#she found out his way too long and strange legal name
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Ngl my mother and you would get along so well it's low key scary💀
I would love to meet your mother as long as she is far more civilized than you.
But alas I fear I will never meet a civil person as long as I reside in this hell of a app with people like the devils spawn also known as Che'nya.
Or rather Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker.
#she found out his way too long and strange legal name#i dont know how she found out#probably illegal or unethical methods#twisted wonderland#twst rp#twisted wonderland rp#twst#twistedwonderland#disney twst#riddle rosehearts mother rp#mrs. rosehearts#mrs. rosehearts roleplay#mrs. rosehearts rp
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Stuck in the middle of a forest made of
Flesh and bones and they're all scared of
A lost little boy who has lost his heart
Fear's not enough, they have to
Tear him apart
—-------
There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:
He’s adopted.
He can’t remember anything else before that.
‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.
What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.
When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.
(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)
The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.
It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.
The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.
His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.
(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)
(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)
They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.
(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)
Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.
He turned back around and went inside.
—-------
Where do we go
When the river's running slow
Where do we run
When the cats kill one by one
—------
One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.
He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.
It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.
He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.
Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.
(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)
After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.
He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.
—------
Hazel beneath our claws
While we wait for cerulean to cry
Unsettled ticks run through time
Enough for the hunt to go awry
—-----
There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.
He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.
Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.
(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)
(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)
He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.
A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.
He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.
His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.
Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.
—-------
Harpy hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say
—-------
When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.
Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.
He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.
Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.
(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)
(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)
(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)
—--------------
It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders
And they will never
Hear me here listen to croons and a calling
I'll tell them all the
Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow
Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare
—-------
More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.
Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.
His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.
They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.
It is a fast dream.
His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.
His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.
The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.
The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.
His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.
(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)
—---
She can't keep them all safe
They will die and be afraid
Mother, tell me so I say
(Mother, tell me so I say)
—-------
When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.
The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.
(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)
(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)
Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.
(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)
—------
Seeker, do you ever come to wonder
If what you're looking for is within where you hold
Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path
You'll soon forget
Home
—---------
When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.
When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.
‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.
He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.
He ends up calling himself Phantom.
(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)
----------
Home is where we are
Home is where you are
Home is where I am
-----------------
Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc crossover#dpdc#danyal al ghul au#amnesiac danyal al ghul au#songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart#musician danny has my heart and soul#yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks#implied good mom talia al ghul#danyal is a momma's boy send tweet#dpxdc ficlet#dpxdc prompts#dp x dc au#dp x dc fanfic#danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au#no beta no edits we die like danny fenton#poc danny fentons#i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense#ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later#morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it#since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous#phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe#not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him
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A Punishment Fitting the Crime
Magistrate Astarion x Rogue Fem!Tav precanon One-Shot
Word count ~ 8600
Synopsis:
Tav is a petty criminal that got caught and is sentenced by magistrate Astarion Ancunín (prevampirism) in the privacy of his office.
TAGS/WARNINGS:
Rogue thief (Fem)Tav, Pre-vampirism Magistrate Astarion, DomAstarion, Sub(Fem)Tav, power play, minor dubcon, bdsm, sexgames with punishments, blowjob, hairpulling, spanking, edging, orgasm denial, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, vaginal penetration, nippleplay
(If the tags are lacking, feel free to suggest any!)
Other notes:
Tav's looks are left ambiguous but her height is mentioned once as being a head shorter than Astarion.
Magistrate Ancunín’s office was located on the top floor of the court house building. Tav made her way up the numerous rows of polished marble stairs, almost compelled to count them from sheer boredom as she went.
The air was clean, almost sharp, with a lingering node of citrus to it, making it relatively easy to inhale while keeping up her steady pace.
Choosing to wear a light jacket, simple pants and shoes had been the right call after all, compromising style for comfort and ease of movement. If she got too hot after the climb, she could simply remove the jacket and still look presentable in her unassuming, common variety undershirt.
The high arched ceiling above her bent with the elevation like a strange, wide funnel, guiding her further along as water would through a pipe – except water would have refused to defy gravity and slid down the stairs.
Such was the life as a sentient, bipedal being. A continuous struggle against the laws of nature.
And regular law, Tav supposed.
Her case had been deemed too insignificant for a full trial. She was to receive a quick and efficient ruling by visiting the chosen magistrate’s office instead, and that happened to be this magistrate Astarion Ancunín.
Their immaculate signature decorated the bottom of the summons letter right next to the official stamp of the courts, both of them equally as artificial in both size and decorum. The way the A’s in magistrate Ancunín’s name had been written to dominate all the other smaller letters signaled Tav everything she ought to know about the man.
Another pompous, bigger than they actually were, holier-than-thou prick that loved to punish bad people and get paid to do so, maybe even keep a shifty side business giving out less harsh punishments and shorter sentences depending on how much gold his pockets got lined up with.
Then again, it was an open secret there were corrupt officials within the courts and that you either knew the right people or had to get really lucky to “do business” with them, as they said.
Nothing too unusual for Tav. Being a rogue sometimes happened to rope her in some less than legal gigs by working for shady people in need of light feet, nimble fingers and keen eyes for suspicious things.
She didn’t care where her skills were needed or who they were for, just that she got compensated for a job well done, like any good, hard working citizen – it wasn’t directly her fault if a customer had an enforced vault with mysterious origins that needed cracking open, or a particular door in the Upper City in need of unlocking without anyone finding out about it. At dead of night. When the owners were on holiday.
Those were all circumstantial details at best and did not in fact make her a criminal.
Tav’s inner justification to absolve herself of any guilt worked wonders for her confidence. Convincing the magistrate ordered to rule her legal punishment for allegedly: “Getting caught giving an aiding hand in breaking in to a high noble’s Summer palace and trespassing” did not.
It was a different thing entirely to lie to oneself and succeed, than to lie to an agent of law and walk away free of charges.
Tav finally reached the top of the stairs panting lightly and found herself standing inside another long, all too bright and polished hallway, almost an exact copy of the ones she passed below. All the whiteness was thankfully broken by the occasional dark paneled door and extravagant painting depicting some form of righteousness or an act of justice being given out.
She peered down at the letter and started systematically checking every door for the right name on a golden placate next to it. A large, vertically slim window opened a view into the dark city at the end of the corridor. Tav peered at the lit streetlamps glowing in the growing darkness leading away from the building she was in.
A road to freedom.
Alas, if she managed to wiggle herself off the hook and get away with a slap on the wrist, that was.
It was late in the standards of a regular day worker and Tav had to wonder if there had been an increase in petty crimes, or if it was an effect of some new government policy for a magistrate to be working this late into the evening. It was so late in fact, that there was barely anyone around, not even guards apparently, except for the random ones patrolling the hallways every now and then.
Must have been a real harsh pay cut to everyone.
Tav found the corresponding name and placate next to the door at the end of the hallway. She peered at the letter again and read the instructions stating her to arrive before the designated time, knock on the door and wait for it to be opened before entering. Otherwise, she was to sit aside and wait until she was let in.
Clenching her fists, Tav took a deep breath before tapping a couple stern knocks on the door and waited.
No response.
She looked around and found herself to be alone, then stepped closer and pressed her ear against the door to listen.
No sounds could be heard through the door. Either the room was empty, or the walls were magically enchanted to keep all sounds inside. Potentially to keep any incriminating statements out of curious outsider ears. She stepped back when a distant metal clinking echoed down the hallway. She took a quick seat at one of the small wooden stools lined next to the wall.
A lonesome guard wandered down the hallway, gloved hands balled to tight fists at their side, weapon ready at their hip, face like carved stone, stiff and unreadable. The guard marched before Tav, gave her a tired little smile, turned around and marched back the way they came from.
The metal clinking of the guard’s feet grew distant, finally disappearing into the distance. Tav was left alone once again.
Her gaze wandered around the space, the white walls, unassuming braziers and finally the sizable painting on the end wall of the corridor. It depicted a blindfolded maiden holding a golden scale – a common depiction of fair justice.
She peered at the woman’s covered eyes, wondering if justice was served blindly and without prejudice even by tired, overworked magistrates that were forced to work late into the evening.
She hoped the magistrate had at least been well fed, having heard terrible things about verdicts changing drastically depending whether a judge was hungry or not.
Time oozed by like thick oil and there was still no answer from the door beside her. Tav checked the letter in her hands for the time and date, comparing them to her pocket time-piece and the small calendar handily plastered above the magistrate’s name placate.
All was correct.
She had arrived on time, did as instructed and waited for an answer, and now it was way past her appointment and it wasn’t her fault that the proceedings would take longer. She seated herself once more and smirked smugly, pondering on using the magistrate’s potentially exhausted state to negotiate herself out out as quickly as possible.
Maybe, just maybe he would be so pent up from today’s proceedings he’d just dismiss her case altogether and they could both just go home.
The door clanked open and an older gnome exited. Tav made brief eye contact with him, recognizing them from another gig she partook in months ago.
This one was a peppy, we-can-do it kind of guy, but his current state reflected worn out desperation, like his spirits had been broken and what remained of them had been chewed out to the bones. He shut the door and turned away wordlessly, dragging his feet down the corridor, away from Tav and magistrate Ancunín’s office.
Tav swallowed nervously.
She recalled the gnome only had a small part in the gig, working as the handyman offering tools for the group. If the man responsible for tool handling looked like he had been sentenced for life, what would her door opening services get her?
The rope?
Tav felt a cold sweat rise to her neck and she gripped the edge of her stool until her knuckles turned white.
Perhaps she should have started being more honest with herself and admitted to having wandered to the wrong side of the law before someone else forced the truth upon her face like this.
The door cracked open again and Tav jumped to her feet, back stiff as a statue.
Magistrate Ancunín looked exactly what she had expected him to be and nothing like it at the same time.
Curly, silver locks swiped back from his face. One loose curl elegantly leaning over the right side of his forehead, as if by design, not accident. Pointy, pink tipped elf ears poking from under a tuft of more, unruly curls lining the side of his face. Two piercing gray eyes, glaring tiredly at her under stern eyebrows.
A handsome – No, beautiful – collection of features.
Tav felt a blush creep up her neck and cheeks, shocked at the surprisingly young looking magistrate’s beauty.
Magistrate Ancunín’s lips formed an unreadable, straight line, prominent laugh lines caging it on both sides of his face. He looked Tav up and down briefly. A wry, forced smile climbed upon his lips, bringing his laugh lines more into view.
“You’re late.” He stated coldly.
Tav’s eyes widened and whatever brief attraction she had for the man evaporated. She wanted to retort back and correct him, but bit her tongue instead.
“Inside.” The magistrate ordered and waved an uninterested hand at her before returning inside his office.
Tav forced a smile on her lips, determined not to show her displeasure and in turn prod the clearly very impatient magistrate further. She followed suit and shut the door as she went, quickly making her way deeper into the office.
The room was spacious and surrounded by heavy, tall bookshelves housing heavy, tall books of law. Miscellaneous scrolls poked out here and there in between them both, with an occasional paper and envelope to accompany them.
The middle of the office was left empty, decorated by an ornamental red carpet, handmade and expensive by the looks of it. At the end of the room sat a heavy mahogany desk littered with documents, letters, an inkwell, quills and a lone, uneaten red apple of all things.
An odd, magically infused crystal lamp provided dim light to the otherwise dark room from the side. Heavy purple curtains covered any leaking light from the streetlamps outside behind the magistrate’s desk, clouding most of the back room in darkness.
Magistrate Ancunín sat behind his desk on his immaculate, leather chair. Head leaned against his bowed elbows and crossed fingers, hiding his mouth from view, gray eyes inspecting Tav keenly.
Tav stood in the middle of the dim room, waiting for further orders.
“Sit.” Magistrate Ancunín commanded.
Tav grabbed the vacant chair in front of the desk and took a seat, polite smile still forced on her lips.
“Do you know why you are here?”
Tav felt like retorting and asking the man the same back, still miffed by the unjustified ruling over her punctuality. He could as well be leaning on her to recite her misdemeanors to him instead of having had prepared accordingly. That, or maybe he was testing her. Or worse, enjoyed verbally tormenting her before slamming a merciless guilty verdict on her.
She smiled and tilted her head, stealing a glance at the side.
“I believe the exact wording was: For aiding in breaking and entering. Oh, and trespassing.”
“Correct.” The magistrate said and picked up the document in front of him and looked it over.
He flapped the paper down and gave Tav a sly side smirk.
“...In addition to suspicions of aiding in other similar activities, not limited to: Breaking and entering. Robbery. Theft. Smuggling. Fencing stolen property and evading law enforcement. Oh. And trespassing.” He added and leaned back on his chair.
Tav’s smile broke a little and a scowl threatened to take over. She willed her face to stay neutral.
“Ah, but the key lies in the wording itself, your honor; suspicions, not proof.”
Magistrate Ancunín’s gaze sparked with interest and he leaned over the desk again.
“Observant one, aren’t you? It must have been bad luck on your end for getting caught that night. Otherwise, I have an inkling you wouldn’t be gracing me with your presence here. In this late hour. In my humble office.”
Tav smiled and read the tired frustration seeping between the magistrate’s words and demeanor.
“Bad luck indeed. Must have been equally bad luck on your part to be stuck in my presence. In this late hour.Iin your humble office.” She repeated and placed a hand on the table, leaning in.
“I believe it’s all just an inconvenient, circumstantial little mishap. Not worth a full trial, certainly not big enough to steal more of your precious time, your honor.” Tav pleaded confidently.
Magistrate Ancunín grinned.
“And what would you suggest we do about this, inconvenient, little mishap stealing my precious time?”
Tav leaned in further, meeting the magistrate’s gaze head on.
“A slap on the wrist, as they say, and I will disappear. We’ll both be free to go home for the night.”
He laughed.
“I’m afraid that’s not how this works.”
Tav leaned against the backrest, her smile now fully gone, replaced by a sullen frown.
“You see, while I appreciate your suggestion to save my time and yours, I however, cannot overlook the fact that this would benefit you more than me.” He mused and grabbed a pencil.
“It’s been a long, hard day and as much as I would love to let you go with a slap on the wrist and go home for the night, I believe there is a serious threat of you repeat offending and being sent back here to steal even more of my highly valuable, highly limited time again. A throughout punishment is in order, I’d say. To make sure you don’t forget why you don’t want to return to my office.” Magistrate Ancunín fixed Tav a sadistic gaze.
It was like he was playing with his food, uninterested in eating it before it jumped up and down, flipped around, pranced and finally begged and pleaded how he liked, before he would even allow it to see his tongue – or declared he wasn’t hungry in the first place and left it to rot on his plate.
“Well?”
“Yes, your honor?”
“You aren’t going to counter my accusations? Plea to soften my verdict?”
“I haven’t heard you come to a clear verdict yet, sir.”
“Guilty. Now, what do you suppose would be a fitting punishment for your misdemeanors?” He arched a brow, tilting the pencil to start writing onto the document in front of him.
“The punishment should fit the crime I would assume. You tell me, your honor.”
“As you wish. I’ll just add in ‘arriving late’ and ‘refusal to cooperate’ to the list first…” The magistrate grabbed the pencil properly and pulled the document closer to himself.
“I wasn’t late.”
“Pardon?” His gaze snapped back to Tav.
“I wasn’t late. I was here before you were finished with your latest customer. I knocked on the door, didn’t hear and answer and sat down to wait, as instructed on the letter.” She pulled out the summons letter and placed it on the desk.
Magistrate Ancunín didn’t even glance at the letter she offered.
“Are you implying I am a liar?”
“Not implying sir, accusing would be the correct term.”
The magistrate sat back on his chair, eyes wide and wild.
“You’re accusing me of being a liar?”
“Yes, your honor. I think we both know you are.”
“Interesting.” He tilted his head.
“… And what will you do with this bold accusation of yours? Convince someone of my wicked ways? Put me on trial?”
“Well I-”
Tav knew this wasn’t a good idea. Even if she knew the magistrate was full of lies, she didn’t have a proper leg to stand on against him. He would just push her down with his superior power and influence, as all great men tended to do to those they perceived to be standing beneath them.
“… Forgive me. I think I spoke out of line, sir.”
“That’s more like it. I’ll correct my notes to read ‘complicit and cooperative’ instead.”
Tav remained silent.
“Now. Back to your punishment. What do you think I should do with you?”
“I don’t suppose letting me just go is an option?”
The magistrate chuckled.
“Persistent, aren’t you?” He sounded almost amused.
“If it’s the verdict you come to, it would be the truth. After all, you aren’t a liar, sir.”
Magistrate Ancunín fixed Tav an intense kind of stare. She stared equally as intensively back. He resumed playing with his pencil before setting it neatly on his desk. He crossed his fingers and leaned comfortably over the desk.
“You would be absolutely correct about that. Alas, the problem lies not in what the truth will be, but what you have on offer for me to enforce said truth.”
Tav perked up slightly. She had gotten lucky after all. Magistrate Ancunín might have been an asshole and a liar, but one of these traits would benefit her if she just knew the right cards to play.
“You don’t suppose some good old gold would settle all this?” She offered.
“Mmh. I doubt whatever amount it is you’re thinking is enough to make up for this.”
“How about community service then?”
“What kind of community service?”
Tav shrugged and peeked around the office.
“You need something opened very late at night, perhaps something small delivered some place without detection…” Tav listed nonchalantly.
“Anything else?”
She returned her gaze to him. He looked slightly interested and more at ease, almost relaxed, if it wasn’t for the ever present frown on his brows. The man looked tired still, exhausted even. He was definitely overworked and hadn’t had a proper break in awhile. He was stressed, tense, like a piano string wrung up too tightly, ready to snap at any moment.
“A massage…?”
“A massage?” The magistrate repeated in surprise.
“Forgive me if I am mistaken, but you look rather... tense, sir.”
“You aren’t mistaken on that part.” He admitted with a raised brow.
“Would you allow me to relieve some of that tension, your honor?” Tav asked sweetly.
“Ever so polite, aren’t you, darling?” Magistrate Ancunín said with a smile.
The petname caught Tav by surprise and she felt a blush rush to her cheeks. She blinked and forced a smile.
“Always, sir.”
“Why not? I suppose it couldn’t do any harm.”
Magistrate Ancunín stood up from his chair and gestured for Tav to stand up with him. She did as commanded and circled the desk to where he was. The magistrate moved his chair to the side to give them free roam near his desk.
He was over a head taller than Tav. His body was slim and his shoulders looked much broader in contrast thanks to it. The air around him gave off an atmosphere of patient authority, something one would expect from a man working in such a high position.
He wore a frill collared jacket made of the finest light blue silks. Silver threaded peonies adorned the front of it. Trails of ornamental threads ran along the cuts of the fabric, every piece carefully tailored to fit his shape.
His legs were covered by similarly colored straight trousers. Plain and uninteresting compared to his jacket that screamed wealth and dignity. His shiny leather shoes provided a dark contrast to the rest of his outfit, having a grounding effect to his looks.
A striking difference to what Tav was wearing. What she had on currently, were some of her more nicer clothes. It was like setting a polished sapphire and a nice, water smoothed stone next to one another. It clearly paid well to be a professional liar in the right place.
Tav settled behind him and the magistrate watched her each move from the edge of his vision. She reached her hands and gripped over the magistrate’s shoulders, starting to rub the firm, tense muscles there in circles.
“Mmmh.” Magistrate Ancunín hummed in pleasure.
“Is that good sir?”
“Very good, darling.”
Tav smiled at the praise and kept going. She worked the top of his shoulders, sometimes dipping over towards his collarbones, to the sides of his biceps and down his back, closer to his shoulder blades.
Even through his fine layers of clothes it was evident to Tav that this man was in excellent shape despite his lanky proportions. He started to noticeably relax the more she massaged him.
“...What else did you have on offer?”
Tav thought through the question as she continued to work on the magistrate’s stiff shoulders. She let her hands wander down along his arms a little.
“Perhaps I could ease the tension on some other parts of your body?” She offered.
The magistrate peeked over his shoulder before fully turning towards her. Tav removed her hands. The magistrate had an inquisitive brow lifted.
“Such as…?”
Tav felt a nervous sting in her stomach. She realized the accidentally loaded implications of her words and let her gaze fall to the man’s chest.
“Your pecks- I mean back, sir.”
He chuckled.
“Aren’t you just adorable?”
Tav froze as a violent rush of heat flooded to her face. Magistrate Ancunín looked proud of himself and searched through her eyes, considering.
“It would be more efficient if I were to undress slightly, wouldn’t it?”
“Eh?”
Magistrate Ancunín smirked deviously and pulled his frilly collar loose and unbuttoned the top layer of his tailored coat. Tav followed his hands with her gaze and felt her heartbeat increase the more buttons popped open.
He pulled his coat off and settled it over the back of his chair, then started on his long sleeved undershirt.
Tav wanted to speak up and tell him it was enough, but she couldn’t. Something in her urged to remain silent and let the events unravel before her as they did. Soon, magistrate Ancunín stood before her shirtless, his well defined pecks and abdomen in full view.
Tav gawked at his perfect skin, her fingertips itching to reach and touch him. She looked him up and down, admiring his figure. The smile on magistrate Ancunín’s lips told her everything she had to know.
“Well, you aren’t just going to stand and gawk there?”
Tav blinked in an attempt to get her wits back, but the sight of magistrate Ancunín’s naked torso had chased most of them away, possibly permanently.
“Oh, of course sir.” Tav moved to stand behind him again.
The magistrate turned with her, staying face to face.
“Ah ah, not my back. You said pecks first, didn’t you?”
Tav froze and her eyes widened. Her gaze dropped at the half naked man’s muscular pecks and remained there.
“Yes. My mistake, sir.” She said half out of breath.
“You are absolved.”
Tav reached to touch magistrate Ancunín’s pecks and began massaging them in circular motions. She tried to keep her breathing calm despite her body’s increased need for more air. She faked appearing confident and stole glances up at the magistrate’s face every now and then, finding his eyes transfixed onto hers each time.
“You’re doing excellent, little pet.”
Tav couldn’t force down the smile and an accidental giggle escaped her. She tried to hide it with a loud clearing of her throat, but the magistrate had noticed it.
“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Ih… forgive me sir, I didn’t mean…”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head at her.
“We can’t have that, now can we? You are to be punished for your crimes, not rewarded for them. Although… if you behave, I suppose a little reward is in order…”
“A reward, sir?” Tav’s voice pitched from excitement.
“Punishment first, pet.” He nodded.
Tav locked eyes with him and nodded with him. He peeked down her body, then leaned close to her face.
“Strip.”
Tav’s eyes widened and she looked herself over. She studied the look on magistrate Ancunín’s eyes and determined he was serious.
“And… if I don’t?”
“Is this not what you want…?” He countered and lolled his head to the side curiously.
Tav felt heat surge to her loins. A pressure formed inside her lower abdomen and she was suddenly aware of the growing slickness between her legs. She sucked on her lips and nodded.
“Yes. Yes it is… your honor.”
“I thought so.” He smiled and snapped his fingers.
“Now, strip.”
Tav bit her lower lip and stepped back, removed her jacket and dropped it on the floor. She began to unbutton her undershirt while magistrate Ancunín watched her with a smirk.
She struggled to hop out of her shoes and trousers, somewhat clumsily ridding herself of her clothes all at once. Soon, she stood before magistrate Ancunín in her underwear.
He gave her a questioning look.
“Naked.” He said.
The breath in Tav’s lungs halted and she nodded, slid the straps of her bras off her shoulders and reached behind to unbuckle them without question, setting her breasts free. Her nipples hardened against the cool air of the office.
She discarded her bra on top of the pile of her other clothes and pulled down her panties, letting them drop down to her ankles. Panting, she stepped out of them, feeling hot slickness rub along her inner thighs.
Magistrate Ancunín grinned and stepped forth.
“Why are you here?” He asked, slowly circling around her.
The repeat question caught Tav off guard.
“Because of my crimes, sir?”
“Because you’re a bad girl, no?”
“I’m…”
The situation she was in started to catch up to her. Tav realized she was inside the top floor of the court house, alone with a shirtless magistrate, naked. Like a scene straight from some cheap smut chapbook circled around Amn. This wasn’t how she expected things to go or how she would negotiate herself off trouble, but didn’t really mind how things looked for her currently.
“B-because I’m a bad girl… magistrate sir.” She panted with a smile, playing along.
“Bad girls need to be punished accordingly before they can become good girls. You want to be a good girl, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“Yes who?”
“Yes, magistrate Ancunín!”
“Good girl.”
Tav felt herself grow wetter over the praise and gnawed on her bottom lip harder. She watched as magistrate Ancunín stopped in front of her, his gray eyes dark. She focused on the way he slowly wet his lips before speaking up again.
“I couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful mouth you have, darling. Not only is your tongue clever with words, I’m sure you can put it to good use on other matters.” He alluded.
Tav nodded, stealing a glance down his front. He extended an arm and curled most of his fingers up into a fist, pointing down at the floor with his index finger.
“On your knees darling.”
Tav’s mouth gaped slightly and she obeyed wordlessly. She got on her knees and looked up at the magistrate as he approached. He unbuckled his belt. Tav ogled as he pulled the belt off and tossed it over the arm rest of his chair. Her eyes flickered down to the man’s crotch and the way his long, deft fingers unbuttoned his trousers.
Unsurprisingly, his underwear seemed to be as fine and expensive as the rest of his clothes, fitting the rest of his getup seamlessly. A man of style and principle. The blue and silver threads of his undergarments were stretched at the front, strained by the growing weight of his half erect cock underneath.
Tav let out a tiny whimper when magistrate Ancunín pulled out his heated flesh. The lean shaft of his cock was as pale as the rest of him and deliciously flushed closer to the tip. The word ‘elegant’ described it perfectly. His trousers folded below his ankles and he stepped out of them while adjusting his underwear lower.
“Lips apart, darling.”
Eyes adoringly fixated on the magistrate’s cock, Tav parted her lips as commanded.
“Lick.” Came the order.
Tav wiggled closer on her knees and leaned in, mouth open, tongue extended, hearing her pulse drum in her ears. She slithered the flat of her tongue from the underside of the magistrate’s engorged dick to its swollen tip with a sigh.
She repeated the action and peeked up momentarily to see the approving smirk on magistrate Ancunín’s face.
“That’s a good pet.” He praised and Tav felt something akin to butterflies flutter inside her chest.
Eager to hear more, she continued her ministrations and started to lap all over the magistrate’s cock. She began properly from the base, continued up the underside of his shaft, twirling around his cockhead and went back down to its base around the sides, then repeated the motions like a ritual.
Magistrate Ancunín’s breathing was starting to grow heftier, as was his hardened length. His erection reached it’s peak as Tav kept lavishing his member with the slick attention of her tongue, her own loins already soaking wet at this point.
A droplet of precum formed at the tip of magistrate Ancunín’s dick and Tav pulled back briefly to admire it.
“Suck.” Came the one word order from the slightly hoarse voice of the magistrate above.
Tav huffed hot air over the glistening wet tip and opened wide, let the cocktip slip between her lips and gave it a gentle suck.
Magistrate Ancunín tensed and let out a muffled growl. One of his hands found its way among Tav’s hair and grabbed a hold, before starting to pet through her soft locks gently, encouragingly.
Tav closed her eyes and swallowed more of the length in front of her, minding her teeth and carefully applying pressure with her lips and tongue. She began to bob her head back and forth slowly, listening to the tiny grunts of approval elicited by magistrate Ancunín above her.
She had experience sucking up to authority, but this was a new form of doing so entirely. Despite the clear, outrageous imbalance of power between them, she found herself feeling safe and pleased by the situation she was in – trouble like this was what she enjoyed finding herself in the most.
She felt oddly powerful down on her knees in front of him. The thought of being able to render a man of such high status as magistrate Ancunín into a whimpering mess just with her mouth excited her further.
The wet heat between her legs demanded attention and one of her hands slipped to soothe her aching clit. She got so lost among the pleasure of sucking the magistrate off while touching herself that she lost the rhythm of her mouth more than once.
A snap of fingers brought her out of her zone.
“What do you think you’re doing down there? Both hands where I can see them. Now.”
Tav furrowed her brows and huffed with her mouth stuffed with dick and removed the hand attending to her own growing need. She placed both of her hands up against the magistrate’s thighs and focused back on sucking him off.
“Eyes on me, darling.” Came the call from above.
Tav’s gaze snapped up and above, meeting magistrate Ancunín’s pleased gaze and self-satisfied grin. His gray eyes looked down upon her with a glint of sadistic joy, the thrill of having power over someone.
“You’re being such a good girl. Keep going.”
Tav couldn’t help the smile that wrung to the edges of her lips and blinked a couple times, slowly starting back up again. Her gaze ate in the way the magistrate above her shivered and twitched each time she pushed his length down as far as she could muster, feeling the hot flesh throb against her own.
Her fingers dug against the soft skin of magistrate Ancunín’s thighs, both in search of support and to heed the earlier command to keep her hands in his sight. The man above her shut his eyes, lost in his own pleasure, his surveillance of her growing lazy. She could easily slide one of her hands off his legs and he wouldn’t notice it returning between her legs.
Yet the new need to obey and be recognized as ‘a good girl’ somehow overpowered Tav’s natural urge to disobey – for now.
Magistrate Ancunín whimpered above Tav and held onto her head, gesturing for her to stop. She could tell he was close, having felt his flesh tremble and his balls constricting in anticipation of his release. He pulled back and shot Tav with a mirthful glance.
“On your feet.”
Tav swallowed the excess spit still in her mouth and licked her lips. She got up on her wobbly feet, knees feeling slightly achy from supporting her against the office’s hard plank flooring. A trail of hot wetness trickled down between her legs as she did.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” The magistrate raised a brow.
Tav met his strong gaze and nodded sheepishly, lips still wet and gleaming.
“Bad girl.”
He raised his hand once again and gestured for her to turn around. Tav spun on her heels and found herself facing the magistrate’s work desk. Magistrate Ancunín reached past her and swiped the documents and items crowding the center of the desk to the sides, clearing empty space in the middle.
Tav stared at the shiny dark surface of the mahogany desk and was sure if it was polished a hint further, she could see the wild arousal burning behind her eyes reflected from it.
“Bend over it.” Magistrate Ancunín ordered.
Tav closed the gap between her and the desk, then laid her hands over its gleaming smooth surface to test it. She bent her upper body over it until the base of her legs stopped her from going any further along it. She felt a firm grip take a hold of the back of her head and gently force her face down against the table. Her chest and perk nipples squashed against the table’s cool surface. She sighed from the contact.
She felt another hand trail up her spine sensually, the magistrate’s surprisingly calloused palm feeling up the arch of her back and the dip between her shoulder blades.
A cool, leather shoe tapped below on the insides of her bare ankles, ushering them apart. With the domineering hand laid over her neck keeping her head in place, Tav felt cornered enough for the will to disobey rise back up again. She kept her feet where they were.
“No?” Asked the magistrate curiously.
Tav breathed against the hard desk, glancing back at the magistrate standing at the edges of her vision. She heard the floor creak lightly as he stepped closer and felt the heat of his flushed skin hover near hers.
“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” The magistrate asked softly, petting her hair.
Tav shook her head as best as she could and smirked disobediently.
Magistrate Ancunín tutted at her and she could barely make out the way he shook his head in disapproval. The hand at the back of her neck tightened its grip and pressed her face harder against the desk.
She whimpered.
“Quiet.”
She stilled and listened.
“Maybe I need to remind you why you should behave?”
Tav swallowed heavily and waited. She felt deft fingers slide between her thighs and brush over her wet folds to her neglected clit. Her hips shivered at the contact and her lungs let out a gasp. The fingers kept rubbing at her ache and the heat at her center wound up tighter. She let out a pleased moan.
“You like that, don’t you?”
The magistrate’s clever fingers glided over her wet folds next, teasing around her hot entrance. Tav shivered at the growing feeling of emptiness around her yearning flesh. The fingers poked at the twitching entrance leading to her leaking canal, never breaching in deeper than that. Tav huffed out of frustration.
“Beg for it.”
Magistrate Ancunín’s touch froze near her entrance and Tav bit her lower lip in excited silence. She relaxed her lower back and parted her legs, sighing deeply before peeking back at the magistrate.
“Please, magistrate Ancunín?”
“Please what?”
“Please… feel up my cunt with your fingers, sir?”
“Hm. Better.”
Tav hummed as a warm digit slid up to the knuckle within her wetness and curled.
“A-ahh…!” She jerked at the sudden stimulus.
The magistrate kept rubbing at the roof of her depths, clearly aware of the sweetspot lingering around there. Tav’s legs shook with every jolt of pleasure, her hips starting to rock against the invading pressure.
“Hold still.”
Tav halted on her tracks, her breathing shallow and laboured. The finger inside of her pressed up against the ache and she struggled not to move.
“I’m certain you’re aware it could be something entirely different easing all this tension within you, yes?”
“Yes, magistrate Ancunín, I am aware.”
With a chuckle the magistrate rubbed his hard cock along her inner thigh and outer folds for emphasis. The finger inside of her curled again, applying more relieving pressure against her lustful ache. Tav sucked in her lips to keep her voice in.
“Ask for forgiveness and I might consider giving you more relief than just my finger.”
He rubbed his finger against her inner walls a couple more times before pulling out entirely. Tav whined as she felt the emptiness around her, the need throbbing inside of her, craving to be filled.
“Please forgive me, magistrate sir. I’ve… been such a bad girl and I must be punished.”
“As you wish, my sweet. Punished you shall be.”
Tav felt the comforting heat of magistrate Ancunín step away from her. He settled out of her view, but kept the hand over her neck firmly in place. Tav waited, listening to him rummage around his shelves.
Suddenly, an hourglass was placed in front of her face. The sand was all piled at the bottom and the magistrate’s fingers tilted it to show it off to her.
“This hourglass will be the length your punishment will last. You can endure until the last strand of sand has fallen, can’t you darling?”
The hourglass seemed relatively small and would last a minute, maximum of three, or more. Tav had no idea how long it would actually take, most definitely a calculated move on magistrate Ancunín’s part. Another devilish way to amp up her discomfort in addition to the sweet torture he was about to inflict upon her.
Tav bent the arm next to her face to see the item better and tried to look where magistrate Ancunín was.
“But you must not make a sound, otherwise I will tip the hourglass over again until you remain completely silent, understood? This is a punishment, after all. Knock on the desk once if you understand.”
Tav clenched her fingers into a fist and knocked on the desk once.
“Good. Now, as to not sully our fun little punishment game, knock repeatedly against the desk if it becomes too much to bear and I will stop. If you stop however, there will be no reward for you, unfortunately. Only good, obedient girls get rewarded. Knock once if you understand.”
Tave knocked once.
“Excellent. Now, lets play.” The magistrate said with a notable thrill in his voice.
Tav took a deep inhale and braced herself for what was to come. The hourglass in front of her was flipped and the sand began to drain.
A sharp smack hit her left buttock. She jolted from surprise. Another slap hit her right buttock and left it tingling the same way her left side did.
She knocked repeatedly against the desk before the third strike could land. The magistrate halted and leaned over her to peek at her face. Tav gave him a coy little smile.
“Sweetheart, are you testing me?” Magistrate Ancunín’s voice sounded playfully shocked.
Tav knocked once.
He chuckled delightfully.
“Do you want me to stop altogether or was this just a test? Knock once to stop, twice to continue.”
Tav watched as the sand in front of her in the hourglass kept draining. She knocked twice.
“Very well then, but ah, would you look at that. I left the hourglass running. Interrupting me like that will extend your punishment, I’m afraid.”
The magistrate resumed spanking Tav with his bare hand, lavishing both of her ass cheeks with plenty of attention. Tav managed to keep quiet through it all, feeling her ass start to tingle and warm up from the repeated strikes against it. The vibrations from each strike traveled to her folds and clit, granting her a teasingly small amount of stimulus that only served to increase the want in her.
The sand drained to the end and magistrate Ancunín paused to tip the hourglass over.
Each slap echoed inside the otherwise silent office of the magistrate as he continued on. He alternated between light and hard strikes, randomly switching between each ass cheek every now and then, pausing at times to create anticipation and hoping to catch Tav off guard.
The pain ebbing on Tav’s behind was starting to sting and she bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from whimpering. She panted hard against the wooden desk, her moist breath misting its gleaming surface. Eyes focused on the slowly draining hourglass in front of her, mustering herself to keep quiet.
Tav began to sweat from the heat of the situation, small droplets trickling down her back and sides in tandem to the heavy trickles of wetness seeping down between her thighs, smearing the hard wooden floor below.
She wanted to disobey so badly, but felt the pain on her backside starting to turn uncomfortably numb with each new spank. She licked her lips, glaring at the hourglass to drain faster, eager to taste the reward for enduring her punishment so well.
Then the final strand of sand fell and the spanking halted. She let out a loud hum of exhaustion, feeling her neglected cunt throb in need.
The hand over her neck was removed and she raised her head to peek over her shoulder.
“That’s a good girl. You endured so well despite the interruption at the start.”
Tav flashed a brief smile.
“Now then, as promised. Good girl’s get rewarded for their efforts.” Magistrate Ancunín said and moved to stand behind Tav.
His still erect cock slid under Tav’s swollen cunt and his hips pressed flush against her aching behind. She hissed at the contact.
“Shhhh… I’ll make it better soon. Now, what do we say when we want something?”
Magistrate Ancunín began to rub her aching ass cheeks with both hands while waiting for her reply.
“Please, sir?”
“Please what, my dear?”
“Your cock, sir. I need your cock inside of me, please?”
“Good girl.”
He pulled away and nudged the head of his cock at Tav’s leaking entrance. He grabbed her hips and pushed in with little effort. Tav moaned wantonly and moved to accommodate him further. The magistrate sighed with pleasure and his grip on her hips tightened as he bottomed out. Tav felt his hot breath against her neck as he bent over her back.
“Oh, you sweet thing. So wet for me.” He panted and began to rock against her softly.
Tav gasped and wiggled under him, her knees shaking from their continuous efforts to stay afoot, backside still tender from the punishment.
“Mmhh… Hold still.” His hand snuck into Tav’s hair and yanked her head back.
Tav whimpered and stilled as best as she could. The magistrate continued to pound into her in languid motions, slow and relaxed, his cock hot and rigid inside Tav’s needy cunt. His grip on her hair kept her head bent back.
She bit her lower lip and enjoyed the way the magistrate’s cock filled her, relieving the heated tension building inside of her. Her wet folds wrapped around him, tightening whenever he pulled out, relaxing as he pushed in, welcoming him back into her depths, begging him not to leave.
She felt the coil in her lower abdomen tighten and felt her release getting closer. Her breathing grew heavy and erratic. Her sweaty fingers grasped at the desk underneath it desperately, her head bent back by magistrate Ancunín’s hand pulling on her hair.
“M-magistrate… Ancunín…!” She whimpered breathlessly.
A broken yelp left her when the magistrate pulled out of her unprompted. His hand released her hair. She shivered and turned to look behind her.
“Turn over.” The magistrate panted.
Tav blinked and pushed herself up from the desk with some effort. She flipped over and magistrate Ancunín helped her lay down on her back on top of the desk. He grabbed her knees and spread her legs, aligning himself between them and pushed back inside her with a loud groan before crashing their lips together.
He licked at her upper lip and wasted no time pushing his tongue between her teeth and intertwined it with hers. She kissed him back with the same fervor, both of their moans muffled by each other’s hungry mouths.
Tav blinked at him through the kiss and watched as his face softened with pleasure. The tense frown was gone, replaced by a pleased furrow instead. He broke off and a broken string of spit fell onto Tav’s breasts. Magistrate Ancunín grinned as he gripped Tav’s sides and fucked into her harder.
“You were so obediently quiet before. I want to hear you scream in turn.” He panted and smirked wickedly.
He slammed his hips into Tav and her eyes rolled back in reaction to the mixture of pleasure and pain.
“Ahhh!” She moaned.
“Louder, darling. Nobody except me can hear you inside these walls.”
He slammed into her again.
“AhhHHHnh!”
“Louder.”
“AHHHHH MAGISTRATE ANCUNÍN!!!” Tav shouted blissfully.
“You’re so pretty when you say my name…”
Tav’s face contorted and her whole body shivered.
“M-magistrate… Ancun… ín… I’m going to… going to…!”
“You’ll cum when I say you can, darling.”
Tav heaved in blissful frustration, her back arching off the desk, ass tender, legs shaking against the magistrate’s sides as she fought against her approaching orgasm. The magistrate slowed down to help her come down, his own body jerking every now and then to chase his own building release.
He stopped still and lifted his hands to play with Tav’s chest. He cupped both of her tits and massaged them, rubbing her perk nipples with his thumbs. She moaned and clawed around his desk for something to grab hold of. The magistrate chuckled.
“Why are you here?”
Tav whined and struggled for words.
“B-because I’m a… a bad girl, your honor…!”
The magistrate pinched her nipples and pulled on them while sliding out of her painfully slow.
“Do you want to be a bad girl?” He questioned and rubbed Tav’s nipples sensually.
Her head thrashed from one side to the other.
“N-no… sir!” She whined, her legs trying to wrap around his waist and pull him back inside of her.
“I-I… I want to be a good girl!” Tav added and pleaded at the magistrate with her eyes, nodding frantically.
She was so agonizingly close. Her abdomen was beginning to hurt from the unfulfilled need. She felt her eyes grow moist from the tears that welled in them.
Magistrate Ancunín gave her a warm smile and gave her nipples one final pinch before releasing them. Tav sighed from the loss of contact, her chest now tingling the same way her ass was.
“You promise to remain a good girl after you leave my office?”
Tav nodded.
“Yes! Yes, I promise magistrate Ancunín sir!” She panted enthusiastically.
“Good girl.” He grinned and slammed back into her.
Tav screamed and threw her head back, letting her voice out in long, broken moans and whimpers as the magistrate began to fuck her in earnest. Her wet walls relaxed to let him in, allowing his length deeper inside.
“P-please… Magistrate Ancunín! Please let me cum!!” She pleaded weakly.
“Not yet, darling. You can hold off a little longer.”
Tav whined and nodded.
Magistrate Ancunín’s own voice broke out and he whined in rhythm to his hips. He hissed and bit his lip, his punishing pace losing focus.
Tav writhed under him, her wet folds pulsing from her barely held back release. She groaned almost painfully, tears breaking free from the corners of her eyes.
“Now darling, cum for me!” He commanded and Tav’s pleasure exploded beneath him.
She screamed his name from the bottom of her lungs and arched her back, her needy cunt milking his throbbing length. Magistrate Ancunín followed soon after, losing himself in her and let go with a husky little whimper. His whole body shook against Tav as his hips rocked into her, jerking the last of his pent up need into her.
He stilled and gasped for air, trickles of sweat now streaming down his face and chest. Tav panted under him, her eyes shut tight as the aftershocks of her orgasm still shook through her nerves. The magistrate pushed himself up, pulled away and stepped back shakily before slumping onto his leather chair.
Tav’s legs felt like uncontained liquid and as soon as they had nothing to support them, fell open and dangled over the firm mahogany desk she was laid on top of.
The office was filled with nothing but their heavy breathing for a good while before an oddly comforting silence took its place. Tav blinked up at the ceiling above, her heartbeat and breathing now calm and steady.
She finally came to enough to push herself up to sit on her still aching ass. She found magistrate Ancunín leaning on an elbow, seated comfortably on his leather chair, legs crossed, his underwear pulled back up and trousers firmly buttoned up again.
His chest was still rising and lowering noticeably heavy, his brows gleaming with sweat.
“I think this concludes your trial. I deem you free to go with a warning. This time.”
Tav managed a weak smile and inched herself off the desk. Her knees felt wobbly, her buttocks ached, and her nipples were swollen, but the pleasant heat now thrumming at her core made everything feel better. She was free to go and more than that, exhilarated by the success of their negotiations.
The magistrate allowed her a moment more of his time to clean up before exiting his office for the night.
On her way down the hall and the near infinite amount of stairs, Tav thought back on her little gigs at the edges of law and was glad to have trailed off to the wrong side of the law for once.
Feeling the combined fluids of their heated negotiations slick the insides of her underwear, she itched to be bad again, in hopes of finding herself back within magistrate Ancunín’s office to be reminded how to be a good girl once more.
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3 fanfiction#bg3 astarion#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate 3 tav#baldurs gate 3 smut#bg3 fanfiction#magistrate astarion#prevampirism astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion and tav#astarion x tav#astarion x tav fanfic#astarion smut#astarion fanfic#tavstarion#astarion x f!tav#astarion x female tav#bg3 smut#astarion fanfiction#dom astarion#oneshot#smut
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Appa's Lost Days
Dare I hope?
You know, if ten year old me had turned on my TV to watch my weekly dose of Avatar and been greeted with a nearly two minute long uninterrupted sequence of a frightened and distressed animal being mistreated, that TV would have turned right back off again.
I don't buy that a ten tonne bison who has the leverage of his own weight as well as his airbending abilities would succumb to so few people.
Name one other character that Avatar has presented as so thoroughly without any redeeming characteristics. Even Zhao was at least kind of funny. Everything about the chucklehead on the left is rotten to the core. "What's your dad going to do when he finds out we broke his stuff while doing crime?" "Nothing. It's not his stuff; it's previous crime."
I thought beetle-headed was a commentary on their intelligence, but it's actually a description.
I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that I should have waited to get my hopes up until I came to an episode called Appa's Found Days. Is this whole thing going to be a series of near misses with the Gaang?
You know, if I had a nickel for every time an animal companion on this show has been threatened with a trip to the butcher's, I'd have two nickels. In the space of two episodes.
This is not fun to watch guys.
Not if I break you first asshole.
The way this Nurse Ratched type circus guy says "earn it" is chilling.
Of course the Fire Nation would find a way to turn bending into animal abuse. Of course.
a) that cage is way too small
b) who knew cabbage suction could be so cute?
Completely unsubtle parallel with the boy here, right down to the complete disregard they show to the threats thrown their way.
Stubborn and wilful are not adjectives I would use to describe Appa this episode, or ever.
Wind buffalo. Wind Buffalo. Really? Was Fart Cow taken?
That's a very relatable facial expression.
That makeup and costume is awful.
Now that's satisfying.
Is the Fire Nation kid voiced by Aang's voice actor?
Nevermind. THAT'S satisfying.
I was right - this episode is Appa always being a step behind the Gaang.
Baby Appas! This almost makes this episode worth it!
It's funny how a single feature can contribute so much to a character's design. Arrowless Aang is just some kid. Let me rephrase that, since such a big part of Aang's character is the fact that he's just some goofy kid. Arrowless Aang is indistinguishable from other kids for the first time this series, because every other time we've seen him on screen he's either the only child airbender with his arrows, or the only airbender left.
Lady monks. Nuns? I don't think I've seen those before.
Appa and Aang share a dreamscape? That could be useful.
There's dumb, there's really dumb, and then there's 'wake a completely asleep and therefore harmless unknown creature with threats of violence' dumb.
Close call for Iroh. Do you think he's suspected that Appa (and presumably the Avatar) haven been in Ba Sing Se this whole time?
Bipedal Appa is strange. A very effective fighter, but strange to look at.
I'm amazed that giant boar thing walked away from that.
And now they're hitting me with an 'Appa's given Up' montage. Someone who works on this show hates me.
*Heroically refrains from ranting about the impracticality of using white fabric for an active warrior's glove.*
"This could be our most important mission yet." Foreshadowing?
Did Suki and Appa actually meet at any point in the Warriors of Kyoshi episode?
Turns out 'Aang' is a magic word.
Appa kisses!
Appa is apparently legally banned from having anything good for more than five minutes. Although it's good writing that they're using a previously established weakness - Appa's shedding - to bring the danger ladies back in.
I guess they have Azula drop the line about her brother to remind the audience of who she is, but surely Suki's like "Who are you? Who's your brother? Why should I care?"
Azula going after the Kyoshi warriors is completely unnecessary right? The Avatar isn't there. Neither are Zuko and Iroh. It doesn't even net her Appa. She's just looking for someone to beat up.
WOW this is bad writing. Like really bad. My Immortal levels of bad.
Would it be too much to ask for the Kyoshi warriors to do even slightly ok against the Azula ladies? Couldn't they at least get a couple of hits in?
Kudos to Suki for essentially sacrificing herself and her warriors to save Appa. 'Most important mission yet' was a bit on the nose.
Out of options, Appa goes home. Ouch.
Someone explain this to me. Air Bison teething ring?
My what a human sounding cough you have buddy.
This is why you don't use Air Bison as guard dogs.
I like what this Guru is saying. Fear displacing trust but not love feels more accurate than how I usually see the consequences of trauma discussed.
The music playing throughout this sequence fits so well. I think it's some sort of metal thing you hit - I want to say a variation on tubular bells, and maybe something Glockenspiel adjacent? It's unlike anything I've heard in this show before and it fits so well that I'm nerding out a bit.
Disney princess Guru. Aang has Disney princess moments too. Maybe it's an Air Nomad thing?
No wonder the monks built a temple here. Even destroyed, it's gorgeous.
And Appa decides to trust again. I love it when an animal visibly comes to a decision about your trustworthiness.
This energy reading stuff makes sense given that Aang and Appa already share a dreamscape.
He IS a great beast. The best!
OH COME ON
Someone whip up a wanted poster for Long Feng: Cattle Rustler. It had also never occurred to me that he was an earthbender.
That flip move with the earthbending platform must have caused Appa to land on his back. I bet that hurt.
One of the times I am very grateful that the closing credits music is so upbeat.
Final Thoughts
@aboutiroh I see why you recommended I save my chocolate for this episode.
The Tale of Momo was really just a preparatory taste of things to come, huh? Almost a microcosm of this episode.
This is the first episode where I had to take breaks while watching. Especially the circus sequence, I think I got up twice to do things like get a cup of tea and stare randomly out windows at squirrels. I didn't even have to do that with Zuko Alone, despite freaking out a lot about it, because at least that episode took breaks from the child abuse to check in with Aang being miserable. This episode was unrelenting.
If I had seen this episode when I was the age of the target audience, this may well have turned me off the show for good. If my Mom had seen this episode, I would have been banned from watching the show entirely. Not a decision I'd agree with, but my Mom is the type of person who banned her kids from watching Bambi.
To watch through all of that unrelenting animal (at best) unhappiness, and still not get Appa back at the end of the episode? That's a bit much. It's not often that this show ends its episodes without at least a little bit of something positive.
Once again, the music did a lot of heavy lifting this episode. The animal noises weren't quite as emotive as the ones in Momo's Tale, but Appa's face is more expressive, and more was shown through his expression than through Momo's, so I feel like this episode had just as much non-verbal animal communication as Momo's Tale.
I think I'm renaming season 2 "the Suki redemption arc." I really didn't like the Warriors of Kyoshi episode, and I didn't like what her character did in that episode. But every time Suki appears in season 2? She absolutely nails it.
The show since losing Appa has taken to wallowing. Even with bright spots like the poetry bouncer, the overall tone since Appa's appanapping has been ever more dark. If this keeps up for many more episodes, it will no longer be fun to watch.
Somehow I don't think this one is going on my rewatch list.
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Holding the universe in his arms/////Fuck it we ball jonatello fusion fic real
literally so fucking exausted i might not even continue idfk but i needed to get it off my google docs so i can continue or smthn idfk but here yall go enjoy
The crystal glowed with an eerie light, illuminating the room and reflecting off Donnie’s goggles. They carefully chipped a piece off and held it under a microscope, watching the colors swirl and change. It was unlike anything they had ever seen before, and it certainly wasn’t recorded in human history. ‘Makes sense’ they thought, huffing to themself lightly. ‘I found it on a crashed Kraang ship, so it’s probably some sort of alien material.’
The object glowed and almost pulsed. It was mesmerizing, one could fall asleep if they stared at it for too long. But Donnie wasn’t going to sleep. Not just yet.
Now, Donnie should have expected what happened next. It’s rare they get a moment of peace with their family. But, surprisingly, the person that tumbled into their lab with a laugh and a shout was not an orange and green blur. Donnie looked over at the absence of orange for a split second, but immediately turned back when they saw the intruder. Of course he would bother them at this exact moment.
“Heeeyyy, Stickmaster!! What’s that shiny rock ya got there?”
Arnold Casey Bernid Jones Junior. The way Donatello got his full legal name is not important. What is important is the fact that he is their greatest rival. In love, in snarky remarks, in machinery, you name it. Except intelligence. They trump him on that topic. But either way, he has no reason to be here, and Donatello had no reason to put up with him.
“Nothing you need to know about Puckhead, now get out of my lab before I lose a foot up your ass.” Donatello doesn’t move from their spot examining the crystal, not even when they hear a chuckle and a soft “Hot.” come out of Casey. He’s been doing that lately. He’s been.. Flirting. More so than normal. Which in and of itself is a feat, considering the walking pansexual disaster flirts with almost everyone he meets. No, the flirting is not strange. It’s that he’s been flirting with Donatello. An insane thing to hear, Don was shocked the first time they heard any words of romantic affection come from his mouth. But, alas, this is true. It started out small, just little “damn!”s and wolf whistle coming from the human. But it’s been escalating more as of late. Patting their shoulder and giving them a sly smirk, random offhand comments about their attractiveness, a couple sexual innuendos thrown in with their regular banter. Donatello hated it. They hated it so much, they hated the way their face flushed when he got close, hated the way their stomach flipped when he smirked. It was ridiculous, unnecessary, horrible, but somehow the best feeling they’ve ever had.
“Come on, I just wanna look! Just a little peek?” Casey whines, slumping over Donatello’s shoulder. He was close. Too close. They could feel the warmth emanating from his body, feel the unnaturally loud thrum of his heart, could feel his hot breath on their neck. He was too close. Far too close. They shrug him off the best they can, which resulted in him groaning and spinning their chair, and by proxy, them, to face him. He steps back and crosses his arms, a slight pout on his tan, freckled face. It shouldn’t have been endearing. “Listen, Shit-for-brains, I have work to do. I need to study this.” They turn back, hearing another loud groan come from their ally.
“Doonniieeeeeee, you’ve been in here for days! That's the whole fukin’ reason I'm in here, Leo told me to come and get ya before she came in to whoop your sorry ass into bed.” Donnie scoffed, of course that was why he was here. Their sister. He would never come in here on his own terms.
[a small part of Donnie deflated at that last thought. They smack that part of themself upside the head, and focus on ignoring his presence.]
“Well, you can tell her that I am just fine staying where I am. I have been keeping up with my hygiene, and have been eating and drinking properly. There is no reason I should need to leave.” Casey barks out a laugh, pushing Donnie’s tools across the table to lean in front of them. “‘You can tell her that I am just fine staying where I am’” Casey mocks them with a high, nasally voice, adopting a smug, reserved look as he does so. “Bull! When was the last time you went out and ate?” He then yells, reverting back to his regular, loud voice. Donnie shrinks back just a titch at the volume, before scoffing and crossing their arms. “This morning.” They say, pushing the goggles up on their forehead.
Casey raises an eyebrow. “And what was the date of this, ‘this morning’?” he says, eyeing them suspiciously. Donnie pauses.
“April 3rd.”
There's a moment of silence before Casey bursts out laughing again. “April 3rd?!? Dude, it’s the fifth today!” Donnie jumps back at that, rushing to their laptop to check the human’s facts. He was right. HE WAS RIGHT?! Donnie had been cooped up in their lab for two whole days?! They swear it hadn’t been that long! But the universe was against them in this. And apparently was hellbent on making it worse, because Casey then grabbed the crystal. “So, on account of this new realization you have just had,” He said, holding the glowing thing above his head in a ceremonial way, “I am going to confiscate this until further notice.”
Donnie stood up and shouted, lunging for the crystal. He somehow managed to swerve away from them, laughing and jumping around. “Casey! I don’t know if it’s safe to touch! It could be unstable!” They moved to grab it again, but he was too quick. How was he too quick?! “I dunno don, seems pretty safe to me.” He runs the crystal from the middle of his thigh to the side of his collarbone, smirking the whole time. It pushes up the side of his hoodie for just a moment, putting his hip and lower waist on full display. Casey wasn’t likely to be seen without layers of black clothing, and Donnie was surprised to catch a glimpse of freckled skin before the hoodie fell back down. Apparently Donnie was Immensely tired, because not only was Casey faster than them, that last little trick he pulled was effective in slowing them down even further. They curse themself for being so easily flustered.
Casey laughed at Donnie’s state, hopping back and forth around them. Crystal in hand, he was literally running circles around them. Donnie continued to try and fail to grab the crystal from him, resulting in the pair entering a sort of dance. Casey came close, Donnie lunged, Casey dodged and barked out a laugh. The crystal seemed to grow brighter in Casey’s grip everytime the two made some sort of contact, illuminating his face in an ethereal way. This was not helping Donnie’s case at all. At some point Casey started dancing around the mutant, his laugh filling the room with joy. Donnie hated it. He came close, grabbed their hand. The crystal grew impossibly bright. He let go, spinning around and around, dragging Donnie with him. Donnie was dizzy and annoyed. This was so ridiculous! He was messing with a potentially dangerous force, with no regard for his safety! And while this was no different than normal, it was endlessly infuriating. To top it off, Casey ended the spin with a dip, holding donnie in one arm and the crystal in the other. He held the crystal far away from Donnie, but the light still managed to reach his eyes.
There was a moment, a still moment, where everything was calm. Where, for a moment, the light filtered through Casey’s fingers with an unearthly glow. Where, for a moment, Casey’s normally dark eyes seemed to hold an entire galaxy. Where his smile was as big as could be, missing teeth and all. Where his dimples indented his cheeks in a way that perfectly matched the splattering of freckles on his face. Where all the acne scars seemed like stars, light spots scattered across his face. Donnie saw themself in his eyes, along with the galaxy they held. Logically, they know it was just the reflection of light off their goggles. But, for a moment, it seemed as though they were peering into puddles of space. And, for a moment, Casey was just so impossibly beautiful that they could not stand to look at him anymore.
Thankfully, the moment was ended by the pair being enveloped in white light, forcing them both to close their eyes.
[With how observant they were, Donnie seemed to miss Casey’s flush as he dodged and weaved, seeming to miss how loud his heart was. They seemed to miss that Casey did not have a galaxy in his eyes, because he was looking at Donnie like they were his whole universe.]
#im literally going to kill myself /nsrs#THIS WAS THREE PAGES AND IM NOT EVEN TO THE MAIN PART YET UGH#they r so silly 2 write tho they r in love and they hate each other !!!!!#its so silly!!!!!#btw they dont fuse yet#BUT they r abt to they get to the glowy shit just before!!!#jonatello#caseytello#2012 jonatello#jonatello 2012#2012 tmnt#tmnt 2012#tmnt fic#2k12 tmnt#tmnt 2k12#2k12 casey#casey jones 2k12#casey jones#casey jones 2012#2012 donnie#donatello tmnt#donatello tmnt 2012#donnie 2012#2k12 donnie
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Pretentious Coffee, Chapter 5
In reality, Astrid knew very little about Hiccup. She didn’t know his last name, where he was from, how old he was, nor something as mundane as his favorite color. He was a stranger, and Astrid had a natural disinclination toward the different and unfamiliar. Her life had always been perfectionism, tradition, and obtainable expectations.
In the wake of her breakup, it became distressingly clear how little joy all of that brought her.
Hiccup represented change. He was a departure from her structured life of top grades and—until just recently—a steady, stagnant relationship. The only competition between the two of them was the clashing of wit, opposed to a passive-aggressive battle for innate superiority.
Other than that, Hiccup was a complete mystery to be unraveled—a thick novel with an exciting back cover summary. He was a distraction from her misery, until two-timing ex-lovers united them by a common pile of absolute crap.
She hated Eret even more for it—for reaching into the private daydream she had set aside for herself, tainting it.
“This isn’t how I imagined this would go,” Eret said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Astrid shared the sentiment. She thought the next time she spoke to him would be one-on-one, where she could tear him apart. Likely, it would have escalated to a shouting match, but that would have been enough to give her closure and end things on mutual loathing; her pride would be bandaged with contempt.
“Why is this so strange? Is this too straight-forward and decent for you?” Hiccup asked, and Astrid found herself inching closer to him.
“Look, Hiccup,” Eret sighed, “it was never about you. Or Astrid. What happened between Heather and I—it wasn’t intentional.”
“Neither is, say…vehicular manslaughter, but that doesn’t make it okay, does it?”
Astrid nearly choked on a mouthful of beer. She turned away quickly to cough and stifle a rather poorly timed laugh. Hiccup caught her eye and there was the hint of a smirk on his face. She flashed him a smile Eret couldn’t see.
“It’s not like this came out of nowhere,” Heather finally spoke up.
“Right. You asked for space and I gave it to you. How thoughtless of me,” Hiccup muttered, taking a long sip of beer. “Or was I supposed to inherently know that ‘I need some space’ actually meant you wanted to be pursued?”
“Headgames, huh? Well, you know all about those, don’t you?” Astrid asked, rounding on Eret.
“So, you didn’t even bother to read my texts,” he accused.
“Would they have contained some new revelation?”
Eret fell quiet, brow furrowing into a solid line. Astrid stared back at him unwavering.
There they were, mirror images. Both too much alike to back down. Cut from the same cloth, they were both too headstrong to last. Neither one wanted to lose—to be the one left limping way from their failed relationship with their proverbial tail between their legs.
“Let’s go,” Heather murmured, gently tugging on his arm. “I like the fire pit better, anyway.”
Eret shot Astrid one last lingering glance meant to wither her, but she did not balk. They were both proud, and so things remained unsettled still. There was more that needed to be said before their relationship could be declared legally deceased. Astrid had a whole glossary of creative insults and curse words she had yet to throw in his face and it would be such a shame if it were to go unheard.
Eret and Heather slipped back outside leaving Hiccup and Astrid in a resounding silence that the even stereo’s bass beats couldn’t penetrate.
It was only them in the tiny space, with their beer and regrets. They wouldn’t look at each other, though their history and embarrassment had become inextricably linked.
“So, that was awkward,” Hiccup commented.
Astrid could appreciate his attempt to lighten the mood.
“Heather is—was your…?”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize Eret screwed somebody over as well. He seems like a decent guy…except for the whole, y’know, falling for other people’s girlfriends thing.”
Astrid nodded. She rotated her bottle in her hands, admiring the label.
“Looks like you and I are connected,” she said.
Hiccup smiled wryly. “By heartache and bad coffee.”
“Passable coffee,” Astrid amended.
Hiccup laughed and it warmed Astrid’s toes again. She couldn’t help noticing the way his green eyes lit up like the absurd marijuana leaf atop the Christmas tree, and the way his freckles consolidated as his face contorted with mirth. She smirked, hiding it in her drink as she considered him through her lashes.
In light of their similar circumstances, she found him more appealing. True, he was no longer separate from her problems with Eret, but Hiccup understood where she was at. He could relate, and he was still so intriguing in addition to it all.
He replied, “I’m afraid you don’t know what constitutes decent coffee.”
Astrid had to give him that. “No. I don’t.”
Another silence settled between them, but it was far less heavy.
“Are you leaving, then?” Hiccup asked.
Astrid cocked her head to the side and wondered if his incessant talking was a compulsion.
“To put some distance between the two of you,” he gestured vaguely toward the backdoor, and Astrid understood to whom he referred.
“No. I’m not running away this time,” she huffed. “He can stand out there and stew in it for all I care. Best thing I can do is enjoy myself.”
“Mmm, because you were just so successful at that before I waltzed over here.”
Astrid rolled her eyes and reached out to swat him in the shoulder. He flinched but chuckled.
“Fine. Parties aren’t really my thing,” she admitted, “but I don’t want him to gloat, thinking he ran me off.”
Hiccup’s grin broadened, and though his sarcastic quips tested her claims and her patience, there was no judgment in them. He was enjoying himself, engaging her on intellect, drawn in by her brain.
“Yes,” he sad. “Staying at a party you hate just to rub it in Eret’s face isn’t vindictive at all.”
She found their mental exercise equally stimulating. Never before had someone shown such fascination in her wit, provoking her purely for the fun of the banter.
She fired back, “You’d rather I leave then?”
His expression changed from cocky to startled. “No, no! No, I…I was just saying…”
But what he was supposedly ‘just saying’ was never defined. He gazed out of the kitchen window, sipping his beer with a red tint to his ears that could not be attributed to an overhead string of Christmas lights.
In their seemingly endless volley, Astrid had just scored a point.
She was smug, catching a glimpse of the first page of him, beneath his glossy cover with its snarky taglines.
“Anyway, this party hasn’t been all bad. Besides Ruffnut, though, I don’t really know anyone else here,” she told him, sizing him up as he stared elsewhere.
Those fitted black slacks were seared into her memory, even as she admired his loose, low-riding sweatpants. Heather was decidedly a fool.
Astrid’s eyes snapped back to his as he turned toward her again.
“You know me,” he replied.
She rolled her eyes. “You served me coffee and attitude once.”
“Well, I—“
“You implied I was privileged, too.”
She delighted in the way he grew flustered—the most un-composed she had seen him. She was slowly peeling back the layers of him, and each one was more endearing than the last, which wasn’t difficult when his outermost façade was one of an almost cynical apathy. There was an appeal to the two sides of him—the newer, more vulnerable side, and the persona he projected to give the impression Heather hadn’t crushed him.
Astrid could relate.
“A-haha,” he laughed dryly. “Uh, yeah. My humor can…sometimes leave much to be desired.” His eyes flickered pointedly to the back door. “Or so I’ve been told.”
Astrid scoffed. “Who cares what she thinks anymore?”
Hiccup quirked an eyebrow. “You seem awfully concerned with what Eret thinks.”
Astrid opened her mouth to refute him, but immediately snapped it closed. Any excuse would be a lie and he was far too clever to buy it. Flirting or teasing, whichever was more accurate, there was an honesty in their exchanges that she hadn’t enjoyed with anyone else.
Sarcastic, though he may be, Hiccup didn’t mislead. He hadn’t said anything meant to misrepresent himself; no bragging, no self-adulation. He didn’t try to woo her with flattery. There was not a single incidence she could recall where he had tried to impress her. Since he had first sassed her in that coffee shop, Astrid had the impression Hiccup was being nothing but honest in the parts of himself he had chosen to show her. It was masking an internal turmoil much like her own, but it was very much real to who he was.
She owed him nothing less in return.
“An old habit dies hard,” she retorted. “Although, I would say it’s less caring about what he thinks, and more trying to stay one step ahead of pettiness.”
“A strategy I can appreciate.” He tilted his drink forward and they clinked bottlenecks together.
Hiccup swallowed the last of his beer and strode to the recycle bin to toss the empty glass. Astrid couldn’t help watching him move. He was lanky, but with some detectable definition beneath his shirt.
She finished off the rest of her beer, feeling her pulse quicken before her brain could even catch up. But she knew—adding her bottle to the bin and brushing past him—that the gathering electricity in the air was a premonition of things that might be. She was standing on a precipice with him, but whether he be just polite or obtuse, Hiccup was not straightforward about his intentions. She was going to have to decide the turn of events, should he be so inclined…
He was not an alpha male—everything Astrid had previously believed she wanted. That old checklist was quickly fading like a piece of notebook paper left out in the rain.
It was not like her to pursue—to have to ask. It was intimidating to make herself open to rejection. That was not the norm in a predictable relationship that unfolded exactly how one would expect. Nothing about her interactions with Hiccup followed any of the rules or standards she otherwise lived and dated by.
But she needed that; she needed something extraordinary to propel her forward to explore the potentials of dating, of adulthood, and a liberated sexuality.
Hiccup was that kind of extraordinary. He wasn’t a guaranteed solution to her problems, but he would certainly unlock what came next, pulling her spinning wheels out of the mud.
It was intimidating, but also empowering. With him, she could take a chance.
“Well, I’m not going back out there, and you’re the only person worth talking to in here,” Astrid sighed, folding her arms across her chest.
She could feel her own heart racing like she had just ran a mile.
Hiccup smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment rather than a lack of options.”
“Is there someplace more private we could move…this?” Astrid gestured between them, trying not to be too implicit.
It was all still open-ended. Hiccup had given her no indication either way.
Perhaps she was being unreasonable? Perhaps he wasn’t attracted to her in that sense? Perhaps she was reading too much into whatever chemistry she thought they had?
And for that reason, she wanted nothing explicitly stated, in part so she couldn’t be rejected.
Hiccup’s face did something peculiar, running through a range of emotions from taken aback, to curious, to contemplative. Nothing negative passed over his features. His shoulders slackened, head tilted to the side, trying to decode the riddle of her request.
“Sure,” he said, leaving the kitchen abruptly, and Astrid assumed she was meant to follow.
As she trailed him through the narrow hallway, she felt like molten lead was being pumped into her legs.
They were headed for his bedroom.
Her entire body felt hot with anxiety, excitement, and a knees-wobbling anticipation. She tried to remind herself a simple invitation to his bedroom did not necessarily mean anything—it was a small house where the only other private space was the bathroom, currently occupied by someone puking.
Still, she hoped it was a short hallway or Hiccup might turn to find her collapsed in the middle of it.
They took a sharp right leading to a single door that he held open for her.
“After you,” he said, and Astrid smiled, hoping her nerves didn’t twist it into something unhinged.
She stepped over the threshold, committed to chase Hiccup as far as she could down the rabbit hole.
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Random things I noticed, or liked, in “The Quarry” after playing it over and over again. (part 3) (Part 1 is here, and part 2 there)
How does Jacob make it all the way back to the surface? Like... I did explore everywhere and there was no way out.
Just took a screenshot because I thought the sky was pretty...
Existential question: Dylan Lenivy or Leviny? Because I thought it was Lenivy but on this screenshot you can see the opposite... so I'm wondering. Is it just the French translation that is broken? (It also does this for many other names, what's the point of changing their names?)
What is this dance that Emma is doing in the basement? This is not the time! I want to stay positive and everything but there is a difference between making a few jokes to lighten the mood and... dancing?
Please stop insulting your “kidnappers” or enemies or threats I don't know. Ryan, this guy is at least four times your size, he's super strong, holds a knife way too close to you or your throat, and all you can do is insult him? Maybe it's not the best idea of the century!!! (I speak for Ryan but for real they all do this in the game. It's like they want to get killed...)
Spitting on Constance is definitely the funniest thing in the world, I love her reactions. She is the worst person ever but she made me laugh so much.
Please can someone explain to me what the hell this bucket (or seal?) is doing in this room? Or whose room is this?! It's so gross... and even after replaying the game many times... I still don't get it.
I love Ryan's shoes. They're so great, I want the same ones!
I hate the fact that the card “The lovers”, is dedicated to Ryan and Laura... like... ew. I love their dynamic, I find them very funny together but not as a couple, just traumatized best friends. (And no hate to you if you ship them, I'm willing to defend any ship as long as it's legal.^^)
Emma, stop appearing out of nowhere! You freak me out even when you are not infected! Also why is it Abi to do everything when it's Emma who absolutely wants to move and check every single thing around?!
Why is Chris attacking Ryan since he's infected? Just... I can't quite figure it out, didn't he smell like a werewolf enough or whatever? Does it take a while between the bite to be recognized as a werewolf? Like Emma didn’t attack Dylan or Caleb didn’t attack Kaitlyn either? So...?
Oh and I saw someone do a super cool one shot on how Ryan's body could technically regenerate since he didn't die from a silver thing. Disgusting but so amazing! This author, so creative I love it!
“Chris was not the first”, “That's not possible”. How would you know Laura? You never gave the problem any more thought than that since your goal was to save Max.
Which also explain the fact that Laura went directly to the island without checking Kaylee's body. I always thought it was a little stupid but it makes sense if she thought there was only one werewolf, Chris.
Speaking of, Max is hilarious, at least his confusion is. I also appreciate the censorship of Suppermassive games. I mean, when you turn into a werewolf you basically explode, and your clothes with it. Still, it's strange to see that no matter who gets transformed, they always end up back to human with enough underwear to cover them (well, almost all of them). Thank you for this delicacy.^^
My god the ugly family portrait... Sorry Chris but this is not cool at all. We know you must be the favorite son but still...
Oddly enough I found bobby's collar for the first time! Why does he have a collar like that?
Who chooses to have a sheep as a mascot? Like, didn't they want a dog or a rabbit instead?
The students must have been really bored in “class”, there are at least 12 tic tac toe sheets everywhere. Who took the time to model that?
Does Bobby really lose all his jewelry on the floor? I mean the collar and now the ring.
This is the first time I've seen Jacob all alone in the woods and it made me a little sad for him. Sure, he's a little dumb, but he didn't deserve everything that happened to him.
#The Quarry#The quarry the camp counselors#supermassive games#This should normally be the final part of this little series...#probably because I should stop making stupid comments while playing x)#max brinly#laura kearney#ryan erzahler#dylan lenivy#kaitlyn ka#jacob custos#emma mountebank#abigail blyg#nick furcillo#the hacketeers#hackett family#constance hackett#jedediah hackett#bobby hackett#chris hackett#travis hackett
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Some other name
Summary:
Simon thinks about his name. And new names.s.
Words: 523
The characters belong to Rainbow Rowell
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Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43335285
@carryon-countdown
Simon.
Things have been quite odd since I found out that I always had a family. Lady Ruth and Jamie have been very loving to me. They want to make up for the lost time. I still can't get used to their displays of affection, though I enjoy them anyway.
The last time I went to visit them she told me she wanted to officially recognise me as her grandson. Both legally and in the eyes of society.
"It's what you deserve, Simon. You're part of this family. And I want the world to know it" she said.
I burst into tears after listening to her. Lady Ruth (I still find it strange to call her Grandma) comforted me, hugging me for a long time (another thing I have to get used to). When I calmed down, we went to the kitchen to eat the sandwiches she had already prepared for me. Baz arrived an hour later, intending to pick me up.
In the end, we slept over at her place. I think she'd be very happy if we moved in with her.
That was a couple of weeks ago. Tomorrow morning, we have an appointment with a lawyer: Lady Ruth is going to give me her surname. Then she's having a party, with some of her closest friends, to formally introduce me as Simon Salisbury.
Simon Snow Salisbury. I suppose that it should always have been my name.
(I will not, for one second, consider the Mage´s name as my own. He doesn't deserve such consideration.)
My name, my new name, keeps going round and round in my head.
"It's funny to think that we've always called each other by our middle names," I say to Baz.
We're in bed, he's got his head on my chest. And I stroke his hair, brushing it with my fingers. I love quiet nights like this. Especially since we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.
"I would never have guessed it. I just did it to keep my distance from you" he replies, sounding exhausted.
When we talk about our past, he tends to feel a little glum. I lean down to kiss his forehead.
"It's going to be strange getting used to a new surname... but I'm excited by the idea"
Baz settles onto his side and pulls me into the same position.
"Now you're going to have a ridiculously long name too"
"I guess we match"
I hug him, my leg is over his hip. I even have my tail wrapped around his wrist and my wings covering both of us. Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve the life and everything I have now. Being next to him proves me wrong though.
I'm about to fall asleep when I hear Baz laugh softly.
"What 's wrong?"
"I was just thinking that someday there's going to be a little Pitch-Salisbury"
Imagining our own family, warmth comes over me. We haven't talked about having babies in any serious way. Not yet, obviously, but in the future. Yes, I want that.
"Or a Salisbury-Pitch."
Then I kiss him, kiss him, kiss him...
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Hello!
My original idea was very different from what it turned out to be, but I still like the way it came out. The prompt for today was Bloodlines.
I titled it as a reference to a line from Romeo and Juliet.
Which one do you like better, Pitch-Salisbury or Salisbury-Pitch?
Thank you very much for reading
Ciao!
#simon snow#baz pitch#snowbaz#snowbaz fanfiction#carry on rainbow rowell#carry on countdown#Carry On Countdown 2022#coc 2022
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since multiple people have wondered abt my funny ryanyurikeith office au can be found here. its just a google doc though.
the plot i havent detailed anywhere, in summary:
keith is the naive average protagonist who tries his best. he has awful dating luck and hasnt even gotten to a real date, and has been stood up by a lady named cis (more on her later).
ryan is the bad boy who transferred to the school, and yuri is the childhood friend. but who knew... ryan actually has a heart of gold despite his delinquent behaviour and yuri is the actual bad boy with his dark delinquency secret.
this except its in an office building and everyone is an adult. but its just a spoof of some high school romance tropes i could think of. also, everyone has way too much time to focus on interpersonal drama even if they all allegedly work fulltime jobs, etc.
so its perfect. its not exactly legal but through legal ways the culprit would just simply cover their tracks... shes only surprised yuri agreed to it so easily but apparently he is multifaceted...
the plotline beyond strange romance blunders and comedy bits is that someone is stealing the company assets and the three guys have to figure this out, assigned to this task by agnes.
she trusts yuri, who is also the general counsel and therefore well-suited to this task. she also trusts keith, because as the head accountant (they have in-house accounting), everything related to money has passed through him. plus he is their best employee.
ryan she does not trust but despite the rumours, due to him coming from a branch office, its impossible hes in any way related to it and even if keith is very nice and yuri is very cordial, neither seems very good at making excuses for mystery projects and the like, whereas ryan is a publicist so its his actual job, and also hes very loud and insufferable, and if he was not trustworthy yuri and keith would be very cross with him.
keith is just having fun and being himself. breasting boobily across the room to introduce himself to his new coworkers. he is going to adopt a 2nd dog (very important and deep. directly plot-related)
unbeknownst to agnes, yuri HATES corruption and rich people and corrupt rich people. he is wiretapping every single board members phone. be has access to half of their personal banking information. he has filed them away neatly too!
he is already halfway through solving the theft himself and now his greatest issue is that he cant let his coworkers know he is doing this, and that hes been doing this for a long time and publicly shaming them as the mysterious lunatic who sends neat press releases to the media (though ryan thinks that guys press releases are a bit lacking. clearly not a publicist aha. he could do better)
for no reason theyre going to not learn anything for the hypothetical 1000 chapters in my mind because the writer had to invent new misunderstandings to achieve the perfect romance “will they wont they” for no reason. theyre all going to think that the two others are dating for real at some point.
theyre going to take 500k words to remember they all have two hands despite having blatant carnal relations about twenty chapters ago.
then the series gets cancelled by gabriel brain inc. publicing company and its wrapped up in one chapter and its like thank god. fucking finally theyll get together for sure!
also the other people have various other side plotlines but this explanation is already way too intended but dont you worry. theres so much lore to this joke AU
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Shadowbone Cache
Riley's Notes: I don't know if anyone was wondering what happened to the Mayor in this AU, but here's your answer. Also, I used Behind the Name for his name and I adore it.
PS: The title is a reference to a specific card in a card fighting game, and kudos if you know what that game is.
Dai Xie finally allowed his black tail to emerge from his body, long and whip-like, with a savagely pointed end. It curled around him, almost protectively as the characters on it, normally hidden began to glow softly.
His unnaturally wide smile was nowhere to be found.
Although the Bone Demon was finally gone, her influences on his mind were difficult to overstate. Everything in his head that he'd once been so afraid of, she normalized it. It made him feel like he didn't have anything to fear from himself, but he knew that these thoughts weren't normal. He had to be sick, in some way.
No matter. A sick smile spread across his face as he raised the edge of his tail to his throat, standing up on shaky knees. Just as his tail began to draw blood, he paused.
Maybe there was something left for him after all. Maybe things could change for the better, for him, at least, in the Bone Demon's absence... but it wasn't like he was going to make any friends after everything she'd encouraged him to do. Their world was so much unlike the one that he'd been preparing for, one where his mind would be cleansed of the nightmarish images that plagued him seemingly at random.
The arrowhead of his tail fell to the floor below him, and it was at that moment that one of his business partners chose to open the door. Red Son's eyes widened as he saw the true form of his advisor on the legal side of things, the man who helped with the paperwork.
The Mayor immediately rose to his feet and saluted, sweat rolling down his face as he flickered in and out of his true form, between a form that could pass as human... and that of a rare Demon with shale gray skin and simple, yet eerie curved horns. It gave him the appearance of a deal-brokering Demon, which, if he was one... would explain a lot of the fine print in the contracts Red Son had signed.
"So this is what you are..." Red Son narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. He knew something had been up with his advisor, but now, he had it proven to him. The strange, earthy scent that emanated from the shadow Demon reminded the fire Demon of an abandoned cave in a tropical rainforest.
Dai Xie struggled to adjust his tie, forcing a smile despite the blood oozing from his neck. He tilted his head as he spoke. "It would only be fair for you to cauterize this, no? Such searing pain is only a just punishment for..." His smile vanished, giving way to something a little more sane as Red Son reached out to pat his shoulder.
"No. I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy, but if you don't have the same healing capabilities I do, that cut might will need treatment." Red Son clapped his hands twice, then muttered something in Mandarin as the previous sound drew the attention of one of the innumerable spider robots that wandered around the building. The eight legged machine scuttled off while Red Son was left to comfort the head of his legal team.
Red Son gestured for the other Demon to sit down at the meeting table, then took the bandages from the robot when it returned with them. As he used them to wrap up the cut on his advisor's neck, he watched him with a certain sense of sympathy due to all of the shaking that wracked Dai Xie's body.
Red Son spoke with relative caution, as he wouldn't wish this kind of stress on anyone. It had a few too many signs that reminded him of panic attacks, if what he'd overheard from Syntax's psychology ramblings was accurate.
"So. Xie, what's on your mind?" The informal tenor he'd taken sliced through the tension in the air with great ease.
Dai Xie chuckled, a forced, anxiety-inducing sound, if Hai'Er was being honest, but the way his entire expression fell into a cold, lifeless stare drove it home. "You don't want to know that."
Red Son forced the anxiety down. He'd made a promise he intended to keep, and he wasn't going to let this knock him down. After all, there was less danger here now anyway, what, with all three of the Pyres lit.
The shadow Demon across from him paused as the lines in his eyes, which served the same purpose as a heart monitor's, flatlined for a few tense moments. Red Son didn't move, and when Dai Xie's heart resumed beating as it normally did, the shadow Demon breathed a sigh of relief more obvious than Red Son's.
"I, er, apologize deeply, sir." Dai Xie's hand rose to his collar, until Red Son grabbed his wrist, giving him a stern glare. The lawyer's heart rate spiked as he forced a smile, holding his hands up as if there was a weapon pointed at him. Red Son sighed and sat down next to his advisor.
"...I just need to know what you're going to need for your office. The mere idea of a hostile work environment drives me crazy." Those words had Dai Xie flatlining again for a few moments, his head almost limp on his shoulder. It was eerie, but Red Son had seen it just enough that it didn't unsettle him as much as the first ten times he'd seen it happen.
Dai Xie shook himself off. "I, er... would greatly appreciate softer lights for my office, but I didn't know if I was allowed to install them since they'd be on my dime. I'm most comfortable in the dark, where... where I can't be seen."
Red Son had figured that the dark dweller hid himself so much for a reason. He had resigned himself to communicating with his team from his office, which he usually kept locked, with the lights off save for his computer monitor and a standard nightlight plugged into a wall outlet. The fire Demon wasn't surprised that he wanted less light, as standard nightlights could still be too bright for a photosensitive Demon.
"Alright, I'll see what I can do, and if you find what you're looking for, don't be afraid to bring it into the office. The worst you'll get is a few weird looks from some of the staff."
"...alright. I don't want to be stared at... but it's a small price to pay for a bit more comfort in my office." As Xie's shoulders fell, Red Son couldn't help but relax shortly afterwards, glad that his trusted advisor could find at least a little bit of respite in such trying times.
#[The Spectral Steward - Dai Xie - The Mystic Mayor]#[Arc Two - Toxic Tides - Post-Canon]#[The Fires of Passion - Carmine - Red Son/Hong Hai'Er]
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—moonstruck. (m)
⟶ pairing: taehyung x reader
⟶ genre: werewolf!taehyung au / arranged marriage au / smut with a sprinkle of fluff
⟶ words: 7,421
⟶ rating: 18+
⟶ summary: in hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted” and the only way to save you is to be mated with taehyung. whatever that means.
⟶ warnings: multiple smut scenes, first time (virgin!taehyung), clumsy sex, soft and gentle sex, sort of rough sex, all the sex, cunnilingus, riding, hair pulling, knotting, buckets of cum, biting kink, slight impregnation kink, unprotected sex, creampie
⟶ disclaimer: first fic back after a long hiatus and i’m suddenly v nervous to post this!! also this is shamelessly and 100% inspired by an episode of the show outlander (to be exact, the wedding episode). i couldn’t help myself!!
“Are you serious right now?”
In hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted.” Whatever that means.
Had you heard yourself speak a year ago before meeting Taehyung and having your life turned upside down, you would have surely thought you were insane, and you would have definitely thought Taehyung is insane, and the rest of his friends who are, subsequently, now yours ━ each of whom are all currently splayed out before you in Namjoon’s spacious country-side home with similar grave looks staring back at you.
“Dead serious,” Hoseok takes the liberty of breaking the odd silence saturating the kitchen. He’s made it a point to be on time for once, which you consider great and all if it wasn’t basically to dispute your current death sentence. “Always thought Jaebum’s pack were sons of bitches ━ glad to know it’s still true.”
“Hoseok,” Yoongi scolds. “Be a little more compassionate.”
“Am I wrong?” Hoseok refutes.
From off to the side, Jimin pushes himself forward with a frustrated groan, shaking his head. “Tae, I told you this was a dumb fucking idea ━ bringing Y/N into the pack━”
“I didn’t think this would happen,” Taehyung protests hotly. He’s leaning against the wall somewhere behind you, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown darkening his face.
“How could you not think this would happen?” Jungkook retorts bitterly.
“Shut up, Jungkook.”
“She’s a human,” Jungkook says. “Jaebum wants her gone, but if he were to get his hands on her, then who knows what could happen━”
“I said shut up, Jungkook,” Taehyung snarls, an odd vehement tone dripping from his every word that is out of the place for the usually tranquil boy. Jungkook’s mouth clamps shut at once, though you suspect it’s not to do with defeat more so than because he’s the newest addition to the pack and, while Namjoon is their leader (or Alpha, as you’ve heard being thrown around before), Taehyung was something of a second-in-command. You could only imagine the consequences of crossing either Namjoon or Taehyung within the pack.
“Hold on a second,” You try to sputter for air, lungs wheezing. Your mind has since been spinning, struggling to keep up. At first you thought they were joking when they had told you, but now you were beginning to understand the severity at the very least. “I’m being hunted? Why?”
Now, Namjoon looks from Taehyung, then to you, and back again. Taehyung hesitates to answer at first, and Jungkook scowls. “Well, tell her, Tae. You dragged her into this mess. She deserves to hear it from you.”
As you twist in your seat to look up at Taehyung, your eyes locking briefly with his, the boy grimaces and then has to look away. He takes a deep breath before responding. “Okay, look. You know that pack I told you about? Jaebum’s?”
You nod, though the memory is vague. You’ve heard the name in passing before, but you could only gather that there was some sort of animosity between his and Taehyung’s pack.
“He found out about you, and I don’t know how,” Taehyung explains. “And now he wants you gone, and he’ll do anything to see it through.”
You blink once, dumbfounded. Terrified, even. Taehyung can certainly hear it in your voice and it makes him flinch again, as if being striked across the face. “Why?”
“Because you’re not one of us,” Taehyung says. “Because you’re human. When I first told you about us, I was risking everything. It’s uncommon for one of us to bring a human into the pack just because, and often even frowned upon. There’s a fear you’ll expose us to the human world or the hunters. Jaebum’s threatening to start war if we don’t deal with this situation ourselves.”
It’s only then that the dread begins to creep upon you, chilling you to the bone. “Deal with it… how?”
“The ultimatum is either kill you ourselves, or give you over to Jaebum to deal with, as a sort of peace offering,” Namjoon says carefully.
“Which probably also results in death,” Hoseok points out morbidly.
Jin scoffs. “Or worse.”
“Is there any option that doesn’t result in death?” You ask warily. At this, the group falls silent once more.
“Well, there is one.” Namjoon glances fleetingly around at his brethren, then sighs. “You become one of us.”
“I━” You stammer, face suddenly hot. “You mean, like, a werewolf?”
“I mean, a wedding.”
“A wedding?” You gasp. “How is that going to save me?”
“Not a wedding like you think,” Namjoon says. “More of a bonding. A handfasting. Right now, as a human, you’re vulnerable and exposed. We have no claim over you. But if you become one of us ━ without being turned ━ then Jaebum shouldn’t be able to touch you.”
Slowly, you begin to piece together the fragment of your dilemma. “Marry who?”
A beat of silence passes amongst the group in which time you spot Namjoon nod in the direction of Taehyung’s figure beyond you, a wordless yet clear gesture. Suddenly, a stubborn warmth of a blush pinches at your cheeks. You wonder if they can notice, if Taehyung can notice. You start, “Taehyung━?”
“He offered to be the one,” Namjoon says. “And Jaebum knows Taehyung’s role in the pack. If he knows you’re mated to Tae, Jaebum would be absolutely insane to try and come for you. It’s the only way, Y/N, and it ensures your safety.”
“Marrying Taehyung?” You ask shrilly, voice dangerously thin. “How is marrying Taehyung going to ensure my safety?”
“It’s not just a marriage,” Jimin explains.
But of course you already know this, werewolf laws a strange and intricate jumble of rules that you’ve long since grown accustomed to. When he speaks next, you already know it’s much more than a marriage; and, when he speaks next, you fear you’ve already had your fate decided for you.
“It’s not just a marriage,” Namjoon repeats, matter-of-fact, “because we’re making you Taehyung’s mate.”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
You try not to think about it. Admittedly, marrying your friend who you have only known for a year isn’t something you had been expecting. But, as Namjoon had explained it, it wasn’t necessarily a legal unification between you and Taehyung, though you suppose it’s as valid now as any marriage with the ritualistic handfasting ceremony making it official. That, and you favoured living to see another day instead of becoming a werewolf’s next meal or ripped to shreds by one.
Only a day after your conversation with the boys of Taehyung’s pack, you’ve come to your ultimate decision which has led you to where you are now, returning to Namjoon’s home for a wedding. Your wedding. You hadn’t very long to decide your own fate anyway, with the boys grimly warning you it was now or never. But you trust them, despite this crazed ludicrous situation you find yourself in ━ and you trust Taehyung more than anything, your friendship with him having quickly blossomed into something so sincerely profound over the year that you’ve known him.
If you’re being honest, Namjoon’s pack had at least made an effort for the occasion because despite how unconventional it is, it was still a celebration. A celebration for your marriage, and a celebration for their hopeful victory over Jaebum. Still, the underlying threat of the evening remains, made more prevalent by the fact that it was required to invite at least another pack (of which you’ve met the leader, Jisoo, a handful of times before) as witnesses. It’s a simple ceremony too, quaint and cute if you weren’t clinging to life. You had made it a point to dress up, digging a pretty white dress from the depths of your closet with flowing butterfly-like sleeves; Taehyung had forgone a suit but was still handsomely dressed too, leaving you to feel like less of an idiot. Namjoon had officiated it, standing before you and Taehyung as you held one another’s hand, wrapped delicately in ribbon, listening to the vows being proclaimed that talked about true love, and the passion and yearning involved.
When the handfasting finally draws to a close, you’re shoved into a room alone with Taehyung for a moment of privacy by Hoseok, who can be heard quipping wolfishly, “Get it over with quick!” before vanishing behind the closed door. You wager he’s left to join with the rest of the festivities outside where, no doubt, every werewolf is currently drinking themselves blind.
Finally alone with Taehyung, a saturated silence fills the air that has you wringing your hands anxiously in front of you. You sit on the edge of the bed in the center of the room. “What other choice was there, Tae?”
Taehyung takes a moment to respond, and even he knows the thought is a useless one when it crosses his mind before voicing it aloud. “We could have ran away.”
“How far would we get?” You sigh. Still, the sorrow earnest in his voice and riddling his face is enough to make you look up at him sympathetically. “I’m no use to you if Jaebum or someone worse finds us by ourselves. Besides, the boys need you.”
“No, you need me,” Taehyung insists. “Jungkook’s right. I dragged you and the pack into this mess. It’s my responsibility to fix this.”
He drags his feet towards the bed, then flops down onto his back on the mattress. A troubled groan punctuates the air, and you sneak a glance behind you to see him rubbing warily at his eyes.
You decide now would be the best time to ask the one question that has been on your mind since the night before when you were sitting in Namjoon’s kitchen to discuss Jaebum’s scorn. “Is that why… Is that why you offered to be my mate?”
“Yes,” Taehyung admits meekly. “Sort of. Think we’d all rather it be me than Joon, anyway.”
You don’t argue with this. The reasons as to why it had to be Taehyung satisfied you well enough. That, and aside from having befriended the pack over the months, you’re much closer to Taehyung than you are with the others.
“So…” You trail off, clearing your throat. At this point, you’re simply speaking for the sake of filling the void. “What now?”
Taehyung shrugs. He looks around the room. “Nothing.”
“Well, what did Hoseok mean just now? Get what over with?”
“Erm━” Taehyung opens his mouth, as if preparing to explain, then decides otherwise. “It’s nothing.”
“Taehyung, we literally just got married and you’re already keeping secrets from me,” You retort. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he insists. “It’s just that… Well…” He sits up from the bed, meeting your curious gaze. “This was essentially a mating, and every mating needs to be seen through to the end to be considered valid. The pack can tell when it’s… uh… done.”
Oh.
Now it hits you. It’s the way he awkwardly trails off, hand ruffling through his long locks, that has you immediately understanding what he’s trying to imply. You gawk upward at him. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”
Suddenly, Taehyung looks flustered and he shakes his head frantically. “I mean, they expect it, but I would never force it on you.” Then, he straightens up, as if captivated by a newfound confidence. The smallest of smirks dances upon his lips that you don’t miss. “Besides, I never said it had to be between you and me. As long as they can sense it, I’d say your hand would do just fine instead ━ but you have all night for that.”
“Oh my god.”
The smirk widens into a devious look now. “You said you wanted honesty.”
As he dissolves into a fit of stifled chuckles, you scowl but you wager it’s mostly an attempt to hide the frazzled look on your face. Then, hurrying to change the topic, ask, “Is every mating like that then?”
“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. “If two mates want to stay together forever, they complete the process with marking, usually by a bite. It strengthens the mating bond.”
Taehyung notices you squirm in your spot, crossing your knee over the other and squeezing your thighs together. He can sense you’re uncomfortable, understandably with your current situation, but can’t quite pinpoint what else seems to make you sit so rigidly.
“What was it like for you?” He decides to ask. “The handfasting?”
The question takes you by surprise, though his sincere intrigue makes you smile smally to yourself. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before, but it was… It was nice.” You think back to nearly an hour ago, and the way Taehyung had looked standing before you. While you were marrying him out of necessity, there was something candidly beautiful about the entire ceremony. At the very least, you were glad it had been with Taehyung of all people. “Can I be honest with you, Tae?”
“Of course,” Taehyung says. “At this point, you can pretty much tell me anything. Don’t think anything’s as shocking as coming out as a werewolf.”
An innocent giggle bubbles at your throat. Suddenly, you look sheepish. “I might have had one too many glasses of wine before coming.”
“Ah.” Despite the interested hum of noise, he looks genuinely entertained. “So you’re drunk?”
“Not quite. Pleasantly buzzed,” You say. “Well, can you blame me? The occasion called for it considering a bunch of wolves want to kill me and I’m being arranged into a marriage.”
“So you don’t remember anything about your own wedding?”
You pull a face, though Taehyung gathers it’s because of the blunt mention of the word. “I do. Just… not all of it. Some things are clearer than others, but I think that’s mostly because I was nervous.”
“I remember every moment,” Taehyung muses thoughtfully. “I remember seeing you there, in your dress, and everything felt right despite it all.” His stare hardens in that moment, as if probed by the harsh reminder of the reasoning behind the night in the first place. “You know I’ll do anything to keep you safe, right? We haven’t had time to sit back and talk it over but you really do mean the world to me.”
A muffled groan eclipses your lips. You dig the heels of your palms against your eyes as you bemoan, “Don’t say those kinds of things, Tae.”
“Why?”
“Because… Because…” Your eyes shoot open, though suddenly you refuse to meet his curious wandering gaze.
But Taehyung doesn’t even need you to finish your thought. You wonder if it’s one of the many keen abilities possessed by these shapeshifters or if it’s simply a Taehyung thing, being that he’s quickly become one of your closest friends over the year that you’ve known him.
“You’re still nervous,” he hums as delicately as possible. It’s not an accusation, but a simple fact of the matter. He pushes himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, leaving an appropriate amount of space between the two of you. “Are you nervous because of me?”
“No.”
“That’s a lie,” Taehyung snorts. When you don’t respond immediately, a small inkling of a doubt makes him question apprehensively, “Are you scared of me then? I wouldn’t blame you, especially after everything that’s been going on━”
“What?” You finally turn to look at him, a look of incredulousness contorting your face. “No! No, I’m not scared of you, Tae. I could never be scared of you.” You don’t dare turn to face him, instead keeping your eyes fixed on your hands as you continue. “You make me nervous, but not in a bad way. Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” When you chance a look at him, you find him smiling softly to himself. “It’s the same way I felt when I saw you earlier tonight.”
Your heart quickens in pace against your chest, and you’re almost positive he can surely hear it. Now, you finally lift your timid stare to meet his pensive look, and you have to bite back the smile that threatens to form on your face. He looks distracted, though not in a way where his mind is elsewhere entirely; instead, he seems besotted, dark eyes shimmering gently, and there’s a palpable shift of energy in the atmosphere.
Without even realizing it, the pair of you begin to gravitate towards one another, leaning in close enough to shorten the distance between the two of you. You pause, lingering near enough to feel his warm breath fanning against your neck. He can’t help himself, and reaches out with his hand to brush his fingers along your shoulder to the base of your throat, sending chills down your spine. His hand comes to rest against your neck, fingers stretching outward to cradle the back of your head. He guides you toward him this time, closer and closer.
“Taehyung…” You whisper.
He stops at once, clamps his mouth shut and squeezes his eyes closed. His restraint seems to be not without labour, judging by the sobering small shake of his head, and the way he leans his forehead against yours, tendons in his jaw fluttering as he clenches his teeth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.”
“I want you to.”
He’s startled when you’re the one that moves first, catching his lips onto yours. He’s unmoving at first, basking in the feel and taste of your mouth smoothing over his. It’s slow, steady, but then he’s craning his neck to deepen the kiss and something feverish overtakes the both of you. You clamber onto his lap at once, swinging one leg over his and settling back onto him, your dress bunching up at your thighs. He’s taken aback for a moment, though his hands instinctively come to grip at your waist and you try not to focus on how large and warm they feel, burning against the material of your dress. In fact, every inch of him radiates a thermal energy that is both comforting and excites you. You chase his lips, yearning for another kiss, but he hesitates at the last moment, jerking his head away. He doesn’t move very far at first, then he drops his head into the crook of your neck. His nose burrows against the base of your throat, his lips brushing against your skin as he moves along your neck to your shoulder, then back again. You can tell he’s holding himself back, not quite allowing himself to enjoy this. To enjoy you.
“You said we have all night, didn’t you?” You rasp. “So why not start now?”
“I also said it didn’t have to be between you and me if you didn’t want it to be.” Taehyung finds his voice at long last, however hoarse it may be. You’re already driving him crazy, just by your smell alone. “Are you sure? You said you wanted honesty, so be honest with me, Y/N. Don’t just say it’s because it has to be done. I don’t want you to regret anything.”
“Well, don’t you want this?” You question.
“Fuck, yes.” He groans against your neck. Something feral seems to stir within him, and you can feel his canines bare against your skin. “But only if you do.”
You aren’t quite sure what seems to possess you all of a sudden. He’s intoxicating, you think. Your hands tug at his hair now, desperation wearing your own voice thin. “Yes, Tae. Please. I want you inside me so badly.”
Finally, he presses his mouth against your throat, tonguing hot open-mouthed kisses there. His grip tightens around your waist, tugging you harder against him, and the feeling of him growing harder against your inner thigh in a matter of seconds has you both enraptured by a newfound heated ferocity.
Grasping at a moment of clarity, you ask meekly, “Isn’t this your first time?”
“Is it that obvious?”
You want to tell him anything but, the way his hands and lips move across you an indicator of that. “I thought you wolves are all about sex. Don’t you, like, go into heat or something?”
It’s a feeble attempt at a snarky joke, judging by the way your lips unfurl into a languid smirk. “Typically. But I never wanted sex for the sake of fucking. The boys make fun of me all the time for it.”
You snicker, but the delightful noise is lost in a simper as he continues to kiss upward to the underside of your jaw. He grips tightly at your waist and moves, shifting the two of you around, until your back is splayed out on the edge of the bed and he’s hovering directly over you.
“Taehyung…” He grunts in response, though you don’t blame him for not responding. The way his cock bulges against your core now, the way you press your hips up into his instinctively, is enough to drive you insane, let alone the boy. Still, you manage to rasp, “Tae, just don’t bite me. Promise me.”
“I won’t,” he assures, though now he certainly seems preoccupied. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring, and whines aloud, “God, I can already smell you. So fucking good.”
His head falls into the crook of your neck as his hips dig harshly into yours in a way that makes you aware of what his words seem to mean. Slick arousal already begins to form between your legs, pooling into a mess on your underwear that has you squirming beneath him. The thought of him being able to smell you makes your face heat, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He kisses down to your collarbones, then, without warning, flips you over at once. Rough hands grasp at your waist, pulling you to your knees and your ass off the edge of the bed. As he fumbles to tear your panties from your hips, then lifts the skirt of your dress up with one hand, he hurries to undo his belt and the button of his pants with the other.
“Wait, Tae━” You gasp. Before he can push himself into you, you heave yourself up with your hands and twist just enough to place your palm above his waist on his abdomen, stopping him in his place. “What are you doing?”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, brows creasing with concern. “Isn’t this how it’s done? I’m not totally helpless.”
You bite back your abrupt grin, swallowing your amusement when you realize he’s genuinely confused. It’s hard to grasp how he can look so innocent even despite his leaking cock still in his hand. “Well, yeah, but not always.”
“I just thought it was like how dogs go at it, y’know?” Taehyung says. “The guys all seem to say so anyway.”
You can’t help it now when this newfound information has you keeling over with laughter. You’re fortunate he doesn’t seem offended by your delight, instead grinning sheepishly to himself as he watches you wipe tears away from your eyes.
“What?” he asks promptly, and then as if to nudge you back to reality, tightens his grip on your waist and yanks you towards him gingerly. Pressing his front flush against your back, he catches your ear lobe between his teeth and nibbles on it.
“Then I feel sorry for their mates,” You manage to choke out. “It’s not bad, but I want to be able to see you the first time around. It’s better that way. More intimate.”
You squirm out from beneath him, turning to face him properly. Still sprawled out before him, you prop yourself up on your elbow and then reach out with your other hand to grab at his face and pull him down to you.
“Noted,” he hums into your mouth. “Anything else I should know?”
“Nothing that I can think of at the moment,” You admit, though maybe that’s simply because your mind is spinning at the sight of his length.
He’s much, much bigger than you imagined, tip irritated and swollen red already, glistening with precum as he swipes his palm over himself a handful of times. You hike your dress up further around your waist as he guides himself towards you.
“Stop me if it hurts,” he says.
You nod, though you trust him well enough to know he’ll treat you right in the best way possible. As he pushes the tip of his length against your folds and into you, your reactions are almost immediate. He ceases above you, face scrunching up at the feeling of your slickness around him. You notice his furrowed brows, the way he bares his teeth. A guttural growl sounds deep within his chest that has you shuddering in anticipation.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “You’re so fucking wet. You take me so well, baby. I don’t think I’ll last long.”
“Don’t care,” You whimper. “Just wanna feel you.”
He pushes himself in further, slowly and carefully, inch-by-inch, in just a way that has the both of you feeling how he stretches you open every single step of the way. You wonder how much further you can go until he’s stopping, bottoming out within you. He sputters for air, collapsing against your chest entirely as you fall back onto the bed. He waits just enough for you to adjust to the girth of his weight in you, then rolls his hips into yours. Then again, and again, until he’s grinding into you with such measured and deep strokes that you melt beneath him entirely. You kick your legs up to wrap around his waist, head lolling back at the feeling of his mouth sucking against your throat.
“I’m gonna━” His voice splinters off then into an abrupt cry. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum━”
He’s quick to dissolve into shambles, grunting and moaning every time you clench around him and every thrust of his hips. Just when you think you’ve lost yourself to the moment, he cums much faster than you thought and entirely unexpected for him too, in hot waves that have you still writhing beneath him. When he’s spent, his weight falls slack against you, crushing you beneath him but in a comforting manner. It’s silently peaceful for a few moments as he settles, heart thundering in his chest and against yours. Your fingers smooth over his sweaty long locks, scratching at his head. Then━
“That was terrible, wasn’t it?” he mutters wretchedly.
“Not terrible,” You confess. “What was that? Three minutes, top? For your first time, I’m honestly surprised you lasted more than a minute.”
“Fuck off.” His fingers poke at your sides teasingly as you burst out into laughter. He lifts his head to meet yours, perhaps a little embarrassed. “Don’t tell the guys. They’ll never let me live it down.”
“Doesn’t matter,” You hum, tracing your finger down to his lips. “We can practice whenever you want. I’ll make you into a lover so good, you’ll want me to brag to them.”
“Practice, huh?” His eyes sparkle mischievously. He pulls himself from your core and you hiss at the sudden loss, tugging at his chest as if to keep him close to you but he seems to have other plans. “Why stop now?”
You watch him curiously. “Easy there, boy. Don’t wear yourself out.”
“Well, I have to make it up to you,” he points out. “Especially on your wedding night. It’s only fair. What kind of lousy mate would I be to call it a night without having you cum on my face?”
“Romantic.” You roll your eyes but you marvel at the way you had shuddered at the word only moments ago and now, under such a different circumstance, the way he utters it makes your heart flutter in your chest. “Is this the first time you’ve eaten a girl out?”
“I said I was a virgin,” he says. Your eyes stay trained on the boy as he shifts himself further down your body to wedge himself between your thighs, throwing one leg over his shoulder. He kisses at your navel, then down to your core. He takes his time as he reaches out with his fingers to swipe at your folds, admiring the way his cum leaks from you; then, with his forefinger, he wipes at a stray bead of his arousal and pushes it back into your cunt slowly. The simple action is enough to have your back arching off the bed, hands flying out to brace yourself by gripping at his hair. “I never said I didn’t know how to please a woman elsewhere.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Gladly.”
He sinks lower to your core and out of sight, leaving hot open mouthed kisses along the way. His finger never once leaves its spot within you, and instead is joined by another that spreads you wide in absence of his cock.
“Do you know how hard it is to focus on anything other than your beautiful cunt?” he asks, voice low and sultry. “From the moment I could smell you, I wanted a taste.”
His tongue probes against your clit, the wet muscle a sudden startle that has you slackening against him. He flicks it back and forth, mouth wrapping around the bundle of nerves and sucking hard. A moan threatens to fall from your lips but an intrusive thought crossing your mind has you swallowing it with much difficulty.
“Can’t the boys hear us from down there?” You ask. You wonder how the celebration for your “wedding” has unfolded over the night without you or Taehyung there, or if they even notice your prolonged absence.
“No.” His voice is a deep mumble, rattling you from your core outward. “We learn how to tune out sounds nearby unless we really want to pay attention. The new ones struggle a bit, though.”
He curls his fingers inside you, stretching them upward. You pant, “Isn’t Jungkook still new?”
You can feel his smirk unfurling against you even before he pokes his head up to look at you with devious, hooded eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s a bit of a hazing process.”
You hardly have time to register the thought, though it doesn’t matter much. You’re far too overwhelmed by the way Taehyung is making you feel to even care. He drops his mouth from your clit to your folds, tongue swirling against your aching core. He laps at your cunt like a mangy dog as his fingers continue to work within you. The further he burrows into you, the harder his nose digs against your clit and sends you over the edge. You try to hold on just a little longer but your core is already achingly sensitive from when his length had made it home.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let me taste you.”
Fingers twisting in his hair, he growls roughly against you, basking in the way you mewl and moan his name. Time seems to blur and, before you know it, you’ve reached your high. You’re embarrassingly wet, soaking his chin and nose which glistens with a mixture of yours and his arousal. Taehyung doesn’t hold back, instead licking you clean of every last drop, a muffled moan of content emitting from him.
“So good,” he says. “All mine.”
When he finally pulls away from you, he licks at his lips as if not quite finished with your every taste. From where he sits, you’re an entire mess, brows scrunched in concentration, teeth tugging at your lower lip. Needy hands yank at his hair and he obliges, kissing his way up your body to meet your mouth. His tongue pokes through to lav at your lips and wedges itself beyond, and you suck delightfully at the taste of you and him mingling on it. His own hands caress your body, bringing you back down from your high gradually but you can still feel his straining dick against your thigh and it invigorates you even further despite the beginning hints of exhaustion starting to creep upon you.
“Want more,” Taehyung growls with a newfound intensity, catching you off guard. “Need your cunt. M’gonna make it mine. Need to make you mine. Gonna fill you with my cum till you’re bursting with my pups, how does that sound?”
Mind spinning, you nod eagerly at the thought. Your words form in the shape of a moan. “Yes, please.”
“Gotta get this dress off first,” he mutters, greedy palms wandering up beneath the hem of your dress.
You scurry to obey, helping him slide the dress off your arms and toss it away on the floor. He’s more than pleased to see that you had decided to forgo wearing a bra earlier in the day, and reaches out at once to grasp at your perked breasts in his large palm. He buries his face into your chest, catching one of your nipples between his teeth. He busies himself by marking your chest red with small nibbles until you grow impatient, tugging at the shirt he’s still wearing. He’s quick to oblige, shedding himself of his clothes; then, his nails are digging viciously into your hips as he flips the two of you over with incredible ease.
“Sit on my cock,” he snarls into your ear. “Need to feel you again.”
Legs weak from your past orgasm and the huskiness of his voice, you sidle onto his lap, tossing one thigh over his. He sits up to join you and helps push himself past your folds, though you finish by settling back on his length carefully until you’re filled to the brim. Despite already knowing what to expect from the first time around, you still shudder at the feeling, mouth unhinging as you roll your hips leisurely against his. He hardly strays from your body, instead continuing to kiss between the valley of your breasts and up to the underside of your jaw and back again. Fingers poke and prod at your body as they follow his lips, then grasp at your ass to push you closer to him each time you grind against him.
Just when you begin grinding against him in a new angle that makes you moan into his ear, a sudden noise startles the both of you but only just. It takes you both a moment to register it’s the sound of knocking on the other side of the bedroom door (that you can’t remember if Taehyung had locked, because you certainly hadn’t), followed by Jimin’s familiar voice. “Joon said he wanted us to check in on you!”
Taehyung immediately groans into your neck out of frustration, though you suspect it’s because your pace starts to stutter and not because of his bothersome friends.
“Taehyung,” You bite at your lip in an attempt to hide your moans. You tug at his hair, as if to portray what your words fail to do, but he can hear it plainly riddling your voice. The concern, and the sudden shyness, as if fearing Jimin may walk in. But part of you is thrilled at the thought, and judging by the way your unabashed cry of glee slips from your lips without much hiding is proof of that. “Oh, Tae━”
“Shit,” Taehyung’s muffled grunts of pleasure and the way his hips continue to dig into yours to meet your efforts makes you aware Jimin is the least of his current troubles. “Fucking hell━ Don’t stop.”
“Are you guys okay in there?” Now comes Hoseok’s voice, a little faint but undeniably there. Can they hear you? Do they care? They must know what’s happening beyond the door.
“They’re doing it on purpose. Fucking idiots,” Taehyung snarls as he slams his hips up into yours. A contented whimper falls from your mouth, and you cling to him tighter as you quicken your pace. Taehyung grabs at your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes fixed on him despite wandering to the door. “Look at you fucking yourself on me still even with them listening. Such a good girl, huh? So desperate for my cock, aren’t you? Gonna breed so well.”
You think Hoseok and Jimin give up and leave at some point, though you don’t recall when. Instead, in the next moment, something primitive seems to awaken in Taehyung once more and he’s shoving you onto your back on the bed. Kneeling before you, he pummels his hips into yours again and again until you’re only crying his name.
“Mine. All mine,” he growls. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”
So wearied from your first high, you tumble easily to your second, coming undone in a matter of seconds, spurred on by the lewd wet noises of his length thrusting into you.
“That’s it, baby,” he mutters, basking in the sound of your moans. “Fuck━ Let them all know who you belong to━”
But just when you think Taehyung has reached his own orgasm ━ sputtering for air and crescendoing in moans of your names, panting hot breath into your ear as he leans against your chest ━ he doesn’t. His thrusts become desperate and sloppy, bordering on frantic, that the soreness between your legs begins to burn. It’s an amalgamation of stubborn yet bearable pain and something harshly pleasant that has your head lolling back.
“What’s wrong?” You moan, blindly tugging at his hair. “Taehyung?”
“I can’t━” He cries out. “I can’t━ I’m so fucking hard, it hurts. I don’t know what’s wrong━”
Confused yet too tired to keep up, you reach out to smooth your fingers across his back. “It’s okay. Just let go, baby. Cum for me, Tae. Please.”
“I’m trying,” he chokes out. “I just can’t━”
Your mind works in a haze to understand what’s happening, but through it all you’re able to discern one reasonable thought. What had Taehyung said about matings and bonds? Aside from the obvious of sleeping with a mate, he had said that typically certain bonds require marking. But he had also said that marking proved to be almost irreversible, resulting in a connection so close that a pair of mates would be together forever. It was a troublesome concept to think about, especially when considering you didn’t think you were a fit match for Taehyung if only because you’re human.
But is that what he needed? The physical strain he puts himself under now to reach his high is almost unbearable to watch. So, you settle on a whim of a decision and conclude that you won’t think of any consequences until after the fact, only wanting to see the poor boy in relief.
“Tae,” You whisper. “What if you bite me?”
“I won’t,” Taehyung says through gritted teeth. His pace has slowed as he slumps against your chest in nearing defeat. “You told me not to.”
“I don’t care,” You retort. “Just bite me.”
He hesitates, lifting his gaze to look at you. When he sees your earnest zeal, he grimaces as if despising that this is his only option. Still, the look of relief that crosses his face is undeniably there. He presses his mouth against your throat, lips brushing faintly against your flesh as he grazes the smooth expanse for a spot, sharp canines poking against you. You brace yourself for the bite, though the pain isn’t as bad as you had thought. A sharp jolt runs down your spine as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and his reaction is immediate, crumbling into pitiful moans of glory.
“Fuck!” he wails. With one final slam of his hips into yours, he finally reaches his high and it’s unlike anything you have felt before. As if he begins to swell within you, his length pulsates as he cums in you to the point where you can’t help but feel so full. It overflows and leaks from your core and onto the sheets, a sticky mess that lingers even long after he’s done. Your mouth pops open at the foreign feeling, whimpering his name.
“I’m sorry,” he flinches. “I’m sorry, does it hurt?”
“No,” You manage to say. “It just… It feels so good━”
He sluggishly rides out the rest of his high until you both physically can’t take anymore. When he hears you hiss his name in a soft reminder, he apologizes once more. Then, as the room falls oddly silent, he slumps against you. He lavs his tongue over the fresh mark on your neck, the gentle motion alleviating the sting left behind. As Taehyung settles finally, he shifts his head to look up at you. You note the faint yellow hue lingering in his eyes, fading now.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “We might have to stay like this for a while.”
“Can’t say I’m mad about that,” You croon sleepily. “You better draw me a bath after this.”
He laughs, rubbing gentle circles against your hips. “Of course. I’ll do anything for you.”
You believe him wholeheartedly when he says it, smiling against his mouth when he leans in for a kiss. His tender wandering hands over your body does wonders in calming your shrill heart, the stretch between your legs, and the bite on your neck. He nuzzles his face into your collarbones, the tip of his nose tickling against you. As your fingers rake through his hair and scratch at his head, he mewls in content.
“Is it always like that?” You ask through a stifled yawn. “You had so much energy, I could barely keep up.”
“No,” he admits groggily. “It’s only like that when you’re mated with someone.”
“What does that even mean anyway?” You ask. “To be mated with someone?”
“Well, it’s━ It’s not really a conscious decision. It sort of just happens,” Taehyung says. “It’s a connection. You gravitate towards one another. You can’t live without the other. We call it imprinting. Sometimes you’re mated to a person who doesn’t even want you, but those are rare instances.”
“So we’re the exception?”
“I thought we were,” Taehyung trails off now. He finally lifts his head to look at you, perhaps a little embarrassed. “I━ Well━ All of this, and especially the bite, doesn’t just happen ━ and definitely not with humans.”
“Oh.” You blush now, face warming under the boy’s introspective stare. “So you’re saying we’re…”
“I always thought there was a connection, but I didn’t think it meant this,” Taehyung murmurs to himself. “As crazy as it sounds, I think we were meant to be.”
“So the bite…”
You don’t finish your thought, instead already having pieced it together in your mind. It does sound crazy, but even you have felt it before. A strange connection to Taehyung, far more exceptional than simply having feelings for him. And the bite is what draws it all together, proving his point and your previous speculations about some sort of affection between the two of you.
“Are you starting to regret this now?” Taehyung asks sheepishly, a weak attempt at a joke to what he had asked you earlier in the night.
He braces himself, as if waiting for your outburst of annoyance or anger. To push him off of you and leave forever. But you do neither, instead reaching out to grasp at his face in both of your hands. You delicately lift his head, meeting his docile stare, entirely and utterly bewitched by him.
“No,” You say earnestly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better night.” A smile forms on his face, innocent and ardent in nature. “I’m just wondering how I’ll hide the mark.”
“I think there’s little to hide now after tonight,” Taehyung grins wolfishly. “Especially with the boys.”
He quivers with laughter at the sight of your scowling face and fingers poking at his sides. As he settles, he leans into your ear to hum, “I’ll make it up to you. Everything. Jaebum, the bite, the boys. But I think you should rest now. We’ll deal with all of that later.”
You don’t argue with that. You’ve already begun to fight the beginnings of sleep, eyelids drooping and itching with a need to just close them ━ and with Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you, his body emitting a pleasurable heat, you decide there’s no place else you’d rather be, moonstruck and in love.
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The Art of Blind Dates. Deku x GN! Reader
This piece was written for @rat-zuki 's the deku agenda escapes no one collab. Happy Birthday to our favorite broccoli.
Content warning- This fic rated PG-13. Aged up characters, Allusions to sexual activity, swearing, gender neutral reader.
“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”
You jumped, the spray can you had been using left an unsightly streak of bright red across your masterpiece. You scowled behind your mask as you turned to face the man who had spoken.
“We do. You keep making me mess up my hard work!”
You smirked, pleased with yourself as you saw Deku, the number one pro hero, recoil at the sight of your mask. It had taken a few weeks to convert the All Might mask into an ahegao face, but it was worth it if it horrified your number one pain in the ass. Izuku blinked a few times, sighing and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was clearly choosing to ignore your choice of disguise.
“I wouldn’t have to mess with your work if you chose to do things that were, you know, actually legal? You’re talented, Brushstroke. You could get paid to do murals or something instead of…” Deku gestured towards your latest creation. You were rather proud of it. It had taken a good amount of planning to manage to paint a fifty foot tall mural of pro hero Dynamight mooning the city with the bold caption ‘The Hero Commision can kiss my ass.’ It would be perfect if not for the red streak from where Deku had startled you. With a contemplative hum you shook your spray can and quickly turned the offending mark into a cartoonish lipstick print. Midoriya sighed heavily. “I’m standing right here, you know.”
“I know.” You grinned behind your mask. The voice distorter you used did nothing to hide your chipper tone. “I also know you like it. And you can’t tell me Dynamight wouldn’t love it. He literally said that on live interview!”
“Yes, but not with his pants down to his knees.”
You bent over, throwing your cans of spray paint and climbing gear into your duffle bag. It wouldn’t do for your nemesis to get his hands on some of the tools you used. Mei’s stamp was all over it.
“Which is such a shame. The man’s got cake for days.” You chuckled as Deku pulled a face.
He observed you, hands on his hips. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“Away, obviously.” You said as you threw the strap of your dufflebag across you.
“And I’m just going to let you go?”
“Oh no. You’re going to chase me like you always do. And I’m going to escape like I always do. And it’s going to drive you crazy because you can’t figure out how I keep doing it.” You began stretching, exaggerating each movement.
“A teleportation quirk isn’t that hard to figure out.” Izuku began stretching as well, rolling his shoulders and popping joints.
“Guess again.” You sing songed, bouncing on your toes.
“Wouldn’t have to guess if you just told me.”
“But that’s no fun. Unfortunately, I do have to be going. Catch you later, hot stuff!” And with a sprint, you raced to the side of the building and jumped off before activating your quirk.
Time slowed around you. It was like you were hovering in the air instead of falling. Freeze Frame was a quirk you had learned to perfect over the years. Between the quirk and the assorted gadgets in your bag and on your person, it was definitely enough to baffle the number one pro hero. Speaking of, you better work quickly before your quirk wore off and splatted you across the sidewalk.
Freeze Frame was named after what your quirk looked like from the outside. It was as if you teleported, or you had frozen time around you for everyone except yourself. In reality, you were a speedster. When your quirk was active, you were able to move at speeds so fast you were undetectable to others, and to you it seemed like everything was paused in time. You probably could have been a phenomenal hero or villain if you wanted. But currently, it was much more fun to thwart a certain green haired man.
With a press of a button, you deployed a grappling hook, snagging it on the building across the alley. You swung over, keeping a countdown in your head. Would you be lucky enough and have time to…? Yes. There! A balcony door was cracked open slightly. You gracefully landed on the balcony and used the door to slip into what appeared to be someone’s bedroom, thankfully unoccupied at the moment. Taking no chances though, you slip into the closet just as the effects of your quirk wear off. The other reason you had never turned to heroism or villainy- no matter how much you trained, you could only keep your quirk activated for ten seconds at a time. It wasn’t a lot. Plus you could only activate your quirk a couple dozen times a day without getting seriously ill. But it still was usually more than enough to be able to give any law enforcement the slip. Just like now.
Deku curses as he runs to the edge of the roof. You’re nowhere to be seen. “Brushstroke! Get back here, you damn brat!” He shouted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. One of these days he was going to figure out your quirk and how to counteract it. And when that day comes he was going to take you over his knee and… No. He shook his head, blushing to clear his thoughts. What to do with you. Well, he wasn’t sure yet. You weren’t a villain, really. More of a public nuisance. The murals you did showed a lot of talent and a good chunk of the population agreed with the social commentary behind them. But that didn’t change that you had painted ten foot tall asscheeks on a building without permission. And, technically, it was within his job description to apprehend you. “Brushstroke!” Deku called again as he made his way down to the ground. There was no sign of you anywhere. Invisibility quirk maybe? Though it would be unusual if you could turn all the stuff you had been wearing and carrying invisible as well.
Meanwhile, as Izuku was getting lost in thought, you were getting naked. You stripped out of your gear and paint covered smock, moving as quickly as you dared while still remaining quiet in your hidden location. Just because the bedroom had been empty doesn’t mean the rest of the place was, after all. You shoved everything into your dufflebag, pulling out a clean set of clothing from a zippered pocket. Getting changed was a simple affair, as was ruffling your hair, messily getting it to look like a different style. One of your favorite tricks happened when you pushed a hidden button on the edge of your duffle bag. The previously dull gray bag quickly morphed into a loud riot of tye dyed color. Chameleon bags, Hatsume called them. Still in a prototype stage, your friend and employer would probably make a mint on them if you put them on the market.
After a final brush off and deciding you looked acceptably civilian, you peeked out the closet door. The bedroom was still empty. You crept out slowly. The balcony wasn’t a feasible exit anymore. Not without the gear you had had to store away. You were going to have to sneak out the front door. You activated your quirk, feeling a little queasy at having to use it again so quickly in succession. It was simple to race through the apartment and out into the hall within your short time limit. In fact, with your speed, you were easily able to exit the entire apartment complex. You still had a few seconds to spare when you shot out the door. You grinned at seeing the number one pro hero standing in the middle of the street. You knew you shouldn’t do what you were thinking. Instead you should use your last few spare seconds to put some distance between yourself and the large, green haired man. Instead, you quickly dug around in your bag and found your tube of lipstick. You applied a nice thick coat as you waltzed up to him. With a giggle, you planted a firm smacking kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a clear and perfect lip print. With a grin, you hurried back to the apartment complex. It was easy to make it seem like you were just coming out of the door as time snapped back to its proper speed. You watched, hiding your smirk as you observed the clearly frustrated hero scanning the crowds for any sign of you. His eyes passed right over you, barely giving you a glance. You almost felt hurt that he thought your normal look was that unremarkable. But that was the point, after all. As Deku continued to call out for your pseudonym, you turned and walked away, blending into the crowd. You were almost out of earshot when you heard a loud cursing exclamation that would have been more in character for a certain blond hero. You bite your knuckle to muffle your laughter. Someone had informed Deku of the lipstick mark.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You sipped from a bottle of water as you watched Mei work her magic. It was strangely relaxing to watch her in her element. Though it seemed chaotic the first few times you had witnessed your friend work, there was a clear method to the madness if you just knew where to look. And you knew exactly where to look now that you had been working with her for the past three years. You were simply listed as one of her assistants. Most days that involved a random jumble of cleaning, paperwork, schedule management, and coffee making. The real reason Hatsume loved having you around however, was days like this.
“Okay! Set!” She chirped happily. “You good to go now?”
You nodded as you slid down, and walked into the testing area. “Remind me what I’m looking for again?”
“Well, obviously the usual. Make sure it’s not lethal, of course. And then I want to make sure the grid is deploying at the right time. Should be about a quarter second after detonation.”
“As long as everything looks good, want me to be full blown dummy this time?”
Hatsume tilted her head, and considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, should be fine. Have the explosive levels where they should be. If anything messes up it’s going to be the grid deploying too soon or too late and not restraining you right.”
You gave her a thumbs up as you got into position. She counted down, though that didn’t matter much to you, honestly. One of the best perks of your quirk was that it gave you insane reflexes. You waited until the moment you saw the detonation begin to happen and activated your quirk.
As usual, it felt like time slowed to a crawl around you. Hollywood directors would give a kidney to have access to the detailed slow motion you could experience every day for free. You walked around the device, looking it over. It was meant to be a capture aid for pro hero Cellophane, a small explosive that would shoot nets of tape in all directions. It had to be safe and effective. Better to have a few civilians stuck to the walls than to risk letting a villain escape, after all. You peered into the explosion that was slowly rippling outward. Everything looked good so far… Yep, there were the grids starting to deploy. Sure that everything was safe, you deactivated your quirk and instantly were thrown backward and stuck to a padded wall of the testing room.
“Looked great!” You called as Hatsume entered the room. “I think you’ve finally got it!”
While she cheered and began praising her baby for performing so well, you tried wiggling. No luck. You were stuck rather firmly. Apparently she had upped the strength of the adhesive. After a minute, Hatsume finally noticed your struggles.
“Oh good!” She chirped. “Looks like the new formula is holding up nicely. I mean, I still need to test it out against, like strength and fire quirks, but looking good so far.”
“Little help, please?” You ask, giving her a look.
“Maybe in a bit.” She said, turning her back and leaving you there, pinned. “Want to test how long it holds. Besides, I have some questions about your last escapade and how my babies held up.”
You let out a resigned sigh. Of course. Your friend had found out about your after hours hobby about a year and a half ago. Instead of discouraging you, it hadn’t surprised you that much when she blackmailed you. She wouldn’t tell the police or heroes…. If you used some of her experimental babies on your future excursions. You had been dubious. Hatsume’s babies could be a little dangerous in the prototype stage. But it ended up working great! Your pieces went from small tagging jobs to huge fifty foot murals. Though that had caught the attention of a few public figures, including a certain green haired pain in your ass.
“I didn’t use anything directly against Deku this time.” You sighed, going limp to test if the tape would hold your weight. It did. “Grappling hook works great. The painter drones are okay for filling in large areas, but aren’t able to do clean lines well. The gecko boots continue to be amazing, but the gloves need a lot of work. The control for when they release still isn’t great.”
Hatsume nodded, quickly making notes about everything you said. There was a bit of a quick back and forth where she asked questions and you answered. Though ten minutes passed and you were still stuck to the wall. She eventually sets her notes aside and turns to face you fully. “So,” she drawls. “You saw Deku again.”
“I always see Deku nowadays!” You groan. “I swear Mei, if I find out you’re tipping him off or something...”
“Aww, come on! He’s nice! Would you rather be dealing with Dynamight?”
You frowned, not meeting her gaze. “I mean, the variety might be nice?”
“You like that with the help of my babies you’re able to out fox the number one pro hero, admit it!”
“It might be a little satisfying,” you mutter.
“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot either! Heard you two get all flirty during chases. The tabloids loved the kiss mark, by the way. Enjoy finally kissing him?”
“Hatsume!” you groan. “Subject change, please! Anything else!”
“Anything?” she grins at you.
“Oh god, I’m going to regret this.”
“It’s not that bad, I promise! Just, would you be interested in a blind date?”
You blink. “A date?”
“Yeah! One of my friends from school has a lot of trouble meeting people organically. You know how the industry is. Ridiculous schedules, maintaining reputation, trying to make sure they like you for you and aren’t just a fan.”
“Yeah… I guess I can understand that.”
“Well, I just think you and him would be a great fit! He’s a huge nerd in a lot of the same ways you are, but a real good guy once you get past the awkward. Plus,” Hatsume dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper “I happen to know for a fact that he’s a fan of Brushstroke’s work.”
You sighed, rolling your eyes. “You know it’s extortion to try to get me to agree when you have me literally taped to a wall.”
“I know!” Hatsume chirped happily. “So are you going to agree? I made the adhesive pretty strong this time. Who knows how long it would take to wear off on it’s own?”
“Bitch!” You can’t help laughing. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. Just get me down from here!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You fidgeted with the ring you were wearing as you stared at the building in front of you. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bail? You don’t know exactly what you had been expecting when Hatsume had told you about the somewhat shy, nerdy man she had set you up with, but you hadn’t expected him to choose the fanciest restaurant in town as your date location. You were wearing your best and still felt underdressed. Well, if the date was a disaster, at least you knew what building you were going to spray paint next. The glistening white exterior would make for a great canvas. You chuckled quietly at your own thoughts.
Squaring your shoulders, you took a deep breath and marched in. You could do this. You were an infamous tagger. You faced off against the number one pro hero regularly. Your day job was working with Hatsume. You’ve got this. With an air of newfound confidence, you gave your name to the maitre d. It was a surprise when you were led through the restaurant to one of their private curtained rooms. This guy you’d been set up with was apparently going all out. Maybe you were going to like him after all, you thought as you were ushered in. Then you looked up.
Fuck.
Standing to greet you with a stupidly flustered look on his damn stupid handsome face was your nemisis. The number one thorn in your proverbial side. The giant broccoli himself.
That BITCH had set you up with Izuku Midoriya!
You froze. In the back of your mind you were aware that your mouth was hanging open. The green haired man shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Hi,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his head.
You continued to stare.
He cleared his throat, glancing to the side. “Sorry about the secrecy, but I think it’s understandable.”
You nodded weakly.
Izuku bit his lip. You realized with a start that he might be even more nervous than you are. As much as you planned to murder Hatsume later, this wasn’t Midoriya’s fault. You could get through this date at least. Eat some expensive food, drink the best wines, make some meaningless conversation, say your goodbyes, and then go home to plot the demise of your former best friend. Long, slow painful demise. Good thing about being an artist, you had lots of traps, so clean up should be easy. Looking at the worried expression on Izuku’s face, you realize with a start that you still haven’t actually said anything to him. You open your mouth to offer some sort of generic greeting. But what comes out is-
“I’m going to fucking murder Mei!”
Izuku blinks. Blinks again. Then he starts laughing loudly. He leans one hand on the table as he cackles. You stare before starting to chuckle yourself. Soon you’re both wheezing with laughter. You both slump into your seats, trying to collect yourselves. Midoriya speaks first.
“Yeah, I… I get that. I’d think that’s a common emotion when hanging around Hatsume.”
You can’t help your smile. “Only at least half of the time. But that’s what makes it fun. No one else like her.”
“That’s for sure.” Izuku leaned back in his seat, looking you over like he’s studying you. “So, I suppose we should actually introduce ourselves. I’m Izuku Midoriya. I do hero work.”
You laugh. “Y/N Y/L/N. I work for Mei and freelance art when I can.”
“Art, huh? What kind of stuff do you do?”
You’re briefly interrupted by the arrival of the first course. After the waiter leaves, Deku apologies. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to order for you, but this is one of those places where you pay them and they tell you what you’re going to eat.”
“It’s fine.” You say as you stare at the delicate wisp of some sort of thinly shaved vegetable with a dollop of strangely colored foam on top.
“You were saying what kind of art you do?” Deku cautiously was poking at the tiny fancy appetizer.
“A few different things really, but my passion is mural work. Latest job was in a maid cafe. They wanted something cute and floral, but they let me do what I wanted within that theme.”
The night continued on and was surprisingly easy. The food was delicious, the wine was better, and you were pleasantly surprised by the company. Maybe it was the wine softening you up, but as you looked across the table where Izuku was animatedly talking about how influential All Might’s example had been for him, you admitted to yourself that the green haired man was very handsome. And funny. And interesting. And you were trying very hard not to think about the way Midoriya’s large scarred hand wrapped around the delicate wine glass. It was a surprise when the final course was finished and Izuku was quietly taking care of the bill. He escorted you out of the building and you both stood awkwardly outside. Deku cleared his throat.
“If it’s not presuming too much, I’m not quite ready for tonight to end. Is it alright if I walk you home?”
“I’d like that. Like that a lot, actually.”
He smiled at you, and it was like the sun. You walked and talked animatedly. The conversation was so easy and fun, and a little flirty. Somewhere along the way your hands brushed together and holding hands became the most natural thing in the world. Time flew by as you walked together, your true destination long forgotten. You were only brought back to reality when out of the corner of your eye you saw a massive mural of pro hero asscheeks. When Izuku saw what you were looking at, he groaned.
“Could you please not check out my friend’s ass while we’re on a date?” He joked, gently elbowing your ribs. You laughed.
“I mean, you can’t blame me. It’s hard to miss.” You made a mental note to tell Mei that her paint formula was holding up beautifully.
“It’s a little embarrassing. Brushstroke is talented and all, but every mural is a time I couldn’t catch them.”
Maybe it was the wine still buzzing through your system. Maybe it was the thrill of it. Maybe you just wanted to see those beautiful green eyes widen. But you couldn’t help the next words out of your mouth.
“Well you might have an easier time if you ever actually figured my quirk out.”
“Yeah I…” He stopped. Stared. “You…” He stared harder, pulling away slightly as he looked your figure up and down. “You!!!”
“Surprise?” You laughed, and grinned at him. He was always so handsome when he was angry. You weren’t scared at all as he hauled you close.
“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”
“Pretty good idea, actually.”
“You’ve been leading me on goose chases for months!”
You grinned “Yes, will be our anniversary soon.”
Izuku groaned as he wrapped his arms around your waste. “You irredeemable brat!”
You would have replied, but in the next second he was fiercely smashing his mouth against yours. The kiss started harsh and desperate. The results of months of teasing and flirting. It gentled as the two of you stood there in the night, soft and sweet and full of affection the two of you had yet to put into words. The thought occurred to you that you’d have to thank Mei later. Your eyes opened as the two of you pulled away for breath. You started giggling almost immediately. Izuku pressed his forehead against yours.
“What’s so funny, darling?”
You smirked. “I never thought we’d have our first kiss while being mooned by Dynamight.”
Izuku groaned loudly before sweeping you up into his arms. You squawked and clung to him.
“That’s it.” He rumbled. “I’m going to spank you when I get you home, you fucking brat.”
“Promise?” you giggled.
You didn’t mind in the least when he shut you up with another kiss.
#the deku agenda escapes no one collab#izuku x reader#midoriya x reader#deku x reader#deku x y/n#deku x you#gender neutral reader#izuku midoria x reader#aged up characters#bnha reader insert
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Invisible String
Although Spencer Reid and the Reader don’t find themselves in a romance with each other until well into their adulthood, their relationship has been decades in the making. Almost as if something as been pulling them together all these years.
A/N: sorry for such a long wait but i’ve been struggling a lot mentally as of late. i hope you guys enjoy this one shot!! As always requests are open and heavily encouraged!! And of course this is inspired by the taylor swift song of the same name :)) Also keep in mind although the following scenes are heavily inspired by some scenes in Criminal Minds, elements of them have been slightly altered to fit in Y/N as a character.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Type: a cute strangers to lovers fluff fic!
Word Count: 3.9K
Content Warnings: typical criminal minds case discussion, mentions of child trafficking when discussing this case, but no real detail. slight spoilers for season eight (beginning maeve stuff) and tiny spoilers for season fifteen (briefly mentions max but nothing really important to the plot at all)
“Time, curious time
Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs
Were there clues I didn't see?”
You had met Spencer Reid 3 times before you had really met him.
It was almost silly to think about it now. Now that you and Spencer have been dating for 3 years, it was strange to believe there were so many chances for you two to meet years earlier.
When you were sixteen years old, you got your first part time job. You worked at a self-serve frozen yogurt shop called Iced Dreams. You hated it so much. Your manager was a total creep, your older coworkers were rude and condescending to you, since you were one of the youngest people working there, but most of all you hated the uniforms.
Consisting of a very stupid looking hat, bright pink with randomly embrodiered teal patterns, an outdated bright teal shirt, it had been given to you from a dirty bin in the back, and judging by the sewn in shoulder pads, it had to be at least a couple decades old.
So one day, you didn’t wear the hat.
It wasn’t entirely purposeful. You couldn’t find it, you searched your room, you searched your car, so eventually you had to leave without it to prevent being late. Still, as you clocked it and passed the box of extras in the office something made you decide to leave it alone.
You were about 8 minutes into your shift when your manager approached you. “Y/N? Where’s your hat sweetheart?” You hated this man so much. You had gone to your parents time and time again, recounting his creepy behavior towards you and the other teenage girls who you worked with, but they refused to let you quit.
When you had started working there, he used to enforce this ridiculous rule that all the female workers had to wear skirts as part of their uniform, but you had gathered all the sixteen and seventeen year olds who worked there and all threatened to quit if he didn’t change the policy. So you were no stranger to breaking and defying the rules.
“Yeah I couldn’t find it, sorry.” you shrugged.
He chuckled and reached his hat out to touch your face. You jerked back, you almost wanted to refuse to wear one of the stupid extra hats just so that you could get fired.
“Well, Y/N its policy sweetie. No matter how special you are to me you still need to wear the hat. There’s extras in the office.”
“No way I’m wearing one of those. I bet they have like lice or something.”
He pursed his lips and sighed “Well I suppose that beautiful hair is just too pretty to wear a used hat huh. . . What do you suggest? If you’re working you have to wear it.”
You laughed, “Well you could let me go home.”
He paused, “Why don’t you go sit in the office, I’ll come talk to you in a minute.”
So you did, for about 10 minutes you sat in the office, surrounded by frozen yogurt flavor marking posters and boxes of old uniforms, and each passing minute you feared for the worst. Maybe you were actually getting fired? You really didn’t want to go that far, because, as much as you hated it, you really needed this job.
When your manager finally came to talk to you he held a small salted caramel frozen yogurt, your personal favorite flavor, and a twenty dollar bill. He handed them both to you.
“You seem so stressed Y/N, why don’t you take the day and go get lunch. My treat,” he said, smiling that weird twisted smile that always made your full body shiver.
However you were broke as hell, and no teenager in their right mind would ever pass up free food, so you took it, grabbed your keys and started to leave
Yet as soon as you walked out the back door you dropped your frozen yogurt, cup fully upside down, onto the pavement. You cursed, you hadn’t even taken a bite of it yet, and it looked like he had put coconut flakes on it, and you loved coconut. Still, you had your twenty bucks, and that was a pretty sweet pay out considering you were only clocked in for about 20 minutes.
So you got Chinese food, and spent what was supposed to be your shift in the shopping mall across town, completely and blissfully unaware of the fact the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI was dragging your manager away in handcuffs.
➽───────────────❥
Young Spencer Reid had only joined the FBI about a month ago. Despite being a genius, and providing crucial information to the solving of cases, he was aware of the most obvious. He was only twenty two years old, and he was scrawny as hell.
He felt this intense need to prove himself, especially to make Gideon proud.
So when they got a case about a the kidnapping and sex trafficking of teenage girls, he saw it as something he could really involve himself in. Based on the profile, it wasn’t going to be a large, strong, confident unsub who Morgan needed to tackle. This man would be ugly sure, but he would be a manipulative mastermind. Reid could work with that, he could prove himself.
He surprised everyone with his sheer work ethic and determination to find this man, and through consistently revising and delivering the profile soon enough they got a hit. A young woman in her early twenties called the tipline and reported her own manager. Insisting he fit the profile perfectly, and described how strangely he treated the minors who worked there, and how he almost exclusively hired young girls, treated them great and then switched as soon as they became legal.
So Garcia did her magically digging, and soon enough the FBI was tearing up a frozen yogurt shop, looking for any evidence of pedophilia. Garcia was even brought along, as she was pivotal to discovering any secret files in his computer.
At first, all they could find were strange compilation videos and under employees skirts. Spencer, and the rest of the team, were struggling to connect how he could get so many videos from an angle like this without anyone noticing or reporting him, until Gideon uncovered an old dusty pair of shoes, in which the right one held a small camera at the toe.
Although this was absolutely disgusting, it wasn’t enough to prove he was running the ring or kidnapping the girls, so Garcia kept digging. Meanwhile, Spencer tried to make himself useful by checking out the back of the store.
That’s where he found your clock-out receipt.
“Hey guys, we might want to take a look at this,” he shouted out.
Morgan grabbed the paper from his hand, “Ok, I don’t get it kid, it’s trash.”
Spencer pointed to the details on the slip, “Yeah but it says here she clocked out 18 minutes ago after only working for 23 minutes and 46 seconds. If this guy is our unsub, this girl could be in a lot of trouble.”
“Maybe she’s still here, has anyone checked out the parking lot yet?”
Spencer shook his head, and followed Morgan out the back door. There they discovered some almost completely melted salted caramel frozen yogurt.
Morgan bent down to investigate, “Yeah, we gotta get this to the lab, but I can tell you right now that there’s clearly more than just coconut topping this yogurt. It also means we have another victim.”
Spencer crouched down as well, “Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean kid? We’re missing a teenage girl and we’ve already found illegal evidence on this guy's computer. She’s in trouble.”
“Well judging the shape and inscription of these pills it appears to be some pretty strong rohypnol, almost certainly prescription grade. And ingesting it like this means she probably would have begun to feel its effects fairly early, I would predict 15 minutes. She clocked out 18 minutes ago, so even if she left exactly at that time she would have certainly crashed her car on the way home. The nearest residence is 8 minutes away from here, we’re in a complete shopping district. There’s only two cars out here and neither have a passed out driver, so I would bet she didn’t eat any of it. Also, the only spoon out here is still wrapped in plastic, “ Spencer analyzed.
Morgan sighed, “Well what do we even do then?”
Before Spencer could answer Hotch opened the back door. “We got him.”
Spencer turned to Morgan, “I’m sure her phone number is somewhere inside, I say we call her and make sure she’s ok. She probably doesn’t even know this is happening right now.”
So he did find your phone number, and although he initially pushed the phone to Morgan, he just chuckled and pushed it back.
“No way pretty boy. You’re the know-it-all with all that profiling out there, you can call her,” and before he could protest Morgan left, so Spencer was left to call you.
And strangely, for it being the first time he would ever interact with the love of his life, he thought nothing of it.
And that was the first time you had met Spencer Reid.
➽───────────────❥
The second time was years and years later, when you were waitressing night shifts to make extra money. You had never forgotten meeting Spencer Reid the first time, but this was the first time you would ever see his face.
You were slightly concerned when you got a call from a man, whose name you had now long forgotten, claiming he worked for the FBI. Although you weren’t incredibly surprised to hear your manager committed such heinous crimes against children, you were taken aback by how close you had come to becoming one of his victims.
But that was 9 years ago. In your college days it became a fun story you told at frat parties, but you were 25 now. Sometimes you would think about the incident when you couldn’t sleep, and if you were feeling feisty you would use it as an icebreaker or a “two truths, one lie” statement, but otherwise you didn’t really think about it.
You had plenty of other things to worry about, in fact, that’s exactly why you worked so much. It was so much easier to forget when you were constantly preoccupied with complaining customers and terribly awkward blind dates.
You had just sat this man, incredibly handsome, however it was clear he was on some kind of date. His reservation was for two, and he spent way too much time adjusting his clothes and table setting for him to not be trying to impress someone special. He also brought a gift, which judging by the packaging and shape, seemed to be some kind of wrapped book.
Even though he was 15 minutes early for his own reservation, he still looked really nervous, almost like he already believed she might not show up. You couldn’t help yourself, you had to go talk to him.
“Anyone ever tell you you should model?” you started with.
He looked up “Excuse me?”
“Sorry for being so bold, you just look so familiar,” he weirdly sounded very familiar as well, but you didn’t tell him that. “Are you sure you haven’t modeled? You have excellent bone structure. I bet you could.”
He laughed to himself, “yeah I’m sure.”
“Well your date is very lucky either way. I wish I had a boyfriend as handsome as you. Actually I wish I had a boyfriend period, but that’s a whole other story.”
He chuckled, and although you knew in your heart that you shouldn’t be flirting with him considering he was 15 minutes away from being actively on a date talking to him made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time. “What happened with your boyfriend? Do I even dare ask?”
“Well I kind of always knew he wasn’t super interested in me, but I really liked him, so I did my best to ignore his wandering eyes,” you sighed. “That didn’t stop him from leaving me for his coworker though.”
“That’s terrible.”
You smirked, “That’s not even the worst part, he broke up with me over a 27 second phone call. He didn’t even let me respond, he just kind of hung up.”
“I’m sorry, no one deserves that. Especially not you. I’ve only been talking to you for a couple minutes and I can tell that.”
“Oh really? What makes you so sure?”
“I’m pretty good at reading people.”
You smiled, “Well I should probably stop flirting with you now, considering your date hasn’t even started yet. And don’t worry, she’ll show, you’re so handsome she’d be stupid not to.”
He looked confused. “You were flirting with me?”
You laughed, “I thought you were good at reading people?”
He smiled back at you, and it made your heart soar, this silly, pure goofy smile that made you want to replace his date and have dinner with him right then and there.
You walked back to your hostess stand. A couple minutes later you noticed the handsome stranger on the phone. You thought nothing of it until later when a woman came in, clearly nervous, holding a gift bag.
“Can you give this to Spencer Reid for me please?” You recognized the name, the man you were just speaking with had filed his reservation under it.
“Um, yeah sure, aren’t you going to go in? He’s at that table over the-” but before you could finish your sentence the woman was gone. Your heart sank, poor Spencer, how could someone drop their date off a gift but stand them up anyway? That’s just cold.
When you get up to bring the gift to him, he’s already heading out of the restaurant himself.
“Sir? Spencer? Dr. Reid?” he turned his head. “A lady came in and dropped this off for you.”
His face dropped, it almost looked like he was about to cry. “Thank you,” he said as he looked up at you before leaving.
He ran out the door, both gifts in hand and whipped his head around a few times before sighing and speeding off in one direction. Even before you learned what happened after that and leading up to it, you felt terrible for the handsome stranger.
How could you not for someone so clearly distressed? Someone so clearly in love?
➽───────────────❥
7 years and a divorce later you were spending your Saturday in a park, strangely contemplating love itself. Although you barely remember that night all those years ago when you spoke to Spencer, he did. Vividly. In fact, on this Saturday you both were in a public park, contemplating your many failed attempts at true love.
It was your first wedding anniversary without your husband. Although you had only been married for two years, you still were having a hard time navigating life without him.
You started to wonder if you would ever find the true love you had been wishing for since your youth. Was 32 too late? Had you lived out all of your opportunities?
When you were little your mother had told you that all soulmates were attached at the left ring fingers, by small, incredibly thin strands of gold string, invisible to the naked eye. She insisted that these strings were constantly trying to pull you and your soulmate together, and that when life was ready for you two to meet, you would.
Until then, you would have small, mindless interactions. Things you wouldn’t think about, maybe even things that weren’t interactions at all. You would get the same commercial jingle stuck in your head. You would both get an intense craving for the same food. You’d have the same dream.
As a kid you were obsessed with this idea, you thought it was so romantic, and you fully believed everything your mom told you about it. You always asked her for more stories, and at bedtime you refused to sleep unless she would tell you more.
But now you were sure soulmates, true love even, didn’t exist. The invisible pretty gold strings your mother weaved fantastic stories with were completely fabricated. If they weren’t, you would have seen the clues by now.
Right?
➽───────────────❥
Spencer Reid was given an assignment from his therapist. He had to spend his Saturday off trying to interact with a stranger. Making friends with someone other than his colleagues may seem like a simple task for some, but it was something the young genius had almost no experience with.
He understood that it was probably for the best. He wasn’t exactly great with relationships of any kind, but especially not romantic ones. It didn’t take a genius to know that a couple of flirtations, a dead girlfriend he had only seen once, and a long time unrequited (or at least he thought unrequited) infatuation with his best friend and godsons’ mother was not a very great track record.
He, just like you, was also beginning to believe that he was hopeless when it came to love. That 38 was too old, that his time to meet someone and have the children he dreamed of had long passed.
But right as he was about to call JJ, to see if she would invite him in on the case Garcia had started to work on, he saw you.
Unlike you, he remembered your face and your interaction vividly. That almost date with Maeve was one of the biggest defining moments of his life, and what are the chances that the waitress from that very night was now less than 30 feet away from him, reading under the green leaves of a tree.
He wasn’t going to say anything, until he saw the book you were reading.
The Narrative of John Smith.
It must have been a sign, for what he wasn’t exactly sure yet, but it just had to mean something. The universe had to be reaching out to him, he had experienced crazier things.
And just as he was about to walk over to you, to close the gap between the gold strings tied around your ring fingers, a child interrupted his train of thought.
“That’s a strange haircut.”
➽───────────────❥
Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid were finally reuniting after many years. They barely got to see each other these days, but even though he was teaching and working at the BAU, Spencer still was willing to clear his schedule to second Derek suggested they meet up.
Morgan was excited as well, both to see his friend and to hopefully help him get a date. Sure, he had liked what he had heard about Max, but he wasn’t exactly surprised it had only lasted a couple months between her and Spencer. They just seemed too different.
Plus, now he got the chance to play wingman again, and he was ecstatic about that.
Spencer not so much.
“I don’t know Morgan, it’s only been a couple months since we broke up. Wouldn’t it be too early to start talking to other people?”
“Pretty boy, you and I both know that the rate in which you’ve had relationships is not even close to the average. You need to balance that out somehow.”
Spencer sighed, he knew Derek was right, but he still felt strange.
“Morgan, have you ever heard of the red string of fate?”
“No, but I’m sure I’m about to hear all about it.”
“It’s an East Asian philosophy, based on the discovery that the ulnar artery connects the heart with the pinky finger, actually that’s where the belief in pinky promises come from. The reason it’s integrated in so many different cultures is that-”
“Kid, you’re losing me here,” Morgan interrupted. “Finish your thing about the string.”
“Oh yeah, sorry. It’s the idea that human relations are predestined by a red string that the gods tie to the pinky fingers of those who find each other in life. Legend has it that the two people connected by this thread will have an important story, regardless of the time, place or circumstances. The red string might get tangled, contracted or stretched, as surely often happens, but it can never break. Essentially, the idea is that although we might not realize it, our lives move in a pre-ordained direction, guided by invisible strings that are woven into the fabric of the Universe itself. And all the while, the red thread connecting us to our distant soulmates is getting shorter.”
“Well it’s an interesting theory kid, but it’s a lot to think about. I mean, we’re in a bar, let loose a little bit. Not every interaction has to be about getting closer to your soulmate. And sure, maybe you’ll meet them one day, maybe even soon. But you’re here now, and just because your one true love may not be, doesn’t mean it’s not worth it to be here.”
Spencer sighed, “You’re right. I don’t even know if I believe in that anyway, maybe I’m just looking for something to explain this all.
Derek patted his friend on the shoulder, “okay pretty ricky, this is how it’s about to go down. I’m going to buy you two drinks. You’re going to take both of them, and go find someone, anyone here to go talk to.”
“Ok, I think I can do that. Who?”
Derek looked around, trying to find who he believed would be the best match for his friend. “How about her?” he asked, pointing at you.
Spencer couldn’t believe it when he looked. There you were, the girl, the one he had met three times before, even if he could only remember two. The woman he knew was some sort of universe sent sign that Saturday he saw you underneath the greenery. The girl he was so close to talking to before he was interrupted by Max’s nephew. The woman who (and he obviously did not know this at the time) he would marry 3 years later. The one who would carefully knit the baby blankets for all of their friends and exes. The one who he would adopt 3 children with. The woman who, he was now sure, was at the other end of his invisible string. The girl he needed to talk to right now.
“Is it just me,” Morgan said, “Or does she look kind of familiar?”
“Yes,” Spencer responded, “yes she does.” He got up quickly and started making strides towards you.
“Wait!” Morgan called, “You forgot your drinks!”
“I don’t need them!” he shouted back. When he sat down next to you, you smiled. It made his heart soar, you had this silly, pure goofy smile that made him want to ask you out right then and there.
Instead he settled on the only conversation starter he could think of.
“Have you ever heard of the invisible string story?”
And you couldn’t help but laugh.
“A string that pulled me
Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar
Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire
Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons
One single thread of gold tied me to you”
- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfic#reid#Criminal Minds Reid#Criminal Minds Spencer Reid#reid fanfic#reid fanfiction#Criminal Minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fluff#reid x reader#spencerreidxreader#spencer reid taylor swift
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picture me | johnny (m)
title: picture me
pairing: vampire!johnny x black!reader
genre: fantasy, romance, smut, fluff, angst
summary: you meet a vampire-slash-photographer whose self-identity is increasingly lost to him, and you try to help him find some purpose again.
word count: 18.3k
warnings: age gap (cuz you know, vampires...but everyone is legal), mentions of discrimination/prejudice based on species, self-identity issues/self-deprecation, general angst, sheltered!reader, mentions of blood and drinking blood, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, corruption kink, use of lube, unprotected sex (do not try at home), creampie, johnny is packing in this fic ok!
a/n: today (the 28th) is my birthday, so i’m posting this 100% self-indulgent fic that i’ve been working on between requests since september. it was very hard to get johnny’s characterization right for this fic and idk if i actually succeeded but i’m not revising this for the 1000th time lol. i love this fic with my whole heart tho.
i haven’t seen many vampire fics that really explore the whole “doesn’t show up in mirrors/photos” concept (shout em out if you know em) and...there’s probably a reason for that, this shit is hard af to write and there are some logic issues but whatever 🤪
(the beginning quote is from “criminal,” stan taemin!!)
The moment I fall for you is the end of my innocence
—
He sits in the same coffee shop everyday, like it’s a habit he just can’t break. But who are you to judge? You’re there, too. Watching him like a creep. Or maybe like an interested coffee shop patron, trying to be discreet and failing at it.
He wasn’t hard to notice. You’d never been to this coffee shop before, but your friend recommended it to you mostly for their in-house-made pastries; she claimed the coffee was good, too, but she wasn’t much of a caffeine person. You decided to give it a try when you had time between classes and a moment to breathe, not needing to talk to this advisor or that professor.
You saw him immediately when you walked past the shop window. He was sitting at a table near the front, staring down at his phone with a small cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Its miniscule size was almost comical in contrast to his...everything. He was tall—that much was obvious even with him sitting down—and imposing, wearing all black. His hair was equally pitch-black, his bangs hanging to one side and the rest shaved in an undercut. If you didn’t know much better, you’d think you’d stepped back into 2007 and landed dead in the middle of the emo craze.
He was interesting to look at. Not in a bad way, but in a way you don’t see very often. Deciding to walk in before you made yourself look totally weird staring at him through the window, you’d stepped into the coffee shop, the small bell dinging above your head. A barista greeted you at your entrance. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man, to your left, still looking at his phone.
You’d given your order and waited for it to be ready before taking it to a table on the other side of the shop. From that vantage point, you had a good view of the man. You tried to keep your eyes on your food and your phone, not wanting to spend the whole time looking at him, but it was a little hard not to.
When you took a bite of your pastry, you quickly discovered it was just as delicious as your friend promised—probably even more so. You made a noise of approval before you could catch yourself, and you glanced around the shop in embarrassment to see if anyone nearby noticed. Didn’t seem like it, at first. But then you glanced over to the man again only to find him looking at you below his eyelashes with a small, amused smile on his lips. He only kept his gaze on you for a second before returning to his phone.
What? You hadn’t thought you were that loud. How did he hear you from over there, and above the noise of the café? Even now, you remember how embarrassed you’d felt, ducking your head and looking away.
The man finished his coffee not long after that; he slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. You glanced up only momentarily when he stood, but your eyes soon slid back to his form when you noticed something odd. On the wall behind him, there was a big oval mirror sitting pretty in its elaborate silver frame. He stood just a few feet in front of it, yet there was no reflection of him. The only thing you could see was the other side of the café reflected back, with another man sitting alone at a booth enjoying his own coffee. The tall man’s reflection was nowhere to be found.
That was when you figured he must be a vampire.
You’d never met one before. At least, you didn’t think you had until then.
Unbeknownst to you, vampires are notoriously able to blend in more easily than most other supernatural beings—until faced with situations like that one in the coffee shop. Ultimately, there’s no faking a reflection no matter how hard you try to remain inconspicuous.
The man had caught your eye again. Thinking back on it, you aren’t sure of what expression you had on your face or what it must’ve looked like to him. It must’ve been something akin to surprise, though; you weren’t quick enough to disguise your reaction at his lack of a reflection.
He gave you another smile, though it felt sadder than the previous one, and walked out of the store, the small bell on the door ringing at his departure. He disappeared down the street in a swirl of black fabric, almost like something out of a movie, and you watched him retreat until you could see him no more.
You scraped your index fingernail over the wood table your food was resting on, your mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts. Your interest was piqued. And yet there was no way for you to know if you’d see him again.
—
At least, that’s what you believed then. Luckily for you, your subsequent visits to the coffee shop have proven fruitful; the strange, tall vampire is there more often than not, always in the same spot in front of that same mirror. Sometimes he reads a book, other times he looks at his phone, and other times still, he stares out the window at the passersby.
He acknowledges you whenever he sees you, either with a nod or a smile. You’ve never spoken to each other, though you know what his voice sounds like from hearing him talk to the baristas. It’s a nice voice, rich and handsome like him, and you find yourself gradually wanting to hear it spoken in your direction. But you aren’t sure how to talk to him, or what you should say.
There’s a lot you want to know about him and his vampirism, but you don’t think it’s fair to bombard him with questions right after meeting him—if you could somehow work up the nerve for that first step.
When you were young, your parents made sure to keep you safely sheltered away from anyone who could potentially be a vampire or any other nonhuman being. This game kept up until you went to college, where they could no longer “shield” you. Because of their lifelong fear and disgust, your knowledge of nonhuman beings is scarce and mostly inaccurate.
The man’s skin isn’t deathly pale like you’ve heard others say vampires always are. It’s nicely tanned, in fact. Nor are his eyes red, or his canine teeth abnormally sharp. And obviously, he has no aversion to sunlight, otherwise he wouldn’t be out here during the day. The only visible marker of his inhuman nature is his lack of a reflection. Maybe he’s not a vampire at all? Maybe he’s another type of being entirely. That only makes you more curious.
It’s not rare to come across supernatural beings, but they only make themselves known if they want to, or if it’s imperative to their survival. Most of them would rather quietly assimilate amongst humans or stay safe and hidden within their own communities. Humans are still too judgmental towards those who are different from themselves for nonhumans to feel truly safe or welcomed—at least not on a global scale. Small pockets of communities forged with human allies are helpful and sometimes vital for survival, but not always enough.
These small tidbits of information cycle through your mind as September gradually bleeds into October. You continue watching the thoughtful man in the coffee shop and making up your own secret theories about his life. You haven’t told anyone from school about this, because you already know the reaction would be nothing short of awful. Your parents would only let you go to school at the one university in the city that explicitly didn’t allow supernatural beings; it goes without saying that your classmates don’t view them in a positive light.
Part of you feels like you might be breaking the unspoken rules just by being at this coffee shop all the time and allowing this man to take up space in your mind. But who will know what’s inside your thoughts except you?
One day, your friend decides to accompany you on your lunch break, finally stopping by the café she recommended to you. The man is already there, as usual, and he smiles slightly when you and your friend enter. She doesn’t catch this, too busy wondering what she’s going to get off the menu today.
“I haven’t been here in forever, I wonder if Sam still remembers me?” You know Sam to be one of the baristas there, having read it on their name tag before.
“I doubt there are very many people who’d forget you,” you answer.
When you both have your food, you take a booth farther away from where the man sits, though you can still see him easily from this distance. Your friend settles into the seat in front of you.
You try to keep things inconspicuous throughout your conversation, but you must glance over at him one too many times, because your friend eventually raises her eyebrows questioningly. She turns around in her seat, making it obvious that she’s looking, and you groan as you keep your eyes in the opposite direction towards the window.
“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”
You cough. “No one.”
“He’s obviously someone. Someone interesting enough to hold your attention.”
“I don’t know the man,” you say curtly. You shuffle your napkin and spoon aimlessly, your nervousness rising. What if he has some kind of enhanced hearing and can hear what you’re saying right now? He definitely heard you make that noise that first day.
Your friend looks at the ceiling and blows air out of her mouth. “Whatever. I’ll find out who he is sooner or later.”
You take a sip of your drink and lower your voice to just above a whisper. Although you want to leave the subject alone, you’re curious about one thing. “You mean you’ve never seen him before? This café was your hangout spot before it was mine.”
She shrugs. “No, I think I would’ve remembered someone as...visually striking as him. Why are we whispering, anyway? It’s not like he can hear us above all this noise.”
You think to yourself, I’m not so sure about that, but you merely shake your head.
You spend a few more minutes talking before movement catches the corner of your eye. At this point, it’s practically a reflex for you to look in that direction. You try not to, but your friend has already caught you and turns her head to spy, too. The man has gotten up for whatever reason to say something to one of the baristas at the counter. Your gaze darts back to your cup after you’ve gotten your eyeful, but you’re nearly startled into dropping the cup at your friend’s gasp.
Oh. The mirror.
She grips the edge of the table. “He’s a vampire…?”
You don’t know what to say to that, and you feel oddly guilty for some reason you can’t pinpoint. Like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “U-um, I don’t know…?” You can hardly finish your thought before your friend is scrambling to grab her purse. She hurriedly stands out of the seat, tugging your arm as she does.
“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”
“Are you serious—?” You feel embarrassed heat rip through your body at her display; some other café-goers are already looking at her curiously, probably wondering what the hell she’s doing. She tugs more incessantly, and you already know she’ll get louder if you don’t get up now and defuse the situation. Leaving your half-full cup behind, you grab your things and follow her out of the store, keeping your eyes firmly on her back as you pass by the man. You don’t know if he looked up, or if he could sense the reason for your sudden departure—you’ve never left the shop before him until now—and you don’t want to know.
Neither of you talk until you’re well down the street and around the corner. “That wasn’t necessary,” you huff, your hands still sweating from the spiked adrenaline at suddenly being rushed out.
“Yes it was! We all know bloodsuckers and all these other weirdos are dangerous...even if they think they’re being well-intentioned by living among humans. I hope you don’t go back there.”
“Whatever...you’re the one who told me to visit the café,” you mumble, unable to muster up the energy to say anything more. You both know very well she can’t tell you where to go, but you hope she doesn’t mention this to your other acquaintances on campus and make it into a bigger deal than it is.
When you part ways with your friend and get back to your dorm, you realize you’re missing your planner. The planner with all your upcoming assignment dates in it. You sigh heavily and roll your eyes, knowing it must’ve happened in the chaos of her pulling you out of the shop. Maybe if you’re really lucky, it’ll still be there, picked up by an employee or simply left untouched. Knowing how many people go through that café in a day, you’re not optimistic.
For the first time since visiting the quaint little shop, you’re not anticipating returning and seeing the man again, afraid he’ll ignore you or look at you with distaste—like you’re just another unsympathetic human. And would he be wrong to think that? You’re only strangers to each other.
You try not to dwell on it too hard when you go to bed that night.
When lunch rolls around the next day, you hesitate a couple times on your way to the café, not wanting to show up. However, the desire to see what became of your planner pushes you forward. You don’t even have to stay; if it’s there, you’ll take it and leave. If it’s not—oh well. You can still leave. It’s not hard to buy another.
He’s there when you arrive, of course.
He nods at you when you step inside, though he doesn’t smile as he’s become accustomed to doing. You nod back, but you can’t ignore the renewed rush of embarrassment you feel. You linger at the entrance for a second longer, wondering if maybe you should say something. Apologize, even? But what if he really didn’t know what was going on yesterday? Then how odd would you look for bringing it up?
You decide to move on and go back to the booth to search for your belongings, but his voice stops you. This takes you by surprise.
“Did you come back for this?”
You turn to him to see him holding your planner in his hand. You stare, momentarily dumbfounded, and almost shake your head before realizing it is yours. Definitely the same sticker-covered, scribbled-all-over planner.
“Oh—y-yeah. Thank you.” He passes it to you, though you notice he’s very careful not to let your hands touch. You’re a little perplexed about why, but then the rumors about vampires having cold skin pop up in your mind. Maybe that’s actually true, too. “I usually don’t lose things so easily, but…” Your voice falters, and you don’t know how to finish that sentence without bringing up the other day’s events.
He doesn’t seem to mind as he replies, “It happens to all of us sometimes...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my camera.”
“You take pictures?” you ask, a tinge of curiosity in your voice.
He nods. “I take photos of anything that interests me. Which often ends up being everything I see. I work at an art museum, so I guess having an eye for photography comes in handy.” He hesitates for a second, then says, “I could show you some?” He waves his phone, indicating that the photos are there.
“Oh, sure.” The man gestures for you to sit down in the empty chair in front of him, and you do so. He swipes through his phone a few times until he settles on what he’s searching for, then puts the device on the table and slides it to you. You lean forward to look at it and see that it displays an album full of pictures, simply titled with the emoji “🌌.”
“It’s okay, you can pick it up.” He chuckles. You pick up the phone and swipe through the numerous pictures. Many of them are nighttime shots of the moon, trees, half-empty streets, darkened storefronts. Others depict nature scenes at sunset or the beginning of sunrise, with the sky colored in darker hues. No matter what the subject matter is, they all look to be professionally taken, even for an iPhone.
“Wow, these are nice. You said you work at a museum…are you a professional photographer, too?”
The man shrugs, and as you look at his slight grin, you realize you still don’t know his name. “Something like that, I guess.”
“You should be if you aren’t already,” you say, looking through more photos. “I’m sure you’d make a lot of money.” When you reach the end of the album, you go to hand the phone back to him but realize he’ll probably want to avoid contact again, so you slide it across the table. He takes it and slips it into his pocket.
“I don’t really care about the money,” he responds. “I just like it because…” He trails off, unsure how to convey his thoughts, wondering if he should even get that personal with a stranger. “It...helps me pass the time.” He’s not quite satisfied by that answer—it doesn’t feel like enough—but it’s all he can think of on the spot.
“Well, that’s nice too. It’s always good to have a hobby just for the sake of it...not for anyone’s benefit but your own.”
“Do you have one?” He takes a sip of his coffee. You don’t expect to be asked about your own interests, and your mind goes blank as you try to think. Why does this always happen when I’m asked these kinds of questions?
“Um, just different things here and there.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, amused.
“It’s not that, I just don’t have a ton of hobbies or anything. I’m kinda boring, so…” And wasn’t allowed to do much of anything until I left home.
“Being boring isn’t always a bad thing.”
You lean back in your seat, shrugging slightly. “Maybe if you see it that way. My friends don’t.”
“Would one of those happen to be the same one who dragged you out of here yesterday?” He speaks casually, putting his cheek in his hand. You slump further down in your seat, feeling exposed. Of course there was no escaping this topic. He notices your mood shift and shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel so bad about it. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”
“I’m sorry for all that mess,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes. “Really, I am.” You stand up from the seat, gripping your planner. “Thanks again for this. I don’t want to take up any more of your time today.” You’re about to turn to leave when he speaks again.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know…you could talk with me whenever you feel like it.” That’s the last thing you expect him to say. His voice takes on a quality that’s...not what you’d call begging, but it’s clear he’d enjoy some company. Maybe he’s doing this for your benefit as well as his own, because it’s obvious how your eyes always stray to his little corner.
You nod, giving him an apprehensive smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”
The rest of your day after that is uneventful, full of classes and unexciting lectures, but you keep thinking of one thing. Though he appears to enjoy his time in the coffee shop, how lonely must he really be? There’s never anyone else around him. His eyes when he’d spoken to you held a certain sadness.
And you still didn’t get his name.
You don’t see him for the next few days, mostly because you aren’t at the café. You’ve gotten busy with a new project and haven’t had as much time to return to the coffee shop, mostly spending your time in the library instead.
When you finally get a chance to buy lunch outside campus, he’s not there. This disappoints you more than you thought it would, and you wonder what his absence means. Did he just decide not to come today, or has he found another place to frequent? You kind of hope the second option isn’t the case, though you also don’t know why you’re even caring this much about where someone else goes on their own time.
You get a drink to-go this time, deciding you’ll just take it back to the library and continue your studies there. The entryway bell rings behind you as you wait for your order to be made, though you don’t pay it much attention; half of your mind is still occupied with what you need to do next for your project.
When you turn around to leave the shop with your drink, you’re surprised to see the man standing there, waiting to get his own coffee. “You’re late,” you blurt out. You immediately feel silly for saying it, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
He gives you a slight smile. “Yes, I am.” Then he spots your to-go cup. “Are you leaving?”
“Uh, well,” you glance at your drink, “are you staying?”
He nods as he steps up to the counter. “Yeah, I’m staying. My offer’s still open, by the way.”
Right. The offer to talk to him sometimes. You’re tempted to stay awhile and talk to him now, though you don’t even know what about. Your project? That’s boring. Him being a vampire? Too invasive. Your school? Also boring, and probably not the best idea considering which one you attend.
“I...think I’ll stay, then.”
You both sit at his usual table, with you grinning nervously.
“How are you? I noticed you hadn’t showed up in a while,” he asks, settling back in his chair.
“Yeah, I’m doing fine, I’m just busy with school stuff. These teachers don’t give us a break.” You laugh a little, shaking your head.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He grins. “I never did go to college, but I’ve always heard others talk about how tiring it is. And expensive.”
“They’re right.” You roll your eyes at the thought of it. “But I guess it’ll all be worth it in the end. Maybe. If the economy isn’t in the toilet.” The sound of his laughter is nice, and you’re glad you could make him laugh. “Also, I’m sorry—I don’t know how this flew under the radar, but I don’t know your name.”
He shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for, really. It’s Johnny.”
You tell him your name, too. “Since I haven’t seen you lately...how are you doing?” You circle your hands around your to-go cup, feeling its warmth transfer to your palms as you await his answer.
“I think I can say I’m the same as always—which is fine. Life slows down a little when you have a lot of time on your hands.” Johnny’s lips quirk up at that, and you think he might be referring to his vampirism. Your eyes widen a little.
“What’s that like? Having so much free time. I wouldn’t know much about that right now, but…”
“Maybe not as pleasant as you think it’d be. But there’s good in it. Like coming and going when you want to. And you can take up whatever interests you want without worrying as much about busy schedules.” You already know he’s alluding to his photography. “I do like having a job, though…it gives me structure.”
“You’re probably right…I wouldn’t know the first thing to do if I had a ton of free time…like, which hobbies to pick up first.” You consider how you initially thought about him being lonely and wonder if that’s one of the unpleasant parts he hinted to. “Speaking of hobbies...did you take any new pictures lately?”
Johnny nods. “Most of them were on my camera this time, but some are on my phone. You want to see?”
“Yes!”
Johnny lets you have his phone again to look through the newest pictures he’s taken. There are varying shots of car-lined streets and storefronts, some of the latter decorated with glowing jack-o-lanterns for the onset of October. A pigeon sits on a streetlamp during the daytime, holding its head up like royalty upon a throne. In another image, a stray cat and her kittens huddle in an alley, the babies grooming each other while the mother looks quizzically at the camera.
You recognize a few photos from the nearby park; he also had some pictures of it the last time you looked. “Do you go to this park often?”
“Yeah, it offers some great shots. It’s especially pretty if you go just before the sun sets...the light filters through the tree leaves and it looks kinda like a kaleidoscope.”
“Ah, I’ve never seen that before…” you say a little sadly. Your parents didn’t much like taking you to that park when you were younger because of how far it is from their house. And since living away from them, you’ve only been able to visit it during the early hours of the day—like now.
Johnny looks closely at you. “Would you ever want to?”
“If it’s as pretty as you say, I should.” You slide the phone back across the table to him, not catching what he’s trying to hint at as you keep talking. “Do you go anywhere else besides here and the park?” As soon as you say it, you realize this might sound a little rude and try to make a quick save. “I mean, do you have any other favorite places? I’m not trying to say you don’t have a life or anything!”
Johnny laughs at your slight panic at thinking you’ve offended him. “Nothing too out-there, I guess. The bookstore, the photography store, the theater. Pretty much all the same places others visit.”
“The movies are fun.” You trace your finger across the table’s surface, thinking of your own favorite spots. “Me and my friends like to go downtown. There are a lot of cute little shops down there…”
You and Johnny talk for a while longer, and you almost forget you have to get back to campus until you glance at the wall clock. “Oh no, I’m gonna be late.” Flustered, you jump out of your seat and crumple your empty cup. “Sorry to cut it short, Johnny, but I gotta go back now.”
He smiles good-naturedly and nods, his dark bangs sweeping his face. “I understand.” As he watches you gather your things and get ready to go, he speaks up again. “Actually, if you want to see the park at sunset sometime...I could show you? It’s up to you.”
You pause, suddenly curious at the thought of seeing him outside the café. In the back of your mind, you feel a little paranoid and afraid of your friend or maybe even your parents seeing you there with him, though the latter is extremely unlikely. It’s hard to shake that familiar fear of judgment and ostracism when it’s been ingrained in you since childhood. “That sounds good. If it’s not any trouble for you…?”
“Never too much trouble. I usually get off around 4 on Fridays, just before the sun sets at 5. Unless the weekend is better for you?”
You nod, holding your books tighter to your chest. “Friday will work for me! I’ll meet up with you then.”
Johnny smiles. “Great; I’ll see you then, kind stranger.”
Maybe he says it to be joking or quirky, to sound like one of those characters in a movie or drama, but it makes you smile. Nodding to him again, you step out of the café and rush towards the direction of your school. Johnny watches as you retreat, your roles reversed.
You meet up with Johnny at the park that Friday, just as you both agreed. You spot him sitting on a bench near the park entrance, waiting on your arrival.
Johnny’s wardrobe is still mostly dark, but it’s a little lighter than usual today. He’s changed things up with a white polo shirt underneath his black sweater. Seeing him dressed like this, you wonder what he’d be like as a student, or maybe even a university professor.
He stands up when you get closer, hearing the sound of your footsteps approaching and turning towards you. His camera sits safely around his neck, the lens catching in the light of the sun.
When you stop in front of him, he smiles at you warmly. You try to relax into the genuineness of that smile and ignore the still-lingering traces of anxiety about being out with him. “Hi, Johnny!”
“Hi, Y/N.”
You and Johnny walk around the park as he looks for something interesting to shoot. He snaps a few shots of the trees, fallen leaves, bushes, and other natural elements along the way, though it seems like he hasn’t quite captured what he wants yet.
“Are you looking for something specific?” you ask, peering at his camera as he holds it in his hands.
“There’s an aster bush around here,” he responds. “It hadn’t fully bloomed yet the last time I was here, but it should be open by now.”
It turns out he’s right as you two finally come up on the bush. Its blooms make bright purple smudges against the rest of the landscape, which is a monochrome red-and-orange palette from the leaves changing their hues. You watch as he comes up to the bush carefully and quietly, like it’s a small animal he’s afraid to scare away. Johnny is very attentive while taking pictures of it, always conscious of getting the correct lighting and securing the exact angles he wants to capture. “Compassionate” is not a word you’d usually associate with the act of taking photos, but that’s the only word you can currently think of to describe this display. He treats the flowers with a peculiar sense of respect, as if they’re a human subject.
After he’s gotten the images he wants, Johnny offers you his camera to take a few of your own. You’re anxious about holding his prized possession and are afraid you’ll find a way to mess something up, but he promises you it’s fine. You take a few shots of the sky, still with a few wisps of clouds left, and a nearby tree that’s almost stripped bare of leaves. You know the shots will probably end up blurry from your unsteady hands, but Johnny tells you you’ve done a good job anyway.
Something about getting his approval makes a pleasant warmth settle in your chest.
As you both walk down a long trail, you finally ask him, “Sorry if this is invasive, but I was wondering how old are you? Like...as a vampire.” Your voice becomes hesitant on the word vampire, even though you’re the only two in this part of the park.
He chuckles a bit. “I’m 85.” You try not to look surprised. “I’ve been turned for 60 years. Old, but probably a little younger than most vampires you’d think of.”
“Kinda,” you say quietly. “They’re always like 2,000 years old in movies.”
“The ancient vampires are purebloods. They keep to themselves and avoid mingling with turned vampires, let alone humans. Some people are even skeptical if they exist. Supposedly, they use humans as servants or blood banks.” He gives you an apologetic look after saying this, though you don’t really know why. You don’t get the feeling he’d do that to another being, but he is still mostly a stranger... “At least, that’s what my mentor told me.”
Your curiosity is roused at all this new knowledge. “You had a mentor?”
“An older woman. She was also a turned vampire.”
“Turned, huh…”
Johnny nods, toeing at a small pile of leaves on the ground. “She went away eventually, said people are meant to pass in and out of each other’s lives. I don’t think she ever had intentions to stay. But I enjoyed her company while she was there.” Johnny stops at a short bridge above a small manmade lake, and you both look down into the water.
You place your arms on the bridge railing so you can lean over more. You notice he doesn’t have a reflection in the water, and this startles you more than you expected. Before meeting this strange man, you’d never thought much before about why vampires don’t have mirror reflections, but it seems even more unnatural to see this phenomenon happen again in the lake.
You find yourself looking at the side of Johnny’s face, trying to read his expression as he peers into the water’s depths. He turns to you, and you flinch at being caught staring, but he only smiles slightly. You force yourself to form words and break the silence. “What—what did you do after she left?”
“Lived on my own. She taught me a lot of things to help me live independently as a vampire, so it wasn’t too difficult to get along without her...but emotionally? A different story.”
“You sound like you had a very close relationship with her.”
“Yes. Quite close…” Johnny’s tone suggests something deeper, more intimate than a regular friendship. You feel a bit astounded at the idea of him having an older, more worldly lover while being only a newly changed vampire. Your reaction makes you feel foolish, inexperienced. Still, you can’t help imagining a scenario of them living in a big, dark mansion somewhere in the mountains, rolling around in a bed with bloody red sheets—and maybe drinking from the occasional naïve, misled human hiker.
Strangely, too, you feel jealous at his freedom, his ability to go wherever and do whatever with whoever he wants without overbearing relatives always just a step away.
You continue staring at the ripples as they circle in and out of the water’s surface, the motions triggered by a small orange leaf falling into the lake. You’re unsure of what could be the right thing to say to his admission, so you blurt out whatever comes to mind next. “You said she taught you to live independently as a vampire. What does that mean? How do you get...you know. Blood?”
“There are ways,” Johnny says cryptically, which makes your own blood rush faster. He turns to you with a grin, like he finds your naivety endearing. “It’s nothing drastic, though. At least, not for me. I never drink directly.” It does make sense that there are other ways to drink human blood without taking it straight from their necks, though you can only speculate on which methods he prefers. “Drinking directly is lethal, and often not worth it.”
“So, it’s true that vampire bites can kill?” You watch as Johnny pushes himself off the railing, and you follow him as he continues down the trail.
“It’s not false. But it’s never really that simple.” Johnny’s answer is mysterious, and he doesn’t elaborate further. He turns to you. “Where did you hear that, anyway? Your university? The one that bans all nonhuman beings?”
“You know where I go to school?” You feel embarrassed, thinking he must assume you’re like the rest of the student body who hates nonhumans but still nurtures an odd obsession with them.
“I saw it on your notebook one day, the school insignia. I’m not a stalker, by the way.” You laugh only slightly, and Johnny seems crestfallen when he notices your apprehension. “I don’t care if you attend school there. Just because you do doesn’t mean you think the way they do.”
“You must think I’m some weird opportunist, then,” you mutter, heat finding its way to your face. “Asking you all these questions...I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think anything except that you’re a pleasant person to be around.”
You’re quiet for a moment, letting the compliment sink in. You think you should probably give him one of his own, but before you can, he says, “Look. The sun’s already setting.” Just like he told you before, the dying rays filter through the tree leaves and create impossibly intricate patterns on your surroundings. You hold your hand out and watch the latticework that the leaves create dance over your open palm.
You let Johnny take a picture of your hand with the tree shadows flitting over it, but you shy away from the camera’s lens when he points it higher to your face, a questioning look in his eyes. “Maybe some other day.”
You walk around for a while longer until the sky bleeds into a dark purple. “I guess I should be going soon. It’s getting late,” you say, though you’re also a bit sad over your evening with Johnny meeting its end.
“Do you want me to take you back to campus? You shouldn’t walk back alone. My car is just in the parking lot there.” He points to it where it sits in the distance.
You look at Johnny with a confused gaze. “But you can’t come on campus. They have...things to ward off vampires.” Like gates made of pure silver, displaying intimidating, elaborately designed crosses. You don’t know if any of it actually works, but it’s probably better not to find out.
Johnny doesn’t seem bothered by this information. “Yeah…I know. I can just drop you at the street across from the main gate.”
You hesitate a moment longer but eventually agree. He is right; you’d rather not walk alone at night, and getting a ride with him is better—and cheaper—than calling for a rideshare.
The ride to the college is fairly quiet, with the radio filling the silence. It’s not an awkward type of stillness, at least, which you’re grateful for.
As he said he would, Johnny parks on the side of the street that sits in front of the main gate, just outside the immediate vicinity of the campus. The metal crosses stare back at the both of you, glinting in the light of nearby streetlamps. You turn your face away from them, biting the inside of your cheek.
You unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride. I guess I’ll see you back at the shop next week, yeah?” Again, you get the urge to say something, anything, to remedy or cover up the foreboding source of discomfort sitting just in front of you, but there’s no one sentence you could say to wipe away decades of hatred.
Johnny nods and smiles, and still he shows no signs of being disturbed. He doesn’t cast another glance at the gates. “It’s no problem. See you then.”
You get out of his car and cross the street to get inside the gate; it’s early enough in the evening for it to still be open. Any later, and it’d be locked shut to even humans. You risk another wave at him before turning back around and heading for your dorm, which sits a few yards from the entrance. Johnny lets the car idle on the side of the street until you’ve walked into the dorm, and only then does he drive away.
It doesn’t take very long for you to warm up to Johnny inviting you to other places. The next time you and him go somewhere other than the coffee shop, you accompany him as he buys some film for his camera on one of his free days. You don’t know a ton about photography, so you’re more than happy to let him tell you all about how film works and why he buys certain kinds over others.
The place he frequents is a specialty photography shop that still carries older varieties of film—ones that fell out of favor once digital cameras became a thing. The store looks noticeably old, but not in an unkempt or decrepit way. You can tell it’s been around for a while, holding all kinds of history in its structure.
“There are so many different types.” You look over a shelf of film rolls in awe. “How can you tell them all apart?”
Johnny laughs. “It gets easier if you’ve been doing it for a while…or a few decades.” He picks one up from a row of them and holds it in front of you. “35mm is the most common type, which is what you’ll find the most of when you look through any film shop. That’s what I use.”
He sets that one down and walks past another display of film rolls, gesturing toward them. “There’s also 120 and 220 film formats here…those work for even older cameras, sorta like ones you’d see in 1930s movies. You can even turn a film camera into a digital camera.”
You nod to his words, looking over what seems like millions of film canisters—and occasionally glancing at the lines of his broad back as he walks ahead of you. “You should teach a photography class. I’d be more willing to listen to you than some old professor.”
Johnny snickers. “Huh, I don’t know. Not a professor, but I am old.”
You both continue walking through the store, with Johnny giving you the rundown on every item that catches your interest.
Like the coffee shop, there’s another mirror in this store. Many more, actually—there are whole rows of them on a series of shelves, all in varying sizes and shapes. They create a fragmented view of your form as you stand in front of them, though you don’t initially realize you’ve crossed into their glassy line of sight. You’re busier with looking at a roll of film Johnny’s handed you. When you notice your reflection shifting in your peripheral view, you look up.
Johnny’s only a few feet behind you, and you know this because you can hear him and feel his presence. Yet, it’s strange to see yourself as the only person in the aisle.
Eventually, he notices what’s got you preoccupied and comes to stand next to you. Though you see him clearly in front of your eyes, there’s no trace of him in the glass reflections.
Suddenly, you’re hit with the aching loneliness of it—how it must feel to never see yourself. You can see him with your own eyes, and so can everyone else who encounters him, but what must it be like to be virtually invisible outside of other peoples’ perceptions of you? You almost feel utterly alone even though you know he’s beside you.
Noticing your sudden melancholy, Johnny takes the film roll from your hand and tosses it up in the air, making it look like it’s moving on its own in the mirrors. He means to lighten the mood, if only to see the cloudiness disappear from your expression. It works to a degree, though you still feel downcast deep below.
“It’s not good to dwell on it.” Johnny presses the film roll back into your hand, still carefully avoiding skin contact. He has no problem meeting your eyes, though, and you shyly look away from his dark gaze after a few prolonged moments.
“You’re right,” you say softly, turning back to the aisle and away from the rows of mirrors.
—
You and Johnny head to the coffee shop after your trip to the photography store. Once you get your drinks and sit down in your usual spot, he speaks suddenly. “Something’s wrong.”
Your eyes dart around the shop, thinking he’s referring to one of the patrons around you. “What? What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out a bit panicked. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he does.
“No, I mean...something’s wrong with you. You seem far away.”
“Oh…” You wonder if you should even bring it up and potentially ruin the mood. But you have been curious for weeks now, and you don’t think you’ll get a trustworthy answer by asking anyone other than him. “I just...I was wondering why you don’t have a reflection. I know it’s a vampire thing, but I’ve never really known why...you don’t need to answer, though. Like you said, it’s not good to dwell on it.”
Johnny makes a motion like a half-nod once your question is revealed, his eyes darting to the window and back to the table. His fingers trace across the rim of his coffee cup, a thoughtful but stormy expression on his face, and you’re afraid you shouldn’t have reawakened this topic. “You know...being undead means being in two places at once.”
“Two places?”
“We are caught between the living world and the world of the dead. Something that’s not really supposed to exist, yet…” He’s quiet for a moment. “You can only imagine the kind of issues and side effects that can cause. One of them being no reflection.”
“I never thought of it like that,” you say. “Two planes of existence...what does it mean to be a part of the world of the dead?”
“Our blood runs slower. Ours is more like sludge compared to yours. The heart beats only a few times per minute. Don’t need to eat or sleep, either, though many vampires still do.” Johnny pauses. “How much do you really know about vampires?”
“I don’t know much about any of this...stuff.” You gesture vaguely, meaning all supernatural beings and not just vampires. “No one ever told me these things growing up, and it’s hard to tell truth from fiction at school. People will say anything, horrible things, and you just take it at face value, I guess. I never really thought to try to find the reality.” You sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t know anything.”
“Learning is good. You can always learn. I don’t think it’s too late for that.” Johnny’s voice is a little lighter. “Anyway, everyone’s knowledge is different. Sometimes it slips my mind that everyone doesn’t know what it’s like to live as a vampire, though the world never lets me forget for long.”
“Then…do you hang out with other vampires who do understand? Or…maybe humans who can sympathize?”
Johnny gives a humorless laugh. “Most humans are hesitant to interact with us, if not full-out terrified or disgusted. At the museum...it’s less pronounced because all the employees already know. They…tolerate it. But every time someone else realizes what I am and doesn’t take well to it?” He shakes his head, acts like he’ll say something else, and then abandons that line of thought. “And do you really think I’d want to spend my free time around other bloodsuckers?” He tries to play it off as a joke, but you’re more inclined to think he actually feels that way. You can only nod, feeling bad for him but also a little disturbed by his view of his own kind.
“I think you’re a kind person, and you being a vampire doesn’t affect that,” you say hesitantly. “I like talking to you. And even if you feel that way about other vampires, I…wish you wouldn’t feel that about yourself.”
Johnny remains quiet, but he nods. You wonder about the struggle occurring in his mind. The only outward hint of his uneasy state shows in the furrow of his eyebrows and the tense set of his mouth. With his right hand resting on the table, he rubs his fingers together absentmindedly, like he’s analyzing your words. You have a sudden and startling desire to hold his hand, to twine your fingers together and feel his skin on yours for the first time, but you don’t dare cross that boundary.
He finally replies with, “You’re much kinder to me, an old and bitter vampire, than you probably should be. But maybe that’s a good thing about you.”
“I think it’s a good thing,” you agree, your voice low. “Every living being needs companionship. Good companionship, anyway.”
The corners of Johnny’s lips shift in something reminiscent of a smile. He turns a rueful gaze once again to the window, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “Aren’t I lucky to have yours, then.”
On a day when you don’t have as many responsibilities to juggle, you visit Johnny at the art museum after his working hours are up. He’d already invited you to come to the museum any day you felt like so he could show you around.
When you get there, he’s waiting in the visitor’s lobby for you, framed by receding sunlight as the day starts fading into night. He looks the same as he always does when you see him in the café on his lunch breaks, but within the context of the museum, he suddenly seems more…alive? Vibrant? He could’ve served as a muse for one of the many statuesque, perfectly proportional sculptures in the museum, and you’d never know anything different.
Your heartbeat increases at the sight of him, just enough to be outside the normal range.
“Hi, Johnny. I hope your day went well?”
“It was fine, nothing too crazy. But it’s better now.” And he smiles at you, sincere enough to make your heart ache.
“Oh—that’s great.” That’s it? You scold yourself internally, but you aren’t quick enough to think up a witty reply to his comment before the topic shifts.
“Is there anything in particular you wanna see first?” Johnny asks, leading you further into the museum.
“I guess I hadn’t thought too deeply about that…do you have a favorite exhibit? I want to see what you like.”
Johnny smiles faintly. “Let’s see, then.”
The dark-haired man takes you to a section of the museum filled with oil paintings, all by one singular artist. At first, all you see is varying shades of black and gray and red, with some white splashed in between. When you begin looking at the paintings more closely, it’s easier to see that each one depicts a different scene of chaos. Maybe a sort of organized chaos, but disarray all the same.
There is one picture that holds a clearer subject than the rest. One of the oil paintings is of a vampire—obvious by the fangs—with bloodied lips and anguished eyes. You pause when you catch sight of it, your steps stilled by the sheer frenzy in the other being’s painted eyes. Their hands reach out for the viewer as if begging for an escape that can only be provided by whoever’s observing.
“This one was painted by a fellow vampire, you know. The same one who did all the rest of the paintings in this gallery,” Johnny explains. He points at the placard next to the painting that displays the artist’s name and a short description of the piece. The word fellow comes off his tongue wrapped in cynicism. “And it was one of the ones I personally chose for this exhibit.”
You glance at him, a tinge of surprise blooming in your chest. “Really?”
He nods. “Who better to depict the ills of vampirism than a vampire themselves? I thought it was a…fascinating change of pace from all the humans who try and fail to do so, ironic as that is.”
If you look at the painting for long enough, you think you can recognize sadness in the corners of the vampire’s eyes—pure, unadulterated sadness. Different from anguish or panic. A similar mask of sadness you’ve seen on the man next to you.
You say nothing for a while. You simply feel the painful throb of your heart in your chest and listen to the small sounds around you. Even now, there are still other people exploring the museum and walking through this very exhibit, but you can’t hear or see any of them. Johnny notices the disconcerted look on your face, and his forehead creases. “But I’m sure you want to see something less…morbid than this, right? Come on.”
“Uh, I-I don’t mind,” you insist, even though you feel like you’ve just awoken from a painful trance by the sound of his voice. But he’s already gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.
The next set of paintings you end up in front of are a series of sunflower studies. One frame depicts the long green stems; another provides an up-close view of their lined petals. One zooms in close on the flower’s brown center, only small glimpses of yellow left at the edges of the frame.
“This is definitely very different.” You look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. “But it fits you. I see why you like it.” You remember him back in the park, taking careful pictures of the aster bush and of your hands…and then offering to take one of you. You don’t know why that last one makes your stomach jump.
“I thought you might like it.” Johnny’s eyes linger on your face as he observes your reaction to the paintings. He’s seen these flowers probably a hundred times by now in this permanent exhibit, but the wonder in your expression is new to him.
—
You both walk through a few more exhibitions after that, all with different subjects and mediums—some consist of sculptures, others are clay vases and figures. There’s still a lot to see in the museum, but you’re starting to get hungry, and you know Johnny has already heard your stomach growling.
After the 2nd time it happens and you think you might melt from embarrassment, he grins at you and makes a suggestion. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll get my things and we can eat. The restaurant here is pretty good—or at least that’s what everyone else says…”
When you get to his office, you feel almost like you’ve stepped into a room from years past. Your gaze drifts across his desk immediately; it’s not sleek and modern like you’d expect, considering the rest of the museum’s aesthetic, but wooden and heavy and vintage-looking. It’s olden quality resembles everything else in his personal space. Even his desk chair, a big and plush thing, feels vintage with its soft leather and rustic design.
This feeling is far from a bad thing, though. You enjoy the aged look of the bookcases, the picture frames, the chairs, the small decorations here and there—everything about this room.
Johnny notices how you look around, studying everything in sight, and smiles. “It’s not the most modern, but I like it.”
“It’s perfect. Like a world of its own.”
“A woman of taste, I see.” Johnny puts a hand over his heart, giving an expression like he’s truly touched, and you can only grin sheepishly. When he has his belongings, he leads you out and locks the door behind him.
“Let’s see what they have on the menu today, then.”
—
You get dinner at the museum’s restaurant, just as Johnny recommended, and he even decides to eat too. Maybe he does it so you won’t look odd being the only one eating, or because he really just wants to; he doesn’t let on. Either way, sitting across from him like this in a fancy restaurant with both of you having a nice meal feels almost like a date. You let that thought amble around for a few minutes longer before tucking it back into one of your mind’s many small niches.
“I’ll probably be digesting this for the next few weeks,” he says jokingly, pulling a mock-disappointed face at his plate.
“That sounds like the worst constipation in history.” He snorts at your comment, his eyes creasing as he laughs. You notice he has a dimple when he smiles, and your grin mirrors his. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh quite so genuinely before, but now that you’ve experienced it, you want to hear it again and again.
Anything is preferable to the perpetual gloom, always slinking around the corner.
—
When Johnny gets back home after dropping you off at the university, he undresses himself and showers and pulls on his bedclothes, which are nothing more than his underwear and a pair of sweatpants. His upper canines ache in his gums the entire time he goes through these motions, like two pulses of red-hot heat positioned on either side of his mouth.
He takes a blood bag from the fridge and drinks it in bed, leaning his arms against his knees. A sudden remembrance manifests itself in his mind; he hears the hazy echo of his mother’s decades-past voice in his head, reprimanding him for eating in bed. A sharp pain grips his chest, and he tries to send it back to the depths where it belongs.
When the blood hits his stomach, the pain is eclipsed by the bloodlust, which is no better. His fangs drop immediately, spiking into his lower lip. Johnny closes his eyes and, very gingerly, allows himself to draw a picture of you in his mind, of your blood in his mouth and your heartbeat roaring in his ears. The way your blood would flow out so delicately, crashing into his tastebuds like the high tide. He is usually better than this at curtailing his bloodlust, not even letting it reach the point of his canines hurting—he can’t remember the last time that’s happened—but being around you sets him on edge. Awakens him in some strange, raw way.
That only makes him more wary. And more guilty about imagining himself drinking your blood. He shouldn’t even be around you if he’s losing his grip on his hard-won control. But although it makes him feel ashamed, it also causes his heart to rush.
He drains the blood bag to the last possible drop. To his relief, it calms him significantly, though the thoughts of you don’t leave. More innocent ones now, of your outing earlier in the evening. Deep beneath, they are tinged with his ever-present guilt at his vampiric nature.
Johnny doesn’t need the sleep, but he drifts off anyway, if only to quiet the conflict sending daggers into his mind.
You’ve known Johnny for a few weeks now, not counting the time you spent silently staring at him in the café, but you find yourself intertwining yourself further into his life. You end up visiting his apartment sooner than you anticipated. You didn’t think of anything as ridiculous as him living in a coffin or sleeping in the rafters like a bat, but you also had a hard time imagining what his place might look like.
You come over on a weekend when you have more time to simply hang out and not worry so much about anything else.
Like usual, he waits in that spot on the side of the street for you to come out. In the daytime, you’re more apprehensive about him being here and someone potentially seeing him and trying to cause trouble for him, but there’s a part of you that likes the rebellious aspect of it. And if he truly doesn’t mind coming near the campus to pick you up, you don’t have much issue with him doing it.
Johnny’s apartment is clean—and a little sparser than you’d expected. Maybe he’s a fan of minimalism. One side of the wall is taken up by a wide bookcase, which features a bunch of different knickknacks, books, and a collection of larger hardcovers that look like photo albums. On the other walls are a few framed pictures of different scenes, and you assume they’re ones he must’ve taken.
“This is a nice place,” you say as he takes your jacket for you and puts it up. “It must cost quite a bit, too…” You sit down on the couch, stroking the soft material of it.
Johnny shrugs. “Thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle...being nearly a century old gives you plenty of time to save money.” He appears charmingly self-satisfied when he’s able to make you laugh. “Do you want anything?”
“Water is fine…thank you.” Johnny nods and goes off to the kitchen.
Despite trying to keep your eyes on the wall photos, your gaze follows him as he leaves. You discreetly watch him move around his kitchen. With his dark clothes, he’s like a splash of black paint against the pale tile and stainless steel.
There are blood packs in Johnny’s fridge. Lots of them. You know because you saw them from your vantage point on the couch when he opened the fridge door. They look like the blood bags you’d see in a hospital, which makes you wonder how he even gets access to those. Another mystery you struggle to wrap your head around.
He comes back to the living room with your water, and you take it gratefully, though you also feel a little awkward. You think maybe the blood bags are something you shouldn’t have seen, although you know he probably would’ve made more effort to hide them or put them away if that were the case.
“You have a good supply of blood, a nice apartment, and a great job. Does every vampire get these kinds of perks?” Admittedly, it sounded better in your head. Your attempt to stave off the awkward feeling—which was really only coming from your end—only makes it more intense. Johnny laughs dryly in response. You can’t tell if he actually finds it amusing or is just trying to humor you, which makes you feel incredibly silly.
“All of it’s government-issued if you promise never to bite any humans.” Johnny gives a wry smile. “But it’s a mistake to think vampires live glamorous lives, filling up on blood and having no cares in the world.”
“N-no, I get it,” you stutter. “Bad joke.”
“I’m not trying to embarrass you or be mean. It’s just the way things are.” Your roles are suddenly reversed, and now he seems to feel some sort of sympathy for you, like you’re just an ignorant little human who doesn’t know any better. The last part of that is more your insecurities speaking out than anything else, but you try to ignore that and take him for his word.
Johnny gets up from the couch to go over to the bookcase as you sip your water. After looking through the photo albums intently, he takes one off the shelf and hands it to you. You set your water down and hold the album carefully as you open the front cover. The cover itself has a neat little label that reads Telluride 1976 - 1980, so you can already expect what you’ll find in it. There are numerous photos of trees, bushes, snowy mountain ranges, lakes, brilliantly vibrant flowers, and woodland creatures. You stop at a picture of a deer looking straight ahead, its black eyes wide and curious as it examines the lens.
“I lived in the mountains back then, a little after my mentor had left. I spent some time trying to reconnect with nature...and all that other hippie shit people used to do back in that era.”
You chuckle. “Did you wear the same kinds of clothes, too? Bell bottoms and tie-dye T-shirts and all?”
Johnny laughs and shrugs. “Maybe…but that’s only for me to know.”
You grin and look at the photos again. “Well…did your plan work, at least?”
Johnny gives a wistful smile. “In some ways, I think it did.”
You continue looking through the rest of the album, which you could probably do for hours if you had the time—just sit and trace every possible line, curve, and ray of light. Johnny sits beside you as you do, occasionally explaining some pictures and their backstories.
“Lately, I’ve been wanting something else to take pictures of...someone else, maybe.”
“What, like a subject?” you ask.
“Yeah, it’d be nice...I haven’t taken pictures of another person in a while.”
You nod quietly as you flip through the pages—another possible hint flying right over your head. Then a thought comes to you—one that makes your skin warm. “Have you ever taken pictures of anyone you were...involved with?” You don’t say it directly, but you hope he can get the gist of what you’re asking.
Johnny nods as if he doesn’t want to admit to it, a nervous smile gracing his lips. “A few different people…but I always gave them the pictures after we, you know, stopped seeing each other...so there’s none left here.”
“I see…” For a few moments, your thoughts circle around that concept. What was it like to bare yourself in front of someone else like that, immortalized on film? What might it be like to allow Johnny to see you like that, to take pictures of you in your most vulnerable form? The idea doesn’t make you as downright anxious as you expected it to, though you can’t completely shake the lingering embarrassment about it.
After you finish looking through the entirety of his Telluride adventures, Johnny shows you some recent pictures he’s developed, and you’re giddy to see your own blurry creations among them. Now that you’re holding them physically in your hands, you can agree that they look nice, each with its own little personality.
“I thought about putting them in a new photo album,” he says, “but you can keep them, if you prefer.”
You hold them to your chest. “Yes, I’d like to keep them. Thank you.” You smile. “I’m sure I’ll leave you with plenty other photos to put in your album, anyway.”
—
The sun is close to setting again. You aren’t ready to leave yet, though, and Johnny is content to let you stay longer. He pulls out another album for you to look at, this one dated with 1960 - 1964. Unlike the others, there’s no title to describe what’s in it except for that year range.
“This is a picture of me someone took before I was turned,” Johnny murmurs, sitting back down beside you. He turns the album to you, and in the middle of the first page is a sepia-toned photo of him sitting on a bed—or maybe a couch?—wearing a suit. White, handwritten lettering on the bottom right of the photograph reads August 4, 1960.
“Oh wow...” You touch the photo gently over its protective lining. “You look exactly the same. Of course.”
“It’s the only photo I have left of myself,” he sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “If it weren’t for that...I’d feel almost like I didn’t exist at all.”
“Do you remember this day?” you ask.
“…Vaguely.” His answer doesn’t feel like the whole truth, and the way his eyes dart anxiously as he says it confirms your suspicions. Then he sighs again, heavier this time, and he seems to be exhaling all 60 years of his burden along with it. “I was...going to be married. It was for our wedding shoot.”
You’re surprised for a reason you’re unsure of, never even imagining that Johnny could’ve been married at one point in time. Could’ve had an entire life and a family, if it hadn’t been for...
“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You know you never would’ve met him if things hadn’t happened this way, and that knowledge tugs at your heart in a way that makes you feel intensely selfish.
Johnny shakes his head and avoids your eyes. “It was long ago.” He wets his lips and his jaw clenches like maybe he wants to say something else, but he remains silent for a while.
You continue exploring the photo album in silence. With its thin size, there aren’t as many pictures in it as the others—much less, in fact, but each one is still enough to keep your interest. Your mind keeps drifting back to the one of Johnny.
You hand the album back to him when you’re done. He takes it from you, but in a gesture you don’t foresee, he allows your hands to touch for the first time. You make a tiny flinch at the unexpected coolness—not ice-cold, but enough to be noticeable—but you don’t draw away from him. You let his fingers slide across yours as the photo album leaves your hands, and it sends electricity racing up and down your spine.
“S-sorry.” You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for flinching or for making contact at all, though there is no reason to because he initiated it.
“Doesn’t it ever disturb you at all that I’m not human?” Johnny asks softly, still holding the album.
“What?”
“You’ve taken all this so easily...much more easily than many others. You aren’t even disgusted at my cold hands.” A ghost of a grin comes over his face.
“If I were disgusted, I wouldn’t even be here,” you say, trying to lighten the tension. It’s not the kind of tension that arises from anger, offense, or upset, but something else that you are lost on comprehending in this moment. “Some of it’s unfamiliar, obviously, but I’m not disgusted.”
He glances down at the album in his hands, as if contemplating something. Maybe thinking about the only living photo of himself beneath the cover. Or maybe he’s thinking back to how he was turned in the first place and subsequently lost the life he was about to have. He still hasn’t told you anything about how he became a vampire, and though you’d like to know, it’s obviously a sore spot for him.
Eventually, he nods, willing himself to smile at you. “I’m glad.”
—
Night has fallen by the time you’re done exploring the decades of his life, though there is still much you haven’t seen and don’t yet know. You let him drive you back to the school as you stare out at the passing cars, wondering how many more of these people sitting in their vehicles are nonhuman and you’d never know it.
You hesitate after he pulls up across from the main gate.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Uh, nothing really, it’s just—I still don’t have your number or anything.” And I want to talk to you more often. I want to hear your voice more often. You don’t want to say anything overly dramatic or cheesy, so you just keep those last thoughts to yourself.
Thinking it had been something serious, he smirks at your concern. “Oh, I see. I’ll give it to you now, then.”
Once your numbers are safely in each other’s phones, you finally bid each other goodnight.
Though you try to steer your thoughts towards other things, you keep veering back to Johnny. His apartment. His fridge full of blood bags. His photo albums full of years of history. Even when you get into bed that night, you can’t keep him off your mind.
You wake up gasping and sweating when you dream of him with his fangs in your neck, your own blood running down your neck and chest. You glance over at your roommate to make sure you haven’t woken her and rest your head on your knees, trying to catch your breath and settle your racing heart. Your skin still prickles with how you could practically feel his heated breaths on your neck, ice-cold hands gripping your shoulders.
The worst part of it is that you can’t quite say you completely disliked it.
“It doesn’t make much sense to have a Halloween party and dress up as the very beings that you hate, but whatever…” you mumble, looking through a rack of costumes with a certain impassivity. You’re not very enthusiastic about going to this Halloween party, but your friend refuses to go alone. You haven’t been spending as much time with her anymore—partly because of Johnny and partly because you feel even more out of place around her than normal—and with all her begging and pleading, she refuses to let you opt out of this one.
“It’s about having fun, no one really cares Y/N. They’re freaks, aren’t they? That’s why people dress up as them, they’re practically meant for this.”
You become even more apprehensive about the party after hearing that, if that’s even possible. You smooth your hand over the fabric of a witch’s robe and sigh again, shaking your head. It doesn’t feel quite right to keep spending time in her presence—or anyone else who goes to your school—but you feel trapped on all sides, left without much of a choice. You would never hear the end of it if you tried to switch universities…or even drop out.
Your mind strays back to Johnny as always, with his melancholy aura and weird jokes and pretty pictures and monochrome clothes. The smell of his cologne, the lingering scent of roasted coffee beans, and his toothy smile, when he does show it to you. Something in you makes you want to drop everything you’re doing right now and go to him. It might even be nice to settle in his arms, feel them strong and solid around you—though he’d probably need just as much comforting as you.
“Dress up as this!” Your friend breaks the reverie as she prances over to you with a pair of fake fangs, the tips of them painted in acrylic blood. She holds them up to your mouth, and you struggle to manage a smile, if only to sate her enthusiasm. “It actually reminds me of…that vampire at the café. Say, have you seen him since then?”
You shake your head, moving away to sift through another rack of outfits as you try to maintain a detached expression. “Nope, not a glimpse. Haven’t even thought about him.”
When your friend doesn’t suspect anything, you let your expression drop just a tad, breathing out quietly.
The night of the party, the full moon is heavy and bold against the black blanket of the sky, which feels horribly cliché. You wonder if there are any werewolves out tonight, and what they might be doing right now.
“We’re going to have a good time tonight,” your friend insists as you both walk up the front steps of the host’s house. It’s someone you only vaguely know, a friend of a friend of a friend, but clearly a person who has an abundance of money judging by this expansive home. You don’t know why she feels the need to convince you, but maybe it’s because you haven’t seemed very enthusiastic so far. You only give a thumbs up to her words, which feels like an unconvincing gesture. Luckily for you, it works.
After a few hours, the party is still going strong but your head is starting to hurt from the music, and you’re growing weary of all the men crowding in too close, looking at you in your angel costume like you’re something to be devoured. You’ve rolled your eyes at way too many of them and their haphazardly put-together costumes, dressed up as vampires with terrible fake fangs or werewolves with manes of matted up fur.
Your friend keeps flitting around the party, talking to whoever she recognizes from classes or campus organizations, and you’ve given up on trying to follow her around any longer. Every time you turn around, she’s somewhere else. Noticing that you’re currently solo, a guy from one of your history classes comes up to you and begins what he thinks is an interesting conversation on how angels actually look more like Eldritch abominations than the cherubic humans depicted in paintings—so your costume is “technically inaccurate” —and your eyes glaze over as you pretend to listen to him.
You eventually manage to get away from him and get to an undisturbed corner, wedged next to two girls drinking cider and critically rating all the guys’ costumes. You pull your phone out and think about calling for a ride back to campus, but your thumb hovers over the message icon. You press it without thinking too much about it, and Johnny’s name appears as one of your most recent conversations. Though you feel somewhat nervous, you will yourself to open the box and begin typing.
To:
Hi Johnny. I hope I’m not bothering you, but can I come over? 🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿 I’m over this party
You put your phone back in your purse, trying not to get your hopes up for a quick response. You know there’s a good chance he’d still be awake at this time of night since he doesn’t need to sleep, but he has his own life and is probably off doing...vampire-y things. Whatever those things could be.
However, your hopes are met when your phone pings only a couple minutes later.
From:
Of course. You’re not scared about spending your Halloween with a vampire? 😏
You smile at that.
To:
I think I’ll be fine…as long as you don’t bite me.
From:
🦷🩸
—
You get to Johnny’s studio apartment not too long after, and you hang around outside his door for a few moments before knocking, suddenly feeling bashful about your costume. Maybe you should’ve changed before coming over here; what if he thinks it’s childish? Or maybe too revealing? Does he even care about that kind of stuff? Doesn’t matter now, though. You’re here, and there’s no way you’re turning back around.
He answers a few seconds after you knock, wearing a sweater and black pants. You notice his sweater is a cream color and not the usual black. He looks a little surprised to see your costume, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“Wow, you look pretty. Nice of you to visit me after falling straight from Heaven.” You cringe at his cheesy line, though you also cannot deny that you secretly enjoy every bit of it.
“Thanks, Johnny...” you say timidly, stepping into his home as he lets you in. “Nice work with changing up the color scheme.”
He’s confused for a moment before realizing you’re talking about his clothes. “Oh yeah, that...um, haha. Thanks.”
Unbeknownst to you, the back of his mind is buzzing with a form of excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the clawing, frantic spikes of bloodlust, but a more physical kind of desire. It’s pleasurable, but he also feels guilty about pining over how sweet and innocent you look in your all-white outfit, stockings hugging your legs perfectly and your dress just short enough to tempt the imagination. Really, you’ve painted a picture of perfect purity, and the only thing he can think about is ruining you. Putting his hands on you and peeling your dress off to reveal the soft skin underneath.
He casts those thoughts aside as you sit prettily on his couch, legs crossed at the ankles—though it’s hard to do so. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? There isn’t a whole lot of food here, but I can order something…”
“Do you ever make your own coffee?” The question seems a bit random at first, and you try to explain. “You know, since you always get it from the café.”
Johnny smiles. “Do you want coffee? I can make it.”
You nod. “That would be nice…whatever you have.”
“I pretty much have your usual order memorized by now, so I should be good on making it.” Johnny walks to the kitchen. “You can look through the albums while you’re in there. The ones you haven’t seen yet.”
“Oh, thanks.” You feel a little nervous to be looking through the shelf of his treasured photo albums by yourself, but you’re also glad he trusts you enough to let you do it. It makes you feel important. Maybe even important to him, as silly as that might sound.
It isn’t long before the scent of coffee wafts out into the living room. Johnny returns soon with two cups of it, and just as he promised, yours is made just the way you like it.
“Thank you.” You set the album back on the shelf and take the cup from Johnny. For a while, both of you talk of nothing important—just filling the space with the details of your days.
“So how was the party?” Johnny finally asks, and he raises his eyebrows as he scans your outfit again. You grin halfheartedly.
“It was…alright. Kinda weird. I think it’d be more fun if I went to a regular university, but you know…”
Johnny shakes his head. “I can’t blame you for bailing out.”
“Yeah…I’ve been to college parties before, but the Halloween theme was a bit…”
“Strange for an institution that bans all supernatural beings?” Johnny finishes your sentence. He doesn’t look offended or irritated by it—only slightly amused.
You shrug, biting your lip. “Yeah, that.”
“Well, look on the bright side. I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in your natural form otherwise.”
This one almost goes over your head, too, but you catch it just in time. Johnny’s compliments make you feel warm all over, like you’re sitting under the sun. You grin and look down into your cup of coffee, unused to receiving such bold praise and unsure how to respond to it. Something pops into your mind, though, and you think it might be a good idea to run with it.
“You could...take a picture of me, you know. If you want to...since I’m all dressed up now anyway.” You meet his eyes only for a second and then look away, twisting the mug in your hands.
Johnny sits up a little straighter at your words, trying to catch your eyes, though you don’t hold his gaze for long. “You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure. Go ahead! Before I change my mind.” You laugh nervously and carefully set your half-empty mug on the table.
Johnny’s camera is never too far away from him, so he grabs it and plays with the settings for a bit before looking back to you, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna start, okay?” His voice is surprisingly soft. This, yet again, reminds you of him and the aster bush. He acts as if you might run away at the first shutter click, which makes you feel babied, but you don’t totally hate it.
The first few photos are a little awkward—at least to you. You aren’t sure how to pose, or if you should try to look more casual, though Johnny assures you you’re doing well. He gives you directives throughout, telling you to look in his direction or angle your face a certain way, and you follow his instructions to the best of your ability.
At one point, one of your dress straps slips down. When you go to fix it, Johnny says, “Wait. Could you keep it like that?”
You look at him, your body heating from the suggestion.
“Is that okay with you?”
“…Yes.” Your throat is dry, and your body reacts in a way you don’t expect—little nervous thrills in your hands and feet, though you try to internally explain it away as the coffee’s effects. Johnny takes a few more photos like this, and then he steps closer to gently touch your chin, guiding your face to the angle he’s looking for.
“So good for me.” It slips past his lips in a reverential murmur before he can really consider what he’s saying, and you both freeze. Your heart rate increases, and you wonder if he can hear how hard the red organ is beating in your chest. Probably.
You want to hear him say it again.
Johnny laughs awkwardly, his hand coming back to his side almost a little too quickly to be natural. “Um, I’m really sorry. That was a bit...”
“It…it’s fine.” You avoid his eyes. Johnny takes a few more photos, but the set of his mouth is a little tight, as if he’s stressed about something. Or regretting what he let slip, maybe. You want to tell him you really don’t feel bad about it, but you aren’t sure how to do that without making things more awkward…or revealing your true desires.
When Johnny has taken enough pictures of you to be satisfied with, he sits next to you on the couch, setting his camera on the coffee table and looking suddenly timid.
“I can’t wait to see them,” you say, attempting to break the tension that never really cleared the room after his earlier comment. He blinks for a moment like he doesn’t know what you mean, and then realizes—obviously, he’ll be developing the photos.
“They’ll come out nice, I’m sure. I think you’ll photograph well.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, and now it’s your turn to be unsure of how to resurrect the conversation.
“You’re beautiful.” It’s an abrupt comment. It makes your stomach twist in a pleasant, fluttery way, and you become hyperaware of his form sitting next to yours.
“Haven’t heard that one much, but thanks.”
Johnny turns to you. “Anyone who’d think otherwise is a fool.”
There’s a pause after this where you both simply study each other, watching for hidden reactions that can’t be read on the surface. The way he says it is…decisive, assured. But it also manages to be tender, as if he needs you to know what he thinks of you. Needs you to see yourself the way he does—the same way you do for him. You don’t know where the confidence comes from, but maybe his tone and his words and his endlessly dark eyes have pulled it out of you. “I want to kiss you.”
Johnny’s lips part. “Are you certain?”
“I’m certain.”
He doesn’t hesitate anymore. Johnny moves closer to you and cups the back of your neck. Something awakens in his eyes in the seconds before he presses his mouth to yours. Though he wants to drink eagerly from your lips, his kiss is languid to avoid overwhelming you, and there is an audible smack of your lips whenever he pulls away and presses back in.
His mouth tastes like the coffee you just drank, but underneath that you swear you can taste a hint of the deep iron of blood, and you don’t know how to feel about that. You think about what his fangs would feel like scraping against your bottom lip, if he’d ever show them to you, and you moan quietly.
“Do you want this? With me?” Johnny confirms once more, pulling his gaze away from your lips and up to your eyes. His own eyes are yearning, but there is also an element of something like fear roiling in them. As if you’d turn him away, even though you’ve already shown your desire for him.
“Yes. Just you. No one else.”
Johnny’s body gravitates towards yours, and you think he’s going to push you down onto the sofa, but he scoops your legs up and carries you to his bedroom instead. Even his hands on your waist and legs makes you burn inside.
This is the first time you've seen his bedroom. The sheets are cloud-soft when he sets you down on them, and his window lets moonlight shine through the open blinds and scatter in thick beams across the floor. The only other light source is the bedside lamp, which emits a comfortable yellowish glow.
Johnny joins you on the bed and lets you climb into his lap—encourages you to do so. His cool hands pulling at your thighs as you settle them on either side of his waist makes tingles go through your body. You don’t hesitate to bring your lips back together, kissing each other deeply as one of his hands cradles the back of your head and the other settles on the small of your back.
You are certain vampires don’t have any powers of enchantment—that’s for magic wielders. And yet, you feel like you’ve been put in a trance by his kisses alone, and you wonder how you could’ve lived this long without knowing how his lips feel—how they fit perfectly against your own. As if everything up to now has purposely led you together.
You shift in Johnny’s embrace, and the movement causes his thigh to slide between your legs. Your heat is pressed against his thigh directly now, your silken panties catching against the denim of his pants. You murmur against his lips, not really saying anything of substance but wanting to vocalize your desire to him. Johnny’s hand tightens slightly on your back, and he experimentally lifts his leg higher and slides his thigh across you. That draws a gasp from you.
Noticing your positive response, Johnny continues rocking his thigh up against your pussy and kissing you until you’re breathless and your nipples are straining against the fabric of your dress. You pull away from him for a moment to try to ground yourself, feeling like your nerves are already being singed with fiery pleasure. Johnny’s face is noticeably more flushed than before, but he also looks much more composed than you feel at the moment.
“It takes longer to get hard,” he explains, as if reading the lingering question in your own expression. “Since...you know. Slow blood.” You rock your hips over his thigh more enthusiastically, motivated to get him hard underneath you, and you listen to his choppy breaths as you move. Your movements aren’t the smoothest, but he helps you guide your hips in a way that feels good for you both. You’ve never been with anyone before, so it doesn’t much matter to you how long or quick it takes for him to get there as long as he does.
Feeling the bulge grow underneath you excites you. Johnny groans against your lips as you kiss him and rub yourself over his member. The sound comes from somewhere deep inside him, as if it’s something he’s been containing for a long time. Your hand goes to his waist and tugs at his belt loops, then drifts closer to his belt buckle, pulling the leather and metal apart. Johnny pauses when you get off his lap and slide further down, grips your arms like he doesn’t want you to go. “Are…you sure? You don’t have to…if it’s too much—”
“I want to, Johnny.”
With your affirmative, he lets you kneel between his legs, pull his zipper apart, and trace your curious fingers over the bulge beneath the fabric of his underwear. Johnny loses his breath when you drag his underwear down, sliding it over the heated skin of his dick. His length is thick and long—even with him not being fully hard yet—and the tip glistens wet with precum. You weren’t sure what to expect, but this is much bigger than you think you might be able to handle. It makes your face warm and your stomach do another series of flips. Still, you want it and you want him, so you aren’t going to stop now.
You lean closer to press your lips against his shaft, leaving a few soft kisses behind. Johnny’s mouth parts when your mouth touches him.
Johnny gently holds the back of your head as you leave small licks over his shaft, tasting the salty skin on your tongue. He lets out a shaky breath as he watches you, his other hand brushing the side of your face.
“Just like that…” he murmurs, his voice heavy with lust as you circle your tongue around the thick, darkened tip, catching drops of his precum. He never takes his eyes off you, and this makes you feel a little exposed, but you continue with your actions. When you suck Johnny’s tip past your lips, his thighs tense under you, the thick muscle reacting beautifully to your actions on his body.
More precum drips from him, and you find the taste strangely pleasing. It makes you want more of him, of whatever he has to offer you. You wrap your hand around his shaft, though it doesn’t fit entirely around, and begin stroking him in a way you hope feels good.
Johnny’s hand slips over yours to guide your movements and show you how much pressure to apply, what pace to stroke him at. “Like this, baby…yes, that’s so good…” He showers you with praise as you get the hang of it, and he eventually lets your hand go so you can do it on your own, his own hand drifting back to the bed to grip the comforter.
It’s hard to quantify just how much seeing you like this turns him on, you kneeling between his legs with his cock between your lips while wearing your pretty, angelic outfit. His previous guilt about “corrupting” you descends to the very back of his mind as he savors every moment of your hands on his cock and your tongue circling his slit.
“I’m close,” he whispers. You quicken your movements on him, hollowing your cheeks tighter around his dick, and the moan he gives shoots straight between your legs.
Johnny carefully pulls your head back so you won’t choke before he comes, streams of his seed shooting into your mouth and running down his cock. Your hand still squeezes around him as he comes, and he slowly thrusts into the tight circle of your fist as you milk every drop from him. By the time he’s spent, your mouth and hand and part of the sheets are completely sticky with his release. You imagine it must have been a long time since he’s last had an orgasm.
The vampire watches intently as you swallow his cum, which causes his softening dick to throb in your hand. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, uncaring of the taste of himself in your mouth. His hair tickles your face as he kisses you feverishly, his nose bumping yours and his tongue prodding past your lips.
“Come here, angel.” Johnny pulls your body up onto the bed before you can get yourself up there first. The pet name makes warmth flood through your body, like drinking a hot chocolate at the café, except a thousand times more satisfying. Johnny’s hands are once again caressing your thighs, though this time they slide up underneath your dress and squeeze your hips. “Can I take these pretty panties off you?”
“Please.”
He hooks his fingers into the sides of them and pulls them down your legs and past your ankles. One of his hands goes underneath your dress to feel you soft and wet against his fingers, and you both moan at the same time. He slides his digits through your lips and over your clit, and him leaning forward to bring his mouth to your throat is enough to have you nearly overwhelmed. His fingers tease your entrance but don’t push inside until you nearly have to beg him.
“Please, Johnny…” You push your hips up to get his attention.
“Do you want my fingers?” he asks softly.
“Y-yes…” At your words, he eases the middle one into you, slowly enough to avoid discomfort. It feels strange to have someone else’s fingers inside you. His finger reaches further than yours can, touching you more deeply than you’ve felt before; it makes you gasp a bit too sharply.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, freezing and thinking he might’ve done something wrong.
“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”
Johnny’s mouth edges closer to the cleavage of your dress as he starts thrusting his finger into you, warming you up enough to take a second digit. Shakily, you bring your hands up to slide the straps down and make it easier for him, and his breath hitches when you pull the top of your dress down.
His mouth envelopes one of your nipples as he slides the second finger into you. His fingers encounter a part of you that makes you moan unexpectedly and grab onto him, a little surprised at the sudden spike of pleasure.
“You’re so pretty,” he purrs, his lips moving against the curve of your breast as he speaks. “And so responsive.”
As Johnny’s mouth and fingers work you closer to an orgasm, you marvel at how handsome he looks and how good he feels. He opens his eyes to see you staring at him, your pupils wide and mouth desperate, and he separates himself from your chest to kiss you deeply once again.
When you come around his fingers, Johnny whispers more compliments to you about how good you are and how he wants to watch you come undone because of him all the time. When he thinks you might be on the brink of overstimulation, he takes his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth to taste you.
“I’ll take this off now. Is that okay?” He whispers this into your ear with his hands on either side of your hips, caressing the fabric of your dress.
“I-it’s okay.”
Johnny slips your dress off, leaving you in nothing but your white sheer stockings. The sight of you sitting there on his bed, breathing heavily from your climax in your pretty thigh-highs, has his cock throbbing and rising to life once again.
“Lay back on the bed.” You do, and he settles himself between your legs like you did for him earlier. When you glance at him, his eyes are heavy and piercing. In this moment, you are acutely reminded of the fact that he is not a human, with how he looks like a beast of prey about to devour a meal. You are too nervous to look back at him for long, so you stare at the ceiling with your legs shaking from anticipation.
Johnny’s mouth on you is almost jarring in how wet it is, and you arch up into him in surprise and a rush of pleasure. He gently presses your legs back onto the bed and continues licking into you, parting your lower lips with his tongue and making your thighs tremble under his grasp.
If you had to describe it in words, you probably wouldn’t be able to. He kisses your pussy the same way he kisses you on the mouth, passionately and with more than enough tongue to satisfy. Johnny slips his fingers into you again as he curls his lips around your clit, and you moan unabashedly.
You’re quickly spiraling towards another orgasm, maybe quicker than you expected; but it makes sense with you still being so raw from the climax you just had. You gain enough courage to give another glance down at Johnny, and you see the way his other arm moves back and forth from beneath the bed, stroking himself while he eats you out. Something about that pushes you over the edge, and you cry out as you come on his tongue.
As Johnny gives you time to calm down again, he stands and finally pulls his clothes off, baring his body to you. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen a man so beautiful.
He goes to get a condom, and your words stumble from your lips before you can psych yourself out of saying them. “I-I’m on birth control.” Johnny looks back at you, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite read. He comes closer to you, holding himself above you on the bed so his face is hovering just above yours.
“You want to feel me raw?” he whispers.
You nod under his burning stare, feeling like you’re on a high you won’t be able to get off of. “I need you, Johnny.”
Johnny climbs fully onto the bed then and positions himself between your legs. His cock is thick and heavy between his thighs as it bumps against your inner thigh and leaves a smear of precum behind. After putting some lube in his hand, he slicks himself with the sticky substance, preparing himself to fuck you open. Something deep in your abdomen shudders, and your walls clench around nothing as you watch him stroke his shaft, the squelching, wet sound of his hand on his dick loud in the quiet room.
When he’s done, he grabs your thighs and pulls you a little closer to him. “If it hurts, tell me, okay?”
“O-okay.”
The slick tip prodding at your hole makes you want more, though you are a bit afraid of how this is going to feel. When it finally pushes inside of you, you gasp. Johnny watches your face for signs of pain as he slides forward further.
With two previous orgasms and the lube to help, his cock stretches you open with some discomfort, but not the kind of sharp pain you expected. Your nails leave little half-moon shapes on Johnny’s biceps as you squeeze his arms and try to keep your lower half relaxed, wanting to take all of him in—or as much as you can manage, anyway. You try to keep your breathing even as he pushes into you slowly.
Your eyebrows crease and your mouth tightens when he slides deeper still, and he pauses. “Johnny…” You worry your lip with your teeth, feeling like you’ve been stuffed to the brim—and he’s not even all the way in yet.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” you beg, maintaining your grip on his arms. “Just…try moving.”
Johnny pulls out and slowly thrusts back in again, angling his dick to find that sensitive spot within you. Your mouth falls open silently when he does; this feels much, much different from his fingers. This is better.
Johnny repeats the movement, being mindful not to push himself too deep—only enough for you to handle. Beneath him, your body begins unwinding at the pleasure he’s delivering to you, and your eyes flutter closed as the ecstasy takes over your mind. One of his hands goes to tease your clit as he settles into a good rhythm, and you cry out at the extra dose of pleasure.
“You’re taking me so well,” Johnny mumbles as he sits back and watches himself slide into you, both of your lower halves slick from lube and your own wetness. “So warm and wet, angel…” You can tell he’s using a lot of his energy to keep his pace controlled and gentle enough for you to actually enjoy. The idea of being fucked harder makes you ache deep inside, but you figure it’s best to save that for when you’re more used to this. You already know it’ll be difficult to walk in the morning after this.
Johnny leans forward to kiss your lips, changing the angle again and circling his pelvis into you, and a choked gasp escapes your mouth at the slow wind of his hips.
Johnny lavishes your neck and throat with kisses, and though he is a vampire, you aren’t worried about him biting you. His fangs have not made an appearance since all this started, and you doubt if he would ever bring them out in front of you. You don’t know if you should ask about it, either, wondering if it’s too soon after only a month and a half of knowing each other—but maybe you could say the same about him being inside of you right now.
“Johnny…” you whisper into the air, your fingers scrabbling against his sweaty skin. The mounting tension in your abdomen is close to snapping, and you are almost frightened by how intense it already feels. He moves his face from your neck to be face-to-face with you again and plants a heavy, dizzying kiss on your lips.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve got you, Y/N.”
Falling apart in Johnny’s arms feels like a form of Heaven that’s meant to be kept hidden, because you might become addicted to it otherwise. Your inner muscles squeeze around his dick as you come. His name flows from your lips in a high song. You can’t imagine any physical sensation that could be better than this, his hips rocking into you as you tighten and cream around him, and you know innately that Johnny has ruined all chances of you ever feeling this fulfilled with anyone but him.
The constant pulse of your walls against his dick is too much to withstand for long, and Johnny’s muscles pull taut with pleasure when he comes, groaning into your neck and spilling overflowing streams of thick cum into you. His hips falter in their former rhythm, and he resists the urge to push himself as deep as he can into you.
When he pulls out, you whine from the discomfort of it, but also because you wish he could stay in you forever. You know you’ll be sore when you wake up—and you can already feel the very beginnings of exhaustion and ache settling in your body—but you’d do it a hundred times over without changing a thing.
—
Johnny curls himself around you after he’s cleaned the both of you up, as if he means to shield you from the world. You’re quiet for a while as you listen to his slow-beating heart and feel his cool skin against yours.
You look up at his face, which is hard to see distinctly in the dark of the room. With the lamp turned out, the only source of light comes from the moon now, but you can decipher enough to make out the shape of his lips and his glittering eyes. You know he can see much better than you in this light, and he takes his time tracing his fingers across your face and cheek, studying your features.
“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”
His body tenses at your question. “Don’t say anything ridiculous. You still have a whole life ahead of you to live. What I have here...this is no existence.” He’s not mad, at least not at you, but his voice hardens at the very idea of it.
“But what if I wanted to live it with you?”
Johnny takes a breath, but he doesn’t say anything to that. He just continues stroking your face and looks at you for a long time, like he’s searching for something. You don’t know if you truly expected an answer from him, or how you would feel if he did give one.
Eventually, your eyes begin to fall low, and sleep overcomes you. The last thing you register is Johnny’s chilly hand touching your cheek. When he notices you’ve drifted off, he pulls the covers tighter around you both. Then he presses you to his chest as he tunes out the sound of cars rumbling on the streets below in exchange for the beating of your heart—still alive, so red with blood.
#all these brown colors...how taurean of me#johnny smut#johnny angst#johnny fic#johnny scenario#johnny imagines#johnny imagine#johnny scenarios#nct fic#nct imagine#nct imagines#nct scenario#nct scenarios#nct smut#nct angst#ambw scenarios#ambw scenario#kpop ambw#ambw imagines#ambw imagine#ambw fic#ambw#nct vampire au#nct vampire
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locked lips
pairing: Pro Hero! Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader
ratings/warnings: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI [please im literally begging you], swearing, legal consumption of alcohol, slight praise, fingering, use of the name ‘baby’, deku being a little bit of a cocky jerk, unprotected intercourse, make-up sex
genre: ex’s to lovers, smut, aged up characters, fluff/angst (?)
word count: ~2.2k words
synopsis: You broke up with him on impulse. That doesn’t mean you stopped loving him. Now you’re back at his place, at a party you planned, with him looking just so desirable. What else were you to do?
a/n: hi hi! alright friends, this being my first nsfw post i cannot stress enough how important it is that minors don’t interact. if i catch any minors interacting with this post, ill delete this post and block them, which i obviously don’t want to have to do. just please respect these rules :)) anyway, reblogs are greatly appreciated and enjoy xx
You scrolled through your phone, mindlessly. You tried your best not to double tap on any of the pictures on your screen. The last thing you needed was for him to know you were stalking his page.
“You should start getting ready,” said Uraraka. You looked over at her, cocking a brow.
“Uh I'm not going?” you huffed. Uraraka sat down beside you.
“Don’t be like that Y/N. You still have to go tonight, regardless of Deku.”
“The party is at Deku’s house. I’d look like a total idiot showing my face there after we broke up.”
You sat up and crossed your arms. Ochaco sighed. She grabbed your shoulders.
“Y/N, you are gonna go to the party and make Deku regret his entire life. Anyway, I’m bringing you as my plus one, so you have to come!”
You sighed. “Fine, but I’m staying with you the whole night.”
Ochaco smiled and gave you a quick hug. She got up and began scanning through her closet again.
You had been staying with Uraraka since you and Izuku had broken up. It was a blow out fight. You yelled at him for caring about work more than you. He shouted at you for not being understanding of his career. The words you meant mixed with the words you didn’t, and chaos erupted between you and him. So, you packed a bag and left. You didn’t want to, but you were done.
While you and Deku were still together, you helped him plan an event for him and his fellow Pro Heroes, as an opportunity for them all to get together. Now, you would be attending that same event. Only, not with him.
“Who would’ve thought there’d be a day where I’d have too many clothes to choose from,” laughed Ochaco. You smiled.
“You should wear that pink dress Iida bought you for your birthday. I don’t think you’ve worn it out yet.”
“You think? It’s not too much…”
“Of course not! You’ll look hot,” you teased. Ochaco smiled.
“Alright alright I’ll wear it. But then you have to wear this!” She pulled out a bag from her closet and handed it to you.
“Please don’t tell me you bought me something…”
“I had to! All your clothes are still at his place...and I wanted to make sure you felt good tonight.”
You gave Ochaco a nudge and pulled out the tissue paper. You felt the soft material in between your fingertips, pulling it out from the bag.
“Uraraka...”
“No need to thank me. You’ve been through hell and back these last few weeks, the least I could do is get you a pretty dress.”
You jumped towards your friend, engulfing her in a hug.
“Thank you.”
“Hey now, let’s get ready! The limousine will be here in just a few hours!”
~
You sat in the back of the limo with Ochaco as you were on your way to Deku’s party. You looked like a million bucks. A little part of you hoped someone would take notice.
The estate where Izuku lived was gated off. Once you were let inside, you could see the beaming lights from the top of the hill. You felt your stomach clench, nerves building inside of you. You wanted to see him, but you also didn’t want to see him doing better without you. You haven’t even been apart that long. A month maybe? Certainly not long enough for him to be over you, because you certainly weren’t over him.
“Oh wow, Deku went all out!” cheered Ochaco. You looked to see the endless decorations and glamor that surrounded you.
“Yeah, these were my ideas,” you mumbled. Ochaco placed a hand on your shoulder.
“Don’t stress about it. Let’s just have fun, okay?”
You exited the vehicle and began to make your way inside. Champagne fountains and blasting music greeting you. His house was just as extraordinary as you remembered it. Nothing less than perfect for the No. 1 Hero.
“Uravity! Y/N!”
You turned to see your friend Iida, plus others from your old days at UA.
“You two are looking stunning tonight!” smiled Kirishima.
“Why thank you, it’s all thanks to this one,” you chuckled, giving Ochaco a nudge.
“I honestly didn’t expect to see you here tonight Y/N,” said Shoto. You shrugged.
“Well, I was invited after all. So Mr. Number One Hero can deal with it,” you huffed.
“Sounds like you could use a drink.”
Kaminari handed you a glass of champagne, which you took happily. You clinked glasses with your friends before dousing the beverage down.
“It’s gonna be a long night,” you mumbled to yourself.
You found yourself on the living room couch of Izuku’s large complex. You watched as Pro Heroes danced mindlessly with far too many drinks in their systems. You chuckled. At least they’re having fun.
You hadn’t seen Izuku all night, which was strange considering this was his party. You looked over to the glass staircase, knowing more than well that his bedroom was upstairs. You knew the layout like the back of your hand, after all, you lived here for a year.
You knew all your stuff had to be upstairs. You only had time to pack a small bag the day you left. Surely he wasn’t awful enough to throw your things away. You got up from the couch and quietly made your way up the stairs, hoping no one saw you sneak away from the action of the party.
His bedroom was at the end of the hallway. The doors were closed. You placed your shaky hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. It was unlocked.
You stepped inside. The smell of his cologne filled your senses, causing memories to flood in as well. His room was neat, as if no one had been sleeping in it. You turned to the closet. All your clothing should be on the right side.
“Sneaking around?”
You jumped, removing your hand from the closet handle. You turned around slowly.
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t burn my shit,” you huffed. Izuku chuckled. He took a few steps towards you, opening the closet.
“Don’t paint me as a villain Y/N. All your things are safe and sound.”
Your side of the closet was just as you left it. Exactly how you left it. You looked back to Izuku.
“Perfect. Then I’ll be taking it with me when I leave-”
“I’m surprised you came at all. I figured you’d want to be as far away from here as possible.”
“I didn’t come for you, I came for Ochaco.”
“Oh right.”
Deku took a step back, placing his hands in his pockets. That devilish smile stared you down, causing your face to burn. You could see the outline of his muscles through his white button down.
“You look incredible by the way. New dress?” he smirked. You rolled your eyes.
“Well since all my clothes were here, yes.”
“Well serves you right for leaving out of nowhere.”
Your eyes widened and you clenched your fists.
“I didn’t leave out of nowhere, I left because you cared more about your job than me!”
“That’s not true-”
“To hell it is! I was tired of being second to everything so I left!”
Izuku took a deep breath and stepped closer to you. He placed his hand under your chin, having you look at him.
“I didn’t want to break up.”
Your breathing got heavier without you even realizing it. You also didn’t realize that Midoriya had you pressed against the closet door.
“I-I didn’t want to either…” you whispered. Izuku smiled.
“Then tell me baby, why did we?”
“B-Because I didn’t know what else to do…”
Izuku brushed his thumb against your cheek, then took a step back.
“Look, I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was to make you feel under-appreciated...but-”
Izuku moved closer to you again, pinning your arms to your sides and pressing his torso against you all in a swift motion.
“-I can think of a better way to prove it to you.”
You tried to catch your breath. All you wanted was him at this exact moment. Was that a good thing? Of course not. Did you care? Of course not.
“Then prove it to me.”
Izuku wasted little time in moving you onto his California-king. He pinned you down onto the mattress and instantly kissed you. You felt the rush of butterflies swarm your stomach. You hated how much you had missed this.
Deku let go of your wrists and you began to unbutton his shirt. With little patience, he helped you from out of your dress. He dived back down, locking lips with you once more. You dragged your nails down his back, listening as soft groans escaped his lips. He moved down to kiss and suck on your neck.
“Fuck~” was all you were able to get out. Izuku’s hands grazed your burning body, feeling the skin that he had been craving since the day you left. He snaked his hand to your back, unbuckling your bra easily.
“I’ve still got it…” he teased. He threw the bra to the floor and gave you little time to breathe before kissing you again. You ran your fingers through his fluffy hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
“Izuku...please…”
His puppy dog eyes stared back at you.
“What is it?”
You panted heavily, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“I need you.”
A smirk creeped onto his face. Izuku kissed your cheek.
“I promised I was gonna prove it to you, wasn’t I?”
Izuku sat up, unbuckling his belt. He slid off his pants and boxers. You caught a glimpse of him, causing your body to feel on fire. Midoriya placed his head in between your legs. He teasingly kissed your inner thighs, keeping his hands glued onto them. The anticipation was practically killing you.
“Izuku-”
“Patience baby...I’m in no rush…”
He moved up to your underwear, biting onto one of the strings and pulling it down. They were practically soaked already. Same with your bra, he tossed them to the floor.
He continued to kiss and nip at your thighs, inching impossibly closer to you. You couldn’t take it anymore.
You grabbed Izuku up and kissed him feverishly.
“So eager baby~”
“Please just fuck me,” you whispered. Izuku chuckled. He licked his lips.
“As you wish.”
Izuku spread your legs apart, dipping one of his fingers inside of you with ease. You arched your back, letting out a moan, and gripping onto his arm tightly.
“That’s it baby~”
Midoriya slipped another finger in, stretching you out even more. You clenched around him as he added more pressure.
He removed his fingers and better adjusted himself above you. He held his cock in his hand before slowly pushing it inside of you.
You didn’t remember him ever feeling this good.
Izuku began to thrust into you, slow at first before building in speed. You could feel yourself clenching around him, sweat forming on your skin. Midoriya groaned with each movement as he pushed even deeper. He kissed you as he fucked you, though you were such a mess you could barely keep up.
He knew exactly how to get you worked up.
“Oh god...I’m c-close,” you mumbled.
“Not yet…”
Midoriya moved his hand down, taking his thumb and rubbing your needy clit. You gripped onto him even harder, digging your nails into his skin as he pushed you over the edge.
“Oh fuck-fuck-”
“Fuck baby, I-I love you-I’m sorry-” he stuttered out.
“I-I love you t-too. Fuck Izuku- I’m gonna cum-”
“Cum with me baby-”
Izuku went even harder as he reached his climax, following you. You let out a pleasure filled scream as you let go. Izuku laid on top of you, catching his breath as your body shook below him.
He looked up at you, brushing his hair back.
“I love you,” he repeated, in case you didn’t believe him the first time. You smiled.
“I love you too.”
~
You had forgotten all about the party that was occurring below you. As you got redressed to head back down to meet Ochaco, you felt Izuku grab your hand.
“What is it?” you asked him. Midoriya took your other hand as he stood before you.
“I really am sorry. I don’t want you to leave again,” he explained. You sighed. You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his cheek.
“It’s okay, I won’t.”
You walked downstairs with Izuku, his hand interlocked with yours. You watched as Ochaco’s jaw dropped at the sight of you.
“Oh so that’s where you were for the last hour and a half?” she huffed. You chuckled nervously.
“Yeah sorry…”
“Well the limo is here to take us back home, or are you staying here?” she asked. You looked up at Midoriya.
“I’m staying.”
Soon the Midoriya residence was quiet, just you and him remained. You curled up with him on the couch, his arms holding you tightly as he kissed your head.
“You wanna know why I didn’t get rid of any of your things?” he said. You laughed.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I knew you’d be back.”
•
reblogs are greatly appreciated <3
#willow.🌸#cheeky cherry blossoms.🌸#mha#bnha#my hero academia#my hero academia blurb#my hero academia one shot#mha smut#bnha smut#izuku midoriya x reader#bnha izuku#mha izuku#izuku midoriya x you#midoriya izuku#izuku midoriya x y/n#midoriya x reader#deku x female reader#deku x y/n#deku x you#deku x reader#deku smut#izuku smut#midoriya smut
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Strawberry | Chapter 13 | Common Tongue
Summary: This chapter is titled after a Hozier song. Take that as you will.
Rating: M. If I see anyone minor interacting with this or hear of anyone reading it, I will block your ass.
TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople @literallydontlook
“I’m a virgin,” you had said to him one night.
It meant nothing.
It meant nothing because, to him, you were the same with or without having slept with someone. Din knew that - had you chose him - it would be an honor. He would think no differently of you either way, and that even if the two of you never had sex, he was glad to have met you.
Now he thinks he may be addicted.
Part of him really wishes that you hadn’t gone this far; that the innocence would have lasted until whenever it was that he forced to leave. Because now he was in over his fucking head.
Behind the shed, you’d grabbed his hand and palmed yourself against the cotton of your underwear. The song of cicadas did a humbling job of masking your little pants or the way you whimpered beneath him. And, sure, Din did everything in his power to break traditional norms, but he wasn’t going to fuck you behind a shed for the first time. His heart broke when he separated himself from you and you whined underneath your breath in protest.
“Come on,” he huffed, lungs attempting to keep up. “Let’s go.”
|
Three minutes.
That’s how long it took to run from the main house to the cabin. Three goddamned minutes was a record. You don’t recall running that fast since becoming an adult. If your high school gym teacher has witnessed the velocity in which you just sprinted, she’d be amazed.
It was good old fashioned motivation.
Fortunately, Din’s barely taken his hands off of you so he managed to catch your clumsy ass when you tripped over the lip of the front door. The two of you had chuckled against the other before he asked, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” you giggle. You place a hand upon your cheek in feign distress. “But I think I may need to lay down…”
Your tone, which is laced with suggestive demure, has Din raising a brow. “Oh yeah?” he growls.
You nod sweetly, lips still pressed against his. “Mm hm.”
|
You’re so goddamn beautiful.
When he presses you against the plushness of the sheets, he admires the way your hair fans about you and frames your face. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips plump from his kiss, the natural pout of them more pronounced now that he’s bitten and sucked at the flesh. The brilliance of your skin glows beneath the yellow light, neck joining the expanse of your bust which heaves with endurance. He kisses down your pulse point until he reaches the neck of his t-shirt.
His t-shirt.
“Can I?” he whispers against the hollow of your neck, fingering the edge of the fabric.
“Yes.”
|
You’ve never been this exposed to anyone other than the occasional friend (when changing) or your sisters (also when changing). It’s been so long since you’ve gone outside of yourself - into the very thick of reality - so when he asked if he could reveal you to it, the urgent “yes” surprised yourself.
Still - it’s another kind of anxiety; not violent, but in the way. When he’s stripped the shirt from your body - carefully, as though he were unwrapping a priceless antique - it’s a natural instinct to cover yourself, confident of the way you weren’t.
“Take all the time you need,” he whispers against the flesh of your neck. “I’m a patient man.”
It should’ve been enough and maybe in an alternate universe it was. Maybe that version of you threw all misogynistic beauty standards out the window into the night, but in this present day-in-age, you took a minute to go over the mental checklist. What if you weren’t to his standards? What was the situation like down there? What would you do if he wasn’t all that you decided him to be?
How long would it take to heal from that?
Before your mother died she took your hand and made you promise: I will do everything I can to feel joy, as fleeting as it may be. There are lessons to be learned. She’d made you chant it in a monkish way, as though preforming a ceremony in the sterility of a hospital room strung with cheap tinsel and a sad, plastic tree at her bedside. You’d understood what she meant then like the way a student might understand the components of Ancient Greek; not until it is utilized can its full potential make any sense at all.
The philosophers - and your mother - be onto something.
|
Something like a muffled version of his name slips lazily through your lips. And while it’s dissected, pulled apart with a lazy and tense breath, it’s the first time his name has sounded poetic. Din never thought of himself this way; that his person could ever inspire such an organic response as the way you unwound beneath him. He’s laid with women before - three, he thinks - but he’s not positive he’s ever experienced a woman before.
Xian was good at what she did and she knew it; Din wasn’t oblivious to that but it lacked a certain something. The other times his body has been weaved together with another’s was faceless; just hookups he’s tried so desperately to forget. Hazy nights in which he woke up to in the morning, their backs to him, and identity indistinguishable. Eventually he just stopped trying.
It wasn’t until now with your fingers clutching at his hair that he realized how the act - the very dance itself - could be purifying. How it could wash away the very worst of similar experiences and how it made something that always felt cheap now priceless. The body is a temple, his elders would always say, and it never made any sense to him. The body is a fortress made to withstand hurricanes and torpedos. It was no place to kneel, to worship, to inspire anything other than sheer refuge.
How ironic, as kneeling was the very thing he was doing now.
Irony wasn’t the word. Fateful, he supposes, as he tastes the fruit that’s always been so forbidden to him. Your thighs clench around his head and the fingers that have been stroking his hair grip the sheets, white knuckling the starched weave, until a gasp is caught in your throat. And then there is nothing but the pressure of ignition until it crumbles around you, fizzing the air with something akin to champagne bubbles.
There is no nasally whine that follows afterwards like there always had been before you. No wild “yes!” that pollutes the air. Just the instability of a weakened chest, the grasping at air, and the delicious feel of your hand enveloping his after having pulled it from your sex.
|
You weren’t a stranger to penetration though this was was with exceptions; no one had ever done anything to you with foreign or, well, domestic objects. At the age of eighteen, your friends at the time had dragged you to the building on the east end of town that never officially existed until legality said that it did. La Boudoir Rouge was the place ‘vodka aunts’ went to cure the blues, bought mysterious items, and then hid the pink bags in the back of their closets.
So, yes; sex was a foreign exchange policy you’ve never found yourself involved in, but you knew the dynamics. You’d bought equipment and even enjoyed it more than you’d initially expected. Penetration wasn’t at all strange to you.
This made it easier, you think, as Din finally slides in. There was a stretch of course, and it took you a moment to get comfortable enough to brave any movement. Din drops his forehead upon yours, letting out a strangled breath through his nose, as you struggle to come to terms with the size. He’d given off an energy but…
“It’s so big,” you gasp once he reaches the spongey part of you. It feels stupid, it falls short on a botched intake of breath, but it’s the truth.
Din’s composing himself, silent in his endeavor to mold himself within you. His arms are pressed on either side of you, body flush against yours with his pelvis meeting your pubic bone. There’s another moment of silence before he kisses at your temple.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
A smile graces your lips, though your eyes are clenched. “That’s an understatement.”
|
The pace is fast, sweat inspiring. It drips down your neck until it falls in the valley of your breasts and Din wants so badly to lick it from your skin, but he’s too distracted by the way you clench around him. It’s ironclad - it’s the best goddamn pussy he’s ever had.
He wants to tell you that but he’s unsure of how you’d react. You’ve been letting out delicious gasps and moans reaching an octave you’d never reach sober, but not you’re coherently vocal enough for him to say it outright.
And then you breathe it in a pathetic whine: “It’s yours, Din. It’s yours.”
He almost stops, but his body is hellbent on seeing this through. Whatever the fuck this was; a spiritual experience maybe. Perhaps he’d died after the last mission - broken and buried underneath mounds of dirt - and now rests in paradise where he fucks his way through eternity.
A raw, animalistic response possesses him, the fistful of flesh from your hips is replaced by the swell of you cheeks. He embraces you softly, but sternly enough to incite a whimper.
“What was that, chica bonita, huh?”
You throw your head back as he slams his hips against yours with more force, the excitement conjuring a great wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. You try to speak but it fails to materialize.
He was balls deep and you were still shy by your interjection.
“What’s mine, sweet girl?” he whispers, mouth tickling along your collarbones. The contrast of gentle words and barbaric thrusts is something he’s never experienced during sex. Ever.
You let out one more mouthwatering whine before saying: “My pussy is yours, Din. Take it. Please, please…”
|
Suffice to say, that’s what does it. The two of you cum at the same time, like a synchronized dance, clutching one another so tightly it leaves red ribbons. Your fingernails had dug into his forearms and his at your waist in which his hands wrapped around. He lets out a deep, broken growl as you whimper, shaking like a leaf, and he pulls out just in time to paint your belly with pearlescent threads.
He collapses on top of you, knocking the wind from your fragile body. You’re absolute jelly beneath him, crumbled into bits, and would never be the same. Let’s stay here forever, you want to tell him.
Din presses his face into the hollow of your neck, listening to the rapid pulse beneath flushed and thin skin. Then he kisses the blood flow beneath once, twice. “My gorgeous girl…”
Stay with me. Stay with me.
You wrap your arms - which have settled from the convulsions - around his neck and hug him tightly against you.
Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.
#din djarin x reader#din x reader#strawberryfic#mando x reader#the mandalorian x reader#din x y/n#din x you#mando x y/n#mando x you
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