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alyakthedorklord · 3 months

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Agent D to watchtower

(Fic)

Flash And Green Lantern, bored, stuck on monitor duty at the watchtower, cheerfully badmouthing batman together when a notification rings through the room.

Hal snaps to attention, because notifications on monitor duty don’t usually mean good things, but at least they’re things.

Oh holy crap that’s Batman’s caller ID.

Green Lantern and the Flash do NOT scramble like kids caught staying up badmouthing a parent at a sleepover, sending chips and cookies flying. They are professional world savers. Incredibly powerful men. Yep.

“Batman!” The Flash squeaks. “Whats- uh. Whats the situation?”

Whatever it is has to be dire. Batman never calls for help, ever. So it has to be a really big problem. Unless he’s spying on them. And is about to growl at them for talking behind his back.

The line is silent for a few moments, just long enough for Hal and Flash to trade terrified looks, and then…

“This is Agent D, reporting in.”

That voice is not Batman.

It’s not Batman’s deep, growly baritone. It’s slightly accented, boyish and light, despite the serious tone to it as whoever the voice belongs to whispers into the communicator.

Too young. Far too young. Thats a kid.

Hal checks the ID- yep, this is Batman’s communicator. How on earth does this kid have it?

“Uh… nice to meet you, Agent D. Can you tell me what’s going on? How are you calling us right now?”

“I’m deep in enemy territory.” The kid whispers, which isn’t really an answer but definitely catches Hal’s attention. The kid is whispering like he’s scared someone- or something- will hear him. “The darkness is endless. Any and all sound travels here- it’s a massive echo chamber. This is his territory. I’m not sure if I’ll make it out of these caves- if he hears me, I’m done for.”

“Whoa, whoa, hang on.” Hal says quickly, eyes wide as he stares at the indicator on the screen. “What’s going on? Where are you? Do you need help?”

“Negative on the extraction.” What the hell? Who is this kid? Who taught him to talk like that? “It’s too late for me. But I have urgent info the Justice League needs to hear!”

Hal and Flash exchange a concerned look. The kid knows he’s got a Justice League communicator. It isn’t just some random thing he’s picked up.

“We’re all ears, kid.” Flash says.

“Alright,” the kid says seriously, taking a breath like he’s bracing himself for the words he’s about to say, Hal and Flash leaning closer to the monitor as they wait for whatever he has to say. “Batman…”

“…is a butthead.”

Hal stares at the monitor.

Flash stares at the monitor.

“…what?”

“Batman is a butthead.” The kid repeats. “A stinky butthead. He’s mean and old and dumb and a big butt.”

Is there something in his ears? Is there something in the Doritos making him hallucinate? Did a kid really steal Batman’s Justice League Communicator to call him a butthead?

“He’s such a big butthead, we should call him Buttman instead of Batman.” The kid is saying, glee seeping into his serious tone. “There goes Buttman, in the Buttmobile.”

“These are-” Hal begins, then has to stop to let out a laugh or else he won’t be able to maintain a serious voice for the game they’re apparently playing. Flash has his hands pressed over his mouth, shaking. “These are serious claims, Agent D. Do you have any proof?”

“Yes!” Agent D announces. “He makes me wear PANTS and do GRAMMAR! And! And last Wednesday he wouldn’t let me have dessert, and he won’t take me on patrol with him, and! He was mean to Agent A! Even though Agent A is just worried about him because he got hit on the head and got a concussion because he doesn’t have a skull to protect his brain and his head is all squishy like a Butt!”

Hal is nearly crying with the effort it takes to hold in his laughter, clutching onto the desk for support. Thankfully, the Flash has recovered enough to play along with a shocked gasp.

“Is that why he wears that Armored Cowl?” He asks Agent D. “To protect his squishy head?”

“Yes.” The kid insists, voice dripping with vicious glee. “I saw him take it off once and he doesn’t have any hair. He’s wearing underpants on his butt head.”

“Is it… is it special underwear? Or just normal?” Flash asks, grinning madly and shaking as well. “He doesn’t have legs on his head to wear it right, so-”

“The ears on his cowl are the legs.” The kid says immediately.

That mental image is enough to bring Flash down to the floor beside Hal, cackling madly. They get ahold of themselves, swallowing down their laughter to get back to the kid, but then they lock eyes, setting them off all over again as Agent D’s giggles echo through the comm line above them.

“I can’t- oh god, I can’t breathe.” Hal gasps, clutching at his chest. “Fu- um, gosh, I needed that.”

“I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again.” Flash wheezes. “That’s an image that’s going to stay with me forever.”

“Good. Memorize it: this information will not be repeated.” The kid says seriously, deepening his voice in what is clearly meant to imitate Batman. Flash cackles again.

“In all seriousness, kid.” Hal says, crawling his way up to the desk to stare in bewilderment at Batman’s caller ID. “Where did you get this communicator? It’s meant to be a secure line. Emergencies.”

“Well,” Agent D says, voice lightening out of his Batman imitation and into a tone of sweet, angelic innocence, “he shouldn’t have left it out in the open then.”

“I didn’t.”

Both Hal and the Flash freeze, hearts stopping in their chests at the familiar angry growl.

Batman.

“Uh oh.” Agent D mutters.

The next thing they hear is the flurry of motion- the thump of the communicator being jughled, the scraping of cloth and shoe on stone, the whoosh of the communicator being swung through the air, and the patter of feet running full tilt.

“ROBIN!” Batman’s voice shouts, the only response a cackle of young laughter.

“Run, little man!” The Flash urges, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Go go go!”

“It’s too late!” Agent D shrieks. “It’s too late! The Buttman is coming! Remember me! I sacrificed myself for the greater good! Like the spies who got the death star plans! Remember me!”

“It’s not over yet!” Hal cheers, even if he knows theres no escaping Batman. “Evasive maneuvers! Keep going!”

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” Agent D bellows, but a moment later the sound of running is cut off with two grunts, one much deeper than the other, and the sound of a scuffle.

Scrabbling and slapping of little kid hands on kevlar armor can be heard between thumps of the microphone hitting something. Finally, the sound settles, enough for Hal and Flash to hear Batman mutter, “you sure about that?” as Agent D groans dramatically.

A moment later, Batman’s voice comes over the communicator clearly for the first time.

“Batman to Watchtower.” he says, voice flat and businesslike as ever despite the kid gighling madly in the background. “Comms have been compromised.”

“We noticed.” Hal smirks. And Batman was the first to let the secure line get infiltrated! He’s never letting him live this down.

“The perpetrator has been apprehended, and will be punished accordingly.”

“Aww, no, Batman, come on.” Flash wheedles on behalf of his new buddy. Hal is kind of worried too- Batman won’t be too hard on the kid, will he? “Agent D was just having some fun!”

“Yeah, don’t be a butthead!” Agent D shouts, before giggling again.

“You know you’re not supposed to be down here alone.” Batman grumbles. “This is probably one of the safer things you could have picked up. And it can send a distress signal that can summon the entire justice league. What would you have done if Superman decided to smash his way through the cave?”

“I know how to use it!” Agent D complains. “I’m not stupid! I’m good with technology, and you showed me how in case of emergencies!”

“And this was an emergency?”

“A boredom emergency.” Oh god, Agent D is sassing Batman.

“Seriously, Spooky.” Hal interrupts, because he’s actually a little worried for Agent D, “whats his sentence?”

Batman huffs, and then there’s a grunt and a small oof like he’s readjusting his grip on Agent D. “Considering this isn’t his first offense of the night…”

“I’ve done nothing! I’m innocent! I want a lawyer!” The sounds of struggling come through the communicator, but Hal doesn’t think it’s working very well. The kid is trying to escape Batman, after all. “You’re always saying we can’t be judge, jury, and executioner! Put your money where your mouth is! I want a lawyer!”

“Alright.” Batman hums, much to Hal’s shock. Is he really playing along with the kid? “Green Lantern. I’m promoting you to Lawyer. Answer my next question carefully.”

Still a little shocked, all Hal can say is, “um… okay?”

“What is twenty-four minus twenty-four?”

Hal frowns. That doesn’t sound like a lawyer question. “Excuse me?”

“Twenty-four minus twenty-four.” Batman repeats.

“Uh… zero?” Why does Batman need him to say this? Doesn’t he know math? Can’t he whip a calculator off that belt of his? It wouldn’t surprise Hal in the slightest. Hardly the weirdest thing Batman’s got on there.

“Lets add some words to that problem.” Batman growls. “If I had twenty-four cookies before someone was left unsupervised in the kitchen, and none after… then how many cookies are currently rallying for a stomachache against Agent D?”

Hal won’t lie. That’s impressive. The kid doesn’t sound grown enough to have a big stomach. “Twenty-four.”

“No!” Agent D shrieks. “No!”

“Sounds like an admission of guilt from your lawyer.” Batman growls. Oops. Hal forgot that was his job! He should have dodged the question!

“No! Leading the witness! Your question was a trick!” Agent D shouts, in an impressive show of melodramatics. “I want a better lawyer! This one sucks! I bet this guy didn’t even go to law school! Also, he wasn’t given all the relevant evidence or time to prepare his arguments! ALSO also he was appointed by the opposition! Rigged jury! I want a retrial!”

How old is this kid?

“Nope, too late. Welcome to Gotham, chum.” Batman huffs. “Now then, stealing a Justice League Communicator, eating all of the cookies, which were meant for both of us and I was very much looking forwards to, and calling me… Buttman.”

He growls the last word, and Hal watches Flashes fist teleport to his mouth to hold in the bark of laughter threatening to escape. The serious way he said that stupid name… even Agent D has stopped his dramatics in the face of the court to cackle!

“Don’t laugh.” Batman growls, in exactly the same tone that made them laugh in the first place. “I am deciding your punishment.”

“You can’t do anything!” Agent D jeers. “I already told the Justice League that you were actually a Butthead! I’ve eaten all the cookies! All twenty-four tasty, tasty cookies and you can’t have any! I’ve won! There’s nothing you can do! You’ll never get your cookies back!”

“Is that so?” Batman hums, and if Hal didn’t know better, he might think Spooky was smiling. “Well then. I guess I’ll have to tickle you until you toss your cookies.”

“Wait- no!” The kid shrieks, and then the communicator breaks off into peals of desperate, full bellied laughter, interspaced with pleas for mercy and one final, deep voiced line.

“Batman, out.”

The comm channel is cut, leaving the Watchtower’s occupants in an echoing, shocked silence.

Tickles? TICKLES? Batman, the hardass of the Justice League, the no-nonsense, work no play, spooky scary bastard… left his communicator where a kid could get it. A kid who stole all of Batman’s cookies. Who Batman retaliated against for stealing his cookies with tickles.

And his voice had been… not non-growly, but lighter than Hal has ever heard it. Ever. The kid had seemed completely at ease with him, mocking him, grumbling about homework and treats. It was almost as if…

“Oh my god Batman is a dad.” Hal whispers into the silent room, eyes wide. “This is the greatest thing to happen to me ever. I’m so glad I decided to stay to keep you company.”

“So am i, so you can tell me later i didn’t hallucinate that.” Flash says fervently. “He’s a dad. He’s a dad to the giggliest kid I have ever heard in my life.”

“He punished his kid with TICKLES.” Hal wheezes. “His kid calls him a butthead for making him do homework- oh my GOD. His kid grabbed a JUSTICE LEAGUE COMMUNICATOR- he knew exactly what that thing was!”

“Came on the line like a proper secret agent!” F agrees, vibrating. “Oh my god, please tell me we have that saved. Do we have that saved?”

“Quick- before spooky deletes it!”

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #robin #justice league shennanigans #found this in my notes app #here you go #enjoy

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enkvyu · 8 months

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☆ ┈ WORST CASE SCENARIO

your academic rivalry with gojo has just secured you another win, continuing your victory streak. but gojo’s hiding something and when you find out, the worst thing that could happen is not just you saying no

wc: 1900+

"so." you start, spinning around in your seat as the bustle of the classroom heightens, the teacher having stepped out temporarily to grab the rest of the papers. your eyes lock onto your classmate sitting behind you, his blue eyes widening slightly at the abrupt introduction, before you smack your test results down on his table.

a bright red number glares up at gojo from the page and he raises an eyebrow. "what's this?"

"my mark." you couldn’t hide the pride in your voice even if you had tried. “the first rank’s mark, i would assume, since i’m probably top of the class. again.”

your classmate waves away your brag, sitting back with an air of confidence. “if you’re so sure.”

“you’re that confident you’ll beat me?”

“it wouldn’t be too hard.”

you scoff. “really? what’s been stopping you from beating me these past few exams, then?”

“i just didn’t want to burst your happy bubble.”

“piss off, don’t pretend you’re doing this for me.”

gojo only shrugs, lazy smirk on his face and you have to bite your tongue to hold back the barrage of insults brewing in the back of your throat. “screw you, gojo. just wait until you get your mark and we’ll see who’s still smiling then.”

as if summoned, your teacher passes by, sending gojo a glance you can’t decipher no matter how much you squint. they place his paper face down on his desk, ready to be scrutinised.

you wait patiently as its picked up, time almost slowing to a halt. you immediately ditch the idea of reading the score through the back of the sheet and instead, you observe gojo’s facial expressions knowing they’ll give it all away even before he says anything. no matter how hard he might lie, the truth is painted as clear as day on his face, the only true outlet of his emotions.

and was that hesitation as gojo picks it up, his face just barely surpassing the fleeting expressions that flicker past? shock, perhaps? and maybe you were hallucinating but was that, disappointment?

gojo’s eyes scan the paper before he slams it back down, loud thud causing you to blink. his hand comes up to cover his mouth, leg bouncing.

the corners of your lip wavers.

his eyes seem to escape yours.

“what did you get, gojo?” you ask, slowly, carefully.

the boy sucks in a breath, finding something particularly interesting in the far corner of the classroom. he murmurs something incoherent.

you tilt your head. “what was that?”

“i said,” he hisses. “you win.”

a giggle trickles out of your mouth, before full blown laughter escapes you. you lean back against the edge of your table, holding the chuckles back into your mouth with your hand but its not enough, and its leaks out without remorse.

gojo finally turns back to look at you, huffing as you so clearly tease him. “what the, stop laughing.”

“where did your cocky attitude go? weren’t you just telling me how you let me win all these years? you’re a bad liar, gojo!” you continue laughing even as you turn back around at the call of your teacher, his frustrated face engraved in your mind.

the teacher knocks twice on their table, signifying the beginning of the lesson. the class settles into a serene quiet though there’s a feeling of gloom and doom. not from you, of course, not after winning against your life long academic rival.

getou leans across his table toward gojo, lowering his voice as he whispers. “you should probably tell them before it’s too late.”

gojo sighs, cradling his cheek with his palm, the anger on his face melting off like a liquid mask. he watches you chatter quietly to your seatmate, sometimes waving your hands in muted excitement and sometimes rubbing the back of your friend’s hand in comfort. “but look at them! they’re so happy when they’re ignorant.”

“i have no idea how you managed to fool them to begin with. especially when i’m actually the second rank. i feel like i got scammed.” he mumbles the last bit.

“me neither. imagine my surprise when they suddenly came up accusing me of being first rank on the first exam we had in our first year.” gojo pauses. “now that i think about it, they probably saw my 49 as a 99.”

“... on the revision exam?”

“yeah.”

“dude.”

gojo shrugs. “it’s either this, or i do something else to try and get them to pay attention to me. and hey, when life gives you lemons, right?”

“i think it’ll be easier if you just confessed.”

“they would reject me in a heartbeat.”

“true.”

getou bites back a scream, swatting away gojo’s hand as gojo pinches his thigh under the table. he sends the white haired student a glare.

“i don’t need a friend that doesn’t support me.” gojo justifies, snickering underneath his breath.

“i was keeping it real!”

the teacher turns their back to the board. “getou.” they warn, eyes picking out the long haired student chattering shamelessly.

he immediately quietens, feeling the class’s attention turn on him. when they all finally look away, getou rams his heel into gojo’s foot.

“ow!”

this time, instead of the teacher turning around, you look back from your chair and send them both a withering look. your eyes slide from getou to gojo, slightly surprised when you find him already looking.

shock quickly melts into triumph and you bare your teeth at him, not even bothering to hide your elation. you wonder why he only quietly smiles, remaining still even when provoked.

you turn back around before the teacher can pick on you, your victory slightly dampened with confusion.

“you should just confess. what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“they say no.” gojo mumbles, and the words alone is enough to dim his mood.

getou is quick to catch it. “that’s all though, isn’t it? the worst thing that can happen is them saying no.”

still unconvinced, gojo flickers his gaze onto you, imagining what it’ll be like if you ever stopped talking to him, even if you only spoke to him briefly now.

“god, you are so hopeless.” getou says into the silence that follows.

“what’d you say?” gojo sighs dreamily, giddy smile adorning his face as he looks on at you, his previous feelings literal seconds prior already forgotten. you really were his remedy.

at the same time, you itch your back, feeling something prickly.

getou rolls his eyes. “you need to come clean sooner or later.”

“i pick later.” he sits up slightly, the lovesick gaze disappearing as he glares over at his friend. “what’s it to you anyway?”

“i’m just looking out for you, man. what will you do if they find out you’ve been lying to them all this time?”

getou’s words unfortunately have some truth to it, and perhaps it’s because gojo’s still not over getou slamming his foot on his, that he ignores that truth. “whatever.” he says, returning to his daily habit of watching you.

if he had listened to getou then, would things have been different? would you not have arrived by his desk first thing next morning, gojo seeing first your black shoes by the legs of his table, then the deep crease between your brows? would he have seen the embarrassed flush in your cheeks, admired the fact you’re still looking him right in the eye despite it all? would he have traced the movement of your pretty lips as you spoke, fantasised about the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, your hands on his body, his—

would he have felt the palm of your hand as you slapped him?

“that’s for being shameless enough to not even have excuses.” you hiss, and he realises a second too late that he had only been staring at you, falling into his subconscious habit. “since you have nothing to say now, i hope you never speak to me again.”

“wait!” gojo manages to say, jumping up from his seat when you start to walk away.

you stop, offering him one last chance. it’s early morning and gojo’s blessed with having a small audience, but with every single eye digging into him, digging out every last piece of potential gossip, even the all powerful gojo feels tongue tied.

still, he can’t miss this opportunity. this was the time to apologise. he’s never been good at it before, but he’s seen enough of the exes-to-lovers trope in movies to know that a good apology begins with “sorry.” so with all attention on him, yours the most important one of course, gojo opens his mouth and says,

“i like you.”

shocked silence fills the room and a single “oh my god” is heard from your best friend shoko as she pops out the lollipop in her mouth to comment.

gojo doesn’t care about any of it, he never would, not when the only thing that matters was you.

you feel heat rush through your entire body, starting as uncomfortable pricks on your back and the underneath of your arms before warming even your face. “what?”

“hm?” he asks, intelligently.

your hand flexes as if ready to send another slap your way and honestly, gojo might be anticipating it.

“you think i’m joking?” you seethe.

“no, i’m being serious!”

“you like me?”

gojo blinks. “is that what i said? i thought i said sorry.”

shoko can’t help herself, she giggles into her hand.

the noise wakes you up for the haze and you grit your teeth to stop yourself from cursing out gojo’s name. he did think this was a joke after all, treating the matter so lightheartedly as if he hadn’t lied to you all these years, as if he hadn’t made you look forward to your stupid rivalry, as if he hadn’t left you speechless the very first moment you locked eyes that day in first year, as if you hadn’t pulled any excuse out of your ass to start a conversation.

the class finally makes noise again, and whispers echo in your ear.it causes your head to spin.

“you are a jerk.” you force yourself to say through the anger, hoping the sudden liquid in your eyes could be explained away as a yawn (it can’t be).balling your hands into fists, you dig your nails into your hand such that the pain can distract you from the embarrassment. “i am so serious when i say this, never talk to me again, creep!”

and then, before he can catch your arm, you leave, whirlwind left in your wake.

gojo’s hand pauses in the air, like a sim having their action canceled when they were already on the way doing it. eventually, he reaches up to hold his cheek. it’s warm under his touch though he’s unsure if it’s pain that makes it hot, or his unreciprocated feelings.

in a daze, gojo sits back into his seat.not even a minute later, the door slides open again but it’s not you this time. gojo’s mood sours slightly as getou walks through, hope evaporated.

getou’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees gojo pouting at his desk. “you’re early for once.” his eyes don’t meet gojo’s, and the white haired boy sighs.

“just say it.”

getou laughs loudly. “what happened to you?”

“they slapped me.”

getou doesn’t even need to ask who, already picturing the scene in his head. “and?”

“the worst thing they could happen is not them saying no.”

guys this sucks i miss gojo so bad . rlly random but i had a dream abt him this morning LOL let’s js say that this had to be inspired from smth !! ignore the change in formats i got tired of the timestamps 😵

#not proofread we die like [redacted]#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk #getou suguru #gojo imagine #gojo drabble #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you

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via-the-cryptid · 11 months

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Eddie is beginning to regret his decision to bring the gremlin into his hideout. On the one hand, she let him bandage her wounds and has been trying to come up with legitimate answers to every riddle he’s asked her so far, but on the other… well. There’s green and red spattered all over the floor, an alleged ceiling ghost judging him, and he’s currently got a terrible headache from trying to comprehend anything she says.

What he’s gleaned so far is, unfortunately, just the basics. Her name is Ellie — short for Danielle, not Eleanor (he asked), she’s fourteen and not ten or eleven like he’d assumed, she tried to tell him her eyes were blue even though he can very clearly see that they’re green, and she does not want to go back to where she was before.

She’s mentioned two names a few times, Danny and Vlad. The first seems to be in a good context, but the second… not so much. Eddie can’t help but wonder just what sort of situation she escaped from before landing herself in Gotham, but she’s made it rather clear that she’s not going to expand upon that.

Still, there are things that don’t add up. Her appearance, her mannerisms, her abilities… she has to be a meta, but what exactly can she do? Is it limited to going through solid objects? Is there anything she can’t go through? How did she get like this? Perhaps that’s why he brought her here — Eddie never could stand to leave a question unanswered, and this kid is practically a treasure trove of mysteries. He can’t help but want to know more.

She’s talking again, this time to the ceiling and not to him. It almost seems like she’s having a legitimate conversation with done invisible person, which only makes him wonder more about toxin and hallucinations. The Joker’s poisons can do far more than induce uncontrollable laughter, after all, and not even Eddie knows the full scope of the Joker Toxin’s effects. For all he knows, sudden vivid hallucinations are a part of that list.

“Yes, I know that, but it can’t be a safe box, those have keys and lids.” Ellie insists. “And probably hinges. I don’t know, I’ve never seen one.”

Silence falls for a moment as Ellie presumably waits for an answer. Then, she huffs.

“I can still make an educated guess. How would they put anything in without a key?”

More silence.

“No, that’s not right, there’s nothing gold in it… but you could put something in it! Hey, green beans, I got the answer!”

He’d given her an easy one this time — easy if one knew the pop culture reference, that is. Ellie, apparently, did not. Yet another odd thing to add to the list of facts about the gremlin currently sitting on his counter: nearly every time he brought up something that was common knowledge, she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

Maybe he needed to revisit that theory about government labs and human experimentation.

“A box without hinges, key, or lid, and yet inside, golden treasure is hid,” Ellie recites. “I think it’s a vase full of coins.”

“…A vase full of coins.”

“Yes.”

“May I inquire as to why you guessed that?”

“No hinges, no key, no lid, but it’s not open on top like a bowl, so you can hide things inside if you want. The golden part is the coins.”

How unconventional. Not the answer he wanted, but not technically wrong, either.

Fascinating.

#danny phantom #dc comics #dani phantom #danielle phantom #ellie phantom #dp x dc #gotham ghost au #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc au #ace batman #dc ace #the riddler #edward nygma

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urmomschocolatemilk · 1 year

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Angst Simon x reader Old draft I finished at 2am, does it make sense? Idk not really, do I care? Also no bc I lowkey kinda love it. Alway idk rlly know how to end this so send some ideas in on how you think it should end bc I’m torn bro ALSO ig im back for now! after months...hehehe 😅

You’ve done long distance relationships, and they’re hard. Much harder than most people think them to be. But whatever you have, going with Simon is harder.

You don’t know what he does for a living, or why he leaves you for months on end, only to come for a month or two (at the most) and leave in the middle of the night. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t even say hello.

One morning you’ll wake up and he’ll be there, arms wrapped around you, and his chest rising and falling steadily. And then the next morning he’ll be gone, leaving you to wake up to a cold bed and no idea of where he’s gone off to or when he’ll be back. Sometimes he’ll leave a warm breakfast in the microwave in apology, or a boquete of flowers. Other times you get nothing, and he vanishes without a trace.

Once he’s gone you don’t hear from him for months until he gets back. Until he shows up in your bed again, on a random, sunny morning. That may just be the hardest part.

You respect his need for privacy, never pushing him to tell you what he does or where he goes. If he wants to tell you he will, but sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he’s even really real or you’re just hallucinating it all. It quite literally feels like you’re dating a ghost.

But for now, you pretend like the jarring nightmares he has are normal, or the excessive amounts of scars that paint his body aren’t there. For now, you keep the bubbling curiosity you feel strapped down and tucked away.

Whatever you have with Simon isn’t too hard, not on a day-to-day basis, but sometimes it gets harder.

Some days you go through the day, every cell in your body aching to see him, hear him, smell him, touch him, and taste him. Other days it comes randomly, often before bed, as an animistic need for him with you that bubbles under your skin, trying to claw it way out, only to be satisfied by him. Those nights you go to sleep hoping - no praying - for some miracle to bring him back to you. To wake up the next morning with him at your side.

Most times your prayers go unheard. Leaving you to wake up in an empty bed again, and the need for something as simple as his presence unsatisfied.

Rarely though, are your prayers answered and you’re awoken to the sound of soft breathing next to you, and the weight of his arms around your waist and the comforting warmth that radiates from him and envelops you. Today is one of those rare days.

You watch his sleeping form, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. You shift closer to him, burying your head into his chest and inhaling deeply, trying to get enough of him to last you a century. In his arms all your worries and stress, and everything bad disappears. You can already feel it all melting away. You feel relieved. It makes you want to cry – no it does make you cry.

Simon wakes to your trembling body and silent sobs. At first, he simply shoves his face deeper into the crook of your neck with a small groan, placing gentle kiss to the skin. After a moment though, everything starts to come into focus, and he becomes aware of the quiet sound of sniffing and shaking figure in his arms. He pulls away quickly, suddenly more alert and completely awake as worry and fear course through him.

“Darling?” The pet name slips through his teeth so easily, the roughness of sleep adding to his already deep voice and for some reason it only makes you cry harder. “Darling what's wrong?” He asks worriedly. You sniff, choking on your own tears as you attempt to respond.

“I c-cant do this anymore Simon.”

He frowns, his stomach dropping at your words, “Do what?” he asks.

“This,” you emphasize, “The never knowing where you are or when you're going to come home, or if you're even going to come home in the first place!” another sob escapes you, “it's too much for me. I-I mean sometimes it's okay but other times it's just so unbearable! I just can't do it anymore.” you cry

Hes silent, unsure of what to say to comfort you. He knew this arrangement was rough on you. He’d thought he’d been protecting you by not telling you the truth about his work, but he wasn’t sure telling you now would make things any better.

His body seems to have a mind of its own and he find himself reaching for you, pulling you into his lap and easing you both down as he sushs you gently.

“I know love, I know,” he cooes, but your quieting sobs are the only response to his weak attempts of comfort that he desperately hopes hide how torn he is on what to do. He listens to your breathing as it evens out and your body relaxes against his as you drift back to sleep, but he knows he isn't getting a single wink for a while.

#urmomschocolatemilk #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #141 x reader #ghost x reader #modern warfare 2 #angst #cod fanfic

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save-the-villainous-cat · 6 months

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Okay so how about a delirious or gravely injured hero / villain who starts telling the other details about their secret identity because they’re so sure they’re not going to make it while the other is like don’t even think about dying on me ?

"Look," the villain hissed. They pressed their hand into the wound the supervillain had stabbed into them. Flesh had ripped open and blood had been mercilessly dropping to the ground for the last few minutes. It was fair to say that the hero had...overdone it. The villain knew they could forget their own strength every now and then but they hadn't expected them to kill the supervillain that brutally. "I am dying."

The villain leaned their head back but the headache would not die. They dared to peek at the supervillain's body and somehow allowed themselves to relax. Years of anger and anxiety were gone now. Some peace was a good thing. Ignoring the tears and the pain, their eyes found the hero.

"Don't be ridiculous," the hero said but still, the villain could hear their voice shake. Whenever the hero's wall which they had built around their heart crumbled like this, the villain felt some weird sense of accomplishment. Wasn't this their job? Changing the hero? Even if the villain wasn't a good person, was this a good deed?

"No," the villain said. They grabbed the hero's wrist. Their nemesis was panicking, staring at the villain's wound in shock. "I am dying, love."

The hero shook their head and the villain wasn't sure if the pain made them hallucinate the tears in the hero's eyes or if those were actually real. They had never seen the hero this emotional.

"My parents aren't buried in the city," the villain said. "But I wouldn't mind if you chose a cemetery here."

"No."

"I have a cat, also. You need to take care of her. She's only five months old. I found her on the streets a while ago." The villain's hand crawled up the hero's arm until they found their hand and squeezed. "God, I thought I'd have some more time."

They couldn't even stop the tears. Couldn't control anything. Their vision spun and they felt bad for forcing the hero to watch them die. It was a little selfish, wasn't it? But wasn't it also a human desire?

Not to die alone?

"I have a sister, too. She lives far away, though. Maybe you'll find her phone number in my apartment? Could you take care of that? I know it's a lot to ask..."

"Don't you dare. I didn't murder someone for you to die now. I didn't protect you all these months for you to..." The hero swallowed and wiped thick tears away. For a second, the villain seriously thought they were dead already. I didn't protect you... "You cannot die now. I won't let you. You're too important to me."

"It's fine, I..." The hero pulled out their phone and dialed 911 with shaky fingers. The villain's eyes widened but they were too weak to protest. The hero tried to breathe but it was clear that it was quite troubling for them to take normal breaths. They were fighting just as much as the villain.

The villain had given up already, though.

"Yes, hello. I would like to report a murder. I killed someone. I also need an ambulance...I injured someone else, too," the hero said. "Locate my position."

They hung up.

"Fuck, what are you...?" The villain's heart was beating faster than ever. They couldn't believe what the hero had just told the authorities. Confessing a murder like this...asking for an ambulance? The villain wouldn't make it in time and the hero would go to jail either way.

This couldn't be happening. The villain had wanted them to live a quiet life, not dying young in prison. The amount of villain's the hero had already sent to jail was impressive and if the hero joined them, they wouldn't survive the first night.

The villain moaned when they moved. Pain was taking over and they weren't sure if they wanted to throw up or pass out.

"They won't put you in jail when you're injured like this. Especially not when I am the one who's responsible. They've been hunting you for quite a while now but in this case I am the criminal. This buys you time and they can actually save you at the hospital." The hero took in a greedy breath and closed their eyes. More tears.

"You're insane, you're-" The hero took their hand.

"It's the only way to save you. Your blood type is A+, right?" Perhaps? The villain wanted to throw up. This wasn't happening, the hero hadn't just pulled their Go to Jail Card intentionally.

"I think so?" The villain started to sweat and suddenly, it felt as if the world wanted to push them into the afterlife. They refused to die, now that the hero had confessed to a crime. But they feared they had no control over that either.

"Mine is A-, so I can donate. I'll try to stay on the ambulance, if they let me." The hero seemed to be back in their cold self. Always calculating, always thinking. Their poor hero. Always fighting.

"You'll go to prison," the villain whispered.

"And I will find a way to crawl back to you," the hero said. "I always will."

#you always got my fav requests #writing snippet #heroes and villains #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #hero #villain #request #an answer for an ask #hero x villain #heroxvillain

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082206y · 1 month

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bitter orange — okkotsu yūta [2/3]

pairings. okkotsu yūta + f! reader/original character (main); past!orimito rika + f!reader; past!okkotsu yūta + orimito rika word count. 3.5k previous | next

PART TWO: sour grapes

You visit her grave often.

We’re sorry. She was too young. We knew how much she meant to you. Although you knew they didn’t actually care, because they never liked her in the first place. None of them mattered, none of it mattered. You stay in your room most days, walking home by yourself all the time. Yūta stopped talking to you after a couple weeks, stopped waiting for you at the gates to walk home together. You were fine with that; he’s got the ring, you don’t. Eventually, you stopped seeing him all together—it’s as if he disappeared along with her. Good, you hate him less that way.

In your first year of middle school, you start to see… them: deformed and grotesque, a glimpse of unimaginable nightmares that live among the shadows. They were smaller when you were younger, hiding away in small spots and silent and anxious but watching—always watching. They look bigger now, and, as you learn quickly, are very dangerous. Nobody else sees them, though, so you’ve always chalked it up to hallucinations.

But one day, a mysterious man with white hair visits you, calls himself Gojō Satoru and says he’s a “jujutsu sorcerer,” whatever that is. Cursed spirits, he calls them, born from humanity’s negative emotions. A sorcerer’s job is to “exorcize” them—so like a shaman but not really. What’s even funnier? He says you’re one of them—these sorcerers, that there’s this school who’ll train you to fight them, where you’ll meet others just like yourself.

Sometimes, you think of her whenever they’re around. They’re ugly and loud, always spewing indecipherable sentences and crying in the shadows, and they aren’t pretty, but you think of her anyways. It’s a disservice, you think, to have such thoughts, not when she had been so kind and beautiful, and these curses are so clearly not. They don’t have her long brown hair shining under the sun, don’t have her sparkling brown eyes crinkled in delight. Don’t have her smile either, upturned and sweet, with the little beauty mark on the right. And worst of all, they don’t have her voice, a beautiful melody in comparison to their unpleasant wailing. She wouldn’t have sounded like that.

You visit her grave often, but she’s never there. The ichigo daifuku rot on the cement, then get cleaned up after a day or two.

Okkotsu Yūta looks too close to death.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, hands clutching onto his bag like a sad attempt at a lifeline. When he stands, he visibly slouches, eyebags darker than his unruly hair. His head hangs like he has a noose around his neck, and if you look a little closer, his shadow consumes, almost like a sentient being, an insatiable darkness pooling under his feet. “I’m sorry.”

Funnily enough, it’s comforting.

“I didn’t do it for you,” you say, adjusting the strap of your bag as you walk ahead. He almost stumbles from trying to catch up, but falls within a steady pace a few meters behind.

“... Oh, okay. Um. Still, thanks.”

“I did it because they were being annoying.”

“... Yeah.”

You turn around to face him. “Are you embarrassed?”

He pauses. “What…?”

“Are you embarrassed because you were saved by a girl?”

He blinks, confused, with his wide blue eyes staring back at you. Then, he flushes, a dust of color finally appearing on his pale skin, “N—no! It’s just… we just haven’t talked in a while, so…”

“So, you don’t wanna talk?”

“No… I—... No, I do,” he stammers, as if trying to find his balance in the world. Gone was the energetic Okkotsu Yūta you knew from your childhood, who used to be stricken with adoration for his since-then-dead-fiancée, and now reduced to a gloomy, unsettling, lonely boy who gets bullied in side empty classrooms in his third year of junior high.

He finally catches up with you, having taken advantage of you gradually slowing down. He continues following you to somewhere you don’t even know where, perhaps home, but he follows you regardless. He’s too close, you think, but make no move to push him away. It’s not so bad to only hear your footsteps and the occasional car or two, even if you were making up most of the initial conversation; it’s a scenario that’s comforting, much like the shadow that trails after him. Though you don’t exactly know why it has that effect on you, not when it’s just Okkotsu Yūta—bane of your existence Okkotsu Yūta since you were nine years old. Why one glance at his shadow is like salvation for you is something completely beyond the realm of understanding, but it isn’t as if—

You pause. Oh.

It’s Rika, isn’t it?

“... Your knuckles are bleeding,” Yūta comments quietly, looking down at your hand. You both come to a stop, observing the scratch and cuts on your knuckles before he takes it in his grasp, inspecting it further. “I’m sorry,” he says, annoyingly guilty.

“Don’t apologize,” you say.

“Sorry—...”

He keeps his mouth shut.

You sort of understand now, why he has avoided everyone since then, why he doesn’t fight back even when it hurts, why he always looks like a dead man on the last thread of survival, eyes hollow and skin cold and pale, with darkness following him and darkness consuming him. Whether it be from divine punishment or an unfortunate mishap, at the wrong place at the wrong time, it is clear that Okkotsu Yūta is being haunted by a vengeful cursed spirit, because of course he is.

Of course he turns your first love into a curse.

He drops your hands, adjusts the straps of his bag, and continues walking, unknowing of your revelation. You watch him for a moment, your eyes dropping to the heavy shadow that encompasses him. That heavy, familiar shadow of his—

… And you go with the impossible.

You take his hand in yours.

There’s a pause after that, a sudden change in the air that makes the hairs on your necks stand up, a chill go down your spines, and you think you hear a low growl in the distance, a warning you do not obey. Yūta doesn’t look at you, as if he’s afraid something entirely out of his control will happen, a scene he’s seen countless times already, and yet he doesn’t let go. He grips your hand tightly, instead—afraid and unsure. For you, maybe? You don’t exactly know.

But a few moments pass, and nothing happens. So he relaxes just a bit, heaving out a shaky exhale and then he’s finally looking at you, tired eyes meeting your firm gaze.

Something clicks, then. Like the last piece of a puzzle is found.

And for the first time since Rika’s death, you walk home with Okkotsu Yūta.

It becomes a routine. You’d meet by the gates of your school, say nothing to each other, and start walking. After you cross the first street, you’d grab his hand and continue on without a word.

He adapts to it quickly, doesn’t even flinch or pull away. He hasn’t said anything about it, and neither have you. It feels incessant to do so, not when it feels… right. Like a gap has been filled somewhere in your heart, so close to making you whole, but so far it hasn’t really been enough; like you need more, but you’re also fine with this, whatever it is. Rika has been silent this whole time, an anvil of obsession resting on his shoulders that it's almost a good thing; she’s always been a jealous girl, so it’s nothing short of a miracle that she hasn’t even ripped you to shreds just yet. She knows you know she’s there, watching you—she has all the power to take you away from him, and you’d let her. You’d let her do anything to you if it comes down to it, really.

Yūta reeks of death, still, but you don’t mind anymore. It’s Rika, and that’s all that matters. You know it’s her because who else can it be? If Yūta’s being haunted by a cursed spirit then you would’ve long since exorcized it the moment you saw him—but who was the one who saw her get hit by a truck right in front of him, saw her bleed to death as she called out his name in her last breath? Who was the one who screamed out her name, begging for her to come back, to not leave him and was traumatized to hell and back at the sight of her small body crushed to nothing, the sound of her bones cracking underneath the pressure?

Who was the one who turned her into a curse?

You hate him for it, sometimes, for keeping her away from you, for not telling you. She’s a cursed spirit—but does he even know that? Does he know that there are people in this world capable of eradicating her? Does he hate it? To have her attached to him like a conjoined twin, so inseparable it makes you drown in your own envy, the green-eyed monster who has risen from the depths of your heart now that she is here. Is he afraid of her? Of what she has become? Of what he has made of her?

You aren’t. You love her, after all.

But he’s the one she haunts, because she loves Okkotsu Yūta. He wears the ring even now, buried deep under his shirt, and connected to his heart. You’re close enough to rip it away from him, leave him bleeding with nothing to hold onto the memory of her. But you don’t do it, even though you still hate him just a little bit without really ever doing anything about it; your heart is not so fickle to forget what he had stolen from you.

“What highschool are you going to?”

You slow down. “Why are you asking?”

He looks at the ground. “I don’t know—I just wanna know, I guess. Have you taken any entrance exams yet?”

“I’ve already decided where to go.”

“Oh… to where?”

“Still here, in Tokyo. It’s a religious private school, but it’s all the way up the mountains.”

He pauses. “I didn’t know you were religious.��

“It’s Buddhist.”

He’s silent for a while, thoughtful. And then he looks back at you, dark eyes boring into your own. “Did they give you a scholarship, or something like that?”

“Something like that,” you pick up the pace, and he’s forced to follow.

“Is it related to kendo? I didn’t know that religious private schools offer that kind of scholarship—especially those by the mountain-side… Isn’t that too rural?”

“Why do you think of kendo?”

His eyes flick over to your shoulder, where your cursed weapon usually sits in lieu of your school bag. This time it’s absent, since it’s mostly useless now that you’ve figured out your technique. “You always walk around with this long bag—like it could fit a shinai or something. Isn’t that what it is?”

“I guess so,” you don’t elaborate further, he doesn’t ask anymore questions.

Truthfully, you don’t know what to do. You’re elated at the fact that Rika has always been here, although silent and brooding and definitely now a dangerous entity capable of destroying a whole nation, perhaps even a Special Grade, what with all that cursed energy bursting forth from the seams of Yūta’s shadows that you can now sense from a mile away, but at the same time you find that you don’t really care that a powerful cursed spirit has been plaguing this city for years—not when it’s her.

All you know is that you don’t want to be the one to exorcize her.

You probably won’t be the one to do it anyway.

A month before graduation, Yūta tells you that he doesn’t want to say goodbye. As he speaks, you notice that his grip on your hand feels a little tighter than usual.

“Why not?” you ask calmly, though you think you’re doing a bad job at being nonchalant.

You don’t wanna leave Rika, either. She hasn’t shown herself to you yet, mostly remaining somewhere within Yūta without a single peep or squeak, but you think it’s better that way. You’ve long since resolved that you’re alright with being near her without actually seeing or confirming if she’s really there, not when you can feel her through Yūta anyway. It’s enough for you.

But he’s not looking at you, instead adamant at finding what’s so interesting about the ground. Somehow, he trusts you enough to guide him as you walk, to look out for poles or signs or walls that could hit him. You don’t exactly know how to feel about that information, so you store it away for another time.

“Okkotsu?” you call when he doesn’t reply.

“Yūta,” he’s looking at you now, hair falling over his dark, blue eyes.

“What?”

“You can call me ‘Yūta’,” he clarifies. “Ume-chan.”

You pause, slowing down to a halt. He gets a few extra steps ahead before he’s forced to stop, looking back at you curiously. Since when had he gotten such confidence? Last month he had just been a bumbling, timid boy, so much so that one misdirected glare from you could send him freezing on the spot.

“Okay,” you breathe out. “Yūta.”

He smiles, giddily, but then the atmosphere darkens just a little bit. He quickly falters at this, smile disappearing almost as fast as it appeared. He grips your hand tighter, looking down at the ground once again.

“Are you scared?” you ask.

He shakes his head weakly, looking up. “No…?”

“You’re lying,” you say.

Yūta looks down again. You wait for him, feel the coldness of his skin, and the slight chill of the weather.

“I want to go with you,” he finally admits. “I don’t wanna go somewhere you’re not.”

And you’re quiet, the silence filled in by the sound of people from the playground just a few miles ahead. Yūta gains the courage to look up to you, to see your reaction, hoping you aren’t too angry even though you hold so much hate in your heart for him. He knows that, at least.

(But you’re holding his hand, aren’t you? You fight his bullies, knuckles red and bruised, even though you don’t need to. You stay with him, even though you don’t have to. You make his life a little bit easier, even if you don’t really want to.)

“Why?” you ask, face betraying nothing, just plain curiosity. “Why do you say that?”

Yūta thinks that maybe he is afraid of her sometimes, even if he doesn’t want to be.

So he says, “It’s quieter when you’re around.”

He must have said something wrong for you to suddenly let go of him.

“I’m sorry—“

But then you take his hand again, not intertwining it, but settling it within yours so he can feel the warmth of your touch, like you never even let go in the first place.

“Don’t apologize,” you command, like you always do.

“… Okay.” And Yūta listens.

You squeeze his hand. He holds on to it tighter, like letting go once again will mean letting you go, and yet he’ll have to do that in a month anyway even if he really wished that isn’t the case.

“You can’t come with me,” you say, like it’s final. “That school… it doesn’t suit you.”

He searches for something in your eyes, and finds nothing. “Why not?”

Because they will kill her, you think. They’ll kill the both of you, and then you’ll be alone forever.

“It just won’t,” you say with finality.

“Okay,” he says, staring at you thoughtfully.

Your available hand reaches out to adjust the scarf around his neck, adjusting it so it hangs more loosely around him instead of tightly like a noose. The teal fabric bunches up in your hand as you move it around, patting it down before you find his dark eyes boring into yours. The spring chill caresses his face gently, softly swaying the unruly spikes of his hair as he watches you tend to him, the way you make him feel like a burden but he doesn’t mind if it's you.

You eventually finish with your work, moving on to continue walking home.

The silence disappears, because Yūta’s heart is too heavy with want.

There’s a few things that happen when you dream, but it mostly goes like this:

There’s a bench in the middle of a white void and a huge cherry blossom tree behind it, petals slowly falling onto the ground and covering it in a mass of light pink. Just a few feet in front of it is a koi pond, filled with differently colored koi that make them seem like a bunch of koinobori instead of the actual thing—black, red, white, yellow, green, and blue koi. You’re sitting on the bench, an unopened box of three ichigo daifuku sitting on your lap as you observe the fish swimming inside the relatively small pond.

It always starts this way when you dream of Rika; things change very little and progress nothing. But you find comfort in it either way, as it remains to be the only way you can see her, deep within your REM sleep where nothing in the world can disrupt it.

She eventually appears from the other side, sitting next to you without a word. When you turn to face her, she’s a bit visually different from the last time you saw her in reality—coming up to your height, her brown hair is just a little bit longer, but instead of her familiar dark blue dress, she wears a normal uniform from a normal high school you hope to get into. In your dreams, Rika has continued growing alongside you, blessed and healthy and happy. In your dreams, Rika is alive.

“You’re so sweet, Ume-chan,” she praises, taking the box of ichigo daifuku you offer her. “You always know what I want!”

Of course you do.

“Anything for you, Rika-chan,” you respond fondly.

She giggles, the soft lilt of her voice like an enchanting melody you’ll never get sick of. You like it. You like this. You like her.

When you take her hand in hers, she doesn’t protest, instead squeezing yours in return as some form of quick reassurance that yes, she’s here, and she’s right next to you. The both of you continue sitting on the bench for who knows how long, staring into the small pond with the colorful koi without uttering a single word—a serene silence that cannot be measured by time passing, every flick of the fish’s tail, the fall of the petals from behind.

Your dreams always start like this, and end like this. It’s not much, but you’ve long since found contentment in what this fantasy can give you, long since convinced yourself that anything is fine as long as you get to see her.

You close your eyes, preparing for the dream to finish up, to miss the warmth of her hand in yours and wake up to another day without her—but it doesn’t end there.

“Ume-chan?” Rika calls, slowly.

Your eyes open. “... Yeah?”

She’s properly facing you now, torso turned to your direction with this impassive expression. You watch her stare at you, mapping out her features, the curve of her nose, the length of her lashes—something, anything that could tell you that this could all be real, that this is not just a dream. That Rika is still alive and not merely a figment of your imagination, stuck behind the bars of your subconsciousness. Because all you are is a liar, and not once were you ever content with just seeing her here.

You just want her back.

Rika brings her palm up to your cheek, caressing your face with her tender touch. “Don’t cry, Ume-chan,” she says in her soft voice.

You didn’t even realize you were.

“I love you, Rika-chan,” you all but practically sob, leaning into her hand. It’s warm, it feels so real. “I love you so much. Please come back to me.”

Rika just smiles, wiping away your tears with her thumb. You can’t breathe, vision foggy from your tears and panic rising in your chest when her figure becomes nothing but a blurry mess in front of you. You reach out to her, knowing deep down that you’re just grabbing onto loose threads but—

Then, you wake up.

Yūta looks at you with wide eyes.

“... You’re bleeding!” he stammers, breath quickening as he stumbles away from you in a fit of fright. “Rika—Rika-chan attacked you…!”

He cowers away into the corner of the classroom, head in his hands, begging the world for nothing else to happen, for Rika not to come out and lunge at you again like she did with all his other bullies, like you’re one of them. Idiot, idiot, idiot Yūta! He should have seen this coming, should have known that nothing will stop Rika from endangering anyone, not even you. He can’t lose anyone again, not Rika, not you—especially you—he can’t take another loss anymore.

But when Yūta gathers enough courage to see how you’re doing, he can’t fight the surprise that crawls up his throat.

Because as you’re sitting there in front of him, fingers gently grazing the nasty gash on your cheek, staring back at him so quietly it’s too suffocating, and he feels so guilty, so miserable—

And you’re smiling.

#jjk okkotsu #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta #yuta okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk scenarios #jjk imagines

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narrynukezankielover · 3 months

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If you are a Sam or Jared fan don’t read this. The beginning of season 7 (im on ep 8) is extremely hard to watch. I’ve read people saying that when Cas dies Dean gets depressed and suicidal but I wasn’t prepared for how bad it gets. I thought he just went into certain situations before thinking about it or something but the fact he’s drinking way more then he usually does, he had to give himself a pep talk to go home with a girl (clearly he didn’t want to do it he just thought it’s what he does so he had to do it but I’m glad he didn’t since he’s not in a good place) haveing nightmares and not reacting to certain things the way he normally would is bad enough but then telling Bobby that if he is dead he was going to put him and Sam in the car and drive into the water (can’t remember his exact words and considering I bawled when I heard it I’m not going back to find out his exact words) but then when he seen that Bobby was alive he wasn’t even overly happy he just said “oh you’re alive” and then he was just going to let the god guy kill him without even trying to help Sam come up with a way to stop him is just heartbreaking. They try to say it’s a combination of Cas dying, Sam’s hallucinations and killing misses but he has done stuff behind Sams back before so killing her wouldn’t cause that much guilt on him. He has dealt with Sam not haveing a soul which he said just creeped him out and Sam being addicted to demon blood and that didn’t effect him so I don’t think he’d get that depressed over Sam hallucinating the only new thing is Cas being dead. After the end of season 6 it makes a lot of sense for him to act that way now.

I hate that the show makes Dean seem like the asshole self centred one but it’s Sam who’s those things. Dean is always looking out for Sam (and now Cas), protecting Sam and now even though he’s going through so much he’s still worried about Sam and asking him how he’s doing. Sam is watching Dean go through one of the hardest times in his life and yet the only time so far he asks Dean how he is it’s about the friend of his Dean killed. Seriously? He was standing right next to Dean when Cas trench coat washed up and yet Sam never said a thing about the whole thing to Dean. I actually really hate Sam for this.

Now that I know a bit more about season 7 then I originally did (Misha being fired) I now see the scene of Cas trench coat a bit differently and in fact I see a bunch of scenes a bit differently. I now see that first scene as more the actors real feelings. Dean is so upset because Jensen is upset of Misha not going to be around anymore and Sam basically not caring (he literally just stood there and didn’t have any reaction to what happened) because Jared probably wasn’t overly upset about Misha. I’m not saying they’re not friends but they are definitely not as close as Misha and Jensen and he was probably happy that the spotlight would be back on him again instead of Destiel. I think this is also shown in the other eps. I understand Sam is going through his own stuff but if Cas and him were friends I would think he would at least be sad that Cas is dead.

#castiel #dean winchester #cockles #destiel #dean x castiel

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scorpioracha · 8 months

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Dating Seokjin

I really hope you guys enjoy this one! I spent the better part of the day writing it and Jin has a special place in my heart as one of my first biases so yeah. Y’all know the vibes, reblog,like,comment and come yell at me if you enjoy it they’re really appreciated and encourage me to keep writing♡

김 석진 Kim Seokjin

-you and Jin met while you were working at a bakery in myeongdeong. It wasn’t your dream job but it payed the bills, especially during rush hour. Extra people meant extra tips, and working the morning rush didn’t seem so bad when the line was packed full of people with Chanel bags and Rolexes, you’re even sure you saw a Mercedes parked out front…

-So you were no stranger to slapping a smile on your face and putting on the charm for some extra won in your tip jar—you even decorated it seasonly—dedicated to the craft,born to the breed…this was not your first rodeo working customer service and from the looks of rent and textbooks it wouldn’t be your last

-When a handsome man walks in you weren’t even phased. You looked him straight in the eyes and asked him for his order. Then asked if he was okay because the pause in between was getting a bit awkward and there were more customers.

“You don’t know who I am”he mumbled, seemingly shocked. You just held back an eye roll strong enough to cause an earthquake and smiled again. Rich people.

“No, am I supposed to?”

-this caused the most heinous laughter you have ever heard and he recovered enough to say he wanted an iced americano and whatever you thought was best. Trying not to side eye him for wasting your time and causing the other customers to get antsy, you recommended him a slice of vanilla cheesecake and he laughed again, questioning if it was too early for cake. You couldn’t help yourself but to laugh too because his was quite something and you just winked at him and promised not to tell.

-you were understaffed that day—as usual, so you also got his order ready. You sent him on his way with a bow and a cake pop snuck in there cause no one really made you laugh on the job. And he left you with a hefty tip that felt like robbery.

-you thought that was the last you’d see of him. Until you started seeing him everywhere. Billboards,tv shows,magazines,posters—hell the bakery even had a poster of his band up in the coming month. You were sure it was him, those lips didn’t just belong to anyone.

-you found yourself looking for him during the morning rush but to no avail, he wasn’t there. He was everywhere else around you though and it drove you crazy. Your squeaky laughed paramour seemed to be gone with the wind.

-until your shift got changed sometime near December. With finals upcoming you needed the mornings to sleep and study, so now you worked closing.

-your first day on closing was similar to any other closing shift. Busy from 4-6pm and then dead the rest of the night. It was peaceful in a way, less tips but between customers you got to relax.

-Until he came in. He was wearing a mask and a hat and bundled up in about a million coats but it was him, you knew it. You had learned his name was Seokjin from your research(stalking) and maybe you were having hallucinations from your third espresso but there he was, staring at you with those beautiful eyes. Then he said the unexpected.

“Ya!”he exclaimed, ripping off his scarf. “Where have you been?! I’ve been coming here every night for the past three months! Do you not work the night shift?! Has nobody told you??”

You furrowed your brows, that’s not what you were expecting. “You could have come during the day time!”you argued. “If you knew I wasn’t here at night, why didn’t you come during the day?!”

“Because I can’t come during the day!”he argued back. By this point his jacket had been hung over a chair and his mask was pulled down on his chin. Damn. It was hard to argue with a man with those lips…

“…and I’ve been sneaking around like a creep looking for you—are you even listening??”

You blinked once. Then twice. Then found yourself laughing again like you had all those months ago. Who new a meetcute in July could make an argument in December

feel like a first date.

“You said you’ve been looking for me?”you said, looking at him with mirth in your eyes. He nods, his own eyes still wide from his ranting and his cheeks pink from adjusting to the warmth.

“I..yes, I just-I just couldn’t get you out of my head”he explained, “I’m at a point in my life where it feels like everyone thinks they know me. It was just refreshing to meet somebody without them having a million and one ideas of who they think I am”

You nod. “Well, I know your name now because who doesn’t, but you’re right, I don’t know you”

“Would you like to?”he asked.

“I would.”

And it was history from there. A slightly bumpy history.

-“do I get a kiss if I say today is my birthday?”

“You can get a slap”

-You two did in fact meet again on his birthday and after making sure(asking to see his ID) you celebrated with a slice of vanilla cheesecake and a candle that was half broken you found somewhere in the break room.

-this all happened in 2016. As the group grew and their popularity, your relationship definitely needed to adjust accordingly. Bang PD was less than thrilled by Jin getting himself into a relationship but one thing we know about Jin is that he’s stubborn🤡 so there was no way he was losing that fight

-you had to adjust to seeing him less earlier on when they were still making a name for themselves. But that didn’t stop you from packing up the pastries at the end of the and hauling them off to the boys at the dance studio. With a little scolding from Hobi that they were going to get cramps eating all these sweets, they were all very grateful.

-But Jin being the man he is made sure to stop in while you were working too. Mainly at night but on the random chance they got a break he’d come in the mornings and hang out in the kitchen, where you had been promoted to part time baker. Usually he brought you breakfast and coffee which you always scolded him for because you worked in a literal bakery but he’d just scold

you back claiming he hasn’t seen you eat a vegetable in weeks. And no it didn’t count if it was in a croissant.

-may or may not have told everyone he knows about the bakery and it may or may not have turned into an idol hotspot.

-don’t be too mad at him he just wants to support his girl😭

-outside of work for both of you guys Jin is pretty…quiet. You hadn’t expected it when you first started dating but that’s just because his guard was still up. Now that you’re happily settled into your relationship he doesn’t feel the need to be on around you. He doesn’t have to make you laugh,be world wide handsome or loud. He could be quiet and soft and wear cute pajama sets while playing his maplestory.

-sometimes he was so quiet in the house you forgot he was there. The world wouldn’t believe it if you paid them a thousand dollars but this knowledge was nice. Something that the world didn’t need to know, that you could keep for yourself.

For yourself and six other boys.

-they did have Jin first and honestly the first time you met them you always shit your pants. God they could be intimidating when they’re sussing someone out, especially Jimin. The hyung line liked you just fine but it did take a while to gain the Maknae’s trust. They’ve never seen Jin date or even think about dating so they were skeptical. Jin was the oldest and therefore a pseudo parent for the rest of the members, so you coming into the picture was different.

-but you’re you so how could you not win them over?

-the once hesitant maknae’s cling to your side whenever you’re at Hybe. Sometimes you swear you see them more than Jin.

“Y/n, let’s go shopping!”

“Y/n, have you seen x y and x?”

“Y/n, Taehyung hit me!”

And so forth.

-the hyung’s enjoyed your presence just as much. Yoongi was relieved someone else could take over as mom—he liked to joke that you two were the real parents of this band. Hobi would laugh at a bottle cap falling so you crack him tf up and namjoon our responsible leader is happy that his members are happy.

(He’s just trying to look cool, you two go on museum outings and have a book swap you do together)

Jin bits!✨tid bits about you and Jin✨

-every anniversary you guys start it off by having some form of vanilla cake in bed. His always with a candle on it.

-he always keeps a hoodie and a blanket in his car because this is not a kdrama and you are not getting a jacket because he’s cold too🙄

-you guys moved in together around your third year of dating, starting off in an apartment near myeongdeong for your job, but now y’all live in a house on the outskirts of Seoul

-if it’s not takeout, you most likely cooked the food for eat Jin. Can he cook? Yes. Does he cook when you’re around? Not unless you ask.

-you guys have so many matching pajama sets

-he cried when you said he wasn’t your bias. Fucking acting school😒

-you now own so much RJ merch it’s actually ridiculous and you asked him to stop bringing so many RJs home. The answer was no🤡

-after years of working your way up the ladder you own the bakery now! Jin wants to retire you because he doesn’t believe princesses need to work but you grew to actually the enjoy the job when you were no longer working cash register.

-his nickname for you is 공주님(princess)

NSFW

-idk y’all but Jin is giving me heavy experimentalist vibes. I think he’s less into the d/s side of bdsm and more into the bondage and the s/m side. He’s got clear limits but since your relationship is established and he trusts you so much he’s willing to try anything once within those limits.

-he also is the type to set the mood for these kinds of play. A spare room in the house with dark curtains,silk sheets and a chest full of all different types of things. He doesn’t really care who’s in charge in bed, that’s not really his aim. It could go either way for him.

-Jin’s kinda play is expensive. It’s nothing but the best for you, for both of you. He’s not one to flaunt his wealth but he’s always been a quality kind of guy. Your paddles? Leather,imported,small business. Your hand cuffs? Stainless steel and cushioned. Spanking bench? Cherry oak wood with velvet cushions baby. You’ve got matching harnesses in pink and white because of course something in here was going to be pink.

-he’s kinda just down for the ride. It’s that Sagittarius sun. You wanna tie him up? Cool. You want him to tie you up? Cool. You want to choke him? He’s down. His limits are around sharp pain and bodily fluids, besides cum because he’s very much so a much when prompted

-you better be ready though because when you get Seokjin in the right mood he is fucking until the sun comes up. This is usually when you’ve both been at an event—always his plus one—and there’s too many wandering eyes and not enough champagne. He’s surprisingly very possessive which you never would have clocked until it was prompted. So yeah he’s not one for sharing.

-he also does not breathe a word of your sex life to the boys or any other friend and he expects the same from you.

-lets just say that condom scandal held truth. because mans right here is packing the punisher. He got the back breaker, the cervix splitter 9000, you gotta be big and bad enough to ride this ride and you definitely are.

-as a trained actor one thing about Jin is he can embody a role. You want a mean dom? He can give you mean dom(after he’s done so so much research because he never wants to hurt you in a way that you don’t like). He can have you on the floor begging on your hands and knees tied to the leg of a chair like a mutt just to hump his shoe, when earlier that day homie was shuffling around the house in bunny slippers and an RJ headband. The duality with this one was crazy.

-he could also be tied up to the headboard of the bed begging you with tears in his eyes to just sink down on his cock and stop teasing him. Pretty pink harness on with pink padded cuffs to match. You know Seokjin and his love for pink, pink hair,pink microphone,pretty pink dick, just the basics yk?

-on the flip side if y’all aren’t in the play room, you’re getting your back blown out on your fluffy comfy king sized bed. It’s passionate, it’s sensual and it’s light hearted because one thing about Jin is he gonna laugh. One of you is gonna make a weird sound and he’s going to try so hard not to laugh, he really is, cause he’s balls deep and now is not the time but you guys make eye contact and it’s over. He’s fucking gone trying so hard to calm himself down.

Sometimes it ruins the moment but most of the time you’re able to pick up where you left off.

-all and all, Jin my first bias that wasn’t a leader, be throwing down in them sheets

#bts x reader #bts headcanons #bts reactions #bts kim seokjin #kim seokjin #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin headcanon #bts jin x reader #bts dating series #bts #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts drabble #bts fanfction

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 4 months

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Love Bites

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader (feat. Max Phillips!)

Rating: M (adult content, non-explicit smut, 18+)

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: Vampires! Blood drinking, talk of hunger (for blooooood) and killing (for bloooooood!). An art crime which is never actually solved, Soft Marcus, sarcastic asshole with a heart of gold Max. IDK if this is a threesome but it’s definitely threesome-adjacent, idiots in love, vampire venom causes euphoria and spontaneous orgasms because I said so, kissing, men kissing men, vampire bites, feeding, sharing blood through kissing,

Summary: You and your partner, Marcus Pike make a house call to the home of a wealthy art collector who just reported the theft of a two-million dollar glass, er, “sculpture.” At first, you can’t stand the smarmy Max Phillips, but when you find Marcus unconscious in the man’s living room, you find you have bigger problems than Max’s gross overuse of vampire puns…

A/N: I hallucinated this entire thing one night a few weeks ago instead of sleeping. Many, many thanks to @littlebirdsbookshelf for enduring and encouraging an endless line of screenshots of this fic and for helping with the moodboard!

Masterlist

As you read your newest assigned case file, your eyebrows feel as though they’re skyrocketing up into your hairline. You look up, shooting your partner a skeptical, unamused stare.

“Someone’s pulling your leg, Pike.”

Your partner playfully rolls his pretty brown eyes and flashes you that boyish smile that you lov–that you think is really nice, that’s all.

“You don’t think I had the presence of mind to fact check and verify this guy’s story? You wound me.”

“Who the hell spends that kind of money on this?”

Marcus shrugs. “It’s not uncommon for affluent art collectors to buy million-dollar pieces for their collections.”

“Yeah, but this?”

“Don’t tell me that you, of all people, are going to give me that old, tired dismissal of modern art simply because you don’t understand it.”

“This is a dildo,” you deadpan.

Marcus presses his lips together, nodding slowly. “...Some people have more money than sense.”

“Apparently.”

Your partner crosses over and picks up the file you’d dropped on your desk. “I spoke to the collector on the phone earlier,” he says as he scans the page. “Has a penthouse up in West End, told him we’d be up to do forensics this afternoon.”

“Yipee.”

“This is serious. It’s not every day that… ‘Arthur Feathermoore’s… Animals of Pleasure’… goes missing,” Marcus says, squinting down at the file as he reads the name of the sculpture.

You can’t help but snort at the title, and it causes your partner’s serious facade to dissolve into laughter himself, and the two of you giggling like rookies for a few moments before your eyes meet. Marcus’s face is the very picture of warmth, and as you often do, you feel as though you’re falling into his dark brown pools. The mirth is suddenly replaced by an uncomfortable silence that he breaks first, coughing awkwardly and looking back down at the case file in his hand.

“So anyways,” Marcus says brightly, “how about a little field trip up to West End?”

“You got it. I need to meet the idiot who spent a million dollars on a glass dildo.”

“Feathermoore’s Animals of Pleasure,” your partner corrects with a teasing smile.

“Quite the place,” Marcus comments as the two of you enter the ornate lobby of Maplebrook Heights, the building of luxury condominiums where your art collector lives on the top floor penthouse.

“I think it’s shit,” you say, eyeing the crystal chandelier hanging near the elevators. Something about the place makes you want to leave greasy handprints all over the spotless mirrors and stainless steel elevator doors.

You flash your badges to the lobby attendant, who picks up a phone receiver, listens for a couple minutes, nods, and sets it back down again.

“Mr. Phillips has been expecting you,” they say, leading you over to the elevators and pressing the top button without saying anything more.

When the doors open again, they reveal a man in a well-tailored suit with an overly-starched shirt and even starchier expression. The overall effect evokes a sort of statuesque rigidity–a man made out of stone. Suddenly, though, as if just noticing your appearance in the elevator, the man’s lips curl up into a smarmy, affectatious smile.

“You must be the feds,” he says in a buttery-smooth tone that you aren’t sure is real or as artificial as the rest of him seems to be.

“That’s us,” Marcus replies cheerfully, stepping forward and offering his hand. The man seems to pause, looking your partner up and down with his head cocked to the side before taking it and shaking it firmly.

Trying to be professional, you extend yours as well. Rather than give you the same firm handshake he offered Marcus, the man gently grasps your fingers and ducks his head as though he were about to kiss the back of your hand. Feeling off-balance, you give his hand an awkward squeeze and shake before stepping back quickly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Phillips,” Marcus says, expertly disguising your discomfort, much to your relief.

“Max, please,” the man replies with an amused pout. “Come this way, I’m sure you’re both dying to see the scene of the crime.”

You shoot Marcus a look behind Max’s back, raising one eyebrow at his odd phrasing. Your partner shrugs gamefully before following the suited man through the double-doors to his penthouse.

As soon as you’re inside, your eyes widen at the décor. Every available inch of wall is covered in artwork from the Renaissance to the Modern, and you suppress the urge to gasp in amazement.

“Quite the collection,” Marcus comments.

“Mm, yes. You could say that I've spent generations acquiring it.”

“So art collecting runs in the family?”

“Of course.”

“This piece, er–Animals of Pleasure–was that an inherited piece, or…?”

Max grins widely, showing a row of alarmingly white teeth. “That one was a personal favorite–the sculptor is an acquaintance of mine.” He walks through the living room to an empty display case and regards it with a little frown. “Look at that. Like a wooden stake to the heart.”

“Apparently it was the personal favorite of someone else, too,” Marcus remarks.

“You’re a funny one, I like that,” Max drawls.

“In your report, you said you noticed it was gone on the morning of Sunday the 25th,” you interject. “What were the circumstances leading up to that discovery?”

“I had a… rather sizable party here the night before,” Max answers with a crooked smile. “I assume the culprit was one of my esteemed guests.”

“Got a guest list?” Marcus asks.

“Of course I do.” Max produces a paper from a nearby desk with an exaggerated flourish.

“Anyone on this list that might have shown particular interest in the piece?”

“They’re all a bunch of vampires,” Max scoffs dismissively, waving his hand. “I’m sure there are more than a few of them who’d love to sink their… teeth… into my collection.”

“Are you suggesting this theft was out of revenge?” you ask with a confused frown. “Did any guests have a personal vendetta against you?”

“Now, now, I’m practically the life of the party,” Max chuckles. “Most of the attendees and I go way back. There’s no bad blood between us; if anything, I’d say this is simply a distasteful prank.”

“You called the FBI for a prank?” you can’t help but ask.

“I like it,” Max says, putting on what’s clearly his best ‘sad puppy dog’ face with exaggeratedly upturned eyebrows and pouted lips. “It’s the crown jewel of my collection, and I want it back.”

“Of course,” Marcus reassures the other man. “We in the Art Crimes division treat art theft with the utmost importance it deserves.”

“Ah, yes, the FBI, always as serious as the grave.” Max says teasingly, giving Marcus a simpering smile. You don’t like the way he’s looking at your partner–sizing him up in the same way one would a conquest… or a meal.

“We’ve got what we need, Mr. Phillips,” you say brusquely, snapping your notebook shut a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Of course, of course,” the other man says dismissively, as if he couldn’t care less about the whole affair.

“We’ll keep you informed of any progress,” Marcus adds, smiling amicably. He always did do a better job than you of hiding his distaste for unpleasant characters.

“You should go use the little girl’s room before you leave,” Max suggests, again flashing you a row of perfectly white, straight teeth. “Long drive back to HQ.”

You’re just about to tell him where to shove that condescending suggestion, when you suddenly realize it’s a great idea. It is a long drive back, and you don’t remember needing to before, but for some reason as soon as the suggestion leaves his lips, you find yourself needing to find a bathroom sooner rather than later. You nod and excuse yourself, turning your back on the odd twinkle in Max’s eyes.

What a weirdo. You’ve worked with some characters before–and sometimes it seems the richer they are, the more eccentric and out of touch–but Max Phillips really takes the cake. The uncanny smile, the stupid puns, the uncomfortable innuendo that you never could figure out were intended for you or for Marcus…

You hope the case wraps up quickly, is the point. You finish washing your hands on a towel that feels as though it has a higher thread count than any set of sheets you’ve ever owned and hurry back to the sitting room where the two men are waiting for you.

When you get there, Marcus is lying on the floor, unmoving.

“Marcus!” you exclaim in alarm, pushing past Max–who is standing calmly as though nothing unusual has happened–and drop to your knees beside him. “What the hell happened?” you demand, staring up at the other man.

“Dunno. He just collapsed.”

You want to scream at him. How can you be so indifferent? A man just collapsed in your home. Before you can say anything, though, Marcus coughs.

You whirl back around, cataloging Marcus’s face frantically as he opens his eyes and blinks dazedly.

“What–Why am I on the floor?” he asks, staring up at you in utter confusion.

“You tell me,” you murmur, placing your hand on his clammy forehead. “I came back and you were on the ground. Mr. Phillips says you collapsed.”

Marcus sits up blearily. You watch as he frowns and shakily brings one hand to his neck, feeling it gingerly as though he’d been injured, although you don’t see anything to indicate it.

“Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Yeah, just… collapsed. Uh–” He looks around the room with wary eyes.

“Can you get up?” you ask, standing yourself and extending your hand.

Marcus nods and allows you to pull him to his feet. Once standing, he sways and blinks rapidly, as if he were dizzy. When you place your hands on his shoulders to steady him, he giggles, like he suddenly finds the entire situation hilarious.

You don’t share his humor.

“C’mon,” you say, grabbing his wrist and trying to lead him away. You can’t explain why, but something in your lizard brain is telling you to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Feel better soon,” Max offers lightly, smiling that unsettling smile again. “Drink plenty of fluids.”

You don’t bother answering.

Marcus continues to be unsteady on his feet, and you end up having to help him down the front steps of the building and into the passenger seat of the car.

“Hi!” he slurs enthusiastically when you enter and sit down in the driver’s seat. “Wow, I feel really funny.” You watch with growing concern as he holds up his hands and examines them as though he’d never seen them before.

You don’t know how to respond, so you busy yourself with adjusting the seat to your height, since Marcus had driven you there. Pressing and holding the button, the electric motor whines as you slowly slide upward, then a good deal forward.

Marcus giggles again. “You have short legs.”

“Astute observation,” you grumble as you turn the key into the ignition.

“Legs,” he repeats, and laughs again.

“Jesus,” you mutter. “Marcus… were you drugged? Did Max Phillips drug you?”

“No!” he protests. “I… I don’t think so?” he adds, sounding less sure.

“What happened when I was gone?” you asked. “Before you collapsed.”

Marcus shrugs exaggeratedly and makes a nonchalant ‘nnNNnn’ sound.

“You don’t remember?’

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “Wait… he said… the–the guy?”

“Max?”

“Max! Yeah. He said uh…” Marcus giggles again. “He said… I was pretty? That’s weird. Is that weird?” he looks over at you, looking so concerned and worried that you almost laugh in spite of yourself.

“Little weird,” you agree.

“He said that I was pretty… and that it would be a shame to let that go to waste,” he adds, frowning down at his hands as he remembers.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I guess it means I’m pretty,” Marcus says matter-of-factly, sitting back in his seat and grinning for a few moments before suddenly sobering again. “I think he was… gonna hug me?”

“Hug you?” you ask, looking at your partner in confusion.

“Yeah, he… he was really close, and–” Marcus’s hand absentmindedly touches his neck again. “Nah. Never mind. I don’t think that’s right.”

“I think he gave you something,” you tell him, starting to feel more and more worried by the minute. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Hey! You know what sounds really good?” Marcus suddenly asks, sounding excited. “Tomato juice. Except… not tomato juice. Something like tomato juice, but… different.”

“Like a bloody mary?” you ask skeptically, humoring him.

He purses his lips, as though thinking deeply about something.

“Yep,” he finally agrees. “That’s it. Bloody mary.”

“Great,” you say as you pull in front of Marcus’s building. “Tell you what, you go to bed and sleep off whatever the fuck this is, and I’ll buy you all the bloody marys you can drink.”

You help Marcus up the stairs (nearly an impossible task, because he keeps stopping and looking around him as though he’s never seen a stairwell with chipped paint and cracks in the walls before) and when you finally reach his apartment, you unceremoniously deposit him onto his bed.

He’s asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

You watch him snore for a couple of minutes, completely at a loss for what to do now. All you know is that you can’t leave him–not when you don’t know what’s wrong with him. And something is wrong. Every nerve in your body is in agreement there: Marcus is not okay.

You resist the urge to press your palm to his cheek and gently trace the line of his cheekbone. He’s asleep. He wouldn’t know.

No. Even now, you can’t bring yourself to give into that temptation. Even with as worried about him as you are, physical affection is still way off limits. You’d be showing too much of yourself.

Shaking the thought, you turn and walk from the room, quietly latching the door on your way out.

And you wait.

And wait.

By the time Marcus’s bedroom door opens again, you’re nearly frantic with worry. Just the soft sound of the doorknob turning has you jumping to your feet and muting his TV. You watch as he stumbles out, one hand pressed to his forehead and the other steadying himself against the wall.

“How… How long did I sleep?” he asks, face a maelstrom of confusion.

You glance quickly at the clock. “Twenty-five hours.” And seventeen minutes. Not that you were counting.

“What? Jesus…” he mutters.

“How are you feeling?”

“Starving. Like I haven’t had a proper meal in years,” Marcus answers, moving past you into the kitchen, where he starts opening cabinet doors at random, pulling out food items, examining them with a frown, and discarding them on the counter.

“I could, uh, order something?” you suggest warily, watching him go about his task in a whirlwind of movement.

“That’s not necessary,” he answers absentmindedly, staring blankly at a can of pinto beans before putting it on the counter next to a jar of artichoke hearts.

“Well, I’m hungry,” you say, grabbing a takeout menu at random off of Marcus’s fridge with a little more irritation than is warranted. “Shit.” You hiss, jerking your hand back and watching as a sliver of red appears on your thumb, a little bead of blood welling up and threatening to spill out of the newly-created crack.

Before you can blink; before you can even react, before your brain even registers the movement, Marcus is there. With a low, desperate, almost animal sound, he grabs your injured hand and brings it to his mouth.

The taste of you seems to make him moan louder; he greedily licks and sucks at the wound as though he were parched and this small papercut his only oasis.

At the touch of his tongue, or maybe the feel of his saliva, a sudden, inexplicable wave of euphoria washes over you. You gasp softly, watching with open-mouthed shock as he licks and licks and licks until there’s nothing left.

Eventually, Marcus slowly–almost reluctantly–releases your hand and blinks rapidly as though he were waking from a deep sleep all over again.

Whatever spell that seemed to be holding you in place breaks; you jerk your hand back and stare at him in horrified confusion.

“Marcus… what the hell?!”

“S-Sorry,” he offers weakly.

“Have you lost your mind?” You can’t tell if your question is intended rhetorically or not.

“I… I don’t know,” he answers softly. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not a comforting answer,” you say dryly.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Marcus murmurs, quietly enough that you aren’t sure if he intended to speak the words out loud.

“Thinking about what?”

“How I want to– I want–” he begins, but whatever it is he wants, he never manages to say. Rather than finishing the sentence, his hand slowly comes up to–alarmingly–wrap around your neck, his thumb pressing directly on your pulse point. He’s too close; you can feel his rapid, heavy breathing against your face and all you can do is stare up at him, the silent question of what the fuck written in your eyes.

Suddenly, you’re being released and Marcus pushes you away, stepping back from you with an expression of abject horror all over his face.

“Leave,” he commands raggedly. “Please, you have to.”

You shake your head in protest, frowning. “Marcus, you’re not well–”

“LEAVE!” he roars, and you flinch as though he’d slapped you. In all your years as his partner, you’d never heard him yell. You take one more look at him–really looking, taking in his clenched fists, his heaving chest, and the odd, almost inhuman look in his eyes–and obey. Backing away slowly at first, and then increasingly quickly, you flee the kitchen.

Your hand is on his front door when you suddenly come to a halt. No. You can’t. You can’t leave him. You cast your eyes around until they fall on the door to the nearby guest bathroom. With a hissed curse under your breath, you open that door instead, slipping inside and locking it behind you.

For a few moments, all you can hear is the sound of your shaky breathing. Then, footsteps as Marcus approaches. They pause, as though he’s working out what happened. You jump, suppressing a shriek, when a loud thump resonates in the small room before you hear the unmistakable sound of someone sliding down the wall and onto the floor.

The heavy, defeated sigh is audible through the bathroom door.

“I told you to leave,” Marcus remarks sullenly.

“I left the kitchen,” you point out.

The answering silence lets you know what your partner thinks of that response.

“I’m scared,” he admits quietly. “Something’s… not right.”

“I’m here,” you tell him. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Marcus is quiet for so long, you almost begin to wonder if he’d fallen back asleep.

“I can feel you,” he suddenly whispers. “There’s a door between us, but I can feel your pulse like it’s still under my thumb.”

“Wh-what?”

“I can sense it all. Your heartbeat. The blood rushing in your veins. It’s unbearable,” he chokes out, voice breaking on the last word as though he were at the end of his wits.

“I don’t understand what that means,” you admit. “And I’m not gonna lie, that’s freaking me out more than a little bit, but I meant what I said. I’m right here and I’m going to help you, okay?”

“Okay,” Marcus whispers shakily. “I… I appreciate that. You–it–means the world to me. You being here, I mean.”

“Marcus,” you say, your heart pounding even more than it had been, “I–”

Whatever you had planned on saying is interrupted by Marcus’s cell phone.

“It’s Max Phillips,” your partner announces, somehow, after everything, jumping into work mode. “I’ll put it on speaker. This is Pike,” he answers.

“Hey, buddy!” Max’s voice is so cheerful compared to the tense situation you find yourselves in that it feels jarring and almost makes you physically recoil. “How ya feeling?”

“You,” Marcus hisses accusingly. “You did something to me.”

“Oh, that,” Max says dismissively. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Help what,” your partner growls.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Max laughs.

“Stop playing stupid and help us!” you shriek through the bathroom door, completely out of patience and good manners.

You’re greeted by crackling silence on the other end of the call. Then… “She’s… she’s still with you?” For the first time, the careless demeanor seems to have dropped. Max sounds… concerned.

“Not that it’s any of your goddamn business,” you snap, unable to stop the flood of anger now that you’ve released it, “but I was fucking worried about my partner after he left your house acting drugged–”

“Where are you?” Max interrupts. “I’ll come to you. Bring supplies. But she needs to leave. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shoot back belligerently.

“Your funeral,” Max says, adopting the aloof nonchalance once more. To Marcus, he says, “Text me your address.” Then the line goes dead.

“Are you going to tell him where you live?” you ask skeptically.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Marcus says quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, but it’s clear that Max does. And if he knows, then maybe he can… stop it, somehow.”

“What did he mean, ‘bring supplies’?” you ask.

“Dunno,” Marcus sighs. “Guess we’re gonna find out.”

You’re forced to listen to Max’s arrival through the safety of the bathroom door.

No sooner than he walks into the apartment, you hear him stop and–is he sniffing the air?

“She’s still here,” he accuses.

“‘She’ can hear you,” you snap.

“She’s in there?” Max asks, sounding indignant. “Behind that flimsy-ass door?”

“It’s not that flimsy…” Marcus begins, but Max cuts him off.

“Pal, I’ve seen newly-turned vampires claw through cinder block walls with their bare hands to get at a food source. You could have ripped that door from its hinges, but here you are–”

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Marcus interrupts. “I couldn’t fathom it, I– Hang on, did you say ‘vampires’?”

“Yup. Like, y’know, Dracula and all that. Undead. Drinks blood. Vampire.”

“This was a mistake,” Marcus mutters. “You’re clearly insane, and I don’t have time to listen to the bullshit ramblings of a sociopath.”

“Oh, it’s bullshit now, is it?” Max says airily. “You’re going to sit there and tell me you haven’t been sitting there desperately trying to stop yourself from ripping your pretty partner’s delicate little throat wide open and gorging yourself until she’s a withered corpse?”

You can hear Marcus sputtering angrily… but he doesn’t deny Max’s accusation.

“Great. Now, we can continue arguing over semantics and nomenclature while you just get more and more hungry, or you can accept the truth and drink this.”

A zipper–on a backpack, you assume–unzips, and the faint sound of crinkling plastic reaches your ears.

“What the hell is that?” Marcus asks, voicing your question for you.

“B positive. I won’t lie to you, O-neg is where it’s at in terms of flavor and mouthfeel, but beggars can’t be choosers, pretty boy.”

“Are you giving him blood?” you shriek through the door, but no one answers you. Irate, you bang on the wood. “Hello!?”

“He’ll be right with you,” Max says in a sing-song voice. “He’s busy at the moment.”

“Marcus,” you say lowly, “please tell me you are not drinking blood right now.”

“Mmph–so good,” your partner groans through mouthfuls of… something.

“I’m coming out there,” you announce, jumping to your feet.

“Wait,” Max commands, an odd timbre to his voice, and you stop immediately, your hand hovering six inches from the doorknob. “Not until pretty boy here has another pint.”

“Marcus,” you say warily, pressing your palm against the door as if you could somehow feel him through it.

“I’m okay.” And strangely, Marcus’s voice is calmer, more… human… than it’s been since the moment he woke up from his day-long nap. You still don’t trust Max. But Marcus has been your partner for years. You’d trust him with your life–and you find yourself believing him when he says it’s okay.

“One more,” Max says. “O-positive from 2020. Practically a vintage at this point.”

You shudder, imagining your partner with red tinged lips, a trickle of blood running down his chin as he–

“How are you feeling now?” Max asks.

“Better,” Marcus answers. “Can… Can she come out? Is it safe? I won’t… I won’t hurt her?”

“Depends on the vamp,” Max says. “Most newborns I wouldn’t trust within fifty feet of a pulse, but you? You’re an odd one.”

“I’d never hurt her,” Marcus says again. “I’d rather die.”

Max lets out a loud, barking laugh, as if Marcus had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “That might be easier said than done,” he chuckles. “But I get the sentiment. Come on out, doll.”

In any other situation, you might have scolded Max for even daring to call you ‘doll,’ but your body is thrumming with anticipation–and a little fear–to see Marcus again.

Carefully, slowly, you unlock the bathroom door and swing it open.

Your gaze–as it usually does–finds Marcus before anything else. He’s sitting on the floor opposite the bathroom, his long legs awkwardly bent in the narrow hallway, with two crumpled blood donation bags laying beside him. He’s staring back, his eyes swimming with apprehension and worry. The strange, animalistic glint you’d seen earlier is completely absent.

Still, you find yourself moving cautiously and deliberately, as though a sudden movement might break this tenuous moment of peace. You carefully sink to your knees, at his level, and extend your hand.

Marcus swallows thickly, watching you. For a few tense moments, he doesn’t move. Then, he shifts–and oh, how you hate yourself for flinching. You try to hide it, but you can tell by the hurt in his eyes that he definitely noticed. Never once taking his eyes off yours, he slowly reaches back until his fingertips are just barely brushing against yours.

You don’t miss how Marcus’s breath catches at your touch. His eyes slip closed for just a moment, and he lets out a shaky exhale.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hey,” he whispers back.

“You scared me.”

“I know. I scared me, too.”

“Is this real?” you whisper, hardly daring to voice the question. “You’re really–?”

“I think I might be,” Marcus says softly. “It’s… it’s the only thing that makes any of this make sense.” He gestures at the two empty blood bags he’d been given by Max.

Max.

In a fury, you round on the other man, grabbing the collar of his stupid-expensive shirt and slamming him against the wall.

“What the shit–” Max exclaims in surprise.

“You did this,” you hiss, pressing against his throat. “You… you made him into this.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Max wheedles, putting his hands up in supplication. “I thought he’d make a really sexy vamp.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” you growl.

“I’d love to see you try,” the man drawls with a lazy smile.

“Hey.” Marcus says softly, putting a hand on your forearm and encouraging you to release Max. “What’s done is done. This isn’t going to help anyone.”

“It’ll help me,” you say dryly, still glaring at Max.

“I can see why you like her,” Max grins.

You shove harder, your other hand coming up to join the first as you take out your anger on the man’s dress shirt. “Here’s an idea. Stop talking about ‘her’ while she’s still in the room.”

Max suddenly sobers, sniffing the air again. “You were bleeding,” he says accusingly. “When?”

“What? No I wasn’t,” you protest. “Well, okay, I got a papercut, but it stopped bleeding ages ago, after–”

“After what,” Max prompts.

“He–” you begin weakly, your eyes flitting quickly to Marcus and then back to Max again.

Max moves you away from him as if you weighed nothing at all, before turning to Marcus with a look of utter disbelief. “You fed from her?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess I did,” Marcus answers slowly. “I… I didn’t really realize what I was doing, I–”

“Did you puncture her skin at all?” Max interrupts. “This is important.”

“No,” you answer for him. “He just… licked it clean, I guess?”

Max stares at Marcus skeptically, then turns to you. “He just licked it,” he repeats.

“And… sorta… sucked?” you add weakly.

“What’s the problem?” Marcus interjects.

“Newly-turned vampires aren’t exactly in control of their bodily functions,” Max explains. “A puncture might mean inadvertently injecting venom into your bloodstream.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means this would have turned into a two-for-one vamp special.”

“He can make me a vampire?”

“How do you think he became one in the first place?”

“I wouldn’t remind me of your role in this too much, if I were you,” you growl at Max.

“...Venom?” Marcus asks, interrupting your standoff.

“It’s got some interesting properties,” Max says with a grin. “Injecting it in its pure form will a vamp create, but the trace amounts in your saliva is what makes feeding fun.”

“Do you ever actually explain yourself?” you ask irritably.

“Let me put it this way. When pretty boy here licked that little papercut of yours, what did you feel?”

You think back to the moment–through the fear, through the unease, back to the sensation of Marcus’s lips and tongue on your skin. Finally.

“It felt… good,” you admit quietly.

“Just good?” Max asks, pouting his lip teasingly.

“Better than good,” you whisper. “It felt like… joy. Like everything was right with the world.”

You risk a glance at Marcus, who is staring at you open-mouthed with an inscrutable expression.

“That’s the venom,” Max says with a shrug. “Creates a feeling of euphoria in small doses. Can also cause spontaneous orgasm.”

Marcus makes a pained choking sound, and Max slaps him on the back. “That’s the fun part.”

“How the hell do you… feed… from someone without accidentally killing them?” Marcus asks.

“Carefully.”

“No shit.”

“I can show you if you want,” Max says lecherously, making a show of sweeping his gaze up and down your body in the most exaggerated way possible.

“I think the fuck not.”

Max guffaws loudly, slapping his knee. “I knew you'd be a good time.”

“He is not your good time,” you interject.

“At least let him speak for himself, princess! Nah, as… interesting… as that could be, I can tell when a guy's unavailable.”

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head. “He's not–I mean, we're not–”

“We're partners,” Marcus adds helpfully.

“Oh yeah,” Max agrees condescendingly. “For sure. Just partners. Well anyway, apropos of nothing in particular, I wouldn't recommend feeding from anyone you particularly care about for quite some time. Not until you can control yourself.”

“Speaking of,” Marcus says, clearing his throat, “got any more of these?” He holds up one of the empty blood bags.

“No,” Max says indignantly. “I have got some backup supplies, but I wasn't exactly prepared for this situation.”

“What are you talking about? You turned him yourself.”

“No, this situation. The situation where you're here, with your pulse and rushing blood and warm flesh. Your presence would be fucking kryptonite for any new vamp,” Max hisses. “You're a neon sign of temptation. A little hen in a henhouse with a very hard-to-control fox. Had you not been here, two bags would have lasted until pretty boy here could arrange his own supply, but you complicate things.”

“Well, excuse me for making sure he was all right,” you say, placing your hand on Marcus’s arm in a way you hope is comforting.

Marcus murmurs your name softly, but urgently. “Can... Can you… back up? Just a little,” he asks, looking pained.

Eyes widening, you take several hasty steps backward.

“How long will it take you to get more?” you ask, not taking your eyes off of Marcus.

“Any amount of time is too long when you insist on staying here,” Max says.

“It worked out fine the last time,” you point out. “I'll just go back into the bathroom and lock the door again.”

Marcus shakes his head warily. “I–I don't know… Maybe you should leave.”

“Not a chance.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Marcus says softly. “I don't even want the idea of it. Please. You don't know what you–”

“What I… what?”

“What you mean to me,” he confesses, and you could swear time stops. “I could never risk it. I can't… I can't bear the idea of losing you.”

“You won't,” you promise.

“I didn't want this,” he says bitterly, casting an agonized glance at Max, who, for once, has the decency to look regretful. “All I ever wanted was you.”

You feel as though you’d just had the wind knocked out of you, the words affect you so deeply. Resisting the urge to steady yourself on the wall, you fix Marcus with a stare that you hope conveys every single emotion you’ve ever felt for him.

“I'm staying here,” you say. “And that's final.”

Both men shake their heads at the same time.

“What if... what if he uses me?” you ask Max, ignoring Marcus's protest. “You said it's normal to uh… feed off of live humans.”

“I believe I also said it's something he shouldn't even begin to consider until he's out of the newborn phase,” Max says.

“What if he's careful?” you ask. “What if you help him?”

Marcus softly says your name in warning, but you don't back down.

“Whatever I mean to you,” you tell him earnestly, “you mean the same to me. The same and more, Marcus.”

Time seems to come to a standstill as his eyes widen with realization.

“You… You feel the same?” he asks breathlessly.

“For a long time now,” you find yourself admitting.

You watch as a slough of emotions flicker across Marcus’s face–yearning, longing, affection, and regret.

“I… I wish I had known,” he murmurs sorrowfully. “Before now. I’d… God, I’ve imagined this moment so many times, and in none of those times did I ever tell you to back away because I’m worried I’d just as soon kill you as kiss you.”

“I guess you owe me,” you tell him with a little chuckle. “When this is over. When you aren’t hungry anymore. You can drink from me without hurting me, I know it. And Max is here to stop you if you–”

“This is all very cute,” Max drawls, interrupting you, “but okay. Let's say he's careful. Let's say I stick around to help and intervene if he loses control. I want to make sure you understand that this is… intimate, you understand? Like, I'm all for a sexy romp, myself, but I don't know if I stressed the effects of the venom enough before.”

“You mean the uh–”

“Spontaneous orgasms,” Max finishes for you. “Yeah. Wasn't kidding about that.”

“So, what you're saying is–”

“Is that I'm usually all-in for a feeding orgy, but you two have something else going on entirely, and call me a romantic, but I'd rather not get between you.”

“So you do have a conscience,” Marcus deadpans.

“If you tell anyone, I'll deny it.”

Marcus takes a deep breath, and suddenly shudders. “Shit,” he mumbles to himself. “Shit, I feel–”

“Like you’ve been wandering a desert for days on end with no water? Yeah,” Max shrugs. “That wears off, or gets easier to manage, I dunno. But after a while it’ll start to feel more like normal hunger and less like a–” he trails off, waving his hands back and forth.

“Like an all-consuming fire threatening to stamp out every last shred of my humanity?” Marcus fills in wryly.

“Yup,” Max answers. “Something like that.”

“Does it hurt?” you ask softly, reaching out to touch him again.

This time, it’s Marcus’s turn to flinch. He pulls back, eyes widening in alarm and leaving you to wonder whether you really should be this close. But no, your desire to comfort the man you’ve been secretly harboring feelings for for years overrides your sense of personal safety.

Or any kind of sense, whatsoever.

So you persist, running your hand up and down his arm soothingly and watching his eyes flutter shut at the feel of your skin. The expression on his face–agony, yearning, desperation–causes an ache to sink like a stone in your chest.

“Yeah,” he answers with a rough, strained note to his voice. “Yeah, it hurts.”

You look to Max with pleading eyes. “Help him,” you demand. “Help us. It was you who got us into this situation, so if you have any sense of morality left in there, make it stop hurting.”

Max’s eyes flicker dangerously. “As long as you acknowledge what that entails,” he says quietly.

“Blood,” you deadpan (Marcus shudders pitifully again), “I assume.”

The other vampire rolls his eyes. “Sure, right. Fine,” he mutters, scooting closer to you and Marcus. “First lesson. You don’t bite here–” he carefully taps his index finger on your neck. “That’s either gonna get you another vampire, or a corpse. The, uh, thighs–” he clears his throat awkwardly– “are good places to feed, but you’ve gotta be careful about the femoral artery.”

Marcus lets out a pained sound and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes with gritted teeth, rocking slightly back and forth.

“Alright, that’s enough lessons,” Max says brightly. “Good place to start for a newbie is the wrist. So, uh, you’re just going to want to puncture the skin a teeny tiny bit, and drink from that. Less is more, waste not, et cetera, et cetera.”

No sooner than the words leave the other man’s lips, Marcus’s fingers curl around your wrist like a vice grip, and you gasp.

“Jesus, hang on a minute,” Max sighs. “New vamps, always so lacking in table manners. Listen to me–you’re gonna probably lose control and try to take more than what she can give, and I’m going to do everything in my power to restrain you and get her away. Up to and including violence.”

Just as Max’s words leave you wondering whether this is actually a terrible idea and you should have done what Marcus had asked in the beginning and simply left, Marcus’s eyes meet yours again, his expression surprisingly clear-headed.

“I won’t,” he says softly. “I said I’d never hurt you. That’s a promise.”

Solemnly, you nod. “I know,” you tell him. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

You slowly reach toward Marcus with your palm facing upward like an offering. You’re suddenly hyper aware of your heartbeat racing, thrumming loudly and quickly in your chest, and you somehow have the wherewithal to wonder whether Marcus will get more of you as a result.

Marcus cradles your forearm as though it were a precious gift. You can feel the trembling in his hands, see the quiver in his lower lip as he tries to keep all his emotions–the hunger, the fear, the worry–in check.

“Tiny bite,” Max reminds him in a low voice. “Just the tip.”

You shoot him a disparaging look, but when you see the ghost of a smile on Marcus’s face, you realize he successfully broke the tension.

Hesitantly, he lowers his mouth to the delicate skin of your wrist, and just as you’re wondering where the hell the vampire teeth are supposed to be, his face… changes. You do your best to hold in the gasp that threatens to escape; you don’t want to startle the man and risk him accidentally tearing your flesh. He’d put a stake through his heart himself, you muse. Wait–is that a superstition or a fact? You make it a point to ask Max later as you watch Marcus with curiosity. His face, it’s not ugly, exactly, but certainly monstrous. It’s grotesque in the same way the circus can be grotesque–in a way that fascinates you, thrills you, draws you in…

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as you feel his teeth sink into you.

The split-second of pain melts immediately to a wave of pleasure like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Every nerve ending seems to tingle, sending a frisson of electricity up and down your spine–again, and again, with every lick of Marcus’s tongue. It’s every good sensation you’ve ever felt condensed into one moment, and somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if any human has ever become addicted to being vampire food. You wouldn’t blame them.

Soon, though, the fact that a vampire is drinking your blood completely fades, because all you feel is unadulterated euphoria. Euphoria… and Marcus. Now you’re consumed with one thought and one thought only: get closer to Marcus. You scramble into his lap without a second’s hesitation, not hearing the sudden sound of surprise that comes from Max.

Marcus, who had been single-mindedly consumed in his task, looks up in apparent awe as you straddle him. The hand not gently holding your wrist immediately winds around your waist and pulls you even closer. Now that your eyes are locked, you can’t look away. Those beautiful brown eyes that you know so well are flecked with an animalistic yellow-amber, his brow sharper and more pronounced in his monstrous form but still very much Marcus. He holds your gaze as he lathes his tongue across your skin over and over, each lick causing flames of ecstasy to course within you. You can’t look away–not even when he swallows gratefully with red-tinged lips and dives back in for more. You start to squirm in his lap, each little wave of euphoria–a side effect of his venom, you know, but it feels so real–causing warmth to build in your core. Marcus moans around your wrist when he feels you grind against his leg, and you start to whimper every time your clothed center meets the delicious resistance of his thigh muscle.

As your movements become more and more frenzied, so do Marcus’s; he licks and sucks at the little twin puncture wounds with a fervor that could only be described as carnal. Everything starts to pull up tight deep inside you, and you know, you know what’s about to happen–but suddenly, another arm is there pulling you back, away from Marcus, away from this beautiful pleasure unlike anything you’ve felt before and how dare they, you’re so close, you’re so close, soclosesoclosesoclose–

“That’s enough. Enough,” someone is saying behind you. “It’s time to stop.”

Marcus lifts his head, his lips still smeared with your blood and his eyes dazed and glassy. His face, although still contorted into this macabre new form, is open and unguarded as he tries to comprehend the source of the interruption. As Max pulls you away more forcefully, however, Marcus bares his teeth and hisses at the other man in what’s clearly a show of territoriality.

In a split-second, before you can even begin to worry about being in the middle of a fight between two vampires, Marcus regains his wide-eyed, earnest expression, and his exaggerated features seem to melt, giving way to the face you know so well.

“I’m fine,” he promises, chest heaving. “I’m okay. I’m done, I’ve stopped. Please, can–” he swallows, looking up at you with pleading eyes. “Can you come back? I just–I need–”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’re scrambling back into Marcus’s arms to kiss him with everything you’ve got. He opens to you immediately, his tongue darting out to explore your mouth, and you shudder when you taste the tang of iron. It should disturb you, you think to yourself. The blood, the fangs, the fact that he could kill you at any second. You should find his distorted face horrifying, but you can’t help but be mesmerized by his features in any form.

Marcus’s hands are everywhere–rubbing up and down your spine, gently palming your face, reverently stroking the skin of your wrist as if to apologize for taking what he so desperately needed from you. You sigh contentedly into his mouth as your hands explore him in kind–carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing against the soft muscle of his chest, tenderly tracing the little crease in his brow in an unspoken promise of forgiveness.

You’ve imagined kissing this man so many times, and yet you now know you’ve never once come close to the reality of how it feels to have his lips against yours. It might be cliché, you might be projecting your own desires here, but everything about Marcus’s mouth simply fits, like a puzzle piece. Like recovering a long-lost part of you. Kissing him is coming home.

When Marcus pulls back, you follow him, causing a joyful smile to spread across his face as he whispers, “Are you okay?”

You smile back as you nod.

“Here.” Something orange is thrusted into your field of vision, and you look up to see Max standing awkwardly next to the two of you, still entwined on the floor against the wall of Marcus’s apartment.

You accept the fruit–because it is fruit–and start to messily peel it before popping a slice into your mouth.

“Do you feel dizzy at all? Lightheaded?” Max asks as he watches you chew.

You shake your head. “Nope. Nothing like that. Just… kinda tingly,” you giggle, glancing back at Marcus. “Not in a blood loss way, more like in a um, well. You know.”

Marcus grins and pulls you back down for another soft, chaste kiss.

Pulling back, you give Max a smug look. “Told you he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I won’t lie, I’m pretty surprised,” the other man replies, frowning slightly. “You don’t have any frame of reference for this, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that this is not normal. New vampires cannot control themselves and kill any living thing they try to feed from. Every time.”

“How many of those new vampires were deeply in love with the person they tried it with?” Marcus asks, meeting your eyes with an ardent gaze.

“Of all the times I’ve dreamed of hearing that from you, I never imagined it would come out quite like that,” you say with a wry smile.

Max makes something like a strained choking noise in his throat, grimacing uncomfortably. “Well kids, this has been fun, but I’m gonna get out of here.”

He sticks out his hand and you accept it, letting him pull you up to standing. Once on your feet, all the blood seems to rush away from your head, and you sway slightly.

“She should lie down,” Max comments, watching you.

Marcus nods in agreement and wordlessly (and effortlessly) lifts you into his arms and moves in the direction of his bedroom.

“Does ‘she’ get a say in this?” you protest, although this time it’s somewhat more good-natured than before.

Your answer is another kiss from Marcus before he gently sets you down on the comforter.

Sitting here, on Marcus’s bed, with him hovering over you, opens up an entirely new set of opportunities. The look in Marcus’s eyes lets you know his thoughts are along the same lines, and when he inhales, his breath catches in his chest.

“I’d caution you against that,” Max says in his characteristic deadpan tone from the doorway. “Really easy to lose control in the heat of the moment, and he’s still hungry.”

“Are you?” you ask Marcus hesitantly, who shrugs and drops his gaze.

“Was trying to be polite about it.”

“I didn’t let him take much,” Max explains. “Far easier to rectify taking too little than too much.”

“Does that mean he could do it again?” you ask, the breathlessness in your voice giving you away immediately.

Marcus is, predictably, the one who quickly tries to shut that idea down, murmuring your name and shaking his head in concern.

“You don’t know how it felt,” you whisper. “I think I’d do it every day if I could.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Marcus answers for what feels like the hundredth time.

“You won’t,” you promise. “And besides, Max will be here just in case.”

The two of you turn to the other vampire, who’s leaning against the doorway with an exaggerated sulk. “Oh sure, let’s ask Max. I’m sure he won’t mind watching you feed in the throes of ecstasy… again. Max has no opinion, Max can manage his own hunger, it’s fine.”

“Done pouting?” Marcus asks pointedly. “I think I’m justified in saying that you fucking owe me one.”

Max glowers, but offers no further protest.

“Is this wrist sore?” Marcus asks you, running one fingertip across your skin. “Should I do the other one?”

You shake your head slowly. “I had somewhere else in mind.” Capturing Marcus’s hand, you guide it downward until it rests on your inner thigh. “Here,” you whisper.

Max makes another garbled noise, which Marcus deliberately ignores. Keeping his eyes fixed on your face, he carefully sinks down onto his knees before you. Carefully, so carefully he unbuttons your pants and draws them down your legs, leaving you in your underwear.

“Fuck, I can’t–” comes the sudden exclamation from the bedroom doorway. “If this is retribution, I guess I deserve it, but still.”

You turn your head to look at Max, who appears to be doubled over in pain, and something pangs in your chest. Marcus, who is still fixated on the crux of your thighs, ignores the interruption.

“Marcus,” you whisper, getting his attention.

“He’s fine,” the man murmurs, clearly distracted.

“He’s hungry,” Max groans pitifully. “I might not be a newborn anymore, but I have feelings.”

“He can wait,” Marcus growls. The words sound slightly slurred, and when you look down again, you can see his fangs already protruding.

Max makes another pathetic whimper as Marcus runs his nose along your upper thigh and inhales greedily. You stop him with a gentle hand carding through his hair.

“Maybe we are being cruel,” you say softly. “He’s been trying to help.”

“He’s not feeding from you,” Marcus insists darkly. The possessiveness seems to make his face transform even more–his brow thickening and his eyes flickering with an eerie yellow glint.

“She’s–she’s yours,” Max agrees weakly. “I know. Just—shit.”

Marcus pauses, his tongue darting out to touch the tip of one elongated canine as though testing their unfamiliar shape.

“Come here,” he commands.

Max frowns, hesitating.

“Before I change my mind.” Turning to you again, Marcus strokes the sensitive skin just below the seam of your underwear. “May I?”

“You might be the politest vampire I’ve ever known,” Max muses to himself as he walks toward the bed with cautious steps.

“Please,” you whisper.

Marcus runs his nose against your thigh again before he lowers his mouth. You feel the sharp sting of his fangs for only a second before a sudden wave of pleasure overtakes you.

Perhaps it’s the change in location–from your wrist to somewhere much more… intimate, but this time the sensation of his venom feels even stronger. So much so, in fact, that everything pulls up tight without warning and you come undone while Marcus’s fangs are still buried within you.

You shriek in surprise, bucking your hips instinctively, but Marcus follows, sealing his lips around your thigh and sucking. Each aftershock makes the wound feel like it’s pulsing, but all you can do is writhe on the bed and whimper as the vampire–the man you love–takes from you.

Suddenly, though, Marcus pulls back, pressing his hand against the twin puncture wounds, which are still bleeding openly. With his mouth clearly full, he fists Max’s shirt collar, pulling him in for a rough kiss. Max makes a shocked noise–you think you do, too–but quickly groans in pleasure as Marcus gives him your blood from his own mouth.

Over and over he repeats the action: gently licking and sucking your thigh as you gasp and squirm under the euphoric influence of his venom, then pulling back to give some to Max before swallowing it himself.

The constant waves of pleasure reach a peak several more times, although you can hardly keep track. The combination of the venom and the blood loss, perhaps, is making you woozy, and you’re already drifting in and out when Max gently tugs Marcus’s hair and draws him back. You hear him say, “That’s probably enough,” before you lose consciousness entirely.

Everything is peaceful. You don’t think you’ve ever slept this deeply or felt relaxation this profound. When your eyes open again some untold amount of time later, you do so with a lazy, serene smile.

You blink lazily, trying to gather your senses and focus on the scene in front of you. You can feel the rise and fall of a strong chest beneath you, comforting arms surrounding you as you lay on Marcus’s bed. You know without looking that it’s him that’s holding you, keeping you safe and protected with his body.

To your surprise, Max–you figured he’d be long gone by now–sits at the bedside, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“She’s awake,” he says to Marcus, who immediately loosens his hold and gently tilts your head back onto his shoulder to look at you.

“Hey,” he says softly, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. “You scared me a little, there.”

“Told him it was normal,” Max says, with the air of someone who’s said the exact same sentence fifty times already, “and that she wasn’t in any danger.”

“Still,” Marcus fusses gently, scanning your face with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Here,” Max interjects, handing you a small bottle of gatorade and making sure your hands are wrapped around it before pulling back. “Drink this, and once you can sit up, you need to eat a little something.”

You accept the drink gratefully and take greedy sips until the bottle is empty. When it is, Max sets it back on the nightstand and hands you a couple of oreos pilfered from Marcus’s cabinets, and the rest of the orange from before.

“How are you feeling?” Marcus asks–still with a hint of concern in his voice–as you eat.

“Really good, actually,” you answer with a sigh. “That was–listen, not to be weird or anything, but that was… amazing.”

Marcus chuckles low in his chest as Max smirks next to you.

“Can’t say I minded that particular method of feeding,” the other vampire comments wryly. “Might almost be better than from the source.”

Marcus clears his throat awkwardly, and when you glance up at him again, his ears are tinged pink.

“I didn’t know that about you,” you say softly.

Marcus tries to shrug noncommittally, blushing deeper as he does. “I like to keep my private life private.”

“Fair enough.”

“Don’t mind sharing with the people I care about, though,” he adds.

“Awww, he cares about me!” Max simpers with a teasing pout.

“I hate you,” Marcus counters with no conviction or malice behind the words whatsoever.

“No you don’t.”

“I was talking about her, though.”

“And me!”

“Children,” you sigh, shaking your head in exasperation. “I hate to interrupt, but can I trouble one of you bloodsuckers for some juice or something?”

Marcus raises one eyebrow at Max, who salutes sarcastically and marches out of the room.

“I can’t tell if I like him or if I can’t stand him,” you murmur to Marcus when the two of you are alone.

“Makes two of us,” your partner hums, ducking down to kiss your temple.

“Really?” you ask incredulously. “Didn’t look like you minded so much before.”

Marcus huffs quietly. “It was the solution that came to me at the time.”

“Is that all it was?”

He lets out a slow, even breath as he tightens his hold on you. “No.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, as Max comes back with a glass of juice and another handful of oreos.

“Maybe later,” Marcus answers, sounding a bit bashful.

“Vampires have super-hearing, you know that–right?” Max comments as he moves back toward the bed.

“Wh–what?” the other man chokes out nervously. “Really?”

“...No.” Max hands you the glass of juice with a deadpan stare.

You try and fail to contain your laughter, snorting as you cover your hand with your mouth to disguise the smile.

“But now I know you were talking about me,” Max purrs, leaning toward the two of you.

“No,” Marcus lies–unconvincingly.

“Pretty boy,” Max chastises with that same childish, teasing pout he’s done before. “I thought so highly of you–don’t tell me you’re in the middle of some silly gay panic right now.”

Marcus snorts. “We’re too old for that, don’t you think?”

“You tell me.” Max’s expression is guarded, but you can tell he’s very invested in the other man’s answer.

“Truth is, I’ve harbored feelings for this one for a long time,” Marcus says affectionately, looking down and brushing his hand up your forehead and over the top of your head. “A long time. And it feels disingenuous to even consider the idea of treading on that, somehow.”

“Right,” Max says, standing up stiffly and quickly. “I’m gonna–”

“Wait.”

The vampire pauses, eyeing the two of you warily.

“In a way, it was you who… brought us together, in a way,” Marcus continues. “In a weird fucking way, I’ll add, but I can’t deny that this day has been… beyond my wildest dreams. And–” he swallows thickly, licking his lips before continuing, “–you were a part of that, for better or for worse.”

You carefully sit up, extricating yourself from Marcus’s arms to lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m not used to this much attention,” he adds, laughing self-deprecatingly as he shakes his head in apparent bewilderment. “And now I’ve got the two of you looking at me like that, and I’m not sure what to do with myself.”

“Enjoy it,” you tell him with a soft smile. “I love you. Max likes you. Maybe that’s all we need to know right now.”

“He can speak for himself,” Max teases, parroting your earlier words.

You look at him. “Did you really turn him because you thought he was pretty?”

“Can you blame me?”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader x max phillips #max phillips #the mentalist #bloodsucking bastards #pedro pascal

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huihuiheart · 8 months

Text

Kinktober 2023 D2: Two Can Play - Ateez - Werewolf! Wooyoung

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Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Ateez Masterlist

Pairing: Werewolf! Wooyoung x Werewolf! Afab Reader

Genre: Smut, Some Slight Fluff

Summary: Hongjoong comes to you desperate to find help for Wooyoung through his rut, though perhaps you get more than you bargained for.

Warnings: Switch! Wooyoung, Switch! reader, dirty talk (praise and degradation), teasing from both sides, oral (reader receiving), choking (Wooyoung receiving), manhandling, bondage, unprotected sex, breeding kink.

Word Count: 2288

As soon as Hongjoong approached you, you knew something was off. It wasn’t often he just approached you to check up on things. No, he had his own ways of taking note of that, so for him to approach you it was often something rather serious. The worry in his eyes only cemented your thoughts that something was going on.

“Y/N I need your help...” Hongjoong finally speaks up, lip pulling up between his teeth.

“Of course Joongie, what’s wrong? You know I’ll always do all I can to help out.” You try to reassure him, but it’s hard with how little you’re clued into what is going on.

“Okay...don’t feel obligated to help though. I understand if you want to say no and that is perfectly fine.” He still hesitates some with a sigh, “It’s Wooyoung.. his rut came and there’s no one to help him out. I know you and him aren’t as familiar, but I really have no one else to ask for help, and he’s just in pain, and I don’t know what else to do.”

You pout a little at the amount of emotion rolling off Hongjoong, it is obvious that seeing the younger who he was so fond of like that was weighing on him and pushed him to branch out a little more than the introverted alpha typically would. Wooyoung was sweet enough too, despite the chaos he caused that you weren’t sure you really minded helping out, especially with his looks mixed in as well.

“Are you sure he wouldn’t mind me helping him out? That can be rather intense and intimate at times.” You try to assure knowing that in his current state, Wooyoung likely would just make an instinctive choice and not necessarily the one he would want when it was all said and done.

“Yes, trust me yes. Some of the others might know you as well, but they have eyes... they’re not dumb. They look at you and want you, he won’t mind one bit...trust me.” Hongjoong assures you, though he can still see the uncertainty etched into your eyes. "Please Y/N, there's really not another way."

You sign, "Fine Hongjoong, let me go get a few things so I'm prepared and let me know where to go."

It truly doesn't take you long to grab the few necessities you'd need knowing you'd be couped up for some time if you were to help Wooyoung through this. Noting how a loud growl sounds from upstairs as soon as you step into the home.

"Here's the key. There should be plenty of food stocked up, but we'll bring some more tonight just in case, and if you need anything call me." Hongjoong spits out rather rushed as he quickly ushers the other boys out so they can bolt. Yet not before one of them can tease.

"And don't forget protection~" San teased as Hongjoong shoved him through the doorway so that it would just be you and Wooyoung in the home.

Taking a shaky breath you slowly make your way towards the bedroom, each step seeming slightly more daunting than the last until you're slowly pushing the door open. Finding Wooyoung chained to the bed, the man growling out as his eyes lock with your form sending a shudder down your spine affecting you already. That mixed with the heady scent of him and his rut pheromones filling the air.

"Y/N are you really here? Or am I hallucinating again?" Wooyoung finally finds himself asking, his voice slightly coarse from being in this state so long.

"You...you hallucinated about me? Like this? Now?" Your words are breathy, Wooyoung scoffing at the incredulous tone you had now.

“Fuck have you seen yourself? Of course, I did. I refused help from anyone else, all I’ve wanted this whole time was you. So won’t you please stop tormenting me and come help me out?” By the end of what he was saying Wooyoung’s words were coming out in a growl.

It was your turn to raise a brow now, “Oh? Who said I was going to?”

“We’re the only ones here sweetheart, and no way the others would let you in without you knowing. Plus that key in your hands tells me that you agreed to come here and give me what I’ve been dying to have for so long.” Wooyoung smirks, watching your expression change as you almost feel as though you’re the one trapped for a second.

You’re not ready to give it up though, deciding to take it up a level and make your way over to him. Getting on the bed you throw a leg over his hips, close enough to let him feel the heat of your body above his. One of your hands trailing up his exposed chest.

“Look at you, practically undressed already. Are you sure you’ve been waiting for me? Cause it looks an awful lot like you haven’t.” You tease, watching his eyes glaze over at your touch, his head already fuzzy at barely feeling you.

“I-I was good. I waited. No matter who offered help I denied it because if it wasn’t you then it wouldn’t matter.” He finally gets out as your touch melts him. Watching with hooded eyes as you lean in closer letting him catch a glimpse down your shirt as you do.

“So good for me huh?’ You praise nipping at his chest before soothing it over, the moan he rewards you with sending a shiver down your spine. Wooyoung nearly snarls as he catches the scent of your arousal as a result, the sound only making it worse. “Oh hush pup, I thought you were gonna be good for me.”

“Hm, that depends... what will it get me?” You wipe the smug look off his face only a second later when you’re unbuttoning your shirt, Wooyoung instantly shutting up, eyes fixated on your actions.

“Like I would just tell you. No. Even that would be too easy for a brat like you.” You scoff, shrugging it off your shoulders now, “But perhaps I’ll let you have a taste if you decide to behave for me.”

Wooyoung whimpers at just the thought, squirming slightly, “Please, I’ve dreamed of it for so long. Please let me have a taste of you. You smell so good already, but you’re too far away.”

You put two fingers under his chin tilting his head up to look you in the eyes, “Keep your eyes on mine and you can have it, but you look away even for a second, and well... that’s just too bad.”

Wooyoung’s lip is between his teeth as he tries his best to listen to you, his defiance disappearing at the thought of finally having his craving for you satisfied. The sight of his canines peaking out sends another rush through you, his ears twitching at the sound of your pants coming undone yet he holds out, eyes locked on yours.

“Look at you, my good boy.” You move up, straddling over his head now, as he tugs against the chains wishing his hands could just pull you down the last few inches between your dripping cunt and his mouth. Your hand tangling into his hair and tugging enough to pull him from the haze makes him moan, the feeling of his breath almost making you lose your patience too. “Promise you’re going to make me feel so good? Gonna make sure I’m able to take the best care of you?”

Wooyoung couldn’t care less that your questions came out in such a condescending tone as long as it meant he could have you, “ Yes, please. I promise. I want nothing more.”

His sweet begs were almost what broke you, but the final straw was when you noticed how his eyes glistened just slightly with unshed tears Wooyoung so close to breaking beneath you. So how could you possibly resist that, especially when you wanted this so badly as well. The second you lowered yourself you felt him moaning against you, tongue eagerly lapping as he tried to get every last drop of you. Sure he was looking to please you, but in this initial moment, he couldn’t help but selfishly focus on his own desires to absolutely drown in you. Though his moans certainly helped work you up more, not just in the way they sounded so beautiful but also in how perfect they felt against you as well. Now it felt so easy for Wooyoung to keep his eyes on you, watching you falling apart above him despite acting as though you were in charge of him, your fingers tangled so tightly in his hair and scratching at the base of his ears, back arched, mouth opening to the prettiest sounds, as your eyes fluttered shut. Still, there was something he wanted to see, a small smirk crossing his lips before they were around your clit, sucking hard. The suddenness of it makes your eyes shoot open again lurching forward, shaking above him.

“Fuck Wooyoung!” He practically purred against your clit at hearing your voice finally call his name out like this, nearly screaming it even. Before he’s pouting as you pull back, tongue coming out to lick you off his slightly swollen lips.

“No, come back~” He whines, trying to lift up enough to chase after you, “You’re so sweet, but I just know you’ll taste even better cumming for me.”

You chuckle, leaning down and placing a kiss to his forehead to quiet him before you’re moving down just slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss, pulling away only once you’re both breathless. “As tempting as that is, I have a feeling that if I’m supposed to keep up with you through the rest of your rut I should wait to do that on your cock.”

Looking down you notice the wet patch on his boxers and now you’re licking your lips, but that could wait for another time after all there’d be many opportunities in the next few days you were sure.

“Just a little desperate for me Woo?” You tease grinding down on him before pulling away to remove his boxers, something that caused you both to gasp for different reasons.

“You’ve been plaguing my mind for the past day and a half, of course, I am.” He moans as you slowly sink down onto him. His eyes watch as you toy with the key in front of his face while staying still.

“You gonna be good if I let you go?” You ask and the mischief that shows on his face is almost answering for you and so you find yourself continuing before he can, “ You fuck me up and I’ll return the favor.”

“Is that a promise?” Wooyoung attempts to hide his smirk by biting his lip, gasping as your fingers grip his throat, squeezing just enough to get his attention.

“Shut it pup!” You hiss out, reaching forward and unlocking the chains around each wrist. The second that they’re both done you feel the world spinning around you before you’re face first in the mattress, hips up. Wooyoung pushing into you from behind.

He leans down to nip at the shell of your ear with a chuckle, “Hold on sweetheart, because I’m about to fuck you up.”

You gasp as he throws your words back at you, the sound warping into a moan as he starts thrusting into you.

“See I’m going to ruin anyone else for you. Make sure your mind is as filled with me as mine is with you, and then when your heat comes and you turn into the prettiest little slut for me I’ll come to help you out like you so sweetly came to do for me.” Wooyoung’s words instantly affect you and you swear each time you clench around him he picks up the pace and feels even deeper than he was before.

Neither of you will last long, especially not Wooyoung with you babbling incoherently about how good his cock feels in you. Yet he holds off just a little longer, still wanting something else. He leans in towards your ear again, a hand leaving your hips and going between your legs to rub quick circles onto your clit.

“You know I heard San remind you to use protection.” Wooyoung laughs breathlessly against your ear, “Did you really forget sweetheart? Or are you hoping that I’ll breed you? Make you my little cumdump?”

You can’t control your words enough to properly answer, but you don’t need to not when he feels how you clench around him at the statement.

“Go on then sweetheart, cum for me and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll breed your little cunt.” He promises, kissing your cheek and sending you rushing over the edge, with him right behind.

Once you’re both through it he carefully pulls out and turns you over onto your back. Only then he’s pushing your hips up and nudging a pillow beneath them.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to waste it after wanting it so badly.” He teases before shrugging, “Though I guess I could always just give you more.”

The way you clench around nothing, spilling more of his cum makes him growl. You notice then that he’s still hard and look up at him.

“Bet that’s what you’re thinking about right now, huh desperate pup.” You tease and in a second he’s over you again.

“You’re not wrong... though there is something I want more.” He smirks before dropping between your legs, hands firmly spreading your thighs.

“This time I’m going to make you cum on my tongue before I fuck you full.”

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#huihuiheart #kinktober 2023 #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung smut #ateez wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader

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