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worldofkuro · 21 hours

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Painted Smile

Painted Smile XVIII

<- Previous Chapter I

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: Ah shit, here we go again. You are being better at controlling your spirits which is perfect to tease Alastor. This chapter my dears… Is a twisted smut. TW: Blood kink, knife play, choking, killing envy. Aren’t they adorably twisted for each other, huh? Well, I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter. As always, I’m not used to writing about sexual intercouse, I don’t really know what it is about, so please tell me if it’s just pure garbage. But I think I leveled up since the last one. Great lecture, my dears.

You put your suitcase on the floor, smiling with delight as Alastor was paying the cab behind you. You were finally at Alice’s cottage, alone with Alastor for a delicious weekend. You tried to be subtle but today, you hoped to be the predator in this house. After John’s accident, you wanted Alastor to claim you once more. That’s why you prepared some of your best dresses and underwear in your suitcase.

You entered the house, went straight in a bedroom and fell into the bed, smiling excitedly. You were going to enjoy this weekend so much you could feel your feet kicking the air.

“ Well, someone seems eager.” you heard Alastor walking into the bedroom. You smiled at him as he sat next to you on the bed and leaned toward you, kissing your lips while humming to himself. You pressed your mouth against him, feeling his body relax as he settled above you. You spread your legs so he could lay on your body, his head resting on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. “ Did you know, your father told me to be a gentleman this weekend with you?” you scoffed.

“ What do you mean?”

“ Seems like he is afraid I would… devour you.” you felt his lips turned into a wicked smile. “ Which I would never, right, dearest?”

You tried to hide your frown. Your father wasn’t going to ruin your perfect weekend. Alastor was okay with talking about murder but because your father said he couldn’t touch you he would listen? What games was Alastor playing? He never listens to anyone.

But two could play this game

“ No…, Of course, you are a gentleman, right?” you kissed his forehead. “ Now, why don’t you let me change, I want to talk about our plan to kill our new target.” You smiled as he kissed you softly, the noises in the room being your breaths. He lifted himself up from you before leaving into the living room.

You smirked as you undressed and then took your undergarment from your suitcases. It was red lingerie that Alice gave you. You’ve never seen a piece like this but it looked like a dress that seemed glued to your body. The dress was very short, stopping just before your intimity. You put it on and looked at yourself in the mirror, smiling. Now, just some light makeup upon your eyes and lips. You put dark eyes shadows and of course, a deep crimson red as lipstick. You smirked at your reflection, feeling so confident in yourself.

You put a long dressing gown on, even if you wanted to seduce Alastor you needed to be patient. He had taught you that, make the prey feel at ease before attacking. You let your hair down, they were getting so long but you didn’t wish to cut it. You winked at yourself before grinding in embarrassment. Come on girl, be confident !

You walked downstairs, trying to keep yourself warm, it was still winter. You couldn’t wait for spring. You went into the living room where Alastor was reading his notes, mostly for his next broadcast. You smiled sweetly, he was still the same boy who wanted to be heard. You sat on an armchair next to the sofa.

“ Well my dear, why the makeup?” he asked with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at you.

“ I was just feeling like it. It's a new product, do you like it?”

“ It looks perfect on you. Are you cold? I’m going to bring wood for the fire.” he stood up and kissed you on the lips before taking an ax and leaving the house.

You waited, sitting comfortably on your arm chair before Alastor came back with woods, already litting up a fire. He sat on the sofa, the closest he could from you and smiled.

“ Now, dearest. What do you want to talk about? You really seem excited, I wonder why…”

“ Well, we are going to talk about our next target, right? I want to know how we will kill him.” you leaned toward him with an excited grin. His smile widened before he started talking about multiple ways of killing the pig. You listened to him, smiling softly.

“ I have information on him, he asks for women to be brought to his bedroom. I heard he would pay the parents from poor families so he could spend a night with their daughter, the youngest being 14 years old.” he said as he gave you notes where everything he had found on the pig was written.

“ What a pig.” you spat as you finished reading Alastor’s notes. “ How should we kill him?”

“ Well, in a week from now on, he will attend a big soirée. There are women dancing and singing, and most of the time he chooses one of his likings and brings her to his room. I was thinking of asking Mimzy to go there, but she doesn’t fit his tastes.” he sighed, taking off his glasses.

“ Doesn’t Mimzy know other singers or dancers?” you asked.

“ They aren’t as talented as her, they wouldn’t even be able to perform on stage.”

“ And what about me?” you bit your lips as you saw his head jerk toward you.

“ You? Dearest, this is not a stage like you are used to seeing. These women are almost naked, masked yes, but they dance to seduce men. You would have a standing ovation with your voice, but I don’t think you would want to dance like them. “ he said with a straining smile.

You tilted your head.

“ Perhaps, but Mimzy could teach me right? I might feel embarrassed to be almost naked but if I’m masked it should be okay. Furthermore, if he chooses me, it would be easier to kill him after he takes me to his chamber.”

“ Don’t. Don’t say those words.” he said with fury in his eyes.

“ Come on, Alastor. I’m the easier choice to make. Alice could grant us an entry to those soirée. You would be my manager or something like this, and I would dance and sing, I’m sure he would choose me.”

“ He would recognize you, he already saw you with Alice.”

“ I’ll wear a wig. And with the mask, I don’t think he would recognize me. This is our best option.” you crossed your arms on your chest, leaning against the chair. “ Don’t worry, he won’t lay a hand on me.”

“ As if he would even have the time to think about it.” he spat, his eyes slightly red. You bit your lips, feeling a warmth in your belly.

“ Perfect, and I think I’ll use a spirit to keep him away from me.”

“ You don’t trust me to keep you safe, dearest?”

“ Oh, I do, but I need to learn, don’t I?” you smiled while taking Alastor’s hand in yours. “ We never know what could happen on stage. And I need to be more persistent when I try to keep the link with any spirits. Unlike you, my emotions can get the best of me.” you sighed.

He kissed the back of your hand while staring at you.

“ Whatever my lady wishes.”

You smiled softly at him before taking your hand back. You held your chin in your hand, thinking about a plan to force Alastor to leave you alone to have enough time to connect with your spirit. You blushed when you heard your stomach making a noise that echoed in the silent room.

You looked at Alastor who smirked at you.

“ I’ll make something light to eat, it’s not lunch time yet, darling.” he flicked your forehead before going into the kitchen.

Perfect!

You closed your eyes, trying to calm the excitement you could feel in your body. You rooted your feet on the ground, creating that hot thread that was wrapping around your body until you couldn’t hear the noise around you.

Yes, little lady.

You couldn’t move your body, which meant Papa Lega was possessing you. You asked him to give you the same spirits as last time.

Oh, I was curious why you killed a rooster for me yesterday without asking for anything in exchange. Well, I shall invoke him.

You felt your mouth moving, speaking something you couldn’t comprehend. You opened your eyes slowly and felt the familiar warmth behind your eyes-balls. It wasn’t as painful as the first time, maybe you were getting stronger?

You closed your eyes when you heard Alastor coming back, laying your head against a pillow, making it seem like you were tired. If he happened to see your reddened eyes, he would know you were up to something.

“ Dear?”

“ I saw John, not too long ago.” you sighed, trying to contain your smile, you could feel Alastor’s body tensing immediately.

“ Is that so… What did he want?”

“ Well, he wanted me to marry me and to bear his children.” you heard a breaking noise. Did Alastor break something? You opened your eyes, and gasped as Alastor was staring at you, the mug in his hand broken, with hot chocolate falling from the broken cup. You could see his hand bleeding a little but he didn’t care. His eyes were set upon you, any kind of human emotion gone. His smile was still there, which was making the scene terrifyingly exciting.

“ What did you say?”

You stood up slowly, as if making a quick movement would trigger Alastor. You took off your dressing gown without taking your eyes off him and was satisfied as you saw a glint back in his eyes.

“ I said, the only man I would marry is you. I said I was going to be your wife and bear your children.”

You felt his body relaxed as his gaze traveled on your naked legs, your round chest and your red lips. He smirked as he approached you, clearly wanting to tug you against him. Usually you would let him, feeling Alastor’s pride at claiming you was one of the best things you liked. But today, you would make him work for it.

You held your hand in front of you, with much force you intended because Alastor wasn’t just incapable to touch you, he was almost tugged back. You bit your lips as you saw him take a couple steps back, staring at you with his eyes wide open.

“ Darling, I hope you are not doing what I think you are try to do.”

You needed to stay calm to keep your connection with the spirit that was granting this useful power.

“ I did not finish talking, Alastor.” you walked toward the plate he brought you. He had made pancakes with the hot chocolate, which was thoughtful of him as always. You took the knife while staring at Alastor, keeping your shield around you. “ I said, you were the only man for me.” you slide the blade against your legs, never cutting the skin. You knew Alastor liked the sight of blood, so you would make him adore the sight of your blood.

“ I said I would be whatever you wanted me to be.” you moved the blade near your breast, watching as Alastor was staring at you, never blinking just like a predator ready to wait for his prey to make a bad move and then devour it. “ I would be the best whore in New Orleans if you desire it. Only for you.” You put some pressure on the blade, cutting you slightly making you bleed a little. It wasn’t very pleasurable but the look in Alastor’s eyes made it worth it. “ And if he wanted to separate us, I would kill him myself.”

You only had the time to hold your hand once more in front of you, creating your shield around you as Alastor ran toward you. He punched your shield with his fist just one time, staring down at you with a manic expression.

“ Darling, drop the shield.”

“ No. Remember, you are supposed to be a gentleman. My father asked you to be.” you tilted your head as you pressed even more pressure on your breast with the blade. “ I, however, never said I would be a proper lady.”

“ Don’t play this game, dearest. You are going to lose, just like any other games we used to play when we were younger.”

“ Try me.”

You looked at him as he took a step back, his eyes becoming red, the same color as your eyes. You didn’t care, you were working with Papa Legba, he was at his most powerful when it was daytime, just like right now. You wouldn’t lose. You just needed to stay calm.

You watched as Alastor’s shadow began to move away from your soon to be husband. It was smiling creepily at you, almost mockingly. You gasped as you saw it rushed toward you. Would your shield stop a shadow? You didn’t want to lose right away. You jumped around the sofa, running toward the kitchen, already hearing Alastor behind you.

You held your hand in front of you, pushing away Alastor who was already near enough to almost catch your arms. You smiled, delighted at his face. He was breathing hard, his eyes were no longer warm chocolate but bloody red. His smile was so big you were afraid it would begin to bleed. You step back, the only thing separating you was the dinner table already set with all the cutlery.

“ Darling, light of my light, curse of my sanity. Come here.”

“ Why should I?” you grinned, tilting your head.

“ You used your shield even though I told you to never use it to separate myself from you.” he grinned, even though his gaze was menacing.

“ I would never, isn’t it just you who isn’t capable of catching me? Was that luck last time?” you grinned at him before being startled by a touch on your naked ankles. You looked down at your feet and gasped as Alastor’s shadow gave you a hideous smile, holding your ankles with its hand. “ Fuck!” You held your hand toward it, repulsing it but before you could be proud of yourself, you heard shattering noises.

Before you knew what was going on, you were pinning against the table, all the cutlery broken on the floor, you wrist pinned on the table near your head as Alastor was above you with a mocking smile.

“ You were saying?” he mocked you, tilting his head.

You forced on your wrist, trying to break free as Alastor was settling between your thighs. You could feel anger inside you, you were doing so great! You wanted to play longer. But you could feel the link with your spirit shake as your anger was taking control of you. You needed to calm down or you would lose the game completely.

“ You look beautiful like this.” he said before taking the knife from your hand. You gasped as he licked the sharp edge of the blade, still with your blood on it. You felt something cold grip your hands and when you tilted your head back, you could see Aalstor’s shadow caging your wrists, making Alastor capable of using both of his hands.

“ Two against one? You are being unfair.”

“ I never said I would play fair with you. And, you aren’t playing alone right? You have your own spirit with you. It’s not my fault if you can’t control it perfectly, dearest.” he taunted you as he slid the blade against your lingerie. He leaned toward you, inhaling your scent. “ Now that I caught you, I can do anything I want, right, dearest…”

You could feel yourself becoming light headed as you were surrounded by Alastor’s scent and warmth. You just nodded, kissing the top of his head. You squealed as you felt the blade against your naked thigh. You saw Alastor staring at your eyes, his red eyes which were shining with insanity for you. Just for you.

“ If you don’t want it, mon coeur, just call that bastard’s name. Trust me, I’ll stop.”

You bit your lips. Was he talking about John? You just nodded before sighing in bliss as you felt the blade caress your shivering skin. You didn’t know why, but when Alastor was holding the blade, you could only feel pleasure. You tilted your head back as you felt the knife cutting your lingerie from your navel to the top of your breast.

You moaned as Alastor licked the bleeding cut you made on yourself, right above your nipple. You squeezed his waist between your thighs as he bit your chest, before taking your nipple in his mouth. The blade was caressing your throat, making you tremble with need.

Gosh, were you crazy for enjoying this?

You arched your back as Alastor bit on your nipple, tugging at it between his lips.You moaned his name, bucking against his pelvis. You felt warmth in your belly and on your cheeks as you felt his harden shaft against your panty.

“ I want to carve my name on you..” he sighed against your chest as he played with the knife between his skilled fingers. “ Just carving a rune that would be ours—”

“ Do it.”

You felt him freeze before he let your nipple go and stared at you, his eyes wide. You were wondering what he was thinking. Did he think you were mad? As crazy as him? More? You smiled softly at him.

“ I want you to carve yourself in me.” you moaned.

Alastor tilted his head back, roaring with laughter and before you could ask him anything he was kissing you madly. You kissed him with all the emotions you were feeling, you felt like you were drowning, you felt like dying, you felt alive. You tried to kiss him once more as he stepped back and bringed the knife close to your chest. He was smiling like crazy as he dug the blade against your skin. You arched your back, sighing in bliss. He wasn’t cutting very deep, just enough to make you bleed.

“ You are indescriptible, my dearest. You have me under your spell, robbing me of my thoughts and my sanity.” He was breathing as hard as you as his gaze wasn’t moving from you. “ How did I deserve such a beautiful fiancée?” he kissed your chest as the first line of the A was finished.

“ You deserve me. You deserve so much..” you breathed as you felt the blade dug once more on your skin. You moaned as he kissed your neck, biting into your skin hard enough to hurt but it was so pleasurable. “ Never leave me..”

He chuckled against your neck as he stepped back, staring at your flushed face and your teary eyes. He was breathtaking. His eyes were staring at you and only you with affection, fondness, envy, obsession and oh so much insanity.

He pressed the blade on your skin to finish his letter, between your chest would be an A that would always belong to Alastor.

“ Darling, even if I were to die, I would haunt you.”

That was it.

You held your hand toward him, feeling Alastor’s shadow no longer holding you, your shield forcing Alastor to step back but before he could say anything, you grip his hair and drag him to your lips. You were kissing like he was the air you needed to breathe. You grip the collar of his shirt and ripped it off. You were finally against his naked torso.

You felt Alastor tapped your thighs, inviting you to jump, which you did immediately. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he pinned you against a wall, his tongue moving with yours in a perfected dance. You clawed at his back, decorating it with scratches from your nails.You would make him bleed just like he did. Marking him as yours.

You felt Alastor’s penis against your panty. You sighed with need before biting his lips until he was bleeding. You needed to feel him, making sure he was real, with you. He held you with one hand before taking once again the knife and cut your panty easily. You were so wet even though Alastor never touched you here.

You felt him enter you in one thrust making you scream his name in bliss, tilting your head back against the wall behind you. You were gripping at his hair, desperately to feel grounded to something.

“ I wonder how your dear friend would feel, if he heard you.” he chuckled, breathing as hard as you.

“ Wh..Who?” you asked, lightheaded. What was he talking about? He kissed you, moving his lips against yours as you moved your hips against him. You wanted to feel him even more, you needed it.

“ The one who wants to separate us.” he breathed against your lips, his red eyes settling on yours.

“ We’ll kill him.” you said as you kissed him again. You felt his member throbbed inside your walls at your words. You didn’t even know who he was talking about but you would kill anyone who would try to separate you. You gripped his hair hard, forcing him to look at your eyes as red as his. “ I’ll kill anyone who dares to try to separate us.”

You screamed in pleasure as Alastor pinned you against the table, pouding into you. You were clawing at his back as he was licking the blood for your wounds. You could feel your walls clenching around his manhood. You bite him hard on the neck, making him groan. you bit until you could feel blood seeping from your bite.

He leaned back, forcing you to let go of him. You choked as he took your necklace and held it like a leash, strangling you lightly with his own gift he has given you. You tilted your head back, grabbing at his wrist, moving your hips harder against him.

“ Mon coeur, regarde moi.”

You could feel your orgasm coming even though you couldn't breathe properly. You raised your head toward Alastor, looking at him even if he was getting blurry. He tugged you harder against him thanks to your necklace and kissed you, while he held your hand in yours, keeping his brutal pace inside you.

You felt your eyes roll backward as you came on Alastor’s cock, your walls clenching on it, eager for his seeds. Your legs were trembling against his waist, but you didn’t want to let go. If Alastor was to cum, it would be inside you, nowhere else.

You came back to yourself and watched as Alastor was breathing heavily, sweat running down his body as he stared at you, his eyes still red.

“ I’m near….”

“ Inside…” you whispered, stroking his cheeks but he shook his head.

“ Darling, not at that time of the month.”

He knew your ovulation period better than yourself. You stared at him as you felt his member throbbed. You stared at him before opening your mouth slowly, never looking away from him. You could see his pupils dilated even more, as he understood what you wanted. You said inside, it didn’t mean it has to be inside your lady part.

He moaned, resting his head against your chest, pouding into you with more vigor. You clenched your walls around him , moaning as you gripped his hair.

Alastor stepped back and you hurryingly kneeled in front of you, before taking his penis into your mouth and before you knew it your mouth was filled with his cum. You swallowed every drop, staring at Alastor who was gripping your hair, hissing in pleasure. You closed your eyes when you felt his fingers through your hair, making you relax.

When everything was swallowed, you stood up and smiled. You felt Alastor lips on your forehead before being carried you in your bedroom and settled on the bed you were going to share with Alastor.

“ Do you need anything?”

“ Just you, come here.”

Alastor laid on the bed and you climbed on him, laying on his naked body. You were kicking your feet in the air, softly, while looking at his face. You smiled at his relaxed expression but squealed when you felt hands on your body.

You turned your head and saw the shadow massaging your back. You smiled before looking at Alastor.

“ It can be useful.” you kissed him softly, multiple times and of course Alastor was kissing you back each time. You touched the A on between your breasts, it wasn’t deep at all, you wondered if it would even stay on your skin.

“ Now, dearest, where did you meet John?” you looked at Alastor who was looking at you. You massaged his head with your hands, sometimes sliding your nails through his hair.

“ He was in the woods, where we killed your father…Besides, was it you who put a dead deer instead of your father?” you tilted your head. “ Where is your father?”

“ Underneath the deer, dearest. I dug a hole, buried my father, then I killed a deer and put it on top of him. Nobody would dig again after finding something. When you find a treasure, it’s rare that you keep digging after that, right?” he stroked your back once his shadow left your body.

“ So, you are saying… Is he really there?”

“ And he will always be.” he smirked.

You laughed, nuzzling against Alastor. He was … mind blowing. And he was yours. You put your chin on your hands which were staying on top of Alastor’s chest.

“ So, now, we just have another big pig to kill.”

“ It’s going to be different. My father was a soldier, he was strong and knew how to fight. Our new target doesn’t know how to fight but he is ridiculously fat, we’ll have to be careful.”

“ I’ll sing, dance and make him choose me, then you’ll come for me and we will kill him both of us. “ you gleed. Even if you would have to learn from Mimzy, you could always use what she would teach you. You weren’t very close with the woman but Alastor said she was useful and knew how to dance and sing so why not give it a try ?

“ I might have to tear off his eyes. He doesn’t deserve them, he shouldn’t even see you dance or sing.” he said with a dark glint in his red eyes.

You giggled as you sat on his pelvis.

“ This is my final signature ! Trust me, I’ll dance for you, even if one hundred people were to watch me, it would mean nothing to me if you weren’t watching me.” You grinded against his penis which was already beginning to harden.” As for John, we’ll take care of him when time comes.” you smiled wickedly without being aware of it, your eyes still red.

You leaned toward Alastor, kissing him as he grinded himself against you. As you both lost yourself to your pleasure you weren’t even aware of both your shadows smiling horrifyingly at you.

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ghouljams · 2 days

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'Til Death (Remember Me in Your Will)

Rating: Mature (Minors Do Not Interact) Words: 3.7k Tags: David "Hesh" Walker/F!Reader, Sugar Daddy au, Dom/sub undertones, flirting Summary: You start dating Hesh as a way to supliment your income. It's not like you've never sugared before, you know how to play this game. It's just too bad Hesh seems to have his own ideas about what this relationship is. Next Chapter > ao3

You’ve always been smart. You don’t know if you’ve always been pretty, but you try not to be too harsh on your younger self. You also have bills to pay. You’re fortunate enough to be doing what you love, working a job you’re passionate about, and getting paid shit all for it. Luckily you’re not the one paying your bills. You have sugar daddies for that.

Like you said, pretty, and smart enough not to rely on one stream of cash. You have a couple men you sugar for, all old enough to make sure they know you’re not looking for love, and with enough experience to get you off at the end of the night. It’s a good situation, everyone gets what they want, and you don’t worry about your job paying you barely above minimum wage. When one man drops you, you hit up your favorite sites for another. Which is how you got here, staring at Hesh with a cup of coffee held tight between your hands and a hangover that throbs like a lobotomy.

What you don’t know is how he got in, but you’re more focused on his offer than anything else. Drop the other men you sugar for to be his exclusively, and he’ll double every dollar they pay you monthly. You’re not greedy by any stretch of the word, but your mouth waters at the proposal. That’s a lot of money he’s laying on the table.

“And what about sex?” You ask him. It’s been months of dating him, and Hesh still hasn’t touched you. In fact the smoldering tension between you has made all your other relationships feel cold. Forcing you to rely on your toys after sex these days when your other daddies fail to perform. That doesn’t mean you want to cut it off cold turkey. You can’t, not when he still makes you throb eagerly even with the hangover migraine. If he doesn’t want you, there’s no deal.

There’s something steely in Hesh’s eyes when he leans forward, his elbows settling on his knees. His smile is wicked, predatory, it makes goosebumps prickle over your skin. Your blood runs hot, and follows his eyes as they drop to stare between your legs.

“Baby,” He purrs, “I’ll fuck you over this table right now, all you gotta do is say yes to me.”

(six months ago)

You check your makeup in your compact mirror. Not your favorite, but you find the men you date appreciate the femininity of it. There’s something terribly alluring about swiping your pinky over the corners of your lips with a compact mirror in hand, and you don’t get that sort of sex-out-of-the-bag flavor with your phone camera. You really need all the cards you can get tonight too. You’ve got a date with a new man, a new sugar daddy. You don’t usually go for them when they’re this close in age to you, but he seemed nice, and paid in advance(no strings attached), so you’re taking the chance on him. He offered to pick you up, but… you’re not about to get trapped in a car with a man you don’t know. It’s better having a quick escape route if the date goes south.

You snap your compact shut and tuck it neatly back into your purse when you spot your date. He hands his keys to the restaurant’s valet, and offers you a smile. He’s wearing a suit, you expected as much with the caliber of restaurant he suggested, but it’s nice being dressed up for. You hold your hand out in greeting as his long strides carry him close. You’re pleasantly surprised when his fingers grip yours and raise your hand to his lips. He just grazes your knuckles, his eyes heavy on yours as he kisses your hand. They’re green, you note. Not just his eyes either, his suit too. It’s so dark you’d mistaken it as black, but it’s green, and it makes his eyes positively electric looking.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” He smiles, dropping his hold on your hand and slipping his around your back as you turn to walk into the restaurant.

“I just got here,” A white lie, you got here with ten minutes to spare, never early or late for the men you date. Your date hums, his thumb rubbing against the small of your back, right where the zipper of your dress ends. His hand splays wide, his pinky grazing the swell of your ass. It sends a little shiver through you, the touch quickly removed as your date gives his name to the host.

“Walker.” He voice, sure and even, louder than the intimate softness of his voice when he’d greeted you, makes something warm slither down your spine.

“David Walker,” you feel the name over your tongue, adding the last name to the one he’d had on his profile. You feel the way his attention slips back to you heavily, it may as well be another hand with the warmth that it draws over you.

“My friends call me Hesh,” He sounds proud, but not like he’s puffing out his chest. There’s no bragging to the nickname, just the simple exchange of information.

He settles his hand on your back again when the host leads you to your table. The firm pressure not pushing you, not hurrying you, but steadying you. You wonder if he doubts your ability to walk in the heels you picked, or if he’s simply the touchy sort. You suppose you’ll figure it out soon enough. He pulls your chair out like a gentleman, helps you scoot in to the table, and takes his seat across from you without a wasted movement. You’ve never met a man that seemed so immediately comfortable in his own skin.

You suppose that comes with the territory. The men that pay you, pay you for a reason. You’re arm candy, or a kink, or an easy lay that’s a step better than a prostitute for men too important to “date down”. You know all sorts of men, but Hesh… Hesh seems like he could find a partner easily. Maybe it’s a time issue. You’ve only dealt with some of those. The type of man that doesn’t have the time in his life for dating. You slot the possibility into your mental file for Hesh, and settle your elbows on the table, leaning against them with a smile.

“So,” You draw the word out, give him time to eye the way your breasts push together against the low cut of your dress, “how was your day?”

It’s a simple question, one that never feels out of place, but busy men will always talk about their work. Hesh’s eyes drag over you, flicking to meet yours from their brief rest on your chest. He smiles, taking the menu set in front of him to look over as he speaks.

“I’m in the military if that’s what you’re askin’.” You feel yourself falter a little, regaining your composure, your smile, when he glances up at you.

“You must be busy,” You try, keeping your tone interested but light. You dislike intelligent men, the ones that can see through you, see through your questions, it makes it harder to play the game when both sides know the rules. But a date is a date.

“Hard to date with deployment looming,” He admits, or perhaps supplies, helping you build your mental catalog for him. You nod, you can see that. It would certainly make it hard to keep someone around without an incentive, hence the use of a sugar baby. Ah, got it. You file him neatly into the correct box and reach for your water glass.

“I can imagine,” You raise a brow, taking a sip, busy men like talking. Busy men tell you about themselves, what they can do for you, what you should do for them, how busy they are and how little time they have for you, as if you’re meant to be grateful for every second they allow you.

Hesh waits. He sits patiently, watching you with interest as you swipe your thumb over the lipstick stain you’ve left on the rim of the glass. He’s quiet, observant. Unnerving. Busy men talk, and Hesh isn’t talking. He’s watching, taking you in like he has all the time in the world. He sets his menu down and laces his fingers together on the table. You wish you couldn’t feel the hesitance in your fingers as you take another sip of your water, delaying the inevitable.

“Do I make you nervous,” He asks after your third sip. There’s a keen evenness to his tone, low and deep enough to shiver goosebumps over your skin. You set your water down and plaster on a smile that feels as fake as you’re sure it must look.

“Of course not.”

“You done this before sweetheart?”

“Sugar?” You can feel Hesh’s hum, the warmth of it spreads through your chest, his eyes soft and his smile inquisitive. “Once or twice.” You lie.

“Once or twice,” He turns the words back to you. An interrogation technique you often employ during these sorts of things. It works though. You bite down the need to correct him, to tell him maybe it’s more than just once or twice.

“It’s hard to pay the bills with just my work.” You explain, though you’re not sure why. Something in your stomach flutters to explain yourself to this man, the desire shakes itself through your bones. He reaches for his own water glass, draws the moment out as you watch his Adam's apple bob with the motion of swallowing. You've done this a good dozen times, but no one has put you on your toes as quickly as Hesh has. You take the moment to give him a once over. There's a slight shadow over his jaw, we'll groomed stubble that feeds its way into close cropped brown hair. Young-ish, with an age to his eyes that makes you wonder what he's been through, what he's seen. He's just at what you would call “acceptably older” if you were actually dating him, but he still wears his youth in the gleam of his smile. He watches you like a hawk, and you in turn watch him like a rabbit.

“Non-profit, right?” Hesh confirms, and you nod, before quickly giving a verbal affirmative. Verbal answers are more confident, and you've done this too many times to be losing your confidence now. Hesh is outside of your normal routine, but a sugar daddy is a sugar daddy, and at the end of the day they all want one thing. A pretty thing on their arm. They don't care about what you do or who you are, as long as you go home with them at the end of the night. “Do you enjoy it?”

The question takes you off guard. Or, not the question itself, you've heard that a hundred times at least, it's the genuine interest disguised behind an impassive smile. You blink at him.

“I-” you don't give details about your work, they don't want details, you give the necessary ‘yes’ and move on to talking about him or playing footsie under the table, “I do it’s-”

Your waiter stops beside the table, and you feel Hesh's attention leave you like a weight falling off your chest. He speaks with conviction, orders wine for the both of you, and where you usually feel as though that sort of move is right out of a “how to show women you’re the boss 101” handbook, on him it feels natural. He’s used to commanding attention, to giving orders. No wasted breath, no wasted words. Hesh orders and you wonder if he’ll do the same for your meal.

“What did you say you did in the military?” You ask when the waiter leaves, and Hesh’s eyes feel all the heavier on you for your interest.

“We were talking about you,” He corrects. The way he sits and looks at you show a man that holds not just himself to high standards, but everyone else as well. The weight of his full attention is crushing now that you’ve felt it leave you, and yet it sparks something in you. A desire to please. A desire to live up to those expectations.

He’s here for you, you don’t want to disappoint him.

You’ve never had a conversation with a man who makes you feel so aware of yourself. You can feel the brush of fabric against your skin like a touch, and each breath you take seems to tease you as your dress pulls over your chest. And his eyes… He touches every inch of exposed skin he can with them, drawing warmth over you until you’re positively alight with want. You have to excuse yourself to the restroom. He stands with you, old school manners you’ve only seen in movies, and offers a hand to help you around the table. You think you feel the brush of his fingers over your hip, his touch burning through you even when you must have imagined it.

You fix your makeup in the bathroom mirror, attempt to clean up some of the mess you’re making in your panties. God. It’s been so long since you had a date that stoked the fire low in your stomach, a man that looked at you like something to be desired not just a sure thing. When’s the last time your date seemed so interested in you, asked questions to further your answers, brought up topics that related to something you’d mentioned and not just something he could brag about? When’s the last time you had a good date with a hot guy and weren’t worried about whether it would be worth your time?

God have you really not thought about the money this whole time? You’d been so swept up in the way Hesh spoke to you, the way he looked at you, that you couldn’t think of anything else. Even now you can’t help thinking of the way he’d purred, “Anythin’ you want,” when you’d asked what to order. The memory of his voice makes you press your thighs together. You want to know what he’d say to you without the filter of public decency. You want to know how he’d touch you behind closed doors.

He stands again when you make your way back to the table, waits for you to sit before taking his seat. You notice he’s barely touched his food since you left, only picking up his knife and fork when you do. You slot “slow eater” into your folder on him. It doesn’t matter you suppose, he sips his wine, always pours another swallow for you when you run low, and yet he seems to finish with you. His food is gone just a bite after yours is, and he leans against the table as the waiter whisks your plates away. Like he’s waiting for something.

It’s easy to slide your foot against his calf, easy to see the heat that burns in his eyes. You’re careful of your heel, but you’re well practiced in this game. He wants you, you know he wants you. That’s how these things work, pick a pretty girl off the site and take her home at the end. You get first right of refusal and some extra cash in your pocket, he gets to boast about the pretty thing he’s screwing.

“You hopin’ for something sweetheart?” Hesh catches your ankle under the table, firm fingers stopping you from trailing past his knee. His tone is casual, playful, his grip is not. “Gotta use your words like a big girl.”

“I’m hoping we can get the check,” You purr. Your dates usually rush for it, signal the waiter as quickly as they can to shuffle you into the back seat of their car, or the nearby hotel. You don’t think you’ve had a date ever end at dinner, the same way you’re sure you’ve never had a dinner last quite as long as this.

“We?” Hesh smiles, his thumb rubs your ankle, the friction making you shiver, “You offerin’ to split the bill little one?”

“Of course not Daddy,” the title falls from your lips with an invitation to touch further. You try not to stretch too obviously into his grip, feel the slip of your skirt as his fingers push up over your calf like a curtain drawing the evening to an end, “Just thought you might like to have dessert elsewhere.”

Hesh’s hand is warm and appreciative as it strokes your leg. You feel the drag of calluses, rough palms skating over your soft skin, and wonder how those thick fingers will feel once they’re inside you. Men like him… they like when you’re a little bold, they like knowing that you’re not too shy to avoid falling into bed on the first date. You’ve honed your edge against the predictability of the men you date, and you know you’re right by the way he catches the waiter’s eye and taps his fingers against the table.

You settle into the warm feeling of victory, and the knowledge that you’ve snagged another source of income. Not to mention the added benefit of sex. Hesh touches you with an idle sort of intimacy that makes heat throb between your legs, he touches you like it’s his right to, like he holds command over the how and when of it. You don’t think he’s the sort of man people often say ‘no’ to.

He drags his fingers over your shin, settling your foot against his knee as he takes his hand from under the table to take the check. It’s a bit of a stretch, the burn in your hamstring of keeping yourself looking presentably seated while still abiding by his placement is a wonderful precursor for the night ahead. You keep your eyes on him as he pays with barely a glance at the bill as he hands the waiter his card. The whisper of wealth. No, you don’t think people say ‘no’ to Hesh often. If ever.

Hesh slips his card back into his wallet as he stands, and moves around the table to offer you his hand. You don’t need it, but you like the way his fingers curl around yours, the firm grip he holds you with as you stand. You brush your hands over your skirt, letting the hem fall back into place. You don’t miss the way Hesh’s eyes follow the sway of your chest as you lean forward. Men are all alike, perfectly predictable.

You press close to his side, letting him feel the soft curves of your body as he leads you out of the restaurant. He hands the valet his ticket and you make a mental note to call one of your friends to come grab your car. Although you suppose you don’t have to spend the night, you can uber back here in an hour or so and grab it. The restaurant staff know you well enough they can let you park here for a bit.

“Are we going back to yours or finding a hotel?” You can’t say you aren’t interested in seeing where he lives, but a hotel is closer, and you’re ready to go.

“Neither,” Hesh hums, “you’re going home.”

He’s not- he’s not interested? Your confusion must read too clearly on your face because Hesh’s hand finds your waist and drags you close. You tip your head to avoid bumping your nose against him and he takes the motion as permission to kiss you. His lips searing yours as his hand squeezes the meat of your hip. You’re quick to wrap your arms around his shoulders, quick to press against the length of him, your chest to his, your hips to his. You can feel the thick twitch of his cock where you push yourself against it. (Fuck is that all him?) He’s like a furnace, radiating warm want that soaks into your skin. The night air feels freezing on your exposed skin

Hesh’s lips part, his breath a sigh as his head tips. The soft push of his lips against yours is exceedingly gentle for the hunger you can taste behind it. It shivers down your spine, aches in the creek of Hesh’s grip on your hips, a want that you can’t quantify. Your lips slide over his, his stubble tickling you a little as you part and kiss, part and kiss, again and again.

He presses, forces you to lean back, arching into him. You’re reliant on him to keep you standing, trusting your balance to a man you barely know. It makes your skin prickle, makes you want. You wiggle your hips, try to entice him to give you what you know he’s looking for, even slip your tongue in the part of his lips. His fingers tighten until you squeak with pain and pull away from the kiss.

He pulls you up, lets you go to take his keys from the valet. You can still feel his spit slicking your top lip, the tingle of his stubble against your bottom. You balk, the dark fabric of his suit does enough to hide the outline of his cock in the low light but you know what you felt. How can he just leave you like this?

“You’re serious.” You realize, and Hesh pauses with his hand on the top of his car.

“I am,” No wasted words. You hesitate, worry your lip between your teeth before you can stop yourself. Hesh waits you out, patient as a saint.

“But I thought-” You try to blink through your confusion, “I thought this went well.”

“It did,” Hesh smiles and it isn’t patronizing or pitying, but there’s something in it that doesn’t feel entirely friendly, “I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all sweetheart.”

You frown. The first genuine expression you’ve given him all night and it’s a furrowed brow. You fix your face before you lose the next date to your pouting. Hesh’s brows are heavy, his eyes lidding as he watches you. There is something dark and unreadable in the way he looks at you, something heady that makes you dumb. The chill rushes to you when he looks away, climbs into his car, and leaves.

#cod x reader #x reader #david walker #david hesh walker #david hesh walker x reader #hesh walker #hesh walker x reader #hesh cod #cod hesh #hesh x reader #sugar daddy!Hesh #f!reader

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joelalorian · 15 hours

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Petals of Affection - Part I

A floral mystery in three parts featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

I know enough about flowers to fill a thimble. Really, all I know is how to kill them, accidentally or otherwise. Everything to do with the flowers in this story is courtesy of Google, so please suspend disbelief at how some of these could exist in Wyoming, yada yada. I just picked ones that fit the narrative.

Word count: 4,284

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, humor, cursing, gratuitous use of poor floral descriptions, scheming, clueless reader, fluff, eventual smut, alcohol, food, coffee, terms of endearment. POV flops around like a fish outta water. Reader has no physical description aside from having hair that gets frizzy with humidity and often dirt-covered hands, because greenhouses, ya know? No use of y/n, none whatsoever.

Dividers courtesy of the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Gif chosen because of the wonderful floral wallpaper ;)

Hope you enjoy!

Part II | Part III | Masterlist

An oasis in a world rife with death and devastation, you clung to the life the reinforced walls of Jackson offered. After years of struggling to survive each new day, you felt like you could finally take a deep breath. Everyone was no nice and welcoming, some more than others, and you slipped right into the fabric of the small community.

Within a month of your arrival, Maria assigned you to the greenhouses, having picked up on your knowledge and love of plants – particularly flowers. You must have bored her to death one too many times regaling the language of flowers over a bottle or two of aged wine while seated together on her couch. The two of you became fast friends, the kind that felt like you’ve known each other forever. It was exactly what you needed, longed for even, after long bouts of solitude.

Being close to Maria meant you visited their house often. And equally often, you would find Joel Miller there, deep in conversation with his brother about one matter or another. His eyes always flashed when you entered the house, and he’d stop mid-sentence to greet you with an effortless, “Howdy darlin’” as you followed Maria to the kitchen.

Soon enough, the soft greetings turned into more substantial conversation as the four of you dined together or gathered at Maria and Tommy’s for game night, playing whatever new board game the men found while on patrol. Laughter and friendly arguments filled the air on those nights, making it easier than ever to forget about the carnage and desolation beyond the walls.

Tonight, the four of you played Scrabble – it took Tommy finding three sets of the game to get all the letter tiles required to actually play – and your belly hurt from how hard you laughed whenever Maria challenged Joel on a word. He was better at the game than you would have thought – his reserved nature and southern twang not giving away how well-read he was.

“Denied! Fartlek is not a word, Joel. There’s no way!” Maria insisted, not willing to give into Joel’s apparent triple word score on the word that would have him take the lead in total score.

“Is to a word,” Joel returned stubbornly, refusing to remove the letters from the board. “Look it up if ya don’t believe me. It’s in the fuckin’ Oxford dictionary.”

“Oh, it is, is it? Is it in the Cambridge one, too? What does it mean then?” Maria wasn’t backing down, ripping a battered dictionary right out of Tommy’s hands to see for herself.

“Hey! I was looking it up,” Tommy yelped, shooting a wink at you as you both watched the drama unfold.

Ignoring his brother, Joel rattled off something about the word being related to running. At least, that’s what you thought he said, you were too busy fighting back tears from laughing too hard. Sure enough, he was right.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Maria grumbled, flopping back into the couch cushions. “It’s a training technique for running. Screw you, Miller.”

Unsurprisingly, the game ended shortly thereafter with Joel the victor by a healthy margin. After helping to clean up, you offered appreciation and hugs to Maria and Tommy for a delightful evening. “Next time, let’s play something less…”

“Cerebral?” Maria supplied with a frown.

“Annoying?” Tommy interjected with a grin.

Joel stayed quiet, a half-smile gracing his lips as he waited for you to finish your sentence.

“Just something that doesn’t require a dictionary or cause so much arguing,” you laughed. Waving between Joel and Maria, you added, “You two can never agree on anything! See you all tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you home, darlin’,” Joel said, rushing to put his jacket and boots on and catch up with you. When you opened your mouth to let him know you’d be fine on your own, he added, “Gotta check in on Ellie anyway.”

Maria and Tommy shared a look as Joel opened the door to usher you through. You caught them and frowned, feeling like you weren’t in on a joke or something.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the last remnants of winter’s snowy wrath crunching beneath your boots the only sound. You looked up at the night sky as you walked, gasping at the flash of colors in the otherwise darkened sky. Joel stopped, following your gaze upwards as you both stood mouths agape.

“That’s the northern lights, right? I’ve never seen it before.”

“Mmhmm. Aurora borealis. Pretty amazin’.”

“Beautiful,” you sighed, breath a cloud billowing in the crisp air, eyes soaking in every bit of the cosmic phenomenon.

You didn’t realize it staring up at the sky as you were, but Joel’s umber eyes were fixed on you when he replied, “Sure is.”

You stayed like, shoulders gently bumping as you both enjoyed nature’s show, until the temperature dropped further and you shivered. An awed smile remained plastered on your face the rest of the walk to your house, one Joel would never forget.

The dichotomy of the humid, warm air within the greenhouses and the chilled breeze outside confused your body, but you loved it. Sure, the humidity did nothing good for your hair, leaving it a frizzy mass around your head sometimes, but the dewy feeling on your skin always reminded you of childhood summers spent at the beach.

Tending to the various fruit and vegetable plants all morning, in what you deemed Greenhouse 1, you saved your favorite duties – the ones associated with flowers – for the afternoon. While you enjoyed caring for all the plants, you loved tending to the flowers, humming as you pruned and replanted clippings, expanding your every growing collection. If the patrol teams kept bringing you seeds and specimen back, you’d need yet another greenhouse. The council would just love that.

The creak of the door to Greenhouse Two drew your attention shortly after you switched gears and you stood, brushing the dirt from your jeans before glancing up. Your face shifted into a soft smile at the sight of Joel standing hesitantly just inside the door.

“Hey Joel, what did you bring me today?” You knew he had patrol duty and likely found some interesting plant during his travels. “Better not be western baneberry again. You know how poisonous those berries are!”

Stepping forward, Joel chuckled as you teased him. “I know now! It was one time and you’ll never let me live it down, will ya?” Thrusting his hand toward you, he dropped a small pile of seeds onto your dirt-covered palm. “Not sure what these are, but we found down by the ol’ mill. Might be something cool.”

“Might be,” you hummed, poking the seeds a little. Hopefully the cold didn’t get to them. You grabbed the nearest pot, quickly filled it with soil and sprinkled the seeds in as you tilled the top few inches. “We’ll find out soon enough what kind of treasure these are.”

Leaning back against a messy tabletop, hands on hips, Joel watched you tend to the new addition before finding the perfect place for the pot, nestled on a table amongst other seedlings. “Do you –”

Joel’s mouth snapped shut as the greenhouse door banged open next to him, a boisterous voice carrying into the warm space before its body did.

“Tangerine! Check out what I found today,” Alex, another member of the patrol team, called as he strolled right past Joel without acknowledgement. Younger and not as broad as Joel, the man held a growing affection for you, which irked the older man.

“Alex,” you sighed playfully. He was cute in a youthful, untrained puppy kind of way and had an annoying habit of calling you nicknames that made no sense. “I told you to stop calling me that. We don’t even have tangerines here.”

Snickering under his breath, Joel observed the younger man falling all over himself to impress you. Why you indulged the idiot, he would never understand.

Alex waved you off. “You love it, and you know it. Lookit here,” he said, thrusting his hand toward you. Slight though he was, Alex had large hands, and in his right one were three clusters of small, bell-shaped blooms with a purple hue.

“Prairie bluebell! Where did you find these?” Your face lit up as you took the blooms in a gentle grasp, admiring them for a moment before setting to work on replanting.

Alex prattled on boastfully about finding them just off a rocky path down near the river while Joel focused on watching you work. When Alex finally paused for breath, you chimed in with some flower lore.

“Did you know that bluebells are often called fairy flowers? It is said that the bluebells are rung to summon fairies to a meeting. But, since fairies aren’t always good, the flowers could be enchanted leaving anyone who wanders into a ring of bluebells lost in fairy woods.”

Joel snorted at the idea of Alex becoming lost in fairy woods, never to be found again. If only they could be so lucky, he thought. He knew there was more you could share about the symbolism of the delicate flowers, but it would be lost on someone like Alex.

Rolling his eyes, Joel was about to take his leave when Alex blurted, “Would you join me for dinner tonight? I heard they just got in some fresh venison.”

Absorbed in your work, you hardly heard him, and Alex repeated himself, a hint of annoyance in his tone. Joel froze, holding his breath in anticipation of your answer. Please say no, he thought. You could do so much better than this moron.

Brow furrowed, you stared at Alex, considering your response. “Like a date?”

The younger man nodded eagerly, a broad smile spreading across his lips. You glanced at Joel, not certain what you were hoping to see, and found him staring back, stone faced, arms crossed in front of his chest tightly. Giving you nothing to work with, your shoulders slumped, resigned. “Sure, I guess.”

Not the most enthusiastic answer, but you couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date and Alex was the only one asking.

You didn’t even realize Joel moved until the door closed heavily behind his retreating form.

The breeze carried a sense of change as you strolled home from your shift in the greenhouse. The weather was finally warming, ever so slightly, as Mother Nature loosened her grip on winter, letting spring slowly creep in.

Mixed emotions tumbled through your mind as your feet carried you through the streets of Jackson by muscle memory alone. Alex asking you to dinner caught you off guard – you had a feeling he was interested, but he never made any sort of bold move. The fact he finally did while Joel was standing right there threw you off balance.

Did you even like this guy?

Sure, Alex was attractive, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. But his personality made him seem more like a golden retriever, goofy and too eager to impress, than someone you could fall for. It made you wonder if there was any substance lurking under the surface.

In the absence of any other offers, did it even matter?

No, you guessed it really didn’t.

These thoughts carried you right to your front steps and you stopped, taken by the presence of something unusual waiting in front of your door.

A solitary stalk with a gorgeous jasmine bloom, a slip of paper wrapped around the stem held in place by nondescript string.

Picking it up, you held the flower to your nose, breathing in the rich, sensual aroma. The scent brightened your mood, and you slipped the scrap of paper from beneath the string. You whispered the words printed in a block scrawl you didn’t recognize.

Joyful moments shared; the answer lies in the air.

What did it mean?

Glancing around, you searched the street and neighboring homes for a sign of who might have left the flower and note for you. The only people in sight were your elderly neighbors, married couples, and the kids from a few houses down. None of them would have left you such a gift.

Who in the world left this for you?

Would Alex do something romantic like this? You doubted it, but what else did you have to go on?

Once inside, you trimmed the stem and put the flower in a container on the counter, placing the scrap of paper in front of it.

You gazed at the flower, mulling over the riddle before you. The note indicated that you’ve shared moments with whomever left the flower. Jasmine itself symbolized love and romance. You made friends with a lot of people since you came to town – too many shared experiences and moments to choose from.

Twenty minutes and too much thinking in circles, you were no closer to understanding the clues and teetering on the verge of being late for your date. You needed more data before hazarding any reasonable guesses.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” Tommy questioned. Sitting at the bar watching his brother pining over you was not his idea of a fun Friday night. “You should just bite the bullet and ask her out already.”

Joel shook his head. He had no explanation for why he hadn’t made a move yet. For months now, he knew he liked you as more than friends, pined over you in silence, yet he never took the next step. Joel Miller was not a coward, but his fear of losing one of the few friends he had left in the world had him frozen in place, afraid to make any moves. He couldn’t take that chance. Finally putting words to the feelings roiling inside him, he told his brother as much.

“I get it, brother. I do,” Tommy replied, thumping Joel on the back in commiseration. “But can you really say you’re ok watchin’ her go on dates with asshats like Alex? ‘Cause that’s gonna keep happenin’ unless you do something about it. And I don’t mean killin’ the dude.”

Joel shook his head. Hunched over the bar, shooting surreptitious glances your way, he had to admit Tommy was right. He could think of few things worse than watching you go on a date with someone other than him, especially with dipshits like that guy.

“I ain’t killin’ anyone, but I do have a plan. Already put it in motion, in fact.” Picking at a scratch in the bar, Joel shifted his gaze from you to Tommy. “I might need your help with some of it. Maria’s too.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me all about this grand plan then.”

Unsurprisingly, the date was a dud.

Alex had the personality of a goldfish rather than a golden retriever, and the two of you had nothing in common. He also interrupted you mid-sentence no less than three times – once could be considered a mistake, but three times was an unforgiveable offense as far as you were concerned. You stopped making an effort about halfway through dinner and wished for a hole to open up beneath your seat and swallow you whole.

Worst of all, he acted like an entitled dickhead when you refused dessert, thanked him for the date, and let him know there wouldn’t be a second one. He’s lucky you didn’t knee him in the nuts before walking away from the table.

How unfortunate that dating sucked nearly as much now as it did before the fucking apocalypse. It was unfair, really. At what point did being a woman stop sucking?

Lamenting your lack of success in the relationship department, you trudged home. You wondered what Joel was up to – you caught a glimpse of him at the bar with Tommy earlier and he didn’t look happy, but you didn’t see him when you left. Part of you longed to visit him, maybe have a drink and sit on his porch gazing at the stars together like you’ve done before. But it was already late, and you didn’t want to bother him. Hell, he could have a woman over already, which would be mortifying if you interrupted. The thought sank unpleasantly in your mind until you got to your house and pushed it away.

A little gift waited for you on the porch, just like earlier. An orchid this time. Symbol of love, thoughtfulness, and charm. Your index finger traced the delicate petals with the gentlest touch as a smile slowly crept its way across your lips.

Another note was attached, and you plucked it from beneath the same kind of string, eyes devouring the words.

Overwhelmed by your grace, the answer hides in this place.

The flower wasn’t completely cold, so it had to have been left recently. Brow furrowed; you glanced around but there was no one in sight. You wracked your brain trying to figure out the identity of your secret admirer, but you were at a loss. Prior to dinner, you briefly thought Alex was the culprit, but now it was obvious he didn’t have a romantic bone in his lanky body.

You heart knew who it longed for it to be, but you refused to consider it. He didn’t want you that way, of that you were certain.

Giving the orchid the same treatment as the jasmine earlier, you tucked the stem into the same container and placed it on the coffee table so you could admire the blossoms while you fell asleep on the couch. After all, why bother with a big bed without someone to share it with?

Saturdays were your day off, but the sun shining through the curtains you forgot to close the night before ruined your plans of sleeping in. Grumbling at the unnecessary brightness, you stumbled into the kitchen desperate for coffee. The coffee tin felt light in your hand when you reached for it and, sure enough, you saw nothing but a tiny amount of powdery remains of coffee beans at the bottom.

God dammit. Barely eight o’clock in the morning and this day already had two strikes against it. It wasn’t looking good so far.

Not caring that you still wore the clothes from your date the night before, you quickly brushed your teeth and finger-combed your hair into submission before leaving the house. Pausing at the door for a moment, you debated whose house to go to. Joel always had coffee – it was his drug of choice – but Maria and Tommy were closer.

Not awake enough for decision-making, you let your feet carry you in whichever direction they wanted… which was exactly three feet onto the porch before they stopped. Another flower with a note sat waiting for you.

Your mood brightened considerably at the sight of the double-flowered, funnel-shaped Eustoma, petals a pale purple. The rose-like flowers weren’t native to Wyoming, but you got lucky months ago when someone found a seed packet. You were shocked the seeds were still viable. Did someone pluck it from the greenhouse? You gave away a few cuttings not that long ago, but unless they were replanted, there’s no way they’d last this long. It had to be from the greenhouse. Where the hell else would they get one?

The addiction-like need for coffee temporarily forgotten, you rubbed the Eustoma gently against your nose, confirming the lack of scent when you breathed in and wondered what the little note would say this time.

Endless thoughts of you, the answer is in the view.

Stepping back into the house, you added the flower with the others, mulling over the symbolism of the Eustoma. Whoever left it must be trying to tell you that they appreciate and admire you. But when you add it with the others, what did it all mean?

As good as you were with flowers, you were awful at solving mysteries. A detective you were not. Besides, it was still too early for this kind of puzzle.

The desire for coffee returned and you left the flower quandary behind as you made your way to Joel’s.

Joel didn’t expect to see you today, his day looking up when he opened the door to find you on his doorstep. His heart immediately sank when he noticed you wearing the same clothes from the night before, hair mussed.

“Your date must have gone well,” he said, eyes roving over your clothing, knowing his tone was less friendly than you were used to from him. “What are you doin’ here this early?”

You were clearly thrown off kilter by his remark, frowning as he stepped back to let you in.

“Wha—” you started to question him but shook your head. “I just came to see if you had any spare coffee. I ran out without realizing it.”

“Didn’t have any to offer Alex this morning? That’s a damn shame.” Joel felt the heat of your confused gaze on his back as you followed him into the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?” You sighed, staring at him with furrowed brows.

Avoiding your searching gaze, Joel poured a cup of coffee, adding the perfect amount of sugar you liked, and glowered at the cup as he handed it over. “You’re wearing the same clothes as last night. I assume you did the walk of shame this morning only to find you didn’t have any coffee.”

“It’s too early for your judgmental shit, Joel. You can be a real ass sometimes, you know that?” You turned to leave, mind trying to wrap itself around why this day was turning out so oddly. Mercury was in retrograde again, it had to be. You and Joel never spoke to each other like this. As you reached the door, not caring that you basically stole his coffee cup, you called over your shoulder, “And the date wasn’t even like that, for the record.”

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” Joel muttered as you let yourself out of his house.

“You didn’t have to be such a dick, you know.” Ellie appeared around the corner; arms crossed over her chest.

“I know. I couldn’t help it. The thought of her with that jackass just…” he sighed. “I got a little carried away, but it’s fine. The plan is still in play. Did you take care of what I asked you to?”

“You come up with some strange plans, old man. Yeah, I got it done.”

Fed up with the day and everyone in town before noon, you hid away in your house for the rest of the day. The interaction with Joel weighed on you the entire afternoon and well into the night. What was up with him? Were you being too sensitive, taking his comments personally?

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was jealous you went on a date with Alex.

Unsurprisingly, you slept poorly and woke up groggy and unfocused Sunday morning. It was going to be a long day in the greenhouse if you didn’t find some coffee to power you up. Getting ready earlier than normal, you planned to stop at Maria and Tommy’s to see if they had coffee – there was no way you were going back to Joel’s after yesterday.

Opening the door to another brisk, early spring morning, the glint of sunlight on the porch drew your eyes to yet another flower waiting for you. Four in a row now, how long would this carry on for?

One of your favorites, you picked up the stalk with six lavender blossoms, violet in hue, and breathed in the fresh, light scent, savoring the sweet undertones. Fingers caressed the downy leaves, making you feel calmer, mellower, which was exactly what you needed.

You kept sniffing the floral scent as you read the accompanying note, finding it fitting.

Lost in your scent, the answer is present.

“Tell me you have a secret admirer!”

Startled, you gasped, gaze shooting to Maria as she approached your house, two mugs of coffee in hand. You face shifted into a smile at the sight.

“I’m… um, I guess. I’m not sure?” You shrugged accepting the mug Maria held out toward you. “Thanks for this, I ran out.”

“I heard,” she replied. “Joel’s on the hunt for more, don’t worry.”

“Of course he is,” you rolled your eyes.

“Soooo…” Maria gestured to the flowers and note in your hand, seeking an explanation. “I feel like there’s a story here.”

“There is, I just don’t know what it is yet,” you admitted. Inhaling the calming scent of the lavender once again, you added, “This is the fourth one I’ve received. Each one has its own riddle. Let me show you.”

Leading the way into your house – you still had an hour before your shift started – you showed Maria the flowers and each note that accompanied them. In small print, you added what each flower symbolized to the corresponding note and numbered them in the order you received them, hoping every little detail would help you sort out the puzzle.

Maria looked over everything, smiling softly at each note. “Whoever this mystery man is, he’s quite romantic.”

“Right?”

“What do today’s flowers mean?”

“In the context of the rest of the flowers so far, love and devotion,” you replied, heat warming your cheeks.

Maria whistled softly. “Someone is down bad for you, girl. Any ideas who it could be?”

Shrugging defeatedly, you admitted, “Not a clue. The one person I’d want it to be would never do something like this.”

Maria hid a smile behind her mug as she sipped her coffee. “How can you be sure?”

tbc

#jettsflora&faunachallenge #writing challenge #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel x female reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedrostories

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buckybarnesb-tch · 2 days

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Daemon T. Yandere A-Z

(I couldn’t resist, I needed to make this, this was one of the most requested things I’ve ever had so I hope that you love it!)

A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?

•Daemon shows affection through physical touch, he always wants to be touching you in some way whether that’s with his arm around your waist, you sat across his lap (which is a near constant position for him to put you in) or possibly just as simple as holding your hand

B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?

•As bloody as physically possible!

•Daemon will protect you with everything he has and the idea of getting bloody will not deter him for a moment. You had better hope that blood doesn’t make you sick to see or smell because with how often Daemon believes (true or not) that men are flirting with his Princess, there’s going to be a lot of bloodstains on his clothes…and yours

C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?

•If you push Daemon too far he can get violent with anyone

•He would never harm you the way he harms other people, however you are in no way exempt from his rage

D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?

•If you try and keep yourself from him then yes, he will absolutely cross any limit he believes he needs to. You are Daemons wife and that means you will perform the duties of a wife as you are meant to as long as you are healthy and strong enough to do so

E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?

•Daemon is actually quite open with you about his feelings in your marital bed, which is really the only place he is willing to talk about anything personal or private

•He actually surprises you a bit with how open he is with you on your wedding night. After your third round he snuggled you to his chest to allow you a break and he began talking, ending up telling you quite a lot about himself for much longer than you expected

F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?

•Daemon would find it comical to see his cute little wife fighting back

•He will happily pin you down and fuck the fight right out of you for as long as he needs to

G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?

•Daemon does not play games in any facet of his life (unless he’s teasing assholes/idiots like Otto Hightower or Gerold Royce), certainly not in his marriage

H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?

•The worst experience you have with Daemon is when you make the mistake of spending the afternoon that he is out for a ride on Caraxes with an old friend that you hadn’t seen in a long time

•That afternoon was spent in the library getting to know each other all over again, however as he walked you back towards your rooms for the evening, you ran into your husband who did not like you in the company of another man

•Daemon, being Daemon, would not listen to reason and that night your husband took you while covered in the blood of your friend, covering you in his warm, sticky blood while his corpse laid 10 feet away from your bed with his eyes open and unseeing

•Strangely enough, Daemon was happy to comfort you from the nightmares that you suffered for months after the incident

I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?

•Daemons plan is to breed you full of as many babies as physically possible

•He plans to fill you with an entire litter of Targaryen babies which is why he spends so much time fucking your cunt as full as he possibly can

J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?

•110% he does!

•You learned on your wedding day that Daemon was a jealous man when you made the mistake of accepting the proposal to dance from a Lannister

•Growing up your mother always taught you to never turn down a request to dance but as you stood behind your husband while he was crouched over the Lion bashing his head in with a wine goblet from the Kings table, you quickly learned that your husband did not want other men to touch you in any way whatsoever

K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?

•Daemon is a sweet, loving man…to you and you alone

•No one else should or does expect that kind of treatment from Daemon. The only other people you have hope for are your children since the second you became pregnant Daemon was somehow even more protective of you

•He spends hours every day touching and rubbing your belly, talking to the babies at night in your bed after he has finished fucking you for the evening

•’I want to be sure that they know who I am when they’re born. They’ll know you, you’re their mother but should they not like me I do not know what I would do.’ It was a rare moment of vulnerability that Daemon was showing, something he only did with you.

‘Of course they will know you, my Dragon. You are their father, their protector and they will absolutely adore you!’ You assured him, not liking to see your confident, cocky husband in any kind of self doubting mind set.

‘You always know what to say to calm my nerves…I’m going to keep speaking to them though, just in case.’

L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?

•You found out about Daemons interest the day that you were told you would be marrying the Targaryen prince

•It had only just been announced that his lady wife had passed tragically in a riding accident and then suddenly your father was telling you that the Prince had all but demanded your hand in marriage and your father had no choice but to say yes (not that he would have said anything else)

M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?

•Daemon isn’t the type of person to hide who he is, what you see is what you get

•He is just as cocky, sarcastic and angry behind closed doors as he is in public when someone upsets him, the only difference is a soft side with his wife and babies where no one else can see

N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?

•If Daemon has to punish you he prefers to lock you in your chambers until you settle down, he doesn’t want to hurt you, but if he has to then you will find it impossible to sit down for a long time

O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?

•You can still do most things, but if you want to go out then you must ask him first

•Being around other men is the only big difference, Daemon doesn’t even want you around your own male family members lest they have an unhealthy obsession with his beautiful wife

P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?

•The man has zero patience and zero chill. None.

Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?

•Died: Daemon would genuinely be torn up about your death and he would have a hard time being close to the child that you brought into the world before dying on the birthing bed

•Escaped: You would never get beyond the front gate and if you did you would be corralled by an angry Blood Worm Dragon blocking your way so escape wasn’t worth the hassle

R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?

•He will never let you go however, every once in a while he will regret harming you when he lets his anger get the best of him, making up for it in his own way by bringing you gifts or taking you for an evening flight (which he knows is your favorite)

S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?

•The moment he saw you he went to the Vale and murdered his wife to ensure no one (the King) could tell him that he could not have you

•He demanded your hand right after and Viserys said he would have to wait at least a week out of respect and to not seem suspicious before he “asked your hand” despite the fact that everyone knew it was no question, you would be his one way or another and the ‘permission’ just determined whether your father needed to die first

T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?

•Daemon hates your tears and when you break down and cry, that is usually the moment he knows that he’s gone too far

•Your husband is the first person to comfort you, especially during your nightmares (that he caused) as he hates seeing you sad or scared

U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.

•Daemon would often have Caraxes eat whatever man he suspected had an interest in his wife

•He would also leave you with Caraxes when he had business to attend to, knowing Caraxes had taken a liking to you and would viciously protect you (especially when pregnant), the Dragon loving you quite a lot and enjoying the scratches you gave him when he was ordered to protect you. He had killed countless men and women for getting too close while he was on guard (whether they meant you harm or not)

V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?

•All you had to do is point and someone is dead

•Also if you want Daemon to be soft and sweet, all you need to do is come up with a ‘reason’ to cry, it was the one thing your husband genuinely could not handle seeing

W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?

•Never in any way that would have a lasting impact on you

•Locking you in your chambers wasn’t something that ‘hurt you’ and the only pain Daemon ever caused you physically was when you disobeyed him or questioned/challenged his authority in front of others, and even then it was only blistering your ass (which he would then soothe with creams that he had gotten from the maester once you had truly apologized)

X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?

•Daemon is obsessed with you, worship is the word most people would use to describe how he looks at you

•Worship actually didn’t quite capture the true feeling once you had announced your first pregnancy to him and the court, he very nearly fucked you right there in front of the King and the Court, his protective streak instantly growing x10 which no one would have thought possible until they witnessed it

Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?

•Daemon did not ‘pine’ at all

•The moment he met you he decided that you would be his and since your father was actively looking for a husband for you, he immediately took himself to the Vale and ensured the death of his lady wife Rhea Royce

•The only length of time that he waited was the allotted week that his brother ordered him to wait so that no one would think anything that happened had been Daemons doing, and during that week he had fed 3 different lords to Caraxes for daring to try and court you

Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?

•Daemon would not want to break you, he wants you to love him and eventually he does make that happen

•You did try to hold out and not fall for his charm, knowing that everyone around suspected that he had killed his wife to marry you so in a sense once you gave yourself over to the feeling of loving him you did ‘break’ in a way but who wouldn’t when they’re being worshipped and loved by a Targaryen Prince and his giant red dragon?

Daemon Targaryen Masterlist

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rush-the-stars · 2 days

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AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

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When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly.

But then he holds the food away from you.

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating.

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water.

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time.

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving.

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him.

He is rather pleased, though.

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it.

He laughs warmly, fondly.

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away.

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth.

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.”

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge.

The orange pops into your mouth.

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit.

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more.

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands.

You swallow the piece in your mouth.

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you.

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again.

You turn your face away from him. He sighs.

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.”

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.”

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.”

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.”

Stubbornly, you remain silent.

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears.

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.”

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve.

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.”

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way.

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?”

Suguru studies you for a moment.

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him.

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice.

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are.

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds.

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes.

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now.

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better.

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him.

He takes hold of you easily.

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick.

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter.

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay.

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man.

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight?

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch.

You seek friction and he denies you.

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again.

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?”

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.”

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat.

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest.

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.”

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning.

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body.

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers.

You glare up at him with glassy eyes.

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on.

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek.

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is.

You hold his gaze furiously.

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth.

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you.

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down.

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks.

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands.

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints.

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.)

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him.

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls.

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?”

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul.

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him.

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?”

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it.

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw.

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.”

Something inside of you snaps.

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you.

In an instant, you are back atop him.

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer.

He actually cries out in pain.

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist.

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have.

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt.

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him.

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again.

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared.

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest.

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance.

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him.

Not so pristine.

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him.

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.”

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.”

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.”

“Let me up,” you snap.

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks.

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more.

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard.

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you.

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.”

And for once, you don’t fight him.

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you.

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.”

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now.

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest.

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring.

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep.

***

Suguru wakes you at some point.

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing.

You whimper.

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?”

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash.

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.”

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this.

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.”

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy.

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more.

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind.

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light.

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.”

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.”

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too.

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?”

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings.

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard.

You ache.

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever.

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry.

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain.

Suguru lifts you into the bath.

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle.

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair.

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little.

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you.

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours.

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?”

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.”

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him.

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh.

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.”

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.”

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.”

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss.

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it.

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone.

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.”

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.”

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?”

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late.

The fever only worsens.

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day.

***

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you.

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began.

For once, you have shocked Suguru.

Enough that his lips part.

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant.

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds.

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve.

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit.

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?)

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed.

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp.

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind.

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—”

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him.

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together.

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.”

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers.

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously.

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought.

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face.

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again.

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you.

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask.

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin.

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin.

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.”

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.”

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting.

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough.

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse.

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.”

You curse this time.

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.”

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.”

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger.

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself.

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.”

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly.

You bite off a groan.

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.”

“Suguru—”

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you.

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?”

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child.

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.”

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration.

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?”

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so—

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving.

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns.

You force yourself to freeze, still panting.

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound.

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.”

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away.

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?” Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you?

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks.

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.”

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want.

You desire.

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast.

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—”

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob.

Your tears make him smile.

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?”

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you.

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly.

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl.

And then, “look at me.”

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless.

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.”

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable.

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry.

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?”

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching.

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.”

Without thinking, you obey him.

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief.

You cry out, clinging to him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.”

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible.

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.”

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself.

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.”

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—”

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.”

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss.

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.”

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.”

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat.

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly.

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted.

You sob.

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you.

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder.

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat.

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above.

Ice cold water pours on you.

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water.

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you.

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap.

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap.

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on.

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms.

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.”

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile.

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender.

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges.

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.”

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly.

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother.

You feel infinitely closer to him.

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can.

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even.

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks.

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?”

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest.

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.”

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him.

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now?

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his.

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again.

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep.

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth.

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner.

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.”

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again.

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place.

It’s like finally coming home.

#suguru getou x reader #getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru getou x you #getou x you #getou suguru x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #cw: omegaverse #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!

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myimaginedcorner · 3 days

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SCALES OF JUSTICE - BETA TESTERS NEEDED

Hi dear readers,

Thank you for your overwhelming trust and support. The opinions that I've collected over the past few days have finally motivated me to put aside my self-criticism and doubt, and to make the next step towards SoJ's release.

Yes, Scales of Justice is now officially in its BETA-test phase!!

If you would like to help me by being a BETA-tester for my book, please, comment under this post, send me a direct message, or message me on CoG's forum. I aim to take around 20 to 30 people, so we can have a big and productive group that nonetheless remains constructive in its feedback.

If you don't have the time or you don't want to be a tester, consider sharing this post, so it can get to as many of you as possible.

I will be working alongside the testers on improving style, grammar, and other minor details that require polishing as the month progresses. Hopefully, by the end of it we'll have an even better version of this book that will be submitted for approval to Hosted Games!

See you all very soon,

Julia xx

BOOK DETAILS:

DEMO DESCRIPTION:

Scales of Justice is a fantasy game situated in another world, far away from Earth. There are plenty of species living together in harmony, but the human race is currently split in two civilisations: the one known as Hero kingdom, which is ruled by ‘heroes’, and the one named Vannais kingdom, controled by ‘villains’. Both nations hate each other and the fight between ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ here is something that happens on a national level. The game is focused on lore, on character development and your own perception of reality: perhaps, your MC just wants to live a peaceful life... or maybe wants to save the world.

Or even rule it, if you’re into such things.

THINGS TO DO IN THIS DEMO:

Set off on a new adventure towards Neutral Lands, to meet a mythic creature of all answers - The Visionary.

Gather up to 3 companions to help you in your quest - befriend, romance or rival them, the choice is yours.

Buy a horse - we know you want one.

Fight, conjure, support, speak or think - choose your way of handling a tricky situation.

Explore the kingdom of Hero up to Menai's shore, in search for someone - or something - to aid you in your journey.

The DEMO version of the book runs up to Chapter 5 and contains 276K words overall. I will be putting up updated versions of the first chapters as I work my way through them, so expect the DEMO version to become a polished reflection of what the final book will look like!

USEFUL LINKS:

If you want to know a little more about this project and read chapters 1-5, I'll leave the link to the game here -> https://dashingdon.com/play/myimaginedcorner/scales-of-justice/mygame/

If you want to discuss anything on CoG's forum, I'll leave the link for SoJ here -> https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-scales-of-justice-new-project-announcement-and-demo-release/101088/16

If you want to send me a more extensive feedback, here's my email -> [email protected]

Any mistakes, concerns or questions you have, feel free to contact me through Tumblr! I am very excited to share this story with all of you, and I want to make it as good as possible with your help!

RO DESCRIPTIONS:

Shoren/Seile -> Heir to the Hero kingdom's throne, right where your journey starts. Also, your old friend who's very attached to you. Likes to read and practices magic, enjoys adventure and heroic deeds. A recognised “hero”, with blonde curly hair, pale skin and a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

Robert/Reina -> Order's Paladin, defender of Hero and Knight of Fate. Brave and honourable, determined to protect the people of the kingdom. Very loyal to friends and very dangerous as an enemy. Has short brown hair, tanned skin and an athletic build.

Valerius/Venis -> An Outworlder, who was caught by cultists from the Wicked Woods. Gracious, elegant and charismatic. Has long dark brown hair with a silver streak, olive skin and golden eyes.

Arion/Aria -> Leader of Vannais, a recognised “villain” who escaped from Hero and now rules the enemy kingdom. Serious, reserved but temperamental. Prefers action over words and so is always present on battlefields and amidst negotiations, even though never in official manner. Has short blonde hair, pale skin and emerald eyes.

Be careful! These characters have their thoughts and opinions on the world and your actions: if you want them to support you, convince them or take their side… or neither. That is your choice after all!

#scales of justice #interactive story #tumblr community #interactive if #interactive game #hosted games #beta tester #progress update #update

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melodramaticatheart · 1 day

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We Have A Deal - Lyra x Gray

word count: 1.2k

book: the grandest game series

ship: lyra kane x grayson hawthorne

requested by anon!

I adjust my crimson dress, the silky fabric whispering against my skin as I glance at Grayson. "You clean up nicely, Mr. Hawthorne," I remark, a hint of a smirk playing on my lips. I’d seen him with a suit on before but never one like this. The color reminds me of stormy clouds, like his eyes. It suits his personality perfectly. I silently chuckle at the wordplay, watching as Grayson parks in front of a valet. The car ride was silent, thirty-five excruciating silent minutes to be exact, it was no wonder why I was going insane making jokes to myself.

Hawthorne boy had decided to take me out to dinner to discuss the next part of our plan. He’d showed up at my apartment three weeks ago saying he knew who I was and that he wanted to help with my dad’s mysterious suicide, all I want is to go home and regret ever calling him in the first place.

“Ms. Kane, are you going to get out of the car or will I have to carry you out?” I look at my now-open car door and see Grayson extending a hand. I must’ve been lost in thought. “No need Grayson,” I say, staring him right in the eye. I get out of the car without taking his hand.

The first thing I pick up on is the faint noise of live music. Jazz music. “You like jazz, correct?” I spin to where Grayson is standing, watching me I realize. He looks at me closer waiting for an answer. “Yes I do, I've just never had the pleasure of hearing it live.” I hear the way my voice softens at that last part. I hate how much he knows about me. I was supposed to have the upper hand in this. I quickly dismiss the recurring thought and walk into the club without waiting for him. Sadly he catches up to me in three long strides. I walk beside him silently as he leads me to a booth at the corner of the club. Couples are dancing to the music closer to the back of the club while others enjoy their drinks at the bar to the side. It’s the band that gets my attention most of all. I’ve always wanted to listen to jazz live, but I’d never gotten the opportunity. Vinyls were the closest thing I could get to it. In one word it was electric. “How did you know I liked jazz?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I turn to the blonde boy sitting in front of me looking for an answer. “The day I went to your apartment for the first time you were listening to the Time Out vinyl. I thought it would be better to bring you to an environment you could be comfortable in.” He’d picked up on that? I can barely remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, but he can remember what music I was listening to three weeks ago? I shift in the booth not knowing how to respond so instead I change the subject. “I’m going to get a drink, do you want anything?” I stand up running a hand through my dress. “An espresso martini,” Grayson says, looking at me. My eyebrows shoot up. “You drink?” “Rarely, but I think I’m going to need it if I have to deal with you all night” I scowl at his response, making my way to the bar. I order quickly, making my way to our table to continue our impending conversation. “Ok, Hawthorne boy, why did you bring me here?” I say shooting him a look. He takes a sip before hitting me with a question instead of an answer. “Are your classes starting soon, Lyra?” I straighten not expecting that. “They start in two months,” I respond watching as Grayson takes a sip of his espresso before setting it aside. “You want to know what my family has to do with your father's suicide, well it’s not that easy Ms. Kane.” “Nothing’s ever easy with you, Hawthorne boy.” I retort staring him in the eye. “But I’m assuming you didn’t drive me thirty-five minutes to tell me that” A sly smirk starts making its way to my lips.

Grayson’s eyes glint in the dim light of the club. “Maybe I just wanted to bring a pretty girl to a jazz club.” He tilts his head, looking every bit the white rich boy persona I imagine him to be. But I can’t dwell on the fact he just called me pretty because he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket to show me something. “I found this in my family’s home, I thought you’d find it interesting.” He holds out his phone to a picture of a file named Thomas Thomas. “This isn’t my dad,” I say flatly after scanning the page's content.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Grayson shifts in his seat taking another sip of his espresso. It was clear he didn’t drink alcohol often with the way his eyes watered at the taste. “Your little riddle and this file are our only clues, at the moment.” He says trying to think of something to say.

I’m about to say something when he cuts me off making me shut my mouth once more. “I have a proposition for you. I’ve been debating it but I don’t see any other way I can help you.” He seems to pause a second before sharing with me his idea. “Every year my family hosts some sort of game this year it’s private. That means we can pick our contestants unlike last year-” “Grayson I know all this. What does that have to do with us?” I cut him off confused with where he’s taking this. He only stares at me.

That’s when I realize I said ‘us’ as in me and him. A team. I sink back into the booth until he responds. “This year the game is a little different” I watch how he traces the outline of his cup “I want you to be in the games this year.” I can’t help it I burst out laughing, me on an island for two weeks, yeah right “I’m sorry I need a moment, I can’t take you seriously,” I look up to see Grayson’s straight face. The laughter bubbles up again. I wipe at the tears in my eyes before taking a sip of my wine. “No” “Why not? You’d be getting paid, you’d be comfortable, and we would be close so we could work together to figure out more. Plus I’d have more resources there with me.” I watch as he lists the reasons. Good reasons. “Grayson no, I can’t, look they are good reasons but I have a life, I have my mom who would go insane if I didn’t text for two weeks, it won’t work.” I can’t leave my life not when I have her depending on me. “I want to help Lyra I do, it’s been eating at me. And I won’t be able to rest until I’m sure you’re at peace.” He stares at me with those stupid pretty eyes of his. I look away trying to collect myself.

“If I do this, you have to promise me I'll be able to contact my mom at least once a day.”

“Deal”

“Ok then Hawthorne Boy, I guess I am one to play games after all.”

⊹‿︵‿୨ི୧‿︵‿⊹

THATS THAT ME ESPRESSO

this is my longest one shot ever but idk i hate my writing 😭

taglist: @heqrtlcss, @reminiscentreader, @urbanflorals, @lyrakanefanatic, @mrswarnerxo

#soph writes 𝜗𝜚 #the grandest game #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #the brothers hawthorne #the inimitable livers #the final gambit #grayson hawthorne #lyra kane x grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x lyra kane

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damagedintellect · 1 day

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Kunikida x Reader [Truth or Dare]

💌 Truth or Dare with the ADA: Kunikida's book of kissing techniques 💌

Summary: A slow day in the office leads to a game of Truth or Dare. You thought it would be harmless fun but Dazai's seen the way you look at Kunikida and he just wanted to help.

Notes: My brain went "wouldn't it be funny if" so I had to write it

💌 Word count: 1,405 💌

It was an incredibly slow day in the office when Ranpo announced that he was bored. Nothing new. Although from across the room you could hear Dazai suggest playing a game since most people were lazing around anyway, well except for Kunikida. You didn’t mind playing a game but you didn’t exactly want to get in trouble. That’s when Atsushi chimed in “What about truth or dare? That’s fairly low effort! And then those who don’t really want to play can pick truth.”

Everyone else agreed since most people were participating only to amuse Ranpo, who huffed that choosing truth was lame and a cop out. It didn’t stop Kenji from choosing it though, causing the detective to groan. You had been quietly working away getting ahead for tomorrow as the game progressed. If no one wanted to choose you then you would happily sit and watch. Kunikida set another stack of papers down on his desk, catching everyone’s attention for a moment. He’s probably annoyed that most people were goofing off instead of doing their work. You wondered if he would play if someone chose him?

“Dazai, truth or dare?” Atsushi grinned. He just thought of a good use of the game.

Dazai brought his hand under his chin proudly exclaiming. “Dare, obviously! Do your worst!”

Clapping his hands, Atsushi revealed the greatest strategy for the game “Perfect, I dare you to buy me chazuke!”

Chaos was unleashed as everyone was cackling. So many wasted turns of stupid dares like making Ranpo speak in the third person or having Junichiro turn all his clothes inside out. This one was actually brilliant. Dazai didn’t know what to say, he definitely wasn’t expecting that but he should have figured it would be something like that.

Dazai smirked. “Fine. (Y/N), Truth or dare?”

You perked up from your seat not expecting to be called on. “Truth.”

You heard Ranpo shout “Lame!” as Dazai thought for a moment.

“Oh I know who do you have a crush on?” He stared back proud of himself for putting you on the spot like that. You quickly glanced at Kunikida in your peripheral vision. His back was turned to you. Clearing your throat you needed to give at least some answer so instead you say. “You know what actually I meant dare!”

Dazai’s grin widened as if he was prepared for you to back out. “I dare you to kiss Kunikida!”

“What! You can’t be serious?” That bastard painted you into a corner.

“Or you could answer question, either way you have to pick one!” Dazai smirked knowingly. He’d already known your feelings were for Kunikida. By the way he was wiggling his eyebrows at you it felt like he was trying to express that he was helping you move your crush along.

Kunikida stopped what he was doing pushing up his glasses. “If it’s consent you're worried about I’ll allow it. He never said it had to be on the lips after all, I'd hate for you to admit something you don’t want to.” He turned to glare at the brunette “Dazai stop making everyone uncomfortable. I don’t care if you guys keep playing but-ffmpfhff”

When Kunikida wasn’t paying attention you had walked up beside his chair and kissed him on the lips. You stormed out of the office before you could see his reaction. Your cheeks were burning as you paced outside the door.

Ranpo cheered as chaos once again consumed the office. He didn’t think you’d have the guts to do it. Of course he’s known from the start about your crush but he knew better to not get involved. Now this was entertaining. Kunikida stopped mid sentence. His heart was pounding in his chest from a simple touch of the lips. It didn’t even last that long to his dismay but it made his train of thought crash all together. He's admired your drive and work ethic but that was all. He would never fantasize about his coworkers out of respect but that chaste kiss sparked something.

Dazai was laughing as he leaned over his desk “Earth to Kunikida? How did it feel to be (Y/N)’s first kiss?” He was talking out of his ass but with the frazzled look on Kunikida’s face the blonde seemed to have believed him. Kunikida stood up smacking Dazai with his book as he went after you. The blonde felt bad for taking something that usually is very important to people. He was going to make it up to you.

You wondered if you should go back in or just go home. Looking at the time it wouldn’t make much of a difference. As you took a step towards the staircase you heard Kunikida call your name “(Y/N) wait. I wanted to apologize, I really had no idea.”

Ah so he figured it out. This is where you get rejected now isn't it? You’ve never gotten to see his list of ideals but you can’t imagine with 58 of them being what he looks for in a partner, well you doubt you could possibly match every one of them. Although you do wonder how many of the 58 you do meet. You let Kunikida catch up to you before you spoke. You didn’t want to be shouting about your feelings from across the hallway.

“It’s okay really if anything it was Dazai’s fault so,” You didn’t meet his gaze opting to look at your feet. Honestly you were surprised that he even followed you out but Kunikida would be the type to let you down easy face to face. In that case you might as well ask. “So about the kiss, did you at least like it?”

He pushed up his glasses. “Your lips were tense and a little off center. It was also too quick for me to really feel anything but for your first kiss I’d say it was adequate. You don’t want to be too firm with your approach.”

You blinked at him. At least he didn’t hate it? Although it wasn’t your first kiss, but if he was making excuses for your bizarre behavior just now then you’ll take it. “I guess I just need a little more practice.”

He cleared his throat. He doesn't know why he feels the need to divulge this information to you. Maybe it's the guilt of robbing you of a proper first kiss. “I might not be the most experienced but I’ve studied the twenty four most common types of kisses and several techniques that one should master to be considered a good kisser.” He looked shyly to the side. If Dazai read that section of his journal he would never hear the end of it. “Of course it’s been a few years since I’ve touched those pages but I could help you if you wanted. Consider it penance for taking your first kiss.”

You know “Kunikida becoming your kissing instructor” wasn’t exactly on your bingo card for this year but if it means you get to spend alone time with him, you would have played truth or dare months ago. Guess you’d have to thank Dazai for this opportunity, maybe even Ranpo.

You tried not to look too excited. “I’ll do my best.”

He looked relieved. Kunikida took off his glasses“Great, now relax your lips.” He took a breath to settle his nerves. Whether it was guilt, shame or embarrassment he’ll never know but there was a burning desire to kiss you again to make amends.

“Wait right now?”

He put his glasses in his pocket as he cupped your face. Seeing your cute expression would only cause him to hesitate. “We’ll start tomorrow but I wanted to show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

His eyes peered down at your lips as he leaned in delicately placing them on your own. You could feel the warmth rush to your cheeks as you melted into his touch. It was longer than your peck from earlier but it was still just a simple touch of the lips. The thought of Kunikida initiating the kiss made you lightheaded. As he pulled away you were breathless. It was a miracle that you could even stand right now.

“Well?” Kunikida cleaned his glasses before putting them back on.

You smiled softly hoping that he couldn’t hear your racing heart beat “Looks like I have a lot to learn.”

#bsd imagines #bsd fanfic #bsd x reader #kunikida x reader #kunikida imagines #bsd fluff

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leonawriter · 2 days

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Hattori goes from being dead set on going to the baseball game he wants - he hadn't just been steamrollering over Shinichi's plans, but Kazuha's too - to actually seeing what his unfair play (making it into a contest of deduction, with his team having all the best detectives, setting Kazuha up for a complete loss) was doing to her.

Then, that reminds him-

The very first time he met Shinichi, he said something very relevant to all this - "There's no winning or losing in deductions... there's no best or worst either... because there's only... one truth to begin with."

After that, it takes a moment for Shinichi to catch on, especially since Ran had tried to get him on the girls' side before and Hattori had physically lifted him away!

But it doesn't take long for him to see what's going on, and the moment he does...

He's kind of snarky, but he's ultimately on board. Instantly.

Hattori didn't even need to tell him that the plan had changed - he trusts that Shinichi will pick it up, and he does.

I love this little exchange because it says so much about both of them, especially that Hattori's been growing, and he's still growing. He's becoming better. He has bad habits of competitiveness, but he's managing to curb them because of Shinichi's influence.

And here we see him realise it-

He gets to see Shinichi put his (presumably at least, it was mostly Hattori who was pushing for sports earlier, although we do know Shinichi likes sport) interests aside for a second time to help him.

Notable is that in the previous chapter, when they'd started the "deduction match," Shinichi wasn't really putting on the Conan mask much; he does this around Hattori, where he slips and acts more like his natural self, even around others, whether that's "more mature" or, like that one time after a case gone bad for him, where they're both able to play together like kids.

But here? The moment Shinichi realised that Hattori wanted him to help the girls (and Kogoro) figure out the truth first, he puts his Conan mask back on for him.

I have to wonder if half of Hattori's expression in this panel ("you're doing this? for me?") is "he caught on and he's helping" and half "he's doing that thing where he acts like a dumb kid on purpose, and I know he hates having to do that. But he's doing it, for me. To fix my mistakes." Because if he hadn't started all this in the first place, Shinichi wouldn't have to be doing this either.

#dcmk stuff #dcmk #leona rereads dcmk #hattori heiji #conan edogawa #I like this meta ok

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tinystudentthing · 2 days

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idk if anyone cares but hear me out....poly bad sans headcanons yes including Cross, Fell and Swapfell♡

•Ok first of all NO ONE knows how this happened but you don't question it.

●They all clingy but some are better at hiding it then the others Killer isn't good at hiding but he thinks he is.

●They're can and will bug you about cuddle unless you don't like that stuff Error can relate.

●they all have their own thing the like to do with you.

●Nightmare likes to read with you outside the castle at a large dead oak tree and go on walks with you while holding your hand gently squeezing it every now and then.

●Horror loves to cook with you! :D and teaches you the basics if you don't know them and gets really happy if you like to cook to! He also loves cuddle with you and often sleeps with you in your bed (it makes the others jealous tho)

●Swapfell loves to train with you and making some of your outfits (I feel like he just as the gift of making good outfits without thinking about it) he tries to teach you some magic as while and gets really happy when you succeed and still cheers you on with a shrug and a smile is you fail.

●Killer loves to cuddle, play video games, and watch anime with you! He has a knife collection he likes to share with you and gets you some as well! (He probably as a small obsession with squishmellows especially bat ones and gets you some if you like them too!

●Error loves to watch his shows with you and make voodoo dolls- I mean puppets with you! Definitely gave you a small plushie of him that he made himself so you can cuddle the doll all you want! (He has one of you but refuses to admit it because he "doesn't need it." But he does has one)

●Fell loves too joke around with you and be lazy (Nightmare doesn't like it tho-) doesn't like to take you to his AU bc it's very violent and doesn't want to see people be at the very least rude to you. Can sing very well but never does and doesn't like too bc he thinks it makes him "look weak".

●Dust bunny likes to lay around with you and just chill after a long mission. Literally gets upset if you can't go on a mission with him and the others. (He can and will complain to the others the whole time about it).

●Cross likes to talk to you about your day listening to everything you have to say and often asks you on updates on things you said weeks ago and will share his chocolate with you!♡

Hope you like these headcanons this is my first actual X reader hugs and kisses!- oh darling

#bad sanses x reader #bad sans poly #bad sanses #killer sans #nightmare sans #dust sans #cross sans #fell sans #underfell #headcanons #x reader

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the-path-to-redemption · 3 days

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Thoughts on Blood Of Zeus Season 2: AKA, wow /neg.

Long Post Ahead. Seriously, it will be long.

I literally binged the entirety of Blood of Zeus Season 2 in one day, and I'm going to be honest, I was massively disappointed. While there are parts that I enjoyed in it, Season 1 was much better for me because of the potential it had for its characters, especially Heron. Season 2 left a pretty bad taste in my mouth for a lot of its characters though, as well as the conclusion as it felt rushed like Season 1. So let's start with the goods.

The Goods

It's expected, but the best part of this season was the Hades plot line. He's a great adversary for this season, with a believable and understandable reason to why he's doing everything that he's doing. He got screwed over by his family, and I know Poseidon's betrayal hurts him the most; they spent their childhood together in Kronos' stomach, I don't doubt that they were closer to each other than with Zeus, so when Poseidon knew that Hera and Zeus screwed his brother over and said nothing, letting Hades suffer the poison of living in the Underworld without the ability to leave it for long for centuries, I know it shattered their bond greatly.

We see that bitterness in Hades in his sequence with Seraphim, and personally, I think it's nice that he wanted to sink himself into a body of water when he was on the surface as well as him flying between sky and sea. Maybe in a way, he wanted to connect with his brothers again, and it does play into the themes of power ruining the good things in one's life that all gods suffers from. It's a good sequence, and Hades is a great character. His consistency is seen throughout the season, and it shines best when he's with his family.

I also like that he doesn't really know how to approach Seraphim initially, which makes sense. He's all business, and Seraphim is business, so there's that initial wall between them that's still there because of their dynamic as god and mortal, I like that. Seraphim isn't wrong for feeling the way he does, and it has to be a gap that the two must bridged, which they did! Hades took Persephone's advice to be a father to Seraphim, and while he's still rough around the edges due to their inherent dynamic, he still lets Seraphim do what he wants as long as they get to where they need to within the time limit. Yes, there is the whole "holding your lover's fate over your head" thing that he has over Seraphim, but arguably, Hades treated him the best out of all the gods that screwed with his life. It's about deals and fairness in the Underworld, so it makes sense why Hades wanted Seraphim to work for his deal. Again, they understand each other, and I did like their dynamic a lot.

Moving onto Seraphim, who continues to be the best character in the series. Like Hades, his reasons are understandable, especially now with more context to his rage and how it affected him. It sets him on this journey of self-reflection, and I did like that in the end, he still admits to Heron that he's the villain and will suffer the consequences, as long as someone he cares about finds peace. That's great grey morality right there, and it contrast him with Heron's journey very well.

For Heron, I was more conflicted with his story. I liked that he began to play into his justified anger at his divine family; he didn't asked to be born, yet his birth was the catalyst for the world almost ending and his father dead (not like Zeus is any better) when all he wanted to do was provide for his mother despite being outcast. And he barely had time to bond with his siblings before the war started, so I was excited to see the trailer opening with him conflicted with his current situation. And it somewhat delivered?

Him trying to leave was good, him not liking Hera's presence at the Funeral Games was good, him not taking Ares' shit was good, and him still doing good things for the people in his old poli yet not forgiving them for what they did to him was great. Heron is clearly still trying to process his parents' deaths and now his was coming, he's trying so hard to prevent his demise and finding some good in the situation and that's admirable to me, especially when he confessed to Elektra's grave that he can't forgive Seraphim (another great scene portraying the turbulent relationship between brothers, which reflects Hades' inability to forgive Zeus and Poseidon with Heron's active efforts to forgive Seraphim). I'm gonna fight on this hill, but Heron was actually good in the series; he's kind but not perfect, and he's trying his best to do the right thing even when the world scorn his existence, they just needed more time to let him work through his problems that they couldn't, because war.

Hera was also great to be honest. I wish that we have more time to see the disgraced queen of the heavens, because her showing her regrets of starting the second Gigantomachy and the death of Zeus was a great progress for her character. She's not without her pride, shown in Zeus' trial when she defended him and herself, but she is with remorse. It was nice seeing her stepping away from the Olympians' bullshit in the end after failing to convince them to not fight, which I appreciated. Kinda wish we saw her more this season, helping out Heron or at least trying to see past her hatred for him, but she's not the worst offender.

Oh no, I have gripes with several others.

The Bads:

Let's just get it out of the way; that is not fucking Ares bro. I was seething when I saw the writers make Ares, who is the only Olympian who does not fucking sexually assault people, be a creep towards Persephone. Yes, he was one of her suitors, but Ares in most interpretation does not push himself onto women. That's what makes him distinct from his father and brothers, but Season 2 further bastardize him by making him a fucking goober towards Heron instead of making their conflict with each other even have a hint of nuance in it.

In Season 1, Ares was the unstoppable force that Hera needed, and his loyalty to her makes sense. Zeus intimidates him in front of everyone during a competition, his own heir that he has with his wife, and clearly favors Heron over him. Ares has all the rights to forsake his father and the siblings who stood with him, but making him a purely spiteful bully coupled with being a coward is just so fucking lazy when it comes to any iteration of Ares. He's more than just war, he's also a loyal son, a protective father, and a complex character. I would've rather have the season be focus more on how the other heirs of Zeus views each other as both competition and siblings than just another fetch quest plot. I understand that there are time constraints, but the plot needed better planning and execution for the ideas they wanted to have.

What I'm saying is, sibling moments between the heirs of Zeus and how their relationship with him affected them. Make them more complex damn it, because yet again, Athena and Artemis barely have shit, Artemis the worst of the two.

Demeter.

Holy shit, I hated the route they took with her in the second act. I get it, she has beef with Hades. IT'S EXPECTED. But making her NUKE PEOPLE like The Last of Us is not the fucking way to make Hades more sympathetic. I already liked him, you didn't have to make her a complete bitch to accomplish it. How about you go more into her perspective of her daughter's choice, and have Persephone tell her off by reminding Demeter that she didn't even visit her grandchildren at all? How about you see their relationship finally changes with Zeus and Hera gone, instead of bastardizing Demeter and making Persephone a hostage at the end? Disservice to both of them.

My favorite interpretation of Demeter is still from the game Hades; she's capable of being cruel, she's capable of being spiteful, but she does love her daughter and grandchildren and puts in the efforts of seeing Persephone as her own person. She deserves at least that level of respect to her characterization.

Now, we're moving into the territory that I know I will get flamed for. Feel free to disagree, you're entitled to your opinion.

But Gorgo did not need to exist in the narrative.

Seraphim's lover did not need to exist in the narrative for his story to continue or for Hades to relates to him, especially when he already has someone else who can fulfill the purpose he needed for his plot line. His adopted mother.

You know, the woman who rescued him, raised him, protected him and was one of the people who his uncle murdered and sets him off on the journey of vengeance? That woman?

Nope, make another female character who is fridged for Seraphim's sake. For HIS plot. It doesn't matter that we have flashbacks to show the audience how good she was to him, she was fucking disrespected as hell because HER EXISTENCE IN THE SHOW WAS JUST TO MOTIVATE THE MAN IN HER LIFE. You can literally replaced her with the woman who raised Seraphim (who died in the forest. I doubt they gave her a proper burial.) and the story would still worked. I just feel bad for Gorgo.

Speaking of her death and fate, I might be missing some details. But if her fellow priestesses gathered up her remains to give her a pretty swanky grave site, why didn't they fucking pay the obols for Gorgo to pass? Because she didn't have a skull to put money on? That's wack! Put some fucking money in that poor girl's grave, what kind of bullshit is this? Literally her purpose was to serve Seraphim's character, making her the 3rd woman to do so after both of his mothers.

RIP Gorgo, you were a victim of writer's misogyny. I will pray for you. This past couple of years has been hell on me because of the amount of female characters I see with potential gets FUCKED over by their respective writers made me lose sleep. I barely got over Jill Warrick from FFVI and Yoshizawa from Persona 5 Royal, Gorgo was the third bullet to my brain.

And of course, Alexia and Kofi got shafted. Avios did the right thing and noped out before his ass got screwed over too. I wanted these four to have a FFXV style road trip goddamnit, why do ya'll do this.

The Conclusion

I did not like Season 2 at all. Season 1, while rushed, had a lot of potential that could've been explored in Season 2. And when I saw the trailers, I genuinely thought that we could've have a more melodramatic plot following the death of Zeus. The creator's video on the synopsis said that Season 2 was focusing on the relationship between the 3 brothers, but that was a fucking lie because Poseidon was nowhere to be seen after Zeus' trial. We didn't see him trying to keep up the pieces of the family for the sake of his brother's children or see him clash with Hades after that fall out. He just fucked off back into the ocean.

Hestia got one cool thing going on, and I liked seeing her grief after losing her little brother and watching the rest of her family tear each other apart. But like Athena and Artemis, she got shafted because she wasn't evil enough like Demeter. Lame as hell. They introduced Zagreus and Melinoe to make me hopeful, only to fucking Thanos snappeed those kids into oblivion after 5 minutes.

And the ending...

Narratively, it makes sense. And the cliffhanger makes sense. Heron's death happened because Hades cannot move on from his anger and forgive, something that Heron learned with his brother and even vouched for Seraphim, so they are screwed. But the lead up was so disappointing that I'm with Gaia on this. They should all blow up via Typhon.

That's all I can muster up to even word my displeasure towards this season right now. As always, feel free to disagree with me, that's cool. But personally, I'm gonna pretend that Season 2 does not exist.

#blood of zeus critical #blood of zeus #blood of zeus heron #blood of zeus season 2 #blood of zeus seraphim

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