticipated. A few tables are set up with chairs. There are already a handful of people here.

“Hi, Mr. Boucher. This is Sam Kiszka. He’s here with the Portland Press Harold, from Maine.”

“Thank you, Miss Thompson, that will be all.” He waves his hand, dismissively. Her face drops a bit in disappointment. Before she closes the door, her eyes find mine with a small smile, which I match.

He doesn’t acknowledge me at all. His eyes never rise from his folder. Am I supposed to stand here or take a seat? No, I should definitely introduce myself.. Right? First impressions and all.

I gently clear my throat. “Sir?” Once again, he doesn’t move. I wait. When he finally finishes what he’s reading he looks at me.

“Sam Kiszka, Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand, which he takes, apprehensively. He’s a man of few words from what I can tell, so I do my best to convey my character through a strong handshake. He nods at me and juts his head toward a table, motioning for me to take a seat. I’ll take that as a win.

As soon as I take my seat, a familiar face enters. Her short, brown bob was perfectly tucked behind one ear. Paired with her petite stature, it gave her a bit of an elf-like appearance. She played with the proportions of her outfit to look taller, wearing khaki-colored high-waisted slacks for height along with brown heeled boots, and a tan button-up sweater tucked in. A delicate blue pattern across the top accentuates her chest and gold necklaces worn in tiers to finish it off. She looked beautiful. Why is she here?

I watch her as she introduces herself to Jim, who doesn’t really glance at her either, which makes me feel a bit better before she takes a seat on the opposite side of the room. At least it’s not just me. Daisy catches my vision, and I can tell she’s taken notice of me staring at.. Her. I offer her another small smile before I watch her close the door and disappear once more.

“Alright,” Mr. Boucher announces, grabbing everyone’s attention. “As you all know, since you signed up for it, The Boston Globe is partnering with a few newspapers in New England. We want to run a feature on what makes each state in New England special. That’s where you all come in. There are 2 candidates from each state. That’s your partner for this project, so get used to them.”

Oh god. This experience is about to go from amazing to horrific for her as soon as she finds out I'm here.

“Presentations will be on Monday, so you have a few days to do what you gotta do. We’re working with the San Francisco Chronicle as well, which means that the 3 teams that best represent their state will be flying out there Tuesday. So, if you have plans next week, cancel them.”

Looks like Jake will have to find someone else to help cover the bar this week.

“Ah shit, let me take attendance.” He grumbles, searching for the correct paper on his desk. “Here we go, let’s start from the top with Maine - Willa Clarke?” my eyes immediately shoot over to her. Willa is a pretty name. It suits her.

“Here, sir,” she raises her hand. She tilts her head to the side in anticipation. The red undertones of her hair catch the light when she moves. Okay, Sam? Calm down.

“Great,” glancing down at his paper again. “Willa, your partner is.. Samuel Kiszka?”

Clearing my throat, “Uh Here.” I raise my hand. Her eyes finally meet mine, and immediately narrow.

Annnnd, there it is.

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A few hours and a lot of paperwork later and I’m sitting opposite Willa at a table in the cafe downstairs. She’s been glaring at me over the top of her latte for 10 minutes without saying a single word to me. Slowly sipping. Intently glaring. Not speaking.

I wait.

And then give in.

“Are you stalking me or something?” narrowing my eyes back at her.

“Excuse me?” Her incredulous look is not surprising.

“I mean, I go to the farmers market and you’re there. Poking me. I go to my brother’s bar and you’re there. Then I show up here and.. Oh yeah.. You’re here. Logical explanation would lead me to believe that you’re stalking me.” Curiosity becomes me as I wait for her answer.

“I feel like you’re failing to take into consideration a key piece of information here, Salmonella,” She says, piquing my interest. I debate if I should be offended by her use of a nickname or not and settle on the latter. Why let her get under my skin when I can get under hers?

“Aw yeah? What’s that, darling?”

“Okay.. ew.” disgust paints her face as she waves her hand out in front of her. “You speak as if you’re interesting enough to stalk.”

“Ah, such a blow to my ego,” Rolling my eyes dramatically. “Someone who spends her time jabbing strangers and yelling at them when they try to help her doesn’t think I’m interesting. Whatever will I do?” She scoffs loudly and crosses her arms, turning to face her body to the side toward the windows. “I should just roll over and cease to exist right now.”

“Help me? How have you tried to help me?” She asks in disbelief. Of course, she wouldn’t view my actions on Saturday as helpful. Or nice or kind in any capacity. I swear she's incapable of thinking I’m nice.

“When I told you not to bother with Chad Von Doucher-son, which you yelled at me for. Or when I offered you a drink on the house when he ditched you. A peace offering, again which you yelled at me for.”

She huffs. “What about you then?” Raising her eyebrows at me. “ Since we’re in all the same places or whatever. Are you stalking me?”

“Oh, I’m simply incapable of giving you that pleasure.”

A wicked laugh escapes her. “I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve said that to a woman. How about you stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours?”

“Yes because a project in which we have to work together definitely calls for staying away from one another. Can you not pretend to tolerate me?”

“Must you ask so much of me?” She frowns intently, grabbing her purse and standing to push her chair underneath the table.

“When our careers ride on it, yes. Now play nice. No more school-yard insults.”

“Okay. Truce.. For now.. Samsquatch.”

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The rest of the day was filled with more paperwork, tours, and individual assignments, according to each home-based newspaper company. At the end of the day, knowing I have some time to kill before I have to catch my train, I stop by the front desk.

Daisy is sat with her head down looking over scheduling for the following week. I tap the counter with the pads of my fingers, the soft sounds calling for her attention. She greets me with that same wide smile. Yeah, she’s cute.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Daisy. And thank you for your help this morning,” I hold my hand out to her, and she places her dainty one gently in my palm.

“It was lovely to meet you too, Sam.” She giggles and a blush forms.

“I’ll see you next week for the presentation.” I bend down to place a kiss on her knuckles, causing her cheeks to redden even further. As I straighten I can hear ‘oh god’ behind me. I turn to see Willa standing there, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t waste your time, he’s insufferable.” She says to Daisy and storms off. I cannot believe she would do that. I know she isn’t exactly my biggest fan, but to try and cock-block me because she dislikes me is insane. I really haven’t done anything to her. How can someone you barely know have that strong of a vendetta against you?

I look back at Daisy, “Would you excuse me one moment.” I let out an awkward laugh. Before fully walking away, I stop, “Next week, pretty girl,” and give her a wink. When I leave she has a smile on her face. Successfully recovered.

I walk quickly through the hall down toward the elevator to catch up with Willa. Just as the doors start to close, I catch it and force it back open, boarding the elevator with her. Turning to her with my eyebrows raised and my arms crossed, I clear my throat.

“Can I help you?” Her eyes are locked in her phone.

“Just because you have shit luck with dates, doesn’t mean you have any right to try and ruin my chances at one.”

“Oh, please. You cannot subject her to that.”

“Subject her to what?”

“Sam, it’s actually less painful watching teenagers flirt. I’m begging you, if I’m going to have to witness your flirting through this whole experience, the least you could do is practice in the mirror a bit.” She sneers at me.

“Ya know,” I take a step closer to her until my chest is pressed against her shoulder, “I could always practice on you.” The slight intake of her breath almost goes unnoticed, almost.

“Oh god,” She lunges toward the button panel, repeatedly pressing the open door button. “Get me the hell out of hereeeee.”

Checkmate.

<- Chapter Two ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Chapter Four ->

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