#Statues of SInking Men

[nugothrhythms]

"Non-Common Bacteria" by Jeddah, Saudi Arabia-based dark alternative electronic act Statues of Sinking Men off of their 2023 concept album Death Crossed Lovers

#dark alternative #dark electronic #alternative #darkcore #Statues of SInking Men #Non Common Bacteria #Death Crossed Lovers #concept album #music #first share #2023 #Jeddah Saudi Arabia #Saudi goth #Arabian goth #Arab goth #Middle Eastern goth #MENA goth #Bandcamp

[theostrophywife]

devil eyes.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: devil eyes by hippie sabotage.

author's note: this spicy fic is in collaboration with my darling @writingsbychlo. make sure you check out hide and seek. we've been scheming for weeks and i'm so happy to finally share this fun little story with all of you. keep an eye out for some cheeky cameos 👀

The cardinal rule of Gryffindor House was plain and simple—never ever make a bet with the Weasley twins. 

Anyone stupid enough to do so either found themselves out a pocketful of galleons or worse, owing Fred and George a no questions asked favour that the pesky redheads could cash in at any time. 

Unfortunately, you were a little more than tipsy off of a bottle of firewhisky and bet one of the twins, Fred? George?—you couldn’t remember which ginger you’d sold your soul to—that you could easily outfly him on the pitch during a quidditch after party. After a violent hangover, the annoying git actually showed up outside of your dorm with a Firebolt in each hand. 

“Let’s see those skills in action then, Y/N.” 

On a normal day, you might’ve managed it. You were smaller and lighter than Fred, which gave you an advantage in flight, but as your head pounded and your stomach churned, you knew there was no way you were getting on that bloody broom. Though your house motto was all about being bold and brave, you weren’t reckless enough to risk it. 

Instead, you settled for a favour. 

In hindsight, you probably should’ve just stuck to death by eating shit on the quidditch pitch. It would’ve been a hell of a lot better than trying to squeeze yourself into a stupid tiny little costume that bordered on exotic dancer more than scary witch, but it’s not like you had much of a choice. You had a debt to settle. Fred made sure to remind you of that.

While the rest of your housemates headed to the Forbidden Forest, you were busy preparing for the vital role that your ginger overlords had assigned to you for the night. Since it was Fred and George’s last year, the twins were determined to solidify their status as Hogwarts legends. What better way to leave their mark than throwing a huge rager in the forest? Thus, the All Hallow’s Eve Fest was born. 

As far as your professors knew, it would be a small festival to celebrate the season complete with carnival games, enchanted rides, and cornfield mazes. All harmless fun. But the student body knew that the Weasley twins had something far more devious up their sleeves. 

From what Fred told you, the night would be full of secret passages, elaborate tricks, and actors and actresses who would add to the whole allure. You were to be one of them. Tonight, you were playing the part of a seductive sorceress who ripped out the hearts of unsuspecting men. 

You were practically made for the role, Fred joked. 

You threatened to resort to method acting and grabbed at the front of his shirt with every intent to rip his heart out of his chest. Luckily for him, George came to his rescue and tore his twin from your grasp before you could inflict damage. 

“See you at the Forbidden Forest at seven sharp,” Fred called as he tossed the costume at you. “Don’t be late, Y/N!” 

At half past six, you almost considered skipping the event altogether, but that would mean owing the twins yet another favour. It was best to get this over with as quickly as possible. Sighing, you tugged on some fishnet tights and slipped into a pair of high-heeled boots that laced all the way up to your thighs. You placed a hand on your hip, frowning at your reflection in the mirror of the prefect’s bathroom. 

“Are you trying to scare the masses or seduce them?” 

You turned around to find your friend Chloe perched up against the sink, smirking as she raised a brow at you. 

“I’m supposed to be a bloodthirsty sorceress,” you said as you snatched her tube of lipstick and painted your lips with a fiery red shade. “Know any men who wouldn’t mind having their hearts ripped out?” 

She chuckled, swinging her legs in the air. “A few. The boys will be in skull makeup tonight, so aim for them first. Save the curly one for me, though.” 

“You’ve sent Riddle out on that wild goose chase of yours, then?” 

Chloe smirked and blew on her freshly painted nails. “He’s got until midnight to find me.” 

“What happens when the clock strikes twelve?” 

“Let’s just say that I’m fully prepared to live up to my house’s name and let him slither in.” 

“At least one of us is having fun tonight.” 

“Who says you can’t? You may owe Fred a favour, but that doesn’t mean you can’t cause a little trouble.” 

You smirked in the mirror as you put on the final piece of the costume. The gold mask fit perfectly over your eyes and truly completed the sinister seductive sorceress part that Fred cast you as tonight. 

“I like the way you think.” 

The promise of mischief and chaos helped to put a little pep in your step as you and Chloe parted ways. You didn’t even recognize the Forbidden Forest as you stepped foot into the haunted woods. There were colourful tents set up all around the clearing, some containing mirrored mazes and others promised fortunes readings. The combination of red lights and creepy fog gave the demented looking carnival an eerie feel. As much as you hated to admit it, the twins have really outdone themselves tonight. 

After running through the spell that conjured a hyper realistic heart that you’d be ripping out of unsuspecting victims all night, Fred directed you towards the east side of the forest. 

“Remember, it’s not a good night unless someone’s pissed themselves out of fear,” Fred reminded you for the thousandth time. 

“You’re a sadist, Forge.” 

Fred placed a hand over his heart. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Y/N.” 

“Piss off, yeah?” 

He chuckled. “I’d tell you to act scary, but you’ve got that down pat.” Fred cocked his head, examining your costume. “Although, would it kill you to show a little more leg?” 

“It won’t kill me, but I might kill you.” 

Fortunately for Fred, George plucked his twin away from your murderous clutches to start greeting their guests. By the time it was half past seven, the clearing was full of your fellow students. Despite your initial reluctance, scaring the absolute piss out of people was actually a lot of fun. As Fred predicted, you had a natural talent for it. 

The first group that wandered into your neck of the woods consisted of your fellow housemates. Dean and Seamus led the pack while Ron and Harry followed close behind. The Chosen One was as pale as Peeves. Weasley, on the other hand, looked as though he might vomit at any moment. Leading the rear, Hermione shook her head and marched forward. Neville matched her pace as he nervously darted through the twisted roots choking up the forest floor. 

You waited until their group passed through the twisted willow tree before jumping out. Dean screamed in surprise while Seamus scrambled away from you. Thanks to Fred’s little trick, your hand went right through Finnigan’s shirt which caused him to shriek in terror. With a twisted smile, you yanked the hyper realistic heart out of his chest and cackled in delight. 

At the sight of the beating organ in your hands, Neville nearly passed out. Dean hauled Seamus to his feet while Ron and Harry hightailed it out of there. Hermione chuckled, shaking her head at the boys. 

“Well, they lasted longer than I thought they would,” she said. “Stuck out here for the night, Y/N?” 

“Unfortunately,” you replied as you vanished the dry blood with a quick spell. “Anyone you want me to scare the absolute wits out of tonight, Mione?” 

She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I don’t have any scores to settle.” You nodded, wishing her a good rest of the night. 

Hermione bid you the same and started to follow the direction that the boys fled to. Before she disappeared through the thicket, a familiar, drawling voice called her back. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the golden girl.” 

Draco Malfoy appeared in the clearing. There was skull makeup on his face, but the shock of platinum blonde hair gave away his identity almost instantly. He stalked towards Hermione with that arrogant aristocratic smirk, completely oblivious that you were lurking in the dark. 

“All alone in the woods, little lion?”

Hermione’s gaze flickered towards you. A smile curved against her lips as her honey eyes glimmered with mischief. “On second thought…” 

The golden girl hadn’t even finished the rest of her sentence before you yanked Draco by the wrist and pushed him up against the weeping willow. The blonde blinked, his silver eyes full of surprise and terror as you raked your nails along the column of his throat. The red varnish looked like blood against his pale skin.

“All alone in the woods, little serpent?” 

Draco steeled himself. “And who are you supposed to be?” 

You smirked. “I’ll be whoever you want, darling.” Malfoy shivered as you pressed a palm against his chest. He leaned into your touch, his heart beating erratically underneath your fingertips. For Godric’s sake, he was truly making this way too easy. “As long as you give me your heart.” 

Never in his life had Draco Malfoy looked so terrified. The colour drained from his face as you reached through his perfectly tailored button down shirt, fingers slipping through the expensive silk material. You laughed maniacally and caressed his cheek. 

“Brace yourself, sweetheart. This might hurt a bit.” 

Without warning, you yanked his heart out of his chest. Draco stared in utter horror as blood dripped from your fingertips. The tell-tale heart pounded in your palm,  the mess of flesh and tissue covering your arm with carnage. To Malfoy’s credit, he didn’t scream or flee like your housemates. Instead, the Slytherin appeared rather impressed. 

“The spell work’s not bad.” Draco said with a smirk. He lifted your palm and examined the heart. “A word of advice, though. I would’ve turned the heart black. It would’ve been more realistic.” 

Just as you rolled your eyes, a deep, husky voice pulled your attention away from the blonde. 

“Who even knew Draco Malfoy had a heart?” 

You turned to find a gathering of serpents in the clearing. They were all wearing matching skull makeup, but you could clearly tell who each male was. The gang of Slytherins were pretty infamous and easily recognizable. The curly headed one had to be Mattheo Riddle. His gaze darted through the trees as though he expected someone to appear out of the thick fog. You had to hand it to her, Chloe had the Slytherin eating right out of her hand. 

The one beside him stood a little bit taller and though his face was smeared in the same white and black paint, there was no mistaking Enzo Berkshire’s lopsided grin and soft hazel eyes. Flanking either side of him was Blaize Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, the it-couple of your year, which only left one other serpent to account for. The male that had spoken earlier had to be none other than Theodore Nott. 

You turned your attention back to him, squinting in the faint light as he prowled towards you. Theodore was considerably taller than the rest of his friends, but not in the awkward scrawny way that most boys his age were. He was slim yet strong, sculpted by years of playing quidditch. The makeup only accentuated his high cheekbones and his ridiculously sharp jawline, but it was his eyes—those dead, cold eyes that had half the school swooning over him that gave you pause. 

Theodore grinned as you released your hold on Draco. He cocked his head, arrogance and swagger radiating off of him in waves as his eyes roamed your body. There was something unsettling about his gaze—Theodore’s eyes were neither green nor blue, but rather some undiscovered shade that reminded you of watercolours bleeding into each other. 

The manner in which he ogled you was shameless. He drank in your tight corset, the fishnet tights, and the thigh high boots like you were a painting on the walls of a gallery, pinned up for his viewing pleasure. You held your head high, completely undeterred by his stare. Besides, two could play that game. 

You schooled your features into indifference. “Who are you supposed to be? The Pumpkin King?” 

Theodore flashed you a charming smile that you had no doubt made the rest of the student population swoon. “I’ll be your Jack if you agree to be my Sally, sweetheart.” 

As slowly as possible, you dragged your gaze from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Theodore smirked as you surveyed him just as he had done to you a few moments ago. Staying true to his Slytherin roots, Theodore wore a black suit and matching freshly pressed trousers, but the silk shirt underneath was maroon—Gryffindor colours. Your house colours. 

“Brave of you to wear rival colours.” 

“I thought you’d be happy,” Theodore drawled. “Better to hide the blood when you rip my heart out, darling.” 

“You think I care about making a mess?” you said with a smirk. “That’s half of the fun.” 

Theodore flashed you a smile that spelled nothing but trouble. “Oh, I think you’re just my kind of witch.” 

“Oi, Notty boy! If you’re done flirting, we’re heading to the mirror maze.”

Blaise was regarded with a wave of dismissal. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” 

Hermione lingered by the edge of the clearing. She raised a brow in a silent question. You merely shrugged. Theodore Nott wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. 

“Give Longbottom my apologies, Mione. And a calming draught,” you added as an afterthought. “The poor bloke will need it.”

Your friend smiled. “Sure thing. Shall I tell the twins that you’re…indisposed?” 

“No, let my wardens sweat it out a bit.”

Hermione chuckled and waved you off. The rest of the Slytherins followed shortly after, leaving you alone with Theodore. You locked eyes for a moment before you spun on your heel and walked off in the opposite direction. The brunette stared after you in stunned silence before you looked over your shoulder and smirked at him. 

“Well, are you coming or not, Theodore?” 

The sounds of the leaves crunching below his boots indicated that Theodore had snapped out of his stupor and was catching up to you. He did so rather quickly, thanks to those long legs of his. One of his strides was equal to three of yours. It took little to no effort on his part before the two of you were walking side by side. 

“You know who I am, then?”

You shrugged. “It’s not hard to tell you and your cronies apart.” 

Theodore grinned lazily and cocked his head at you. He squinted against the faint light, no doubt trying to ascertain a hint of your identity from underneath the gold mask. 

“It hardly seems fair. You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are.”

You smirked at him. “I’m Sally, remember?” 

“Does that mean I’m your Jack?” 

“For the night, at least.”

He seemed content with that answer. “Where are we headed now, little witch?”

“The Graveyard.”

Theodore appeared slightly baffled, but brooked no argument as you led him through a thicket of trees. You chuckled at the sight of him following you blindly. “A strange girl just told you she was leading you to a graveyard and you didn’t even bat an eyelash. I thought you Slytherins were all about self-preservation?”

“I have no intention of preserving myself tonight,” Theodore drawled. “Feel free to ruin me, Sally.”

“I suppose you think you’re rather charming, don’t you Jack?”

“I don’t think, darling. I know.” 

You rolled your eyes and walked toward the lone tombstone in between the weeping willows. Theodore watched as you waved your wand and muttered an incantation. The ground rumbled beneath your feet, clearing the leaves until an ominous set of stairs appeared in front of the grave. 

Theodore peered over your shoulder. “I suppose you won’t be telling me what’s down there, will you Sally?” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll hold your hand in case you get scared.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but Theodore took the jest to heart and slipped his hand into yours. You smirked as you intertwined your fingers. If he thought a little hand holding would bother you, then Theodore had no idea what he was in for tonight. 

“Lead the way, love.”

You led him down the steps, plunging into darkness the lower you went. Theodore took the opportunity to press up behind you and kept a hand on your waist as the two of you descended. He was so close that the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with cigarette smoke assaulted your senses.  

A red hazy light flashed up ahead. The pounding music and excited chatter of your fellow classmates grew louder as you and Theodore were transported into the speakeasy. The bar was stocked with alcohol, shots and cocktails floating mid-air with themed drinks like Merlin’s Mourge-a-rita, Witches’ Brew, and Cauldron Colada. You hailed Parvati down who was apparently serving as the bartender tonight along with her twin sister. 

“We’ll take two El Diablos.” 

Theodore raised a brow, but didn’t protest as Parvati presented the shots in front of you. Your fellow housemate also floated a salt shaker and a bowl of limes on the counter. You sprinkled salt on the back of your hand and grabbed a lime wedge in preparation. Theodore did the same, minus the lime. 

“Bottoms up, Jack.” 

“Cheers, Sally.”

After licking the salt off of your hand, you clinked your glass against Theodore’s and knocked the drink back. The El Diablo certainly lived up to its name. The drink was a combination of tequila mixed with pepperup potion and topped off with a hint of cayenne. Needless to say, it had a bit of a kick. 

With a slight grimace, you bit down on the lime, which helped with the unpleasant aftertaste. Theodore caught your wrist and held your gaze as he directed your hand up to his mouth. He mimicked your move and sucked hard on the lime, his lips brushing your fingers as he licked the juice from where it had dribbled onto your palm. 

A shiver snaked down your spine. You may be a shameless flirt, but Theodore was definitely matching your energy. 

“I can’t believe the twins built a speakeasy down here,” Theodore said. He leaned in close so you could hear him over the music. “I’m almost impressed.” 

“I’ll tell my wardens you said that.” 

“You keep calling them that,” Theodore said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t mean that one of the weasels is your ball and chain in a literal sense, right?”

“Are you jealous, Jack?” 

He smirked. “I just want to know which twin I’m sending to the infirmary tonight.”

You chuckled. “I’m not dating Fred or George. I just owe them a favour. Speaking of which, I’ve got some men to scare. Be a good boy and wait for me here.”

Theodore shook his head. “Oh, I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m yours for the night, remember?” He toyed with the laces on your corset and pulled you towards him, your breasts pressing against the hard muscles of his chest. “I have a proposition for you, little witch.”

You quirked a brow, which made Theodore chuckle darkly. “Not that kind of proposition, principessa.” He twirled the lace between his fingers. “I say we terrorise the student body together.” 

“You want to help me do my job?”

Theodore shrugged. “Why not? We can be partners in crime.” 

You cocked your head. It certainly would be more fun to have someone else partake in your chore. Curling your fingers around his maroon tie, you pulled Theodore down to your level. His gaze flickered to your mouth and you couldn’t help the thrill that buzzed in your veins as you watched him swallow thickly. 

“You’ve got a deal, Jack.” 

As it turns out, Theodore was an excellent partner in crime. The two of you concocted a rather effective formula to inflict fear upon your classmates. The Red Room soon became your hunting grounds. In the creepy blood soaked maze, Theodore chased groups through the enchanted room while you lurked in the shadows. As soon as they thought they were safe from skull face, the groups were then led right into your trap. 

You could hardly count the amount of people you scared shitless tonight. 

Eventually the two of you returned to the bar for more drinks. You ordered another round of shots, which Theodore accepted without question. By the time you were six shots deep, the tequila had annihilated any sense of personal space between you. Theodore leaned down to take a sip of your drink. 

“Trying to get me drunk, love?”

“That depends,” you quipped back. “How many drinks do I need to plie you with until you agree to dance?” 

“With you? I’d say yes while stone cold sober.”

You grinned. “Come on, then.”

Theodore allowed you to guide him away from the bar and into the throng of your fellow classmates. It was total debauchery out on the dance floor. The music pulsed seductively as bodies writhed to the hypnotic beat and the red light bathed the crowd in a sinister glow as the alcohol loosened both limbs and lips. 

The warmth of the tequila made you feel flushed, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Theodore’s hands on your waist. With your back pressed against his chest, you swayed your hips to the beat of the music. You rocked side to side and grinded against him, which caused his grip to tighten. Theodore’s fingers dug into your sides as you wrapped an arm around his neck and arched your back against his chest. 

His dark lashes fluttered as your lips brushed against the column of his throat. Theodore shuddered when you nipped at his skin. A low groan escaped his mouth as he tried to chase your lips, but you dropped low to the floor and left him in a daze. 

Theodore caught your wrist and pressed you flush against him. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s not polite to tease?’ 

“Do I look like someone who gives a shit about being polite?” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You should know that I have a terrible habit of playing with my food.” 

Theodore smirked and fisted your hair between his fingers. “And you should know that I have no qualms about being toyed with. As long as you promise to devour me later, little witch.”

You brushed up against him and felt his hardness rub against you. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll get my taste of you tonight.” He inhaled sharply as you tugged him down to you. His eyes fluttered, fully expecting a kiss. “But before that, would you be a dear and get me another drink? I’m absolutely parched.”

A pained expression dawned on his handsome features. Theodore was fully aware of the little cat and mouse game you were playing, but he seemed keen to play along. If only to please you. 

“You’re killing me, bella,” Theodore said with a sigh. He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss on your cheek, a promise of what was to come. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, yeah?” 

“Don’t take too long,” you said with a wink. “I might get impatient.”

With that, Theodore hustled back to the bar. You chuckled at the sight. Your amusement only grew as Chloe approached. As soon as she was within reach, you tugged your friend onto the dancefloor. She happily obliged, the moves flowing naturally. The two of you were known to bring the whole house down at countless parties. 

“I take it Riddle hasn’t found you yet?” 

“No, but he’s close.” Chloe shouted over the music, motioning to the bar where her boyfriend was currently standing. Mattheo, Theo, and Draco were talking in hushed whispers, looking rather serious. 

“Gettin’ colder, he and Draco are heading toward the exit.”

The poor Slytherin was chasing after some unsuspecting blonde girl who looked a lot like Chloe from behind. A mischievous grin curved against her lips as she watched Theodore weave his way back to you, toting a drink in each hand. 

“Is that Theodore Nott you’re flirting with?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you replied with a coy smile. “He doesn't know it’s me, though, so if he asks you, you have no idea who I am tonight.”

“My lips are sealed.” 

With a wink, Chloe slipped away just as Theodore returned. He handed you a drink and watched as you sipped it slowly. Theodore downed his cocktail in less than a minute and tossed his cup into the nearest trash can. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” 

“You promised a taste.” 

You smirked, chugging the rest of your drink and wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. Theodore watched intently as you set the empty cup down. “Come and get it, then.”

The words had barely left your lips before Theodore kissed you. There wasn’t a hint of timidness in the way that his lips crashed against yours, a soft moan escaping his mouth as he tilted your chin up to gently bite down on your lower lip. You gasped when he nipped at you, leaving your mouth open for his tongue to slide into. 

The taste of him was intoxicating as he massaged your tongue against his, licking the roof of your mouth before he kissed you sloppily, open-mouthed and positively obscene despite the crowd dancing around you. What started out as a kiss turned into a full blown make out session in the middle of the dance floor. Neither one of you felt a hint of shame as you shared another filthy kiss. With a groan, Theodore’s hands roamed along your back and squeezed when he reached your ass. 

“Fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” 

You smirked, already equipped with a salacious response when your gaze caught on the clock behind the bar. It was nearly midnight and the twins had instructed all the actors and actresses to gather in the main entrance for the grand finale. Fred and George would have a fit if they found out you had abandoned your post. The twats would probably demand another favour out of you. There was no way you were going to shackle yourself to the Weasleys a second time. 

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath. “It’s almost midnight. I have to get back.”

“I thought you were my Sally,” Theodore drawled. He looked slightly dazed, his curly hair dishevelled and his lips swollen from your kisses. “Not Cinderella.”

“I’m being serious, Nott. If I’m not back before the clock strikes twelve, I’ll have to owe the twins another favour.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back in time. Besides, if we’re playing into this whole Cinderella fantasy then let’s skip to the good part and see if it fits and by it I mean me inside of you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. Before you knew it, you were dragging Theodore out of the speakeasy. The two of you climbed the steps three at a time, nearly tumbling over one another as you raced up the stairs. The woods were dark and foreboding, but provided plenty of cover for your illicit activities. 

You tugged Theodore along by his tie and he pressed you against an oak tree, the bark biting at your exposed skin. You were kissing again in no time and the sounds the two of you made were downright lewd. Theodore reached for your mask, but you swatted his hand away. 

“The mask stays on.” 

He smirked. “I didn’t think it was possible to get any harder, but you seem to be an overachiever.”

“I aim to please.” 

Theodore smirked against your neck as he hiked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. His hand wandered underneath your skirt and those deft fingers of his teased along your soaked core. 

“You’re so fucking wet, little witch.” You groaned as he plunged his fingers between your folds. “Such a pretty cunt too. Will you clench this tightly around my cock when I fuck you?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” you whispered huskily. 

A stream of curses fell from Theodore’s lips, but not in a language that you understood. Italian, perhaps. Whatever it was, it sounded sexy as hell. You unbuckled his belt and slipped your hand into his trousers, feeling his hard length twitch in response. A choked groan rumbled through his chest as you pumped him between your fingers. 

You swallowed thickly. Theodore was long and hard, his cock almost too big to fit inside of you. But you always did like a challenge. 

Those watercolour eyes that had been pinned on you all night turned positively dark. The strange blue and green shade that you had grown familiar with was now swallowed by darkness, leaving Theodore with a gaze that would’ve rivalled Medusa’s. You felt it searing into your skin as you sank down on his length, biting your lip as he stretched your walls. 

“Merda,” Theodore cursed. “So fucking tight. C’mon pretty girl, that’s it. I know you can take all of me.” 

You shuddered a breath as he pushed inside. Theodore watched with hungry eyes as you took him inch by inch. It seemed never ending. “Fuck, you’re so big.” 

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. The stretch was an equal measure of pain and pleasure. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock and your pussy hugged around him as he throbbed inside of you. 

Theodore caressed your cheek. “It’s alright, little witch. I know you can take it. I’m yours, remember? Your partner-in-crime. So use me, dolcezza. You’re in charge tonight. Just set the pace and I’ll follow.”

The reassuring words encouraged you to slowly grind against him. Theodore hissed as you lifted your hips until only his tip was inside of you. His mouth was hot and needy against yours as you grinded down to take all of him again.

“Che cazzo,” Theodore murmured as he bottomed out.

The drag of his cock was delicious. He filled you to the hilt and pressed his hand on your stomach to feel his length buried deep inside of you. The tightness it caused made the both of you groan. You rolled your hips and set a steady pace, lowering onto his cock over and over again while you whimpered.

“Oh, fuck. It feels like you’re splitting me apart.”

Theodore groaned as he sucked and nipped at your neck. The heat of his tongue was everywhere, leaving marks on your skin in his wake. It would be a pain in the ass to cover, but you didn’t care as you continued to ride him.

“Salazar fucking save me, your pussy feels like heaven.”

Theodore chuckled darkly as you clenched around him. He untied the laces of your corset impatiently, freeing your breasts from the constraints. Theodore brushed his thumb over your hard nipples before taking one into his mouth. He watched with eager eyes as you moaned, sucking and swirling his tongue while you picked up the pace. 

“You look so pretty when you fuck me,” Theodore hummed as he flicked his tongue against your stiffened peaks. “Ride me harder, little witch. That’s it. Yeah, roll your hips just like that. Good girl.”

“Gods, I didn’t expect you to have such a filthy mouth,” you said with a low laugh. “You’re always so quiet in class.”

“So we have a class together,” Theodore said as he thrusted upwards to match your pace. “I thought you sounded familiar.” 

“Is that so?” 

“It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite grasp it. I guess I’ll just have to pay extra attention to all the Gryffindor girls in my classes.”

“I’m a Gryffindor? How do you figure that?”

“Besides your entire personality? You seemed friendly with Granger and though you complain about the twins, I’d wager that you’re mates as well.” 

“Smart and handsome,” you said with a smirk.  “You’re full of surprises aren’t you, Jack?” 

Theodore smirked and thrusted sharply inside of you. “You have no idea, Sally.”

“I thought I was in charge tonight,” you said in a stern voice. 

“You are, but I think you could use a little encouragement. You’re holding back.” 

You circled your hips before lifting them and slamming back down. Theodore’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

“Does it feel like I’m holding back?” 

“I’m a patient man, but if you keep toying with me like this I might just have to fuck that attitude right out of you, little witch.” 

You tilted your chin up and smirked. “So do it.” 

All that bravado left your body as Theodore rutted into you. He drove his cock deep within you, stretching your walls until you were clawing at his back. Theodore grunted as you squelched and squeezed around his length. His pace was relentless and punishing, guiding your hips to bounce on his cock while you moaned in pleasure. 

“Oh gods, right there.” You cried out, burying your face into his neck. 

You inhaled his scent greedily and sank your teeth into his flesh. Theodore slowed his pace and chuckled darkly when you whined. 

“What’s the matter, little witch? Can’t take a dose of your own medicine?” 

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Keep going. I’m so close.” 

“Beg me, darling. Tell me how desperate you are. I want to hear those pretty little words.” 

Theodore halted his movements, his tip barely inside of you as he teased along your folds. He held your hips in place so you couldn’t sink down to take more of him. Usually, you were used to taking charge, but the way he put you in your place had you creaming all over him. Needless to say, you weren’t above begging at this point. 

“Please, I need you. Fuck me harder. Give me everything. I can take it. Every fucking inch.”

“Merda, you’re fucking filthy. Begging for my cock like a good little slut. Brace yourself, bella. Remember that you asked for this.”

A whimper fell from your lips as Theodore bucked into your cunt. His cock impaled you, splitting you apart and knocking the very breath from your lungs as he fucked you roughly against the tree. He squeezed your ass, keeping a firm grip to secure you in place as he jackknifed into you. 

“Oh gods,” you sobbed, raking your nails underneath his shirt and dragging red lines all along his back. Theodore hissed as you clawed at him, thrusting so hard that your teeth rattled every time he drove into you. “Fuck, it’s too much.” 

Theodore grabbed your chin harshly. “No, it’s not. You begged to be fucked, now take my cock like the perfect little whore I know that you are, yeah?”

You nodded. Words escaped you at the moment. The filth coming out of Theodore’s mouth aroused you in more ways than one. Who knew that the silent Slytherin fucked like a god?

A stray tear rolled down your cheek. Theodore licked it away and chuckled as you whimpered. “Are you crying, sweetheart? Such pretty little sobs. Don’t worry, you’ll get your reward. You’ve been such a good girl for me and good girls get to cum.”

At that, Theodore rubbed your clit and pushed you over the edge. His fingers were magic against your sensitive bundle of nerves and it wasn’t long before you were clenching around him, making his hips stutter as the orgasm blindsided you. A scream echoed through the woods and it was only when Theodore covered your mouth when you realised that the sound had come from you. 

“Fuck,” Theodore cursed, dropping his forehead to yours. “Merda, I’m not gonna last much longer. Not when that pretty pussy of yours is milking me dry. Oh gods, I’m gonna cum—“

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist as his body seized underneath you. Theodore bit into your flesh as he came, leaving a bruised purple mark on your collarbone. You had never seen anyone look as beautiful as he did when he lost control, lips parted, cheeks flushed, devil eyes rolling back as the orgasm thoroughly rocked him. 

The stillness that settled over the Forbidden Forest was almost eerie. The two of you looked at one another, dazed and confused as though you weren’t even sure who or where you were at the moment. Through all your romps, no one has ever put your body to the test like Theodore has. You could tell by his intense gaze that he likely felt the same. 

Theodore set you down gently. Compared to how rough he was a few moments ago, the contrast almost made you laugh. You heard the chime of the clock echo a beat later. 

Fuck. That only gave you a minute to sprint through the woods and make it back in time before the twins reached your clearing. You frantically re-tied your corset and straightened the skirts of your dress. Theodore was busy buckling his belt. 

“I have to go,” you said as you shrugged your robe back on. “I’ll see you around, Jack.”

“Wait, you never told me your name!” 

But Theodore was too late. You were already gone by the time he looked up. He sighed and started making his way back to the festivities. The last chime of the clock indicated that it was midnight. He could only hope that you’d gotten back in time. 

Theodore paused as something crunched underneath his feet. He peered down at the forest floor and found something golden peeking out amongst the leaves. With a smile, he picked up the golden mask. 

It looks like his mystery girl left him a clue after all. 

Theodore would find his Sally. 

He’d make sure of it. 

Theodore couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited to attend class. 

After the All Hallow’s Eve party, he’d done everything he could to dig up information on his mystery girl. Theodore had even gone as far as to interrogate the Weasley twins, but as usual, the redheaded menaces were unnecessarily difficult about it. 

“Sorry, mate, but we don’t reveal the identity of our actors and actresses,” George said with a shit-eating grin. 

Fred nodded in agreement. “Confidentiality and all that. We wouldn’t want to go around spilling trade secrets. It’s bad for business.”

The weasels stayed mum even after Theodore offered them a ridiculous amount of money to reveal his mystery girl’s identity. Unfortunately, his desperation only served to intrigue the twins and the sadistic little gits seemed to derive pleasure in seeing Theodore grow more and more frustrated. 

“Best of luck to you, Nott,” Fred said with a little smile. “If you do end up finding her, you’ll need all the fortune you can get. She’s a feisty thing, that one.” 

“I know,” Theodore said with a glare. “That’s exactly why I want to find her.”

George chuckled. “Godric bless your heart.”

If the twats weren’t his main weed suppliers, Theodore would’ve punched their teeth in. Despite Fred and George’s general uselessness, he was in a good mood when Monday rolled around. Equipped with the knowledge that his mystery girl was in one of his classes, he made sure to pay extra attention to every Gryffindor girl. It was only a matter of time before he found her. 

“You’re smiling,” Enzo commented as he caught up to Theodore in the courtyard. “What’s happened? Did my cousin fall down the moving stairs again?”

Theodore snorted. “Even better, Berkshire. I’m going to find my mystery girl today and you’re going to help me.”

“How?” 

“You’re friends with literally everyone. Someone has to know who she is.”

“Hmm, come to think of it Mattheo’s girlfriend is good friends with a lot of the Gryffindor girls. I bet she’d know who it is.” 

“Good, let’s start there. Where is Chloe anyways?” 

“Probably in the Great Hall with Mattheo.”

The two of them headed over to where the rest of the castle was currently having breakfast. Enzo made a beeline for their usual table where Mattheo, Blaise, and Draco were seated, but Thedore didn’t follow. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Chloe seated with a girl who looked vaguely familiar to him. Theodore was sure that you had Charms together. More than that, you were wearing a red and gold tie. A Gryffindor. 

Theodore inched closer, skirting around the edges to listen in on the conversation. 

“How was your weekend?” 

Theodore froze. He knew that voice. It was husky and seductive and sounded exactly like how his mystery girl had when she’d whispered in his ear. 

It was you. 

It had to be. 

“It was good,” Chloe responded with a grin. “Really good.” 

“Mattheo found you after all, then?” 

“He did and suffice to say he liked the second part of my costume more than the first.” 

You laughed in response. Chloe leaned in and lowered her voice. “What about you? You disappeared from the speakeasy, so I’m assuming I’m not the only one who had an eventful night.”

“It was fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

You flushed, biting your bottom lip. “It was the best lay of my life.” 

Theodore smirked. So it wasn’t just him, then. The sex had truly been something else entirely. He had been confident that you must’ve felt the same way in the moment, but doubt crept in since you’d run off so abruptly. Now he had confirmation and it was satisfying as hell to hear you say it. 

“There you are,” Enzo said from behind him. “I brought Mattheo, so we can ask Chloe about your mystery girl.”

“That little witch of yours really put a spell on you, huh, Nott?” Mattheo teased. “Let’s go, then. Maybe my girl can help.”

Chloe looked up and smiled as Mattheo leaned down to kiss her. You glanced up at the exact moment that Theodore came into view. He clocked the way your cheeks flushed as your gaze landed on him.

“You know my boyfriend,” Chloe said. You nodded at Mattheo who shot you a polite smile back. “That’s Enzo and Theo. Boys, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet the boys.” 

Theodore took your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. “Hello, Sally.” 

You smiled back in return. “Hello, Jack.”

Chloe’s eyes widened, immediately taking stock of the situation. Mattheo and Enzo were slower to catch on, but luckily she ushered the boys away. 

“We’ll give you two some privacy.” 

You tried not to laugh as Chloe winked behind Theodore’s back. 

“I found you.” 

“So it seems.” 

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore,” he said as he pulled out the golden mask from his backpack. Theodore’s intense gaze swept over you, cataloguing your features. 

“You kept it,” you said with a small smile. 

“I would’ve returned it sooner if you hadn’t left in such a haste after we—“

“Fucked in the woods?” 

You were amused to find Theodore blushing. “I was going to say hooked up, but I suppose that’s another way to put it. Anyways, you left in such a hurry. You didn’t even give me your name.”

“Didn’t really think you wanted me to stay.”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t been about to think about anything else since that night. You’ve taken over my thoughts. It’s fucking maddening.” Theodore caressed your cheek and tilted your chin so he could look at you better. “My mystery girl. You’re more beautiful than anything I could’ve ever imagined.” 

“Well, you have the real thing now. It’s your move, Jack.”

Theodore shook his head. “No, not Jack. Theo. That’s the name you’ll be screaming from now on. After I take you out on a proper date.”

You raised a brow. “What makes you think I’ll say yes?”

The devilish grin on his face sent shivers down your spine. “You’re really going to turn down the best lay of your life?” Your eyes widened, which made him smile even wider. “That’s right, sweetheart. You’re not the only one who can sneak up on people. So, what do you say?” 

“Pick me up at eight. Don’t be late, Theo.” 

Theodore winked. “It’s a date, Y/N.”

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar

#i am going to faint look at pookie he could chase me around the woods and i'd fold #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott smut #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine

[charliemwrites]

A Thought™️ that I had yesterday after watching those AITA videos and babbling in the discord:

(This is also babble to be clear. I’ve been writing this throughout the morning so it might be a bit incoherent)

The 141 is shopping for a new team member, someone to round out their four person squad into five. They have a dozen candidates, pick one that looks promising, and transfer him over under the military equivalent of “probationary” status.

Pretty quickly they decide his personality alone might not make him a good fit but whatever, if he’s good at his job, they’ll suck it up. The “alpha male” posturing bullshit is kind of amusing in the meantime at least.

Well, first mission comes and goes. The guy isn’t too bad, honestly — apart from almost picking a fight with Gaz. Skills-wise he’s as advertised, so he gets to stay a bit longer while the 141 decides if they can stand him.

Post successful mission, though, they go out for drinks at the guy’s insistence. He invites his girlfriend — who he dragged along with him — to the bar to meet his new squad. (Because he thinks there’s no way they’re not making him a permanent teammate.)

And the 141 may be barely tolerant of him, but they decide almost instantly that they adore his girlfriend. She’s incredibly charming and bubbly, doesn’t even blink at Ghost’s mask. One of the first things she does is thank them for the opportunity they’re giving her boyfriend and for keeping him alive.

Which is about the time the real issue starts.

The boyfriend says some rubbish about “an alpha doesn’t need protecting, he does the protecting. He looks out for his pack.”

And you smile a bit awkwardly, looking embarrassed, and try to usher the conversation along.

It doesn’t take long for him to quickly fall out of what little favor he accrued. You’re a bright spot in their group, laughing and chatting with them all like you’ve known them for years. Incredibly sensitive to asking any hard questions and sort of forcing the conversation through the weird patches where your boyfriend interjects with some inane comment.

Eventually, your boyfriend gets sick of your chattering and tells you to fetch them more drinks. Soap instantly sits up, saying you don’t have to do that, but you gently wave him off. Chirp that you don’t mind doing it as a thank you for their service, and weave into the crowd.

The table goes uncomfortable quiet — apart from your boyfriend, who makes some ghastly comment about how you have a pretty face but an annoying laugh. When you get back, drinks expertly balanced in your hands, Ghost goes out of his way to drop puns that get you giggling like mad.

As the night ticks later, and your boyfriend gets drunker, he reaches the point you always dread.

“Garrick, le’s arm wrestle.”

“Baby, I don’t think that’s…”

“This is between us men.”

You groan a bit and sit back. Gaz looks befuddled but shrugs and agrees. It’s not even a contest; your boyfriend’s arm is flat to the table in all of ten seconds. Flustered, your boyfriend demands a rematch. And when he loses again, scoffs and demands a go with Soap.

You practically sink deeper and deeper into your seat before the secondhand embarrassment starts to weigh and you have to excuse yourself to the restroom. When you get back, the impromptu arm wrestling seems to be over, though your boyfriend is sulking in his corner of the booth.

When you gingerly slide back in, Price nudges you with his calf.

“Would you like a go, luv?”

You grin and shake your head. “I don’t fancy a broken wrist, Captain.”

“C’mon luv, you might surprise yourself,” he teases and you can’t resist the playful glint in his eye.

So you lock your thumb around his, elbow on the table, and push. And his arm incrementally goes down… down… down…

“Well would you look at that,” he muses.

You burst into laughter, flattered and endeared by his indulgence.

“That tough, eh?” Soap muses, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s see it, then.”

So you roll your eyes, fully expecting to get trounced. But just like with Price, he starts to relent when you put up resistance, making a show of straining and panting as he “loses.” When you’ve won, you finally play into the joke.

“Serves you right,” you tease.

By your side, you hear your boyfriend huff derisively. “Oh, come on.”

Before your fun can be ruined, though, Ghost is offering you his hand, dark eyes sparkling. You bite your lip, but it doesn’t hide your grin as you accept the unspoken challenge. His hand is huge around yours, but shockingly gentle. He goes down easiest of all, whistling in amazement.

“Look’it that, you’re a pro,” he says, “think we should all be buying you a drink.”

“She doesn’t drink,” your boyfriend interjects.

You huff and settle back into the booth. “Maybe some other time, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Count on it.”

You get into an argument with your boyfriend that night. He thinks you were “challenging his dominance” and “stirring the pot,” trying to sew discord and strife amongst the men to get them fighting over you. He says something about being the alpha of the group and that he would win but it’s insulting to him as your “provider” that you would question his authority.

He’s tipsy as he says it though, working himself up. You just follow the usual routine of soothing, reassuring, simpering — and then considering leaving when he’s finally asleep. But you’re far from home, don’t have the means to leave, and besides, you won’t be finding any support from your family on this front so…

Well, it’s not so bad, you remind yourself. He can be an asshole, but so can you and it takes two to fight. Besides, he only gets really bad when he’s been drinking and that’s only once a week? 1 out of 7 isn’t a bad ratio.

—

The 141 pretty much collectively decide that they adore you though. You get regularly invited to team outings, wherein your boyfriend keeps challenging (and losing) arm wrestling, while the boys coax you into “winning.”

They’ve also become rather adamant that you don’t bring them drinks anymore.

“You’re not our personal beer wench, yeah? We’re able to get our own pints,” Gaz soothes.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shakes his head, imparts his “wisdom” that it’s a female’s job to serve her man and his friends. As a sign of respect or something. You know it’s not an argument worth having and just sip at your drink in silence.

But you love going out with them. Love knowing the men keeping your boyfriend alive and they’re a good bunch. Respectful and funny and disciplined — you’re kind of hoping they snap your boyfriend out of this weird “alpha male” phase he’s been going through. On the other hand, you’re thrilled to be making something like friends. Sure, your boyfriend has made it clear that the 141 are his friends, but they’re always so conscious of keeping you involved and comfortable.

Then one night your boyfriend mentions what a “good little cook” you are and that instantly has all the boys perking up. Smiling, you offer to host during the Saturday League matches. They gleefully accept over your boyfriend’s protests about other men in his territory or something like that.

But when they do come over they’re horrified by the unspoken expectations. You tell them to sit, that you’ll bring them all drinks, with snacks on the way. They’ll be having none of it.

Ghost helps you with drinks, Gaz chops the veggies for snacks (and dinner). Soap pops in to keep you company while you babysit simmering pots. Price helps to tidy as you go, despite you’re fussing that he really doesn’t need to, he should be enjoying the games!

They end up spending more time with you in the kitchen than out in the den with their own teammate. You barely notice, swept up in the busy currents of playing hostess. When your boyfriend shouts that he needs another beer, you come back to find Price getting plates and utensils for dinner. It’s so thoughtful you could cry.

Even worse is when they help you clean up afterwards. Each of them taking and clearing their own plates. Soap on washing big dishes, Gaz on drying. Ghost is packing up leftovers. Price is turning over the dishwasher, asking you where dishes go and tutting when you insist you should be helping.

All the while, your boyfriend stands in the doorway telling you all the ways you could improve the meal next time. And how you definitely ate too much for your body size, etc.

He only stops when Price makes a pointed comment about standing around looking pretty.

When they leave, they each sweep you up in a hug and drop a kiss on your cheek, praising your home and cooking and hosting. Soap promises that he’ll get you a little souvenir on their next mission as a thank you.

And sure enough, three weeks later, the boys are coming by. Except your boyfriend is nowhere to be found — out with some other guys from the base that he says he hit it off with. The 141 insist that he agreed to a football watch again, the empty headed muppet.

And of course you’re not going to turn them away! They’ve brought you flowers, a little matryoshka set from their last mission, chocolates and wine. Not one of them is empty handed.

“Do you even like the game?” Gaz asks as you put it on.

“My favorite team isn’t playing until tomorrow but I don’t mind watching,” you answer, shrugging.

But somehow no football is watched at all. Instead they convince you to tell them your top three favorite movies, then claim none of them have ever seen any of them and they have to watch all of them.

Which is how your boyfriend finds his whole team enjoying a little movie marathon with you. You’re on the ground with Johnny (it’s Johnny now, for you) doing his eyebrows. Gaz is braiding your hair. Ghost (Simon) is sharing a bowl of candies with you. You’re sat against Price’s shins, the captain sitting in your boyfriend’s chair, lounging like a king.

When you welcome him back, telling him the boys are staying the night, he tries to throw a fit about it. How dare you let four strange men stay alone with you?! You calmly remind him that he promised he’d be home by 11 and it’s already nearly 1. And besides, he trusts them with his life, you’re allowed to trust them to be polite in your own home.

With all four of his teammates watching, tense and nearly hostile, he mutters something about being tired and storms off to bed. You end up falling asleep on the couch with ghost despite yourself.

And your boyfriend becomes absolutely haunted by his team’s (is it even his team? It feels more like yours!) affection for you.

They always invite you out even if he doesn’t plan to invite you. (When did you get any of their numbers?! Never mind Ghost’s. He doesn’t even have Ghost’s number.)

They stop by the flat constantly, sometimes dropping in. Other times staying for hours. Soap tells him that they’re all one big family; that includes you. (“Alright then why don’t we go hang out with one of your girlfriends?!” He had an actual nightmare about the laughter that gets him.)

And the fucking gifts. It’s not just soap bringing you things anymore. It’s all of them. Magnets, mugs, sweets, pretty rocks. Just garbage to your boyfriend but you treat it all like treasure. They’ve even got you sending them on hunts for specific things. Something blue, something with nuts, something with the flag.

Then there’s the base.

They bring you on one day — Price picks you up, the boys greet you at the barracks with coffee and breakfast. You’re put into a big 141 hoodie that says “Riley” on the back and toured around. You’re supposed to be “surprising” your boyfriend, but he’s busy with recruits and generally seems uninterested in being around you.

Not to worry though, the 141 is happy to show you a good time around base! Gaz and Johnny walk you through one of the obstacle courses, Simon lets you sit on his back for pushups during the last of his workout. Price takes you to the range and shows you the basics of shooting, then lets you catnap through the adrenaline drop in his office.

Your boyfriend only bothers to find you when Johnny and Simon are teaching you basic self-defense. Your boyfriend scoffs that you’re plenty protected by him, but you point out that he’s away too often to be of any real help — at which point Johnny tags you and bolts before your boyfriend can get all up in arms.

You only recognize that this little hurdle in your relationship has become a chasm when something happens. A big argument with your parents over the phone — you barely even remember what about. But instead of calling your boyfriend afterwards, your first call is to Gaz. (Because you know he’s the most likely to be free and paying attention to his phone.) You’re almost shocked when he picks up on the second ring. Your boyfriend has never answered on the first call.

When you try to explain through poorly-restrained tears, he coos at you to find a warm coffee shop and that they’ll be right there. “They” ends up being him and Johnny, since Simon and Price are locked up in an important meeting. They buy you hot chocolate and pastries while you vent to them, and end up leaving feeling better for once.

But you can’t break up with your boyfriend. Because if you do, the 141 will surely stop hanging out with you, and you value their company enough to put up with it.

At least until you come home one day to find all your little gifts gone. When you ask through a tight throat where everything is, your boyfriend says he was just making space. That you’ve been complaining that you two need a bigger flat, but now he’s solved the problem without wasting money.

You actually raise your voice for once, throwing an entire fit because this. This is the last straw. You storm into your bedroom, slam and lock the door, and call the 141.

A small part of you expects they’ll take his side or something. But nope. Simon soothes you on the other end, that the whole squad will be there in fifteen and to pack your stuff.

You do so while Price takes over and keeps you level. Reminds you of essentials to pack and explains that you’ll be coming to stay at his place, since he’s got off-base housing. It’ll be quiet and cozy and safe while you recover.

Five minutes away, they promise to be right there and end the call.

You could absolutely scream when your boyfriend — ex boyfriend — starts banging on the door. Demanding that you open the door to him. That you’re being over dramatic and blowing everything out of proportion. Using the “your emotional and irrational” line that you’ve heard a thousand times and are just about sick of.

Your heart stutters with relief when you hear the knocking at the apartment door, confused silence as your ex goes to see who it is. You take that moment to slip out, packed suitcase in hand.

You startle a bit at some commotion, round the corner to see your ex’s shirt bunched up in Johnny’s fists, looking ready kill him. No one seems inclined to pull him away; neither are you.

“How are you holding up, luv?” Gaz asks gently as Simon takes your bag.

“Been better,” you admit, sniffling as Price wraps you up in a hug.

“It was just things, luv,” he soothes, “we’ll get you a million more, if you like.”

You pull back to give him a miserable look. “But they were my things and they didn’t have to go anywhere. He just threw them out.”

Johnny snarls something out, but Gaz is already ushering you out the door. You tell your family about the break up through text and then shut off your phone, bundled into the backseat of an SUV with Gaz in the backseat. Price is in the front, all of you waiting for Simon and Johnny to come down.

“What now?” you ask quietly.

“Well, about time we cut that knob loose,” Price muses. “But that’s not your problem anymore.”

“Oh…

“And you, luv.” He looks at you through the rear view. “You get whatever you want.”

#cod #thoughts™️ #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #polycule #poly 141 #misters steal your girl #get it? misters plural. because they all steal that girl

[sytoran]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒 || mdg pt. 5

timelines and lifelines have torn you and natasha apart, but the two of you are bound by the child you have created. though subjected to earth, loki, god of mischief, dangles the possibility of a future with natasha by making you a god.

pairing: goddess!natasha x mortal!reader (not for long)

note: this is the 5th installment to the goddess!nat universe, as per the 4k celebration! please read the other parts first if you haven't already. this part contains depictions of violence. this series is 18+ only.

word count: 1.8k

series m.list | main m.list | AO3

Previously…

Your relationship with the Goddess of Lust, Natasha Romanoff, comes to a screeching halt. Torn apart by timelines and lifelines, you’re not coping well, and neither is Natasha — especially when she finds out she’s pregnant with your child.

On the other side of the universe, Loki, God of Mischief, breaks into your apartment to offer you a deal. Worse still, he eats your leftover pizza.

Now…

When you come back to consciousness, you feel like you’re floating. Not in the whimsical, psychedelic cocaine-induced way, but in the Help-I’m-Physically-Suspended-In-The-Air way. 

And it is true, much to your demise, because despite the fruitful hours of work spent in the gym, your arms and back can’t quite handle the excruciating pain of being strung taut like a rope.

Against the will of every screaming cell in your existence for you to fall the fuck back asleep, you forcefully sit up and open your eyes.

It takes about two seconds for the headache-worthy hangover to sink in, and three seconds for you to regret every godforsaken decision you had made the night prior.

Last night- oh, fuck. Last Friday night. 

(No, this isn’t going to entail a radio pop song with a curly black-haired Katy Perry, because the only curly black-haired one in this story is the God of Mischief himself. Both equally as sassy, but expounding on that would fracture the entirety of the space-time continuum.)

“Oh, you’re awake.” 

Speaking of the devil (quite literally), Loki forces you to bring your blurry gaze up to the cocky expression painting his angular face.

“Fuck you,” you spit, dry and hoarse, memories surging through your teetering consciousness. All you were aware of was the mother of your problems was the man himself.

Now, you were suspended like a puppet in your very own living room, strings of golden magic encircling your body, keeping you stretched to the edge of insurmountable agony.

“Funny,” Loki says dryly, eyes raking over your pathetic form. “That’s exactly what you said last night that put you in this position.”

You would’ve laughed, truly, if not for the ache in your ribs and your back and your– you get the point. “You offered me a proposition,” you comment, licking your cracked lips with distaste. 

“And you said ‘fuck you’ and threw up three bottles worth of alcohol on my ridiculously expensive snake-scaled shoes before promptly passing out from your hissy fit of a heartbreak.”

“Deserved.”

“I will hang you upside down.”

You roll your eyes – however much you can roll them in this position. “You gave me an offer. That means that I had a say in this, and I certainly did not consent to take part in this BDSM-worthy fantasy of yours.”

Loki scoffs at this, shifting in his seat. Your seat, actually, his black robes draped over your armchair like it belonged to him. 

“My sex life is none of your business, and more than often entails men,” Loki begins, putting a finger up. “The only reason I’m taking interest in a hopelessly lovesick woman-lover is because you have something that I want.”

You exhale roughly, lungs and ribs screaming in protest. You weren’t of a godly status by any means, but based on his identity and the fact that a God was lurking around Earth, you were competent enough to figure out what he wanted.

“You wanna get back to the land of the Gods,” you state, eyes narrowing in seriousness. “Like me, you’ve done some shit that made SHIELD put a target on your back. Except it’s ten times worse, considering you’re a God. That’s why you’re here. What you want is connections, because I have – I had – a relationship with Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha.

It pains you, to even put it in the past tense, that what you had with Natasha would only ever be history.

“Oh wow,” Loki responds, acting shocked. “There’s actually more to you than this himbo attitude you exude.”

You don’t give him the pleasure of a response to his provoking, despite your incessant need to sucker-punch that face of his. But uncovering his plan has that layer of composure slipping, for a second, and you delight in it for what it’s worth.

"Put me down first," you say instead through gritted teeth, looking up with a ferocious glint in your eyes.

"Say yes first," Loki answers promptly, folding his arms over his chest with a self-satisfied grin.

"Put me down and or I won't consider your absurd request," you try again, a wracking cough making your stomach lurch in pain.

"Funny you think you're in a position of power," the arrogant god taunts. "Who's to say I won't torture you to the brink of death until I get what I want?"

"...Who's to say I'd eventually break?" you say finally, narrowing your gaze. You sure as hell were scared as fuck, but you had to survive. "Threats only work on people who've got something to lose. I'm forbidden from ever seeing the love of my life again – I've got nothing to lose, y'know? No amount of torture will get you what you want."

Your little speech of sorts, delivered with an unwavering tone despite the pain coursing through your body, plays out perfectly. Loki's gaze is unreadable as he contemplates upon your counter-proposition.

Unceremoniously, you're dropped to the ground, hitting reality with a grunt of pain. “Shit,” you wheeze, clutching at your ribs with sore wrists. “Warn a girl, man.”

Loki waves you off dismissively. “The pain won’t matter anymore.”

“Wait,” you struggle to say, reaching out to nothingness as the man closes his eyes and raises his hands to the lands you once roamed.

It’s only then that you realise you’re surrounded by candles, so many candles. You’re in the center of some kind of ritual board, and what you assume are ‘offerings’ circle you.

From skulls to black flames, you know something is wrong. Very wrong. Loki is muttering incantations under his breath, a language beyond your human tongue, and the pressure in your room rises to an extent that forces you downwards.

“What,” you ask, exhaling roughly against your cracked ribs. “What kind of God am I going to become?”

Your question goes unanswered, lost in the swirling black flames that surround you. Loki’s eyes open again, and this time they are completely black. He begins a chant, crafted from an inhuman tongue, a language you’d never heard before.

That’s when the pain starts.

You scream, brain waves throbbing, a loud ringing sound echoing in your ears. Psychedelia takes over your conscience, producing images all around you, dark and distorted and everything you thought you’d buried.

“ибяѓюгэю юдякиэҁ, эиѫч ҩ рэд.”

Unbridled darkness, enemy of peace.

Natasha’s face is at the forefront of your mind, unblemished and happy and everything you’d ever wanted. You reach out, spluttering and breathless, trying to grasp that wistful memory like it’d materialize in front of you, like she could ever be yours.

“бцэт юҩщи ҩцядрҩи дю ғдг ҩця ҩиэҁ.”

Put down your weapons and fall to your knees.

Her face gets shattered into smithereens, scattered throughout the dark swirls of your mind, overtaken by shadows. Horrifying screams and flashes of a graveyard overwhelm you, and you yell through the misery for the love of your life.

“тҩ фэн тнэ юэҁѓяэ ҩғ џэиəэдисэ lə'”

To quench the desires of vengeance and rage.

Fury slugs through you, as you crawl away from cold hands that pull you back. “No!” You yell, but your voice is not yours anymore. The only thing to describe what you feel is chaos, darkness creeping in from the shadows, a slithering worm into your ear, a rotting carcass and the stench of carrion.

“ҩҁэ бҩиэҁ сдҁт ҩғ ҁсчнэҁ дию бдюэҁ.”

To see bones cast of scythes and blades.

The world snaps from reality, and you get flung into a different dimension. This place you’re trapped in is unfamiliar. You’re standing on a pile of dead human bodies, and there are ghouls and demons cheering your name. Blackness seeps through your veins, infiltrating your mindwires. 

“Revenge,” you spit, a devilish noise, and the cheers rise again.

You scream, as black wings tear through your back, ripping your collared shirt and spreading towards the sky. You launch from the depths of whatever hellhole that may have been, an inhuman screech echoing around the void, soaring towards the heavens in search of the one you’d lost.

“ҩѫэҩя, гдск-щѓəэю юэџѓг, эт ндҁ иғцяг”

Come forth, black-winged devil, let chaos unfurl

Upon descending on holy ground, unfamiliar faces intrude into your mind, prominent and unmistaken. Backlogged information begs its worth — God of Thunder. Goddess of Magic. God of Science. God of Justice. 

Then one word rings above all, high and mighty, and the darkness of your mind clears to reveal the people that had taken your Natasha away.

SHIELD.

“энҩгю яҩѫ нэг, ҩю ҩғнэ Циюэящҩягю.”

Behold from hell, Ruler of the Underworld.

Reality drives into your side like a thousand semi-trucks, bright and flashing, and then you’re back in your living room. You stay on the ground, all-fours, spluttering and gasping for air. 

Natasha.

Black wings flap behind you, resplendent and marvelous. Those had been real.

Arising from the ground, gone is the fear in your eyes. No more shreds of hope. No more sense of justice. Your blackened eyes burn red, searching for Loki. He stands in the corner of the room, and he seems so much smaller now, compared to you and your bloodlust.

“She was mine,” you growl, dangerously, fearsome and inhuman.

“She is yours,” The God of Mischief answers, marveling at his creation, for there was nothing that could stop you now.

***

“Rockabye baby on the treetop,” Natasha sings softly, a hand gently caressing the swell of her stomach. Colours sweep into galaxies as nightfall arrives, cloaking her land in gentle beauty.

“When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.” As if on cue, the wind gets a little chillier. Worry clouds Natasha’s face, edging in on her safe haven.

“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.” A holographic image of The God of Justice materializes before her eyes. It meant that it was an urgent message, from one God to the next.

“The SHIELD base is being attacked by an unknown force. We’re in grave danger,” Steve says, urgent and frantic. Screams and chaos can be heard in the background, and the God barely ducks a crashing marble pillar.

Natasha almost scoffs and switches off the image. The Gods had ignored her very existence ever since they had banished you, which was convenient in hiding her pregnancy, but at the same time rather annoying, now that they were begging for help.

That is, until Steve persisted further. “Natasha. This perpetrator has power beyond measure, dark power. It could even exceed Loki’s.”

“......What does this harbinger of hell want?” Natasha asks, steely eyes surveying her homeland.

“Natasha,” Steve repeats, weary eyes hooded with anxiety. “They’re looking for you.”

Down will come baby, cradle and fall.

so that happened.... any thoughts about our new and improved y/n, ruler of the underworld?? loki rlly stirred up a lot of shit huh

reblog or no y/n x natasha reunion

series m.list | main m.list | AO3

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader angst #marvel #sytoran's 4k celebration #wlw fiction #wlw #gxg #natasha romanoff angst

[soap-ify]

https://twitter.com/softintimacy/status/1719603475368014272 ;; I found this because another blogged linked something from this twitter and I'm just like staring at it like,,, yes this is the energy in the studio today!! i love how it's like... intimate and needy ??? or at least that's how my brain worms are reacting to it :p

nsfw link.

ANON OHMYGOD. i think i just blanked out for a second. you're so right anon it does scream of all cod men but you know who i think would DEFINITELY do something like that? SOAP !!

johnny would be so needy, smothering your face up with kisses, just unable to keep his mouth off you, drinking in your sweet whimpers and moans with his thick cock gently dragging in and out of your tight cunt, your head sinking into the soft pillow beneath you.

and he’d just put his whole weight on you soon enough, strong arms hugging onto your tight while his cock would start fucking you a bit more messily, greedily even, your clit rubbing against his bushy happy trail, making your head spin.

johnny was just in love, wanting to hold tight in his arms forever, all snuggled and safe.

his thrusts begin getting more rough and sloppy, the tip of his cock slamming deep in and kissing your cervix, brushing against all your sweet spongy spots, literally drunk on the feeling of your cunt sucking him in. he would bury his head into your neck and just begin pounding into you nice and hide, both of your tangled bodies moving together, the whole bed shaking but your fuzzy brain couldn’t even think of the possibility of the bed breaking.

“fuck— so close… need to fill yer cunt up, bonnie. pretty please?” he groaned into your ear, and all you could do was let out a desperate whine, hands clawing and grabbing onto his back, head nodding frantically, your own orgasm building up, your pushed up legs trembling and gripping onto his waist tight.

even after filling you up with his thick cum, he wouldn’t stop, flipping you on your knees so he could fuck you from behind, all while you were all flushed and overstimulated, letting his rough hands play with your soft tits before grabbing both of your arms and pulling them back, not letting you touch yourself at all.

#anon ilysm for this ask like. wow. #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mw2 #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #cod x reader #call of duty #cod smut #rurufic #ruru mail

[monstersighing]

Frankenstein monster x Fem!reader

Uhhh, this is actually kinda sweet, but also horny.

NSFW, 18+, Minor Do Not Interact

Frankenstein's Monster/Creature x Fem Reader

Title: Home

Content: penetrative sex, masturbation.

+++

You find him in the forest. A man, but strange. He’s tall and broad. Covered with scars and stitches on the parts of him you can see under his dirty hooded cape. There are birds surrounding him that he is feeding with a piece of hardened bread, so he doesn’t notice you at first. When he does, he flinches and pulls his hood down.

He is huge and tall and hooded, but you are not afraid.

You coax him towards you with soft words. Promises of food and shelter. And he follows you home.

+++

He is gentle despite his size and hardly speaks.

When you ask his name, he doesn’t reply, so you call him Francis, after a statue of the saint you once saw with birds on his shoulders and little creatures at his feet.

Francis pulls pails of water from the well and chops firewood with an energy and strength that makes something turn over in your stomach. Sometimes, you see him looking at you from under his hood. His eyes are two different colours, and both are beautiful.

When you tell him that, Francis shakes his head, unbelieving, but you think you see a smile.

The next day, he leaves his hood down.

+++

One night, sat together in the glow of the fire, you ask Francis where he came from, where he was born.

“I was not born. My father, he made me. Out of many men.”

He looks at you then, as if waiting for your disgust and rejection.

“So, you are a miracle of science, then. How wonderful,” you reply.

The surprise on his face makes it light up. You think you would give him a thousand compliments if he would just look like that more often.

+++

It has been a long dirty day of planting in the fields, so you boil pans of water over the fire, empty them in the tub and sink into the water.

You can hear the rhythmic sound of wood being chopped. You think of Francis’s grating rusty voice, his muscular shoulders. You imagine what those shoulders would feel like under your hands. What your legs would feel like wrapped around his waist.

You are rubbing yourself dry when the door creaks. You turn automatically, and see Francis at the door, hand clenched on the handle.

You don’t cover yourself, just let him gaze at your nakedness.

You hear the crumple of metal as the door handle cracks in Francis’s hand and he bolts.

You dress quickly and run outside, wet hair running rivulets down the back of your neck.

You find Francis in the barn, on his knees. His eyes are closed, and he is biting down on one hand as he fucks his straining cock into the fist of the other. You watch: the heaviness of his cock, his clenched eyelids, the desperate twitches of his hips. He comes quickly, and cum spurts and dribbles over his hand. When he removes the other from his mouth, you see the marks of teeth there.

You must make a noise because Francis opens his eyes then and sees you.

His reaction is instantaneous, a pulling up of trousers as he leaps to his feet and pushes past you and out of the barn door.

You shout after him as he runs towards the forest, but he does not stop or turn to look at you.

+++

Francis does not come back that evening.

In the morning you go looking for him.

He’s in the clearing in the forest where you first saw him.

“Come home,” you say. “Come home with me.” You do not know how to tell him, and you do not know how to ask, so you rise on your toes, and pull him down by his cloak so you can kiss him.

Frencis’s kiss is uncertain, but when you coax your tongue into his mouth you can taste the berries that he must have eaten.

It starts to rain, and you grab his hand to run through the forest and across the fields back home.

Once inside your home, you notice that his cape has kept him dry, but your clothes are soaked. Your nipples are cold and hard.

You strip to nakedness under Francis’s gaze and place his mismatched hands - one broader, with callouses, the other with long fingers - on your breasts.  He kneads at them roughly, and you watch him spread his legs to accommodate his filling cock.

You splay your legs and show him how to finger your already leaking cunt. His eyes flick from your wetness to your face, his two different coloured eyes hungry.

“The bed,” you say.

He ignores you and pushes you down to the floor.

He’s still clothed and your legs are spread wide. He looks like he wants to devour you. He pushes his trousers down and pulls off his shirt with a rip of seams. There’s a neatly stitched incision on his chest, in the shape of a Y.

Then he lines up his cock with your cunt and pushes deep inside you with a grunt. You cry out at the feeling of fullness and he begins to thrust into you, each ferocious push feeling deeper than the last.

Your legs lock as far as you can over his back, holding him deep and your hands roam his skin, touching the rough stitches that joint his arms to his shoulders. Proof that this man was made of many men. Now just one, who wants you, desperately. Who is showing you with each jolting push of his cock inside you.

His thrusts ruck up the rug beneath you, and you brace your arms against the floor. The resistance pushes him deeper into you. He comes with a howl: satisfied, animalistic. You feel his come, warm and sticky, flood into you.

He rears back then, and with his cock still seated inside you, Francis presses a finger around the stretched rim of your cunt and then inside, crooking up, hard. The impossible stretch makes your walls flutter, your thighs clench and your back arch with your orgasm.

Francis watches as his cock softens, and then slips out of your cunt, come leaking from your entrance. You sigh at the absence until he splays over you, a heavy comforting weight, and you sleep.

#monster smut #monster fucker #monster x reader #monsterfucking #monster x human #monster lover #monstersighing #answered requests #nsft text #Monsterfucker

[neoneun-au]

CAN'T HELP MYSELF; CHAPTER III: WHO WAITS FOR LOVE?

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 11.2k ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: angst, mild language, alcohol consumption, masturbation (explicit female, implied/mentions of male), 18+ only ―STATUS: ongoing

―AUTHOR’S NOTE: i cant link them here, but please find the series masterlist and other chapters on my blog. i would love to know your thoughts on the story so far, this is really only fun with interaction and it helps keep me motivation to finish !

iii: who waits for love?

.

.

.

“You didn’t mention one of my roommates was basically a fucking model,” you complain, sinking into the absurdly massive grey sectional next to Jeonghan as he sits scrolling on his phone, attention removed from the drama providing background noise on the shared TV. 

“Who? Mingyu?” He tosses his head back with a bark of a laugh at the suggestion, “he’s a model idiot.” 

“Idiot or not you should have warned me he’d be so…so,” you toss your hands in the air, a dramatic display of frustration completed by the furrow in your brows. The image of Mingyu’s bare chest from your initial meeting (new and improved version 2.0 of hot roommate: now accompanied by a soundtrack of bed squeaks and the joy of someone else’s orgasm!) assaults your senses and you scrub it from your mind’s eye as best as you can before fixing your weary gaze back on Jeonghan, “so hot.”

“Oh please,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes as soon as the word falls from your lips. “Yeah he’s easy on the eyes, but once you get to know him his looks are much less impressive, trust me.” He shakes his head, raising his coffee to take a sip before pursing his lips and fixing you with a concerned stare, “I didn’t take you as the type to pine after tall, dark, and stupid. You’re not thinking of using him as a rebound are you?”

“What? Absolutely not,” the reply comes out perhaps more fervently than it should have because what was intended to deny the suggestion only serves to deepen the crease settling in between Jeonghan’s manicured eyebrows. You clear your throat and take a sip from the mug of tea growing cold in your hands as a cover. 

“Rebound,” you scoff at the word, trying to play off the twisting feeling in your gut with derision but only managing to dig the knife in deeper. “Definitely not. I have no plans to start dating anytime soon. Not after this breakup.” You’re aware that you’ve begun to ramble but as per usual, your mouth runs away with your words. Try as you might, you cannot scramble to retrieve them as they spill forward like a damn breaking open. Jeonghan stares at you with a slight frown as you monologue, “I barely even want to look at men full-stop. Don’t get me wrong, I mean, you’re okay, we’re friends and all. And Seungcheol is fine I guess ‘cause he lifted all of my heavy shit up the stairs like some kind of bodybuilding angel sent from protein-heaven,” a stray strand of hair falls in front of your eyes and you blow it away with a short puff of breath. 

“But dating? No. No, no, no,” you continue unabated, “absolutely not. I’m taking this time to get to know me. If anything, I’m dating myself. Mingyu might be hot but he won’t break my resolve, that’s for sure. I am determined,” you finish the speech with a single, firm nod–agreement with yourself clear and solid and in no way capable of breaking at the threat of warm brown puppy eyes flashed in your direction. 

“Right,” Jeonghan drags out the word, unconvinced by your impassioned declaration of independence. “Well, if you get bored of dating yourself and do end up wanting someone to mess around with for a bit, I can hook you up with some people. Serious or…less serious. Your choice.”

“I will be just fine on my own, thank you.” You nod once. Firm. Decisive. Not at all embarrassed by the display. 

“If you say so,” he sings, shaking his head and pushing himself off the couch before flicking the TV off. You sit in silence for a moment, sipping the last of your lukewarm tea, and listen as Jeonghan’ footsteps fade into the kitchen. The slight lingering guilt and shame from the night before stains your thoughts. A ring of liquid left on the surface of a coffee table, encircling the memory of Mingyu’s moaning and the keen sense of desire that burned a pit in your core at the sound.

Jeonghan returns from the kitchen a second later and sits down on the arm of the couch. He clears his throat to speak, more serious than you had seen since graduating university. “Listen, I’m not going to tell you how to live your life,” he begins. You inhale to laugh your disagreement of the statement but he holds up a single hand to silence you so you bite it back just as quickly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I will just give you a warning, if I may” he lets his hand fall back down to his lap, “as your friend. And as someone who has your best interest at heart.” 

“Fine,” you allow, buying into the sincerity, “I’m listening.” 

“I said that I can hook you up with people both serious and not so serious,” he says, pausing to take a deep breath, “Mingyu is not serious.”

The image of the man in question pops up in your mind once more. An observable object–lips locked with the mystery brunette, hands roaming the expanse of her body as they flutter like a pair of dragonflies locked in a mating ritual towards his bedroom. The chorus of “ohs” and “ahs” that chorus in your ears like the audio from the old Italian softcore porn films you used to sneak out of bed to watch in your adolescence. The squeaking of the bed frame, and even the eventual abrupt departure first thing this morning, project themselves across the walls of your brain like a feel of film. All fleeting images and experiences serve as firsthand evidence backing up what Jeonghan is saying to you at this moment in the harsh light of day. 

“If you’re in it for a quick, no strings attached hookup then, well,” he sighs, brushing his bangs out from in front of his eyes, “you’re a grown woman, I trust you can make your own decisions. But I’ve never seen Mingyu with the same girl more than once. So just…be careful. Because if you want something substantial, you would be barking up the wrong tree with him.” 

You nod and the previous image of Mingyu–all roaming hands and bucking hips–dissolves pixel by pixel into the knitted brows of concern and the serious expression his classically handsome face held barely an hour ago. The warmth of his hand as it pressed ever so lightly against the skin of your forehead–an act so painfully tender and familiar it made you yearn at the intimacy of it. While your logical mind does believe what Jeonghan is saying, another part of you (a deeper and much more foolish part) can’t help but feel like there has to be more to Mingyu than the rest of them give him credit for. That maybe there is something to be taken seriously there. 

The thought dissipates into vapour as Vernon strolls down the stairs–bleary eyed and dazed with the lingering sleep still clawing at the corners of his eyes. He nods lazily in silent greeting, clad in tie dye and baggy jeans, and walks past the pair of you and disappears into the kitchen. 

“Just,” Jeonghan hesitates a moment, waiting for the sound of the fridge opening in the next room to disrupt the strained silence that had settled between you, “be careful, okay?” 

“Don’t worry,” you smile, genuinely grateful for the advice and care from your long-time friend, despite the bells of disagreement ringing out inside of you. “I’ll be fine.”

.

.

. 

“Do you think I need a rebound?” The question comes after an hour of banter and conversation over way too expensive cocktails in the dimly lit corner of the bar you used to frequent when you were still going to university with Seulgi. Her insistence that you get out of the apartment and stop stewing in your own thoughts had finally paid off and truthfully the distraction was not entirely unwelcome. But you were still stubbornly refusing to admit that she was right. The status quo of your friendship since the very beginning. 

“Didn’t you say you were swearing off men or something?” Seulgi asks, tapping a manicured fingernail against the side of her nearly empty manhattan. 

“That was before I saw the reality of the men I was swearing off,” you sigh, mourning the loss of your already weak resolve. Solemn regret for the poorly timed declamations you had given voice to in the past. “And the reality is that they're pretty fucking hot.” 

“You mean one of them is pretty fucking hot, right?” she emphasizes, ever observant, and you grimace at her over the lip of your own half-empty glass.  

“One of them looks like a Greek fucking God for no reason,” you grumble, turning to wave the waitress over for another round, “like Adonis or something. It’s not my fault I have functioning eyeballs.” 

“Adonis wasn’t a god, he was the mortal lover of Aphrodite.”

“Well whatever he was, I’m now stuck living in an apartment with him.” The young waitress walks up with an expectant look and Seulgi orders another round of the same while you drain the last of your drink, savouring the bitterness of the gin as it lingers at the tip of your tongue. You watch the waitress as she walks back towards the bar, brunette ponytail swinging behind her like in rhythm with her steps, and wonder vaguely if maybe she’s the girl you saw Mingyu with. 

Seulgi turns back to you with a slight roll of her eyes, “I’m sure it's not that bad. Just ignore him, you’re mostly working or asleep  when you’re not just hanging around bugging me anyway.” 

“Pretty hard to ignore him when he’s so openly hooking up with some random girl in a condo with 4 other people who can clearly hear him.” 

“Well put some earphones in or something, listen to a podcast,” she laughs, shaking her head. You bite your tongue, reluctant to mention the fact that you had willingly listened in as they fucked. That maybe you had enjoyed it a little more than you were letting on. You didn’t need the inevitable teasing that was bound to come if you told her any of that. “Do you remember our one roommate? From second year?” 

“Oh god,” you balk at the memory, “Johnny?” 

“He was so loud,” she grimaces. So many late nights spent huddled together on her bed watching movies, joined in mutual avoidance of the self-proclaimed playboy and his rotating roster of girls. “And then you went and hooked up with him which was just the worst. He was so insufferable after that.” 

“Hey, in my defense I was desperate and not exactly in my right mind,” you bristle at the thought of your pathetic, erstwhile crush. Surely, you had thought in the throes of your youth and naivety, someone who pulled that many girls knows exactly how to make them feel good. Yet by the end of it, as he lay open-mouthed snoring on the bare mattress next to you, you were left with a clear idea of why you never seemed to see the same girl more than once. “Anyway, from the sounds coming out of her, Mingyu seems to actually know what he’s doing in bed.” 

“So you did listen,” she smirks. 

“The walls are thin,” you let the paltry excuse fall from your lips as she tosses her head back in laughter. Gulping down a mouthful of water in a vain attempt to swallow some of the embarrassment boiling like hot lava in your bloodstream. 

“What do you think they were doing?” Seulgi leans forward with a conspiratorial gaze–brown eyes full and bright and filled to the brim with a hint of evil. There have been a few moments throughout your years of friendship where she has fixed you with a look like this, and most of them led to some of the worst decisions either of you have ever made. Breaking into the community swimming pool after dark, stealing the neighbouring houses’ lawn ornaments, making out with dudes that may or may not have been married. Her desire for intrigue terrified and excited you in equal measure. 

“Pretty sure they were fucking,” you respond and she sits back, disappointed at the bland reply. 

“Yeah, I got that part. I mean details. If we’re gossiping, we should do it right.” 

The cacophony of the bar consumes you. Chatter and laughter from nearby tables floods your senses, drowning out the roar of guilt that knocks at the door of your mind as you consider your next words carefully. Whether to completely dive off the deep end and betray your new roommates privacy (in more ways than you already have). If you had been a little more sober and a little less intrigued by the man in your own right, you might have shut the topic of conversation down before it even began. You might have left the apartment for the night and slept on a chair in the lobby and avoided the entire tryst to prevent the memory of his moans from carving themselves into your temporal lobe. 

But you did not and now you are just as invested in the situation, and Seulgi’s complete lack of shame about asking for details further strangled any lingering guilt you had left. “Well,” you start and she leans in closer, eyes alight with anticipation, “they started in the hallway. I thought they were going to have sex right against the wall while I was trapped hiding behind the couch.” 

She laughs, head tossed back in mirth, “bet you would have loved that. Mingyu, bare ass out in front of you,” she jeers and you bristle at the accusation (even if you know she’s right). The waitress returns with your drinks and you mumble a brief thank you to her as she sets the glasses down. Seulgi continues to laugh, pleased with your reaction, “it would have been your wet dream come true.”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m not saying anything else,” you grumble into your fresh drink, wincing at the bite of the liquor. Cocktails were never your thing but Seulgi had offered to pay so who were you to refuse. 

“Aww,” she whines, “fine, fine, I’ll stop teasing you. Please give me the play by play. I am so curious.” She claps her hands together in mock prayer, pleading for your cooperation, and you think she might make an excellent lawyer or serial killer if she weren’t so normal most of the time.

“Fine,” you relent after a beat, already too wrapped up in reliving the night to abandon the story anyway. “Obviously,” you stress, “that didn’t happen. They were making out there for maybe like 5 minutes but it felt like hours. I was so worried she was going to see me but thankfully I managed to stay pretty low.” 

Seulgi takes a sip of her darkly coloured drink, you can tell she wants to interject but she manages to hold true to her promise. 

“So they stumble off to his room,” you continue with a sigh, “and I go to mine, which, mind you, is right next to his. We share a wall.” She winces and you give her a knowing nod, steeling yourself against the all too vivid memory. “I crawl into bed, trying to block out the noise for a while, which at this point isn’t too loud. It’s just like…some muffled talking and moaning and the occasional slap of like…skin on skin. Maybe he spanked her…” you trail off, shaking your head along with the words, fully invested in the theatrics of the storytelling now. “But, through some cruel twist of fate his bed, just like mine, is also right up against our shared wall. So as soon as they really get going, I can feel it.”

“What, like…” she thrusts in her seat, a quizzical slant to her eyebrows, “like shaking?” 

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ for emphasis and she lets out a low whistle. 

“For how long?” 

“I don’t know,” you shake your head, “felt like forever. I was just clutching my sheets like it was an earthquake or something.” You do conveniently leave out the heat of desire and curling of toes, but she didn’t need to know that part. 

“Did it start off slow?” she asks, voice conspiratorial. “Fast? Do you think he ate her out first?”

“Seulgi,” you hiss, keeping your voice low. You glance over at the table of college guys next to you but they don't appear to have been listening.

“What, I’m not allowed to ask?” She balks, hand on heart, and appears offended for a moment before the usual mischievousness settles back in and she leans forward with a glint. “Did Wonwoo ever eat you out?”

“We are not discussing the details of my sex life right now.” 

“No of course not,” she rolls her eyes, “we’re just discussing the details of someone else’s.” You grumble at the inability to argue with this statement. “How long has it been since you got laid anyway?” 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, dropping your head to the table and then regretting it immediately when you realise how sticky it is. “Like five months maybe?”

“Five? Didn’t you break up with Wonwoo like…” she fixes her eyes on the ceiling for a brief moment, calculating the time passed in her head before turning back to you with frown lines creased into her forehead, “six weeks ago?”

You shrug, sinking your embarrassment into another sip of alcohol, “so we hadn’t had sex in a while, so what?” 

“Do you think maybe that was a contributing factor in your dissatisfaction with the relationship?” She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. 

“I don’t need a therapy session, Seulgi.” 

“On the contrary, I think you would benefit greatly from therapy,” she laughs, “but that’s not what this is. You’ve just been sort of distant lately.” You open your mouth to protest but she stops you with a glance, “don’t start, I know we’ve been hanging out, but over the last few months you haven’t been as open about your emotions and stuff. You used to tell me everything, even things I didn’t want or need to hear, but for a while it feels like you’ve just been…hiding. Internalizing.” She leans forward and taps the center of your forehead with one, manicured finger. “Stop that. It’s not good for you to be in your head so much.”

“I hate to say it but, you’re right,” you sigh, begrudgingly agreeing with her observation. The skin where she had poked you tingling in the aftermath of her touch like a beacon of truth.

“I always am,” she nods, “but seriously. We’re friends. I want to hear how you’re feeling. I know I make fun of you a lot, but that’s just ‘cause you’re so easy to make fun of.”

“Hey!” 

She laughs and you’re reminded of why she and Jeonghan always got along so well. “Seriously though,” she says, expression sobering, “maybe you wouldn’t fixate so much of your loneliness and desperation onto random guys if you got out of your head a bit more regularly. Just a thought.” 

“It's not desperation, I just…” you trail off, unsure of where to begin. Unsure even of what your own internal landscape was trying to tell you. You wanted to confide in her, to be more open and transparent, but it was hard to do that when none of you couldn’t even sort out your thoughts and feelings from your anxieties and worries. It was hard to be clear when everything just felt like mud. She waits, expectant, as you sift through the much for some clear strand of thought. “You’re right, about the loneliness anyway, I know you are.” She nods, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. “But it’s not desperation.”

“So then what is it?” she asks and you try to place it. Try to tug on the thought to follow where it was leading you. What was it about Mingyu that made you feel like you were chasing something? Clawing at the walls of some well of yearning like a prisoner of your own desires. What was it about him that was making you want more? More information, more contact, more, more, more. 

“I think,” you start, hesitant to speak the word lest it be wrong. “I think it’s curiosity.”

“About Mingyu?” 

“Yeah, him. And about myself,” you shake your head. Ruminating on your spiraling thoughts was one thing, but vocalising them for someone who knew you oftentimes better than you knew yourself was another thing entirely. Your thoughts held more weight now that someone else was bearing witness to them. They had more consequences now than just 15 minutes of anxiety or a few hours of doom-scrolling.

“What about yourself?” she asks, unraveling the mess as you present it to her. 

“I feel like…I’ve been in this strange place between needing people for everything and also trying my best to not need anyone at all. I can’t do my taxes without help, I can’t change a tire without help, I can’t even move apartments without it! But when it comes to emotions or vulnerability…I would rather just deal with it on my own, you know?” She nods, attention focused completely on you. Despite how long you’ve been friends, the direct attention still flickers a switch of shyness inside of you.  

“That’s what it was like with Wonwoo, too. He was never the most emotionally available person and I think I just got used to dealing with things on my own because of it. I didn’t want to burden him with my thoughts or feelings cause I know I have a lot of them. Don’t get me wrong, though, it wasn’t like he refused to listen or anything I just…he just wasn’t really open with his own feelings or thoughts so I sort of started to feel guilty about dominating those conversations all the time with mine. Like I was using him as some sort of emotional punching bag. And then I just got used to it, and it took so long for me to realise that I needed something more than that…” 

Any hesitation you had felt before dissipates as you talk, little by little. You feel like you’re back in your dorm room together, laying on your floor and just letting yourself pour out every thought, every feeling, every worry you had. Stream of consciousness–your lips to Seulgi’s ears. That open vulnerability you shared before life and work and everything else got in the way and left the door open for inhibition, shame, and guilt to move into the space between.

You feel lighter as you speak, like you had been needing this–craving it. Waiting for her invitation to come to let loose the torrential downpour of your mind to a willing listener. To a friend. 

She was right. She always was.

“So what is it about this Mingyu guy, then? You don’t think he would just be the same?” She asks, shifting the focus, and you purse your lips in concentration. 

“I’m not sure…” you trail off. And you really weren’t sure. Was he just an idle fascination after all? Did you just find him hot and that smoke screen of good looks was blinding you to the fact that he was just some guy like everyone before him? Or was there actually something there, in spite of it all? You mull it over while Seulgi takes a leisurely sip of her drink. “I was talking to Jeonghan the other day, and he said something that sort of made me think–”

“That’s a surprise,” she laughs, unable to resist the opportunity for a jab at your mutual friend. 

“He said ‘Mingyu is not serious’ and I don’t know,” you continue, unabated by her comment, “I get this feeling that that’s not the full truth.”

“What, like psychic intuition?” she laughs and you shake your head. 

“No, no…well, maybe. I don’t know. Obviously I don’t know the guy very well yet, and I have seen him do exactly what Jeonghan was warning me he does but…” you sigh, trying to collect your scattered thoughts of the man that is currently plaguing your mind. “He has also been very thoughtful, and he seems to notice such small details that the others don’t. I don’t know…I just think there might be something more to him than that, you know?”

“And you think you’re going to be the one to discover that side of him?” she asks, eyebrow quirked. Astute as ever. 

“No,” you start, but catch yourself in the lie immediately. “Well, yeah, I guess. I just want to see if my hunch is correct.” 

She fixes you with a withering gaze, dark brown eyes boring into your own for a moment before she laughs again, “Oh I get it now, you want to fix him.”

“I can’t help it, I love a project,” you sigh, resting your cheek in your palm and tracing idle circles against the wood grain of the table top. 

“So take up crocheting or something! Stop throwing yourself at every man who looks like a kicked puppy.” You groan at the accusation but can’t deny the truth in it. You did have a track record. “Look, if you want to do this. Really want to crack that big beefy chest open and see what’s inside, I’m not going to stop you, but I’m warning you now that I do not think this is going to end well.”

“You sound like Jeonghan,” you mumble, eyes closed as you listen to the lecture. 

“Good, at least someone you live with has some brains.” She shakes her head, pausing to hand her card to the waitress as she walks over with the bill for the evening. Silence stretches out for a moment, the din of the bar enclosing in to envelop you in its swell as you wait for the transaction to finish. The waitress returns and Seulgi slips her card back into her wallet before turning back to you, “I’m not saying this to be mean, but I really think you should take some time to be with yourself before you end up repeating the same mistakes you made with Wonwoo.” 

“Harsh,” you mutter, feeling the sting of it spear through your heart and settle there. Slow poison. 

She softens, eyes warming as she slides off her chair. You follow suit and walk with her out into the chill of the night. The bitterness of winter was starting to seep slowly into the air, you can feel it biting at your skin as you step outside with her to wait for the Uber she ordered to pull up.

“I love you and I want what’s best for you, and if you think that there might be something there with this Mingyu guy then I hope you’re right, I really do,” she says, a smile softening her expression. “I just want you to be careful, ok?” 

“Okay,” you sigh, hugging your arms tight against your chest to fight off the wind as it blisters through your thin jacket. “I love you, too. And I will be careful, I promise. I’m not really too keen to repeat my last relationship either…”

“Good,” she nods, eyes roaming to the curb as a slick black sedan pulls up. “I’ll see you soon. Try not to throw yourself too big of a pity party before then.” She waves goodbye as she strides towards the car. You roll your eyes, returning the wave, before starting your brisk walk the few blocks back to the condo.

.

.

.

Time passes slowly in the new stasis of your life. You take the new opportunity in the wake of your hangout to bury yourself in work and get through some projects that had been building up untouched while you were feeling sorry for yourself. You kept up with regular jogs with Seungcheol, largely at his behest, and they were starting to become an enjoyable break in your days. A way to clear your mind and focus your attention on your body. It also did not escape your notice that the route he was taking you on now steered clear of the street where you had seen Wonwoo a few weeks ago. You use your commitment to the new routine as a silent thank you to him for somehow knowing what you needed when you needed it.

Vernon was becoming a favourite of yours as well. A quiet denizen of the condo; he showed up at random hours, taking a seat near you but not too close, reading through scripts or scrolling on his phone in companionable silence as you worked. It was like living with a cat that took care of itself and had an impressive collection of beanies. 

Mingyu you tried to avoid, for the most part. He still plagued your thoughts on a daily basis, but out of respect for your friends’ concerns you wanted to give this budding infatuation time to settle into shape. To give yourself time to try and figure out what your real feelings on the matter were. You tried to find a delicate balance between roommate and acquaintance, figuring out his general schedule and adjusting your own accordingly so that you weren’t caught in any more awkward situations in the middle of the night or without anyone else around. 

All of these measures were helping to make you feel more at home in the condo. Less like an interloper disrupting their days and more like a part of the makeshift family–even if that part for now was cousin, twice-removed. 

As a result you were spending less time doing your work from the cafe and much more of it huddled over your laptop on the coffee table in the living room. Projects were getting done quicker, though it did mean that you were seeing Seulgi less often. 

“Why aren’t you answering my texts?” Seulgi’s face blinks to life on the screen of your phone as you finally accept her FaceTime call. “Are you still moping?” 

“I’m not moping!” you defend, raising the phone to hide the view of the pajamas you’ve been wearing for the past 24 hours as you were locked in a death-match with an upcoming deadline.

“Well how many more projects do you have left to do before we can go out? It’s been two weeks since I saw you now that you’re actually working from home,” she sighs in exasperation. Judging by the smoked out black liner defining her eyes, she was heading out tonight with or without you anyway. “Yerim is in town and she’s been asking about you.” 

“Yerim? Wait, since when? I thought she was still in England?” you straighten up at the mention of your distant friend’s name.

“She’s back for now to get some visa renewal stuff done,” Seulgi answers, “and we’re going out tonight so you should come if you’re not still buried under a mountain of work.”

You glance at the screen of your laptop, folders stacked on your desktop in a messy landscape of the digital mountain you created for yourself. The thought was tempting but you knew Yerim and you knew what a night out with her always entailed. Read: getting black out drunk in a club and stumbling home at 6:00am the next morning. You had made a lot of progress scaling your workload, but you weren't sure that even without work you would have the energy needed for a night out like that. 

The front door clicks open behind you and you spin your head to spout a quick greeting. Mingyu nods a quick hello, arms loaded with bags of groceries, before disappearing into the kitchen. 

“Who was that?” Seulgi asks, noting the interruption in your conversation.

“Mingyu,” you answer, mindlessly pushing yourself off the ground and bringing her with you as you walk into the kitchen behind him in search of a glass of water. He smiles at you as you enter but says nothing as Seulgi’s voice rings out through your phone.

“Ah,” she smirks, “the one with the nipples?” You roll your eyes at the clear attempt to embarrass you but nod—pointedly ignoring the man in question as he sputters next to you at the comment. You fill a glass with water from the filtered jug in the fridge. “So are you coming tonight or should I tell Yerim you’re too depressed?”

You give it a moment of thought. You haven’t seen Yerim since she moved to the UK in the middle of her third year of university, after the rest of you had already graduated. She sent some odd gifts here and there—chocolate, snacks, a figurine of Shakespeare wearing heart print boxers—but communication had dwindled as you all found your footing in your adult lives, far removed from the heady days of hedonistic college life. 

“Well first of all, don’t tell her I’m depressed, ‘cause I’m not,” you emphasise and Seulgi laughs at the bitter defense, “but I don’t think I can make it tonight. We should make plans for dinner or something before she leaves, though. Something a little more lowkey than the club.” 

“Fine, be boring,” she sighs. “By the way, Yerim brought a friend back with her. He’s apparently cute and not completely useless. She thought you might like to meet him, just as a distraction. Or a rebound that’s not going to jeopardize your living situation. He’s also coming tonight” 

You groan, settling down in a kitchen chair—opposite to the one Mingyu had sat down in with his reheated leftovers. He watches you with mild interest out of the corner of his eye while you try to think of a way to convince Seulgi that you don’t need Yerim’s charity date. “I would, but I already have plans tonight,” you lie, hoping she buys it without question.

“Oh?” she asks, eyes narrowed in cautious suspicion. “Do you have other friends?” 

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes, “but no, actually. It’s just with my roommate.”

“Which one?” she probes, digging you deeper into the grave of your own lie.  

“Oh uh–” you stutter but your eyes flicker above the screen of your phone, locking in on Mingyu’s own wide brown gaze. “Mingyu. We’re going to dinner tonight.”

He opens his mouth to speak, clearly confused by being dragged into your mess, but you shake your head lightly—willing him to just roll with it. He clamps his mouth shut and returns to his bowl of stew. 

“Mingyu?” Her surprise is genuine and you can tell she’s starting to believe you. A flicker of concern shines in her eyes. “Is it like…a date?” 

“No, Seulgi,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger. She was edging dangerously close to that  ‘jeopardizing your living situation’ territory on her own. “It’s just dinner. With a roommate.” 

“Okay,” she drawls, “but if you end up against a wall with his face between your thighs—”

“Goodbye, Seulgi,” you end the call with a panicked stab of your finger and lean back in your chair, eyes shut tight against the rising tide of anxiety. You feel lightheaded. Hopefully Mingyu didn’t catch that last part. 

“Did we—” He clears his throat. His voice, hesitant and low, floating in and dispeling your faint hope that he hadn’t been paying attention. “Did we have plans I forgot about?” 

You want to laugh, he sounds so genuinely worried. It forces a bitter bubble of bile to rise up into your throat. “No,” you shake your head, clearing it with a sip of water. “Don’t worry you don’t have to go out to dinner with me, I just really didn’t want to go out tonight. Yerim is sort of wild sometimes and the thought of meeting some stuffy English guy in a club was making me feel ill.” 

“Oh,” he smiles—also hesitant, but you can see a hint of his canines poking out behind his lips. “Well, glad I could be of service, then.” His smile widens and you can’t help but return it with one of your own. 

“You have been most helpful,” you laugh. “Sorry for using you as a scapegoat. Also sorry about the nipples thing, Seulgi has a selective memory.” 

“I don’t mind,” he shakes his head, the flush of warmth in his skin betrays the hint of embarrassment he’s trying to mask. You smile at the grace he’s giving you in what could have been an exceptionally awkward moment (especially after weeks of avoiding being alone with him) and push your chair back–wooden legs sliding against the tile. You stand up, preparing to turn around and hunker back down in front of your laptop screen, but Mingyu calls out your name before you get the chance. 

“Yeah?” you reply, half-turned towards the living room. 

“If you do,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “If you do want to go out to dinner tonight though…I could do that. I would uh…I’d like that.”

Your eyes trail from his still slightly pink face to his nearly empty bowl of leftovers. “But you already ate?” 

“Yeah,” he laughs, hand rubbing the back of his neck. A gesture so familiar to you from spending so much time with Wonwoo, but it looks different on him. Less like an anxious tick and more like a bashful habit. “I can eat again though,” he drops his hand from his neck and pats his stomach twice, “I’m a bottomless pit.” 

You should say no. You know you should say no. You shouldn’t dig yourself any deeper into this hole than you already have. But looking at him now, eyes so wide and genuine—freely offering you this tether of kindness—you can’t seem to bring yourself to summon up the word.

“Okay,” you reply, deadpan. Numbed with the confusion and surprise of this sudden change of plans so easily agreed to. So easily ruining weeks of careful avoidance and the cooling off of the one-sided tension you felt when you were near him. 

“Great,” he grins, white teeth glistening in the bright lights of the kitchen. “I need to grab a shower first and make a quick call, but how about we head out in an hour? What kind of food are you in the mood for? Do you have any favourite spots?” 

“I uh—” you stammer, unsure of the answer to the posed question. “I’m fine with anything. I don’t go out for dinner a lot so I don’t really know that many restaurants…”

“No problem,” he smiles again, standing up and grabbing his bowl. “I know plenty, I’ll bring you to a good one. Promise.” He winks before turning around to rinse out his dish and your heart skips a beat at the expression. One you would so often find lecherous and off-putting seems somehow so endearing coming from him. You scold your brain for the thought before stalking back to your room to change out of your pajamas and attempt to appear somewhat presentable. 

.

.

.

The lights of the city cast their soft glow over the water of the slow moving river. A hypnotizing dance of yellow and gold against the backdrop of the night sky. It lulls your thoughts–quietens them to a dull roar–as you sit next to Mingyu on a park bench.

You had finished dinner a half hour ago; a mouthwatering feast of flavour grilled by the deft hands of your roommate himself. You watched as he took to the task with an almost reverent disposition—ushering the food through the cycle of cooking as you sat across from him, absorbed in the aroma and savouring each morsel he placed in front of you. 

You had worried that he was going to take you to some uptight, fine dining restaurant where each dish was somehow the size of your pinky finger while costing more than you made in a day (Mingyu did have a vibe of luxury about him); but when he opened the door to the small, hole-in-the-wall barbeque joint in a random side-street you felt the tension in your shoulders ease and you were finally able to let yourself relax. 

He ordered–a generous selection of high-quality but reasonably priced beef–and you sat and ate and talked. It was normal and nice and the old wood-planked walls of the restaurant leant the entire dinner an air of casualness that your anxiety-addled brain desperately needed. Just a nice normal dinner with a roommate who you did not have any romantic attraction to at all.

Conversation continued after dinner ended. He was easy to talk to, easy to listen to, and you lost yourself in it, completely forgetting about your previous plan to avoid him, as he paid the bill. You continued to talk as you left the restaurant, stepped back out onto the street, and as you continued to walk together until you saw the Han River stretching out in front of you. 

You hadn’t been paying attention as you walked–just let your feet move under the vague assumption that you were just heading back home–so reaching the river had come as a surprise. Mingyu’s face remained impassive as he led you past the numerous couples dotting the riverbank, each splayed out on grass and blankets, bathed in the soft amber glow of the city. You followed him for a few hundred feet until he stopped at a small hill and sat down on a bench, draping his arm casually over the back as he leaned against the sun-faded wood.

You hesitate a minute before sitting down. The mirage of purely platonic companionship had dissipated step by step as you followed him downstream, watching the way his jacket moved against his torso–loosely fitted but structured enough to hint at the firmness of his shoulders underneath, swelling as his arms swung idly at his sides. Your mind blaring a fire red warning in Jeonghan’s voice: be careful. Mingyu notices you hesitate and offers a warm smile, just touching at the corners of his eyes. He moves over an inch on the bench to give you more space and your heart takes that moment to consider itself some sort of acrobat in your chest. You silence the warning, washing it out with your own self-soothing lies, before taking a seat next to him and focusing on the night skyline. 

Living in the city always felt isolating. Like the loneliness of existence was only amplified by the millions of other lives that played out parallel to your own. Millions of other people with different thoughts, feelings, and experiences existing right next to yours–there, but never touching. Lines crossing and converging but rarely intertwining for longer than a heartbeat. 

Wonwoo had been an anchor in that sea of loneliness. Something solid to hold onto as you were buffeted by the waves of life. Stabile, grounding. You never realised how much you needed that stability until it was no longer there. Until you were cast adrift once more, alone in the deep blue. 

Seulgi was there of course–as well as your other friends and family–but it wasn’t the same. They were islands of reprieve to visit when needed, and to offer the same when they did, but it wasn’t the same as having that one person to tether yourself to. To merge your life with and create a new island on solid foundations. Unshakeable, until it’s not. 

Maybe you were pathetic, relying on a partner for so much support. Needing someone to rescue you from your own life. Maybe you needed to save yourself for once. 

“Do you ever get the feeling like you’re going to end up dying alone?” you ask the question, half expecting it to dissolve into the air in front of you and go completely unanswered. Unsure if you even want an answer or if you just needed to remove the thought from your mind.

Mingyu scoffs, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he glances at you sideways–evaluating. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for you.” 

“Oh?” you raise an eyebrow, a twinge of offense scurrying up at the comment. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Well, what makes you think you would?” he counters and you let a small laugh slip out at the seriousness of his expression. 

“I don’t know,” you shake your head, dismissing the thought and turning your attention back towards the view. Bitterly regretting altering the mood so seriously. You should have remained flippant, joyous. Unserious. But when did your mouth ever listen to you? “I was just thinking out loud.”

“Oh no you don’t,” he laughs, “you brought it up and now you’re avoiding the question?” You feel the heat of his body warm the air around you as he adjusts on the bench, angling away from the river to better face you and pry the answers free under the weight of his attention.

“You avoided mine!” you bite back in defense, turning in kind to face him, but realising the trap too late as he flashes you a wolfish grin.  

“Ah-ha, so it was a serious question!” he cries, pleased with himself. “Listen if you want my honest answer, I will give it to you but I want an answer in return as well.” 

You hesitate, not for the first time tonight—wavering at the edge of the offer and cursing your propensity for sticking your foot straight into your mouth at the drop of a hat. 

Do you really want to open up to him like this? 

It had been such a nice evening. Good food, good conversation, and a nice walk along the river. It had been a while since you had felt so at ease in someone's company. And yet, despite all of that, you had to go and get lost in your self-sabotaging, meandering thoughts and open your big dumb mouth. Did Mingyu even really want to know? He seemed friendly and open enough but you can’t help but hear Jeonghan’s voice as it bounces off the walls of your mind: ‘Mingyu is not serious’. Did he know what Pandora’s Box he was willingly opening by asking you? Did he care?

You fix your gaze on him, evaluating, searching his eyes for any sign of ambivalence or even trickery. He stares back, waiting patiently for you to mull it over, and you come up with no discernable ulterior motive. Nothing lurking in the clear brown of his eyes other than open curiosity and a slight glimmer of amusement. 

“Ugh, fine,” you relent, falling back against the bench with a huff. You forgot Mingyu’s arm is resting against the back and you feel the pressure of it against you as you settle deeper into the bench. “Why do I think I’m going to die alone…” you repose the question, willfully ignoring the shiver that ripples out from the spot where his arm is pressed against you. You can feel the warmth of it even through your jacket. “Maybe because I’m a bit of an anxious wreck and that can’t be easy to deal with. Or maybe because I’ve managed to fuck up every relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“I don’t think so,” Mingyu replies, assured in his denial of your reasoning. 

You let out a mirthless laugh and glare into the middle distance. “Don’t think so? Don’t think what? That I’m not an anxious wreck? You clearly don’t know me that well.”

“No, I believe that part, though anxiety can be treated to a certain extent. I have this psychologist friend, Minghao, he talks a lot about it. I could get you his number if you want.” he offers and you furrow your brow at the suggestion. 

“You want to set me up with a psychologist?”

He laughs, “not like a date. Like if you wanted to book an appointment to see him about it. You know, like a therapist?” 

“Oh,” you mumble, immediately feeling stupid. “So what did you mean then?”

“Just that it takes two to fuck up a relationship most of the time.  You can’t fuck up something that wasn’t ready to be fucked up, you know? No one is perfect, we all have issues so no relationship is ever perfect and that’s not the fault of just one person.”

“Wow,” you exhale. His words sink in, a stark contrast against the internal monologue of shame and blame you had callously constructed. A differing perspective roaring in to shake your foundations. You try to reckon with it, the thought that it might not be all your fault, and it clamours and clangs against your brain in the worst way. In a way that you know it might be true but you’re not ready to accept it yet. 

“Did I say something wrong?” Mingyu asks, momentarily rendered insecure by your plunge into melancholic silence. 

“No, no,” you assure him, distantly amused by his immediate assumption that it might have been him that did something wrong. “It’s just…” you hesitate, unsure of how to word it. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so insightful.”

He snorts out a laugh, “thanks, I guess. I have my moments.” 

“No, no, I don’t mean that I think you’re like…incapable of insight, just…” you pause, trying to reformulate the thought in a way that doesn’t sound like an insult. “I’m just not used to getting reality checks like that from people I don’t really know that well.”

“Oh, okay,” he laughs again, in relief this time, and you feel the edge of tension you had been holding in your body ebb away. “Well, I mean it though,” he affirms, “I don’t think it means you’re going to die alone.”

“Okay, well,” you sigh, unsure where to follow this new proffered perspective, “thanks, I guess.”

“No problem,” he grins. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” You knit your brows in confusion, eliciting another laugh from your seatmate. “For what?”

“You answered my question, so it’s your turn to ask one,” he explains.

“I didn’t realise we were playing 20 questions,” you tease. The words leave your lips with a little more edge than you had intended and you wince. Why did you always sound so defensive? You glance at Mingyu and feel a slight sense of relief at the fact that he seemed not to have noticed the tone. 

“Well, if you don’t have any questions, I’m fine with being the hot, mysterious one in the house,” he winks and again you find yourself not hating how he looks when he does it. 

Still, you snort derisively in response. If only he knew how deeply not-mysterious he already was to you. “Hardly,” you reply. “Okay, fine. I have a question for you: why does The Notebook make you cry so much?”

Wide-eyed surprise ripples across his face, a tinge of red embarrassment colouring the tips of his ears, “who told you that?” he asks in a nervous half-whisper.

“Jeonghan might have mentioned it when I was moving in…” 

“Traitor,” he seethes, running a hand through his hair as he considers this revelation before answering you. “It’s sad,” he states plainly after a moment’s hesitation and you ‘tsk’, refusing the easy answer. 

“Lots of movies are sad, Mingyu. Why does this one in particular make you cry so much that I was warned never to watch it in the living room?”

He sighs again, heaves his chest in and out like an exasperated dog settling down for bed. You watch as he stares out over the river, wide brown eyes shimmering with the lights of the city, and wait for him to respond. You had never seen Wonwoo cry during a movie. You had barely seen Wonwoo cry at all. He kept his emotions held tight, whether for self-protection or because he really was just that steady you didn’t know, but Mingyu’s upfront expressiveness was a breath of fresh air. Seeing someone so open at every moment with how they were feeling made you feel a little bit less alone with your own rapid shifts in mood. Maybe you weren’t the broken one. 

“Fine,” he relents, “honestly, I know it’s corny. I know it’s a corny movie and it’s lame and dumb that an adult man with a job still bawls like a baby while watching it but I can’t help it. Seeing those two old people dying in bed together after reliving the tale of their love just gets me every single time. It’s a confusing mixture of sadness and hope and I have never been able to get through it without weeping.” 

“Wow,” you remark and he shakes his head. 

“Happy?” he huffs, again with an air of a disgruntled dog and you laugh.

“Very happy, thank you for sharing.” 

“Okay my turn,” he grins, leaning back against the bench once more, the wood groaning slightly under his weight as it shifts. 

“Good luck, movies don’t make me cry often.” 

“Well you’ve gotta have some embarrassing secret. Otherwise we’re on uneven ground, and I don’t like that.” 

“I’ve already told you something embarrassing,” you start to defend yourself but he shakes his head. Resolute. 

“What? About thinking you fuck everything up?” You nod and he laughs, “that’s not embarrassing, that’s normal. Everyone thinks they’re more fucked up than they are.” He shrugs and you again marvel at how casually he accepts the very thing that feels so earth-shaking to you. “Tell me your most embarrassing secret.”

“That’s not a question, it’s a demand.” you point out and he nods, considering the rebuttal. 

“Too broad? Okay, then what’s your favourite song?” 

“How is that supposed to be embarrassing?” you ask, aghast. 

“It’s not, I’m just curious. Not every question needs to be so heavy, you can get to know people through simpler things. Happy things,” he smiles again, coy, and your heart betrays you again with a flutter of wings against your chest. 

“I’m not sure,” you muse. He starts to protest but you cut him off before he can begin, “there are too many songs that I love to feel like I can narrow it down to just one all–time favourite. Too many things to consider.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like, what am I doing when I am listening to it? Is it a song I could listen to anytime, anywhere? Does that make it a favourite or just an easy listen? Is it a song that fills me with a swell of emotions? A favourite from high school that still makes me nostalgic? Or a recent song that I’ve played on repeat too many times to count? You see…too many things to consider.”

“Wow, you’re right,” he laughs again, “you really are an overthinker.” 

“Gee, thanks,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“How about you just make me a playlist with all of the above and we’ll consider it answered?” he winks and you blink back at him, stunned to silence. Wonwoo never really got through the songs you would recommend to him, was Mingyu really going to go to the trouble of listening to an entire playlist? For his roommate? 

“Oh–okay,” you answer, unsure of what else to say. 

Silence descends for a moment, settling comfortably between you, and you glance around in surprise to find that most of the people that had been here when you arrived have since departed. How long had you been sitting on this bench talking?

As if reading your thoughts, Mingyu clears his throat. “It’s getting late,” he feigns a yawn, forearm flexing as he brings his hand up to cover his mouth, “but you have one more question to even it up before we start walking back home.”

You sit still, contemplating. While teasing him had been fun, an overwhelming part of you wants to really get to know him. To know what makes him tick. What thoughts and desires lurk in the depths of those puppy brown eyes. To find out exactly what it was about him that was drawing you in so much despite your (and Seulgi’s and Jeonghan’s) better judgement. 

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” you ask finally. It feels like a silly question as soon as you ask it but you can’t take it back once it’s been spoken. And you do actually want to know the answer. 

“Is that your final question?” he asks and you hesitate but nod. You’re curious about what kind of kid he was. What his dreams had been before the demands of adulthood had set in. “Alright, but it’s silly,” he warns and you wait silently for his response despite it, “I wanted to own my own bakery.” 

“You wanted to own a bakery?” you parrot the response, surprised by his answer. “Really?” 

“I told you it was silly,” he smiles, voice a slight quiver. You hadn’t expected the answer, true, but it’s the nervousness around it that is really taking you by surprise. Like it’s kid Mingyu answering the question and not the 20-something year old adult you had bought you dinner. 

“No, no, it’s not silly, I just didn’t expect it,” you reassure him and the expression of embarrassment on his face melts back into neutrality. The wave of nerves slipping away into the ether. “Why didn’t you do it?” 

He shrugs, “my parents didn’t think it was a suitable career path for someone like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You bristle, feeling defensive on behalf of the kid he once was. 

“I never asked for clarification,” he laughs. “Just went to school for business like they suggested. Jokes on them, though, I can still make a mean sourdough.” 

“What can’t you do?” you mumble, intending the comment to be unheard but clearly failing as Mingyu throws his head back with a laugh before getting to his feet. 

“Well, what about you?” he asks as you join him and you both head back down the path towards the main road. “What was your childhood dream?”

“I always wanted to be an artist,” you say, “and I sort of am doing that now just in a more corporate-friendly way. Career was the one aspect of life that I always felt I had a handle on. There was no guesswork. It was just me involved.” 

“Your parents didn’t have any different thoughts as to what they wanted you to do?” he asks, a slight note of surprise colouring his voice. 

“Not really, no,” you shrug, “they were pretty supportive, honestly. I think the only things they really cared about was that I got an education and was able to pay for rent and food.” 

“That’s lucky, it’s nice to have such supportive parents.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” you nod. It had never been something you had actively thought about, just taken for granted and assumed it was sort of the same for everyone. You make a mental note to call your parents soon and catch up as you and Mingyu leave the park and the river disappears behind you. 

“Would you ever bake something for me?” you ask, matching Mingyu’s stride as you take a turn down the block towards home. 

“That depends,” he replies, amusement clear in his voice.

“On what?” 

“On whether or not you want to hang out again in the future,” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. You see a hint of blush reddening the tips of his ears again and it makes you wonder. Was it just the slight chill in the air causing it?

“Well, we do live together so I think that’s almost inevitable,” you laugh, trying to brush the niggling feeling off with an assurance that you did not feel. 

“True,” he concedes, “then I guess I will. Are you more of a sweet or savory person?” 

“That depends,” you reply, a small grin turning up the corners of your lips. 

“Overthinking pastries now too?” 

“No,” you laugh, all lingering feelings of defensiveness gone from you. “It depends on what you’re better at making.” 

“Oh, I’m good at it all,” he replies, voice smooth–silk slipping over mahogany–as he holds open the door to the condo complex for you. You glance at him, eyes meeting his in the dim light of the lobby, and study him for a moment. He’s smiling, cool and casual, but there’s a seriousness hiding in the depths of his expression that you can’t quite unravel. It draws you in, curiouser and curiouser, until you find yourself face to face with a crossroads. Two paths diverge in the yellow woods of your mind and the only thing that remains is to choose.  

“Then I’ll take it all,” you reply after a breath, thoughts slipping into place. Threshold crossed, decision made. You step into the lobby and head towards the elevator leaving Mingyu to trail behind. 

.

.

.

The condo is blessedly quiet when you arrive upstairs; everyone else scattered throughout the city with Friday night plans. The absence of Jeonghan in particular is a relief, you knew that no matter what the context was, if he saw you return with Mingyu at this time of night you would be primed for some form of lecture or another. Whether verbal or simply that knowing stare he likes to give you when he thinks you’re being stupid.

That silent cloud of judgement would have been especially intrusive tonight as you step in through the front door barely clinging onto the tenuous air of bravado you had conjured up in the lobby downstairs. It would have shaken your resolve to follow this thought of intrigue towards Mingyu and thrust you right back into your torrential thoughts once more, spinning haphazardly between mourning over what was lost and what might not ever be.  

Instead you stand with shaky confidence and a pounding in your chest as you bid Mingyu goodnight, savouring that look of intrigue you’re sure is mirrored in his own expression as you close your bedroom door for the night and bar any doubt from creeping in behind you. 

You listen through the walls as his own door clicks shut before rummaging through the unpacked duffel bag in the corner of your room. You dig through unsorted paperwork, unopened mail, random knick knacks you had found no home for yet until your fingers grasp the object you were seeking.

Sleek, black silicone emerges from the bag and you glance behind you as if Mingyu might be standing there, ready to chastise you for your impure thoughts. 

You stand up, hesitating, evaluating the vibrator as it sits like a brick in your palm. You had only used it once, years ago, after buying it at a convention with Seulgi before it ended up buried deep in the recesses of your drawer. At the time your sex life had been consistent and satisfying–it was early days for you and Wonwoo and the excitement and novelty of having each other at your fingertips for the whims of the moment had kept you too busy to even remember that you had the toy stored away in the first place. It wasn’t until you were packing to move out that you rediscovered it.

You hesitate for a second before thinking ‘fuck it, I paid like $200 for this, I’m gonna get some use out of it’ and slipping out of your clothes and into your bed. 

You try to set the mood in your mind, fingers swirling idly over your bare skin as you flip through mental images of celebrities, movie scenes, fantasies that you used to use to get in the mood. Anything to deepen that pressure that burned quietly inside of you. None of your old tricks produce results and you sigh, ready to give up on the activity completely, before you feel the distinct thud of Mingyu’s headboard against the wall. 

You imagine Mingyu: what is he doing? Maybe sitting on the edge of his bed, scrolling through Instagram, or maybe he’s under his covers too. Maybe he’s having the same thoughts as you? 

You follow this thought where it takes you, back to that night the other week. Back to the low sound of his moaning carried through the drywall and plaster, the thudding of his headboard against your wall, back to that yawning pit in your stomach that felt like it might swallow you whole at any second. Your hand traces the path of the scene playing out in your mind, blazing a trail down your chest, stomach, and finally to the aching space between your thighs. 

You recall the weight of Mingyu’s arm pressed against your back on the park bench–steady and solid. The sound of his voice and laughter muffling your gasp of surprise as you flick the vibrator on and jump at the sudden noise filling your room. 

You flick it back off immediately, worrying that the distinctive buzzing sound would carry itself through the cover of your blankets and body and make it through the proven-thin walls towards Mingyu’s ears. He would know for sure you were in here thinking about him, fantasizing about his lips on your neck. The thought of discovery adds a confusing stab of guilt to the knotting in your guts but you do your best to squash it as it pops up. What exactly were you doing wrong? You were tired of denying yourself pleasure out of fear of other people’s judgements or shame. You flick the vibrator back on, this time prepared for the noise, and dig the object deeper between your thighs. 

Maybe part of you wants him to hear you–wants him to know what you were doing alone in the dark in the bedroom next to him. Maybe, in this alternative timeline, he knocks softly on your door. His brown eyes rake over your naked body, bared to him like a gift prepared just for him. His sweatpants strain with the pressure of his bulge as his blood travels lower, and lower. Filling him with the desire as it fills you now. He steps forward, wavering at the threshold of your bed and asks, voice so low it plucks at the strings of your core, to join you. To help you release this coil of tension that had made its home inside of you, growing bigger and hungrier every single day since running into him half-naked in the kitchen that first night. Maybe he’s been running through this same scenario every night before bed, hand gripping his cock as it pulses in his hand, sweat beading his brow. 

Alternative timeline or not, the thought itself is all that you need to push you over the edge as you move the vibrator against your clit, finding the right rhythm of pressure, the right balance of relief, to feed the beast of desire crying open-mouthed inside of you. To have your legs shaking and your core pulsing with waves of pleasure no longer denied. You cry out, muffling the sound with the back of your free hand, and for the first time in years it isn't Wonwoo's face clear in your mind as you reach your climax.

© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

―AUTHOR’S NOTE: i cant link them here, but please find the series masterlist and other chapters on my blog. i would love to know your thoughts on the story so far !

#caratlibrary #svthub #mingyu x reader #wonwoo x reader #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #mingyu angst #wonwoo angst #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #chm updates

[marvelmusing]

Set In Stone

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sankta Alina and the Darkling rule over those who live in the hidden realm of magic. Alina herself is particularly fond of turning those who trespass onto their kingdom into statues. Legend says they like to toy with their victims, and if they think you’re pretty enough they just might keep you forever.

Warnings [18+]: sexual content, non consensual human to statue transformation, dub con fingering, very brief anal fingering, nudity, mild threat, Aleksander and Alina collect people consensually (excluding the reader), praise kink, sensory depravation, smidge of humiliation kink and exhibitionism

A/N: just me dropping a big fic out of nowhere, don’t ask me what this is, I don’t even know, it’s mostly vibes (kinky magical vibes)

My Masterlist

“Did you know, I can choose what kind of statue someone will turn into?”

She ignores the quiet, fearful whimper that escapes you. Instead, she continues to talk, playing with your hair as she sits in your lap. Despite the blindfold looped around your head, you keep your eyes squeezed tightly shut, your heart hammering against your ribs. She hums thoughtfully.

“I think I want you to be marble. Something smooth.” Her hand rubs over your thigh, pushing aside the delicate fabric of your dress to reveal your bare skin and a shudder runs through your body. She laughs. “My apologies.” Her tone turns teasing, dripping with faux sympathy. “Are my hands too cold?”

Being an expert in Ravkan mythology, you had expected to find some artefacts or ancient stone carvings in these caves - not the infamous Sankta Alina. Known as a trickster goddess, the more recent legends state that she turns her victims to stone with a mere glance.

The dress you’re wearing was picked by the men who had sent you down into the caves, no doubt in the hopes of enticing the saint or perhaps even the Darkling himself. Another shiver prickles over your skin.

She presses a kiss to your cheek. Her lips are plush and warm, a painful heat sears down your body, stoking the traitorous arousal between your legs.

“Don’t worry, little statue. You won’t feel the need for warmth for much longer.” She kisses the spot beneath your ear, her nose buried in your hair as she breathes in a sigh. The affection makes you tense, confusion stirring in your heart.

“I usually pick limestone or granite for the humans intruding on my husband’s kingdom. They get broken up and used for construction.” Her hands wander over your body, feeling every inch of you. She curls a hand around your throat, squeezing momentarily and laughing when she feels your pulse leap. “But you. I think my husband will like you. I think you will fit in perfectly amongst his private collection.”

Her fingers reach for the ties of your dress, tugging lightly on the knots over your shoulders. Instantly, you squirm, holding the fabric close to your chest. She grasps hold of your chin tightly and you whimper in fright. When you continue to shift nervously, she clicks her tongue sternly and you freeze in place.

“Good,” she says softly, as you lower your hands down to sit at your sides which allows her to pull the front of your dress down. “A pretty statue like you shouldn’t be covered up by clothing. I want to see every part of you.”

Her nails tear at the rest of the dress, ripping the bodice until it reaches the slit at your legs. Goosebumps spread over your skin, your nipples hardening at the sudden chill. She hums appraisingly, her fingers dancing over the waistband of your underwear, before she removes the garment with a harsh tug that makes you squeal.

“There we go. I prefer you like this.” The smile is evident in her voice. She sinks a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful to bear your throat to her and you can imagine her smile twisting into a grin. “Let’s get you into a better position.”

She urges you down onto your knees, nudging your thighs apart with her foot. There’s a knot in your stomach and a stiffness enters your body, your muscles quivering beneath your skin.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she murmurs. “It isn’t actually my eyes that turn people into stone. That’s a silly myth. It’s my touch. Can you feel it happening yet?”

Panic spears at your heart and you realise how deep the ache inside you actually is. A weak moan vibrates in your chest as the weight of your bones becomes noticeable, heavier than usual as they press into the softness of your body.

A pained whimper catches in the back of your throat and she hushes you soothingly. Her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. Her touch burns like a gust of winter wind. A tear spills from your eye, cool against the painful heat of your cheeks.

“There, there. It’s alright,” she soothes. “It will happen slowly, at first, as your bones and muscles change, but when it spreads to your organs I’ll make it quick for you.” She brushes your hair backwards, working it into a more presentable style. “Can I see your pretty eyes before the end?”

With trembling hands, you pull off the blindfold which you had thought would protect you from this fate. The light in the cave is low, but it’s a startling change from the darkness behind your blindfold. Blinking away the blurriness, your eyes immediately lock onto the figure in front of you.

She’s beautiful. Impossibly dark eyes with a frightful amount of perception lurking in their depths. Bright white hair that casts an angelic glow over her features and you can’t tear your eyes away from her. She’s wearing a kefta, a garment you’ve never seen before aside from the illustrations in picture books. The silk is black, embroidered with golden threads.

She smiles widely, her expression softening as if she’s watching an adorable baby animal.

“Such a sweet little thing. He’s going to love you.”

She settles her knee between your thighs and you gasp at the sudden contact. Her smile widens into a grin as she cradles your face between her hands, forcing your back to arch slightly. Anxiety thrums beneath your skin as your body stiffens further. Panic begins to wind its way around your insides when you realise you can no longer move any of your limbs.

The sensation is cold and painful, each part of your body aching fiercely as it changes from warm flesh into hard stone. Each breath you take is frantic, despite her soothing words. She steps back to admire you as the pain spreads over your face, your features hardening into stone.

Sound is muffled, your ears filled with a soft roar like the distant waves of the sea. Her voice echoes through your consciousness, though you struggle to catch one singular word. Then she touches you.

She runs her hands over your breasts, admiring every dip and curve made into smooth marble by her. Her touch is methodical, checking over every inch of you for any imperfections in the stone. Her fingers stroke between your legs searchingly and the urge to squirm coils violently inside you. But you can’t move.

Her soft laughter echoes as she steps away from you.

Seconds, minutes, hours go by. With your senses narrowed, sound is indistinct and your sight is nonexistent. All you can feel is an incessant throbbing between your legs. The world fades in and out of focus as you drift thoughtlessly, tethered only by your unending arousal. Then someone approaches you.

“Oh Alina,” he remarks in an appraising sigh. “She’s beautiful.”

A deft finger traces along the underside of your jaw and a shiver fights beneath your skin at the feeling of two sets of eyes on you.

“She still experiences sensation,” she explains, a glimmer of pride in her voice. “Has full consciousness, though that won’t be too capable given her current state of constant arousal.”

He places his hand on your stomach to steady himself as he leans down to take a better look between your legs and the heat and pressure of his palm makes a silent moan writhe in your throat. There’s a molten sensation in your core. If he pressed his fingers against the seam of your cunt, you wouldn’t be surprised if he found it soft like wet clay.

“I know you wanted a piece for our bedroom.”

“You’ve outdone yourself.”

There’s a hint of shyness to her voice as she says,

“You like her?”

“Alya, she’s perfect.”

“I don’t know much about her temperament, but she made the sweetest little whimpers when I changed her.”

His hand strokes your cheek, fingers dropping down to trail between your breasts.

“I don’t mind if she needs some housetraining, and the girls will help her with the rules.”

She hums quietly in agreement, reaching over to cup one of your breasts, pinching the nipple. There’s no pain, but the pressure of her fingers makes your stomach flip somehow.

“I think, with a little breaking in, she’s going to be such a good girl for us.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Bright moonlight wakes you. There’s a stiffness in your limbs; you had been sleeping in an awkward position with your legs folded beneath your body. Blinking your dry eyes, you lift your head to survey your surroundings.

An unfamiliar bedroom, decorated in black silk and shimmering gold accents. The covers shielding your body are thick and cosy despite the gloss of nervous sweat gathering over your skin. The events of the last day are hazy in your mind, vague words and strange sensations blurring together, indecipherable from your dreams or nightmares.

There’s a knock at the door and you freeze in place, your heart hammering with fright. Drawing the covers up to cover your naked body, you stand on shaky legs and approach the door cautiously.

The moment you open the door, someone says,

“Oh, you are pretty, aren’t you?”

Her hair is the colour of autumn leaves, pinned delicately at the sides to frame her beautiful face. Smooth cheeks, flushed prettily with a rosy hue and wide eyes the colour of the summer sky. The rest of her hair spills down her back in gentle waves. She’s wearing a robe, made from a rich emerald green fabric that flares at her waist, where the belt has been tied neatly. The garment halts at her knees and her feet are bare, toenails painted a pearly pink.

The girl beside her is equally gorgeous.

Her eyes are as dark as midnight, singular stars shimmering in each of them as she looks at you. Full lips curl into a smile full of mischief. Dark hair cascades over her shoulders, creeping down to frame her breasts. The deep blue robe she’s wearing clings to her figure, showing off an ample amount of cleavage and her bare legs - the hem is much shorter than the red haired girl’s robe.

They are both wearing necklaces, identical to the one you now notice is hanging from your own neck.

Everything about them both is polished and pampered, yet their beauty seems effortless and innate. You have the distinct feeling that if you stripped them of their fine clothing and pretty jewellery they would be even more stunning.

The compliment offered so casually makes you draw back on yourself, tightening your grip on the covers shielding your body.

“Thank you?” you say shyly.

The dark haired girl smirks and your stomach flips. The other girl’s smile is friendly as she gestures to herself and then her companion.

“I’m Genya. This is Zoya.”

The door handle remains grasped tightly in your other hand, your body half hidden by the door. Genya seems to notice your apprehension.

“It’s okay, we’re like you.”

“Like me?”

“We’re part of Aleksander’s private collection.”

Her words stir at your thoughts, jostling the back of your mind. Then you remember. I think my husband will like you. I think you will fit in perfectly amongst his private collection. It wasn’t a dream. It was all real.

“Aleksander?”

“Alina’s husband.” Zoya’s eyes narrow fractionally, her gaze assessing you. “The king.”

Sankta Alina’s husband. The Darkling.

“You remember Alina, don’t you?” Genya asks gently.

Swallowing hard, you nod. You certainly remember her. The phantom sensation of stone spreads over your skin, drawing goosebumps to the surface. Entranced at the sight, you stare down at your arms, turning one of your hands over so that you can study the lifelong grooves and marks on your skin that now seem foreign.

“How- how am I back as me?” you ask quietly, continuing to stare at your hand.

“Not a statue, you mean?”

Gaze flicking upwards to meet Genya’s eyes, you nod.

“Alina’s magic only holds during the daytime. The night is when Aleksander’s magic comes to life.”

“So what happens to us during the day?”

“We turn back into statues.”

Instantly, your stomach drops. Glancing towards the window further down the corridor, you see a glimpse of the night sky. Anxiety gathers in your chest at the thought of turning into stone again once the sun rises. Zoya tilts her head at you with something like suspicion in her eyes.

“Alina doesn’t usually like to keep trespassers intact once she’s transformed them.”

Reading between the lines of her statement, you frown at them both.

“You came here willingly?” They nod. “Why?”

“Aleksander and Alina keep us safe.”

“By being their statues,” you state incredulously.

Zoya shrugs.

“Partially.”

Before you can ask her what she means, Genya interrupts your line of thought with a question.

“Did Alina tell you what material she made you into? I’m alabaster.”

“She said she wanted me to be marble.”

“Marble?” Genya muses quietly with a thoughtful looking smile. She appears to be suppressing a smirk, pressing her lips together as she turns her head to the side, away from Zoya. The dark haired girl in question draws her brows together, scrunching their perfect shape as she frowns.

“What kind are you?” you ask, before you can lose your nerve.

Zoya lifts her chin, a prideful glimmer in her eyes as she says,

“Bronze. I’m the centrepiece in the grand hallway.”

Despite your confusion, you nod slowly, feigning comprehension. Zoya seems to be expecting some sort of reaction from you, which makes you fidget anxiously. Genya’s smile softens kindly before she explains,

“We all have our own personal place in the house when we change into our statue form.”

“Oh,” you say, as understanding dawns on you. “I heard her - Alina - say she wanted a piece for their bedroom.”

Zoya scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Most of us started off in their bedroom. Don’t be insulted when they move you elsewhere.”

Something twists in your chest. Disappointment? Annoyance flares beneath your skin as you bristle at your own emotions. Why are you disappointed at the thought of not being wanted by them? They’ve abducted you. Genya places her hand on your forearm and you flinch at the sudden contact. She drops her hand instantly, smiling in reassurance.

“Alina and Aleksander usually like to keep an eye on a new edition to their collection. Once you’re more settled, and they’ve gotten to know you, they will find the perfect spot for you.”

She glances down at the bedcovers wrapped around your body.

“Alina has asked us to help prepare you for breakfast.”

You blink at her.

“Breakfast?”

Zoya smirks.

“Just because we’re statues during the day doesn’t mean we don’t eat.” Her comment makes your cheeks flush warm with embarrassment over your ignorance.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Genya prompts you gently. The prospect of food makes you realise how empty your stomach is. You nod hesitantly and she smiles. “Can we come in?”

You nod again.

Zoya strides in confidently, moving directly towards the bathroom to begin drawing a bath. Water tumbles from the faucet, spilling into the bathtub with an echoing rush. Soon, the room is filled with steam and the sweet scent of soap. Genya extends her hand towards you, which you take tentatively. She entwines her fingers with yours, giving them an assuring squeeze before she tugs you gently towards the bathroom.

Zoya has untied the belt of her robe, loosening the front of the garment so that it hangs casually over each of her shoulders. She’s wearing nothing beneath her robe. Unable to pull your eyes away, you stare at her body with heated cheeks. She smirks, crossing her legs elegantly as she sits down in the chair next to the bath.

“You’ll get used to it,” she remarks teasingly. “The rest of us statues rarely wear real clothes in the house.” She grins. “It makes for easy access.” Her fingers dance along her thighs, slipping momentarily beneath her robe and your stomach flips at her insinuation. You can’t ever imagine feeling so comfortable being naked.

Genya tugs lightly on the bedcovers wrapped around you. Instantly, you turn your face to look at her, your eyes widened.

“Do you mind?” she asks softly.

Swallowing hard, you steel yourself and nod with as much bravery you can muster. Loosening your grip, you allow Genya to drop the bedcover to the floor. A tension enters your body, every muscle stiffening as you stare directly ahead, to avoid both their gazes and the chance of seeing your own body.

Zoya turns her body, muscles stretching languidly as she reaches for a bottle of bath oil from a nearby shelf. Out of the corner of your vision, you think you see her eyes roll.

Genya offers a hand to help you climb in which you take shyly as you clamber unsteadily. Once you’re settled in the warm soapy water, she traces her fingers delicately through the bubbles.

“You really are pretty,” she says softly. “I can see why Alina liked you enough to keep you.”

Her words prickle over your skin, embarrassment and disbelief and painful hope coiling around one another as they rush through your veins. This time, you can’t even muster a word of gratitude. Genya doesn’t seem too bothered though. She begins to scoop a handful of water, pouring it gently over your back.

Throughout your bath time, Zoya remains an observer, while Genya takes it upon herself to bathe you. Her nails scrape delightfully over your scalp, drawing soft moans from your lips quite involuntarily - much to your embarrassment. With each sound you make, they share glances and stolen smirks that make your cheeks warm.

Zoya retrieves a thick towel, patting your body down herself when you step out from the water. The instinct to cover your body prickles over your skin, but there are too many parts of yourself to hide so you settle on rubbing your arms nervously, feigning a shiver. Genya takes your hand again, leading you back into the bedroom.

She sits you down in front of the vanity table by the window, while Zoya opens the wardrobe and begins to search through the cacophony of clothing nestled inside the cabinetry.

Genya smoothes creams and ointments over your face, using a soft brush to sweep powder and swipe shimmer across your eyes and cheeks. She collects a dewy gloss on her fingertips, dabbing the substance onto your parted lips. She styles your hair effortlessly, in a manner that has you staring in awe.

“Why do they keep us?” you ask her. She frowns slightly, brows drawing together as she hums quietly in confusion, her gaze remaining focused on your hair. “What do they get out of it?”

She hesitates.

“We all offer them something different. I think both Aleksander and Alina would consider me as a companion.”

“You’re friends?”

She nods. Looking away from the reflection of her in the mirror, you glance at Zoya as she spreads a garment out across the bed. She lifts her eyes, meeting yours from across the room as she smirks.

“I guess you could say I’m their concubine,” she says with a pleased smirk, pride woven between her words.

Her admission makes your stomach flip, your eyes lowering to your knees self consciously.

“What will they want from me?”

Genya places a hand on your shoulder, which draws your gaze back to hers.

“Whatever you’re willing to give them.”

Her words are reassuring but before you can ask for clarification, Zoya is moving towards you with a dress in her arms.

“How about this?”

A soft blue dress. The fabric is practically sheer and the hemline is indecently short, but with your current nakedness you would be willing to wear anything. Slowly, you trace your fingers over the fabric, admiring the gentle shimmer of silver throughout.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit.

The two of them help to tie the strings at the back of the dress, fixing it into place on your body. Nerves begin to gather in your chest and you fidget with the hem, rubbing the material between the pads of your fingers.

After a few final adjustments from Genya, she takes you by the hand once again and begins to lead you out of the bedroom.

The nerves thrumming through your body prevent you from admiring the house as you follow Genya and Zoya towards the dining hall. As you approach the doorway, you can feel them both looking at you.

Genya says your name quietly and you turn to face her. Before she can say whatever is weighing on her mind, Zoya turns and stops directly in front of you, blocking your way. She and Genya share a look that you struggle to decipher. Then, Zoya seems to win whatever silent argument has ensued.

Genya squeezes your hand in reassurance, before she walks into the hall. Once she’s out of sight, Zoya turns back to you.

“Listen. If Alina has decided to keep you, she must care about you already - for some reason.” Her tone is incredulous, as if she hasn’t figured out why Alina has decided to keep you. “A word of warning, they both have a sadistic streak. Aleksander just hides it better. They will want to humiliate you and push you to your limits. If that’s what you’re into, you’re a perfect fit for them. If it isn’t, tell them, and they will find some other use for you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m not getting replaced by someone who didn’t even have to ask to be here. You’re not getting everything I’ve been working for.”

Unable to stop yourself, you argue,

“And what if I’m a perfect fit for them?”

She wrinkles her nose slightly, her mouth quirking with a barely suppressed laugh.

“You’re not. You’re too soft, I can tell. You won’t enjoy half the things they want to do with you.”

Her accusations make you bristle. She doesn’t even know you. The thought of being around Alina again, and meeting her husband, does make you nervous. In all honesty, you might be too soft for them. But there’s a curiosity deep inside you that longs to discover that for yourself - without any help from Zoya.

“Thanks for the advice,” you say stiffly.

The smirk remains on her lips as the two of you walk into the hall, her hand pressed to your lower back.

There’s intricate crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting an iridescent glow over the polished marble floor. The surface is cold against your bare feet and you shiver at the sensation and the reminder of how your flesh had changed to hard stone.

Along each side of the dining hall, there’s a row of marble statues, one in front of each window. The expression etched onto most of their faces is terror, their bodies bent into odd angles with a strange elegance as they all seem to have been captured in the midst of fleeing. Each one of them are morbidly beautiful, smooth features twisted by fear in a manner that makes your stomach turn.

By the time the two of you reach the dining table at the end of the hall, you’re shaking in anticipation. Zoya moves away from you, sitting herself down in the seat next to Genya. There’s a number of other people already seated and you can feel their eyes on you. The only familiar face is the one who keeps your attention - Alina.

She lowers her glass with a smile that widens as you draw closer, beckoning to you when you realise there’s no chair available for you.

“Come here, little statue.”

The nickname feels silly, given that the majority of the people at this table are probably also statues. Does Alina call them by the same term of endearment?

She pushes her chair back slightly, providing some space for you in her lap. Swallowing down your nerves, you take a deep breath and sit in her lap. She curls her hands underneath the crook of your knees, dragging you closer, and heat rushes through your body. Her smile twists with amusement.

“I see you’ve met Zoya.”

At the mention of the girl sitting across from Alina, you nod rigidly and Alina laughs. She strokes your cheek fondly, her eyes roaming over your figure.

“Before you eat, we need to check you’re fully human again. Make sure there’s no stone left in your body.” She hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head backwards so that she can peer up your nostrils. “Nose seems clear.” Holding onto your chin, she turns your head from side to side. “Ears as well.”

Embarrassment burns over your cheeks and you can feel your pulse beating its way along your throat at the thought of everyone’s eyes on you. She presses her thumb against your lips.

“Open your mouth.” When you obey, she slides her thumb into your mouth. “Good girl.” Instinct has you closing your lips around her digit and she shakes her head with a stern expression. “Ah ah. Keep it open for me.” She presses the pad of her thumb down on your tongue and your stomach flips. She smiles. “There we go.”

Drool spills from your mouth as your tongue goes heavy, and panic grips at you when you remember how her touch had turned you into solid marble.

“Relax, little statue,” she teases. “My magic doesn’t hold during the night.”

“Mine will hold,” Aleksander counters with a small smirk, twirling his fork between his fingers. Then his gaze locks onto yours and he grins. “Though I have much more restraint than my wife, and I quite like the idea of you with a beating heart and warm body.”

Even with her thumb in the way, you manage to whimper and they both laugh. He beckons to you, fingers gesturing between you and himself as he says,

“Come now, Alya. Let me see my gift.”

She removes her thumb from your mouth, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek as she murmurs a warning.

“Be good.”

Even though Alina is the one who turned you into a statue, she’s familiar. Her husband, Aleksander, is a complete stranger. The pressure of impressing him weighs on your mind as you look over at him shyly. Unable to stop yourself, you glance across the table at Zoya. She presses her lips together, suppressing a smug smirk and frustration prickles over your skin.

Straightening your shoulders, you scrape together enough courage to move towards Aleksander. He uncrosses his legs, leaning back in his chair. His eyes move between you and Zoya, observing the brief interaction. Amusement glimmers in his dark eyes as he tilts his head, appraising you as you approach his chair.

His hands roam over your body, gripping at your hips to guide you into his lap. He smoothes his palms over your thighs, slipping beneath the soft skirt of your dress to grasp at your bare body. He traces his way over your hips and waist, curving upwards to admire the rest of you.

“What’s your name, little gem?”

Suddenly shy, you murmur your name to him. He smiles and repeats it in a low voice that makes heat spread over your face and neck. He circles his thumb over your cheek, stoking the fire burning beneath your skin.

“There are a few more areas we need to check,” he informs you. A frown creases at your brows as you think over the areas Alina had checked, and consider what spots she might have missed. There’s a smirk in her tone as she says,

“I thought I would save them for you, Sasha.”

He settles his hands back on your hips, dipping to trace the crease at the top of your thighs, while his thumb strokes your mound.

“May I?”

Realising where he intends on touching you, the breath catches in your throat. Turning to look at Alina, you find her expression fond as she regards her husband. Dumbly, you turn your head back and forth to stare at them both, unable to answer properly.

“I-”

“I’ll be gentle.”

You blink at him, confused. Zoya had said they would both enjoy humiliating you. Why is he asking for permission? Why isn’t he forcing you? He could spread you over the table in front of everyone to examine your remaining holes. Why does the thought of that excite you?

His hand presses against your stomach in an assessing manner, his head tilted as he seems to be searching externally for any stone left inside you. The expression on his face is serious and you realise Alina was telling the truth. Hesitantly, you nod in consent.

He nods with a soft smile.

“Just keep your eyes on mine.”

His fingers trace over the seam of your cunt and your eyes flicker between each of his, fighting to do as you’re told. His smile widens as the pads of his fingers sweep through the mess of arousal gathered there.

“Good girl,” he murmurs appraisingly. “That’s it.”

He sinks a finger into you slowly. A low moan catches in the back of your throat and his smile widens slowly. His finger curls searchingly, tilting to explore every inch of you, and your back arches with a small gasp at the sensation.

The skin of your thighs tingles with pleasure, your thoughts hazing over as he thrusts his finger teasingly inside you. Suddenly, you remember where you are. The sensation of so many eyes on you makes you bite on your lower lip, cunt tightening involuntarily around his finger. Sensing your dual embarrassment and arousal, he slips another finger inside, stretching you out delightfully.

The slight twinge of pain makes you whimper and he hushes you soothingly. The sounds escaping you seem to encourage him. He kisses along your neck hungrily, his lips moving eagerly over your pulse point. He increases the pace of his fingers, your toes curling with pleasure.

“There we go. Such a good girl for me.”

His teeth nip lightly at the sensitive spot beneath your ear and you inhale sharply. He smiles against your skin, his nose grazing the hollow of your throat as he murmurs more praises. The pleasure runs up your spine and you moan softly.

When he presses the pad of his thumb against the puckered hole between your buttocks you grow tense. Weakly, you shake your head and he hushes whatever protest you might have voiced.

“Easy now. Just relax.” He cups your face with his hand, keeping your eyes fixed on his as he eases his thumb into you slowly. “Deep breath.”

It’s intrusive and humiliating, yet he seems genuine in his care. Each breath you take comes out in stilted little gasps until he removes his thumb from you. He kisses your cheek, as a reward, before he murmurs,

“All done.”

Aleksander assembles a plate of food for you to share with him and he feeds you by the forkful, seated in his lap. Occasionally, Alina will lean forward to touch you - a soft squeeze to your breasts or thighs.

After breakfast, Genya shows you around the house, explaining a little more about the new life you’ve found yourself in and you follow her on shaky legs.

“Alina made the majority of the statues in the house,” Genya tells you. “She takes great pride in their maintenance.”

“Maintenance?”

Genya smiles, her cheeks flushing.

“During the day, when we’re in our statue forms, she likes to clean and polish us.”

“Oh.”

The image makes your blood rush hot beneath your skin - Alina with a cloth, polishing your marble body which has been frozen in place by her magic. Flustered by the idea of being so totally at her mercy, you glance towards the open window. A cool breeze strokes your cheeks and you take a moment to admire the sight of the grounds outside.

“Are we allowed out into the gardens?” you ask.

Genya regards the outside warily.

“Sometimes.” She reaches for the window frame, pulling it shut carefully. “If either of them are displeased with you, you might find yourself decorating the fountain on the front lawn.”

Being turned into stone is bad enough, you can’t imagine being left outside in the elements, where anyone could see you. The concern must be visible on your face, because Genya settles her hand on your arm.

“But you’re marble, I doubt they would risk damaging you like that.”

Lost in thought about what you’ve discovered, you hum quietly with a small nod.

The library is by far your favourite room. Once Genya realises you’re content to stay amongst the books whilst she seeks out her partner, David, you’re left on your own for the first time since you awoke.

It doesn’t take you long to find the books on magic. Absorbed by the words in front of you, the world around you fades as you read everything you can. Magic users in Ravka have always been called Grisha. General knowledge regarding their abilities has changed over the years. Originally, their power was divided into specific orders, but over the hundreds of years since the myths of Sankta Alina and the Darkling first began, their magic has developed.

One particular spell attracts your attention. The ability to turn someone into stone - and how to reverse the effects. An arm curls around your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. Aleksander’s voice is low as he muses against your neck.

“That is a particularly complex spell.”

Heart pounding, you turn your head to face him, your grip on the book tightening.

“I wasn’t- Well I’m not Grisha, so it wouldn’t work.”

He tilts his head at you.

“Yes, you are.”

Perplexed, you begin to shake your head minutely in disagreement.

“I’m not.”

He nods his head, a condescending edge to the motion. He reaches over the book, flicking back several pages before he stops to trace his fingertips across a specific passage of text. It’s hard to forget that his fingers have been inside you and the memory has you growing warm.

“Read it aloud,” he instructs you.

“Should the object of this spell be Grisha, the effects will not be permanent. During the spellcasters height of power, the object will remain in their new form, shifting into their original form during a lapse in power.” The frown on your face deepens with each word you read and once you’re finished you look up at Aleksander. “What does that mean?”

“At sunrise, you will turn back into marble.” You nod. Genya had explained that to you earlier. “If you were an ordinary human, you would be a statue forever.”

“But I’m Grisha,” you state, unconvinced. He nods. His eyes slide slowly over your body, studying every inch of your expression and you struggle to meet his gaze due to its intensity.

“Do you want to free yourself?” he asks.

“I don’t think I want to be a statue for half of my life.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, fuelled by his statement. No one in their right mind would choose to be a statue - would they? And yet, you think of what Genya and Zoya had said. Aleksander and Alina offer them protection. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly as he watches you, shrugging as he decides to save you from your thoughts.

“Alina’s magic surpasses whatever latent power you possess,” he states. “It would take several hundreds of years for you to master such a spell.”

“Would you teach me?”

“No.”

“The stories say you taught Alina everything she knows.”

“You dare compare yourself to my wife?”

His words are sharp, yet there is a teasing smile dancing over his face and his eyes sparkle with a dangerous humour. Instantly, you shake your head, your stomach twisting itself into knots as you step backwards. Panic closes your throat as your spine presses against the bookshelf.

“N-no. I wouldn’t-” You stammer, before adding, rather self deprecatingly, “I couldn’t-”

Aleksander steps forwards, closing in on you. He laughs softly, hooking a finger under your chin. His smile fades as he looks into your eyes, his expression growing serious as he whispers against your lips,

“Don’t doubt yourself.”

He leaves the barest hint of a kiss there before he steps back, striding out of the library without another word to you.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

As the night draws to a close, your muscles begin to ache, anticipating the change your body is about to undergo. Genya walks you to the northern wing, stopping in front of the door that leads to Aleksander and Alina’s bedroom. She gives you a hug, wrapping her arms around your body for a brief squeeze of reassurance.

“They like you. I can tell,” she whispers.

“Thank you for today, Genya.”

She draws back, sweeping a stray strand of hair away from your face. Her thumb strokes your jawline briefly before she withdraws with a smile.

“See you tomorrow night.”

You nod shyly.

Then you’re alone.

For a moment, you consider fleeing down the corridor to find somewhere to hide. Then you hear movement from inside the room and the low sound of Alina’s voice, talking to her husband. Inhaling deeply, you curl your fingers around the handle and open the door.

Alina turns at the sound of you entering, a smile spreading over her features as her eyes lock on yours. She’s dressed in a soft bath robe, her damp hair bundled at the top of her head. Aleksander is sitting at the foot of their bed, his legs crossed casually.

There’s a fuzzy pain filling your head and you blink back tears as Alina extends a hand towards you which you accept.

“Where does it hurt?” she asks, rubbing your hand soothingly. Emotion catches in your throat, a hot tear spilling down your cheek.

“I- Everywhere.”

Her expression softens.

“Come here.” She draws you into her arms and you press your face against her chest, squeezing your eyes shut. She pets the crown of your head gently. “Come sit with me.”

She guides you over to a low daybed, settling your head in her lap as she sits. The velvet is plush against your skin, moulding into the shape of your body as you lie down beside her. She slips the shoulders of your dress down, pushing the fabric to your hips.

Heat prickles over your cheeks as you tug at the dress, ignoring your embarrassment as you pull it down your legs to pool onto the floor. The thought of being naked is still daunting, but Alina’s words ring in the back of your mind. A pretty statue like you shouldn’t be covered up by clothing. I want to see every part of you.

She smiles at the sight of you baring yourself to them both. Aleksander sits down beside you, stroking his hand along the bare curve of your waist.

“If you’re relaxed when you change, you will stay in that state in your statue form.”

You blink hopefully at him.

“I will?”

Alina hums softly in affirmation, cradling your face between her hands. Her thumbs stroke delicately over your cheeks as your muscles stiffen involuntarily. Aleksander’s hands wander over your body, providing soothing and affectionate touches as you try to fight the instinct to panic.

“Deep breaths,” he instructs you gently.

Trying to be brave, you nod. Despite your best efforts, a tear slides down your temple into your hairline. Aleksander wipes it away carefully as your body freezes in place, rigid as you begin to change into solid stone. They both murmur reassurances that become less comprehensible with each passing moment.

The world fades into darkness.

Alina continues to stroke your hair and face carefully. Her fingers trace over your features, wandering over your lips, up to your nose, before she smoothes her way across your brows. Aleksander was right, you do feel relaxed, especially with Alina touching you with such reverence.

She slips out from beneath you and the sensation of your head remaining suspended in the air without support makes you momentarily unsteady. The fear of tipping over clutches at your silent heart. Her hand curls under your head, keeping you in place as she replaces her lap with a velvet cushion.

The action has emotion welling in your chest, feeling cared for even in this moment - even when you aren’t human. Aleksander stands and his footsteps move over towards the centre of the room. The sound of bedcovers creasing with his presence have you assuming he is sitting on their bed - watching you and Alina.

When her touch disappears, you imagine her turning to look at Aleksander. The feeling of her weight leaving the daybed makes you want to reach for her.

She laughs, giddy with joy. Her feet pad hurriedly over the floor as she moves towards her husband. His hands rub over her skin and you can imagine her bounding into his arms.

“I really like her, Sasha,” she whispers.

The sound of them kissing makes your stomach flip.

“I do too, milaya.”

Her voice is quiet and with your mindset growing hazier by the second her words are barely intelligible.

“You don’t think I’m being silly, getting my hopes up so soon?”

He sighs.

“If it was anyone else, I would tell you to be cautious with your heart. You love so deeply, milaya, I don’t want to see you hurt again. But I have a good feeling about this one.”

They kiss again and your thoughts melt into nothingness as the sun filters in through the curtains.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla @the-desilittle-bird

#darklina x reader #aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #darklina au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

[wtfsteveharrington]

take the upper hand | carmen berzatto x reader

push the reset button we're becomin' something new

description: carmen berzatto is stubborn and anxious and doesn't always know how to express himself. your best friend drags you to a party that carmen knows you'll be at and he shows up to make amends and thank god he does because he saves you from dealing with some drunk asshole.

content warnings: angsty!! drinking/party scene, shitty drunk guy w/ a shitty guy mentality!!, reader gets hit on with one night stand suggestion tones, carmen's ready to swing, mentions of anxiety and jealousy. mentions of reader drinking. kissing, mentions of intimacy related scratches, some light smut references.

author notes: my first time posting something that isn't just smut!! also something that no one but me has read!! normally i always get a proof read, not today. but this idea has been rattling around in my ole noggin' for a minute now so here we are. reminder!! you are responsible for your own media consumption!! if this won't be your jam then there's tons of other fics in the sea (: ily thank you!

even if it's handcuffed i'm leavin' here with you

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The last place you wanted to be tonight was some house party in Wicker Park. With Pitbull, of all artists, playing so loud in the basement that the floor upstairs was still vibrating. Everything was sticky and stinky and you did not wanna be here.

But your best friend was hooked on this guy from her gym. 

It didn’t help that Carmy recognized his name from high school and mumbled out some remark about, “Oh yeah, no Dave’s a pretty solid guy.” She was convinced it was a sign that they were meant to be. Not to mention she found his mom’s Facebook and a post from two years ago that included his birth time. The whole train ride over you listened to how compatible the two of them were and how much she loved that he was a Scorpio rising. 

She had begged you to come to this God forsaken party and help put in a good word for her. Something had her convinced that if you mentioned just how well you were getting to know Carmen to this Dave guy that he would hold your opinion of her in higher regards.

And sure, maybe there was a part of you that hoped Carmen would be here even while the two of you were feuding. He knew it was coming up but couldn’t promise he’d be off in time - Something you got quite used to. It normally didn’t bother you that he had so many late nights at the resturant but when it rains, it pours and now you’re stuck sitting next to the sink littered cups filled with what can only be best described as some sort of horrific finance bro jungle juice. A mix of 1942 and fresh pressed juice. 

Your nose wrinkles up at the smell but you’re quickly refocused at the booming sounds of Ethan Callaghan stumbling through the back door. Another man Carmy knew from high school but didn’t like as much. Something about always being too in-your-face. Though you were pretty sure he was close with the guy your best friend was currently hooking up with in some random bedroom down the hall. 

The second his eyes land on you there’s a lopsided smile being thrown your way as he tries to fluff his hair and stand up as straight as possible. He’s stumbling into the kitchen with a full drink in hand, droning on and on about how he was ‘just so jealous’ that your friend went into that bedroom earlier. How nice it must be to not end the night alone. No pleasantries at all, just right into the whole lonely and horny act that was grossing you out. 

No one particularly knew you and Carmy were together yet - He wasn’t the type who wanted to label right away and potentially mess things up and you weren’t the type to out your dating status to random drunken men either. Besides, you weren’t so sure that ‘I have a boyfriend’ would put an end to this pitiful man’s sob story. 

As if, on queue and manifested right out of thin air, Carmen rounds the corner and takes a second to soak in the sight in front of him. You’re sitting there with your eyes trained on the water bottle in your hands. Ethan’s yapping away about how pretty you are and how big his apartment is. An excellent view in Streeterville that you’d love to see with the best brunch place in town two blocks away blah, blah, blah. Your shoulders are hunched over, body leaning away from Ethan as he stands at the window watching his reflecting in the window above the sink. 

“Hey - Been looking for you.”

Carmen.

Your head whips around to the sight of his voice instantly. There’s a pang in your chest at the sight of him standing in front of you after you two had been apart for these last few days. He looked tired. Wearing a sweater he knows you love because he wants to look nice for you. God you wanted to run over and crash yourself against his chest. Screw the petty fight. Instead you’re stuck giving him a very pointed look, hoping he takes the hint to save you. 

He’d be lying if there wasn’t a split second where Carmen feared you were actually going to go home with this loser until he saw the panic and annoyance written across your face. Ethan’s laughing at the sight of him. “Hey, Dude. Think we’re all good here, yeah?” Oh he hates this dick. 

There’s a thick level of tension in the room as Carmen squares up his shoulders and steps further into the room. His eyes are trained on Ethan who clearly wasn’t expecting much of a fight out of Carmy. He stops when he’s standing between your knees, putting himself between the two of you. Something about the way he instantly turned possessive turned up a feeling deep in your stomach no matter how annoyed you still were. 

“Pretty sure someone out back was looking for you, Dude. It doesn’t seem like anyone in here wants you around. Now either you’re too fucking dense to realize it or you don’t care that you’re not wanted, but I’m here to let you know. So I suggest running out back and getting the fuck out of our hair.” 

Ethan’s clearly entertained while looking between the two of you, a playful glint in his eye. You’re silently begging him to walk away and find yourself bringing a hand up to put on the small of Carmen’s back. While you’ve never seen him actually fight, you’ve seen many scraps between him and Richie. Heard stories of him growing up and heard the Bachelor party story. 

You’re fine not having your own fight stories to tell. 

T-Pain is now blasting in the background and the contrast of people laughing and singing downstairs versus the situation you’ve found yourself in is making your head spin. The whole time your best friend is clueless and wrapped up in Mr. Scorpio Rising. She owes you big time. Like you’ve secured friend of the year already and she needs to throw a parade in your honor after going through this.

Ethan’s finally putting his hands up in the air, that shit eating grin still plastered across his features. “My bad, my bad. Didn’t know you were already claimed.” Claimed. Gross. Your fingers press into Carmy’s back, a silent plea to beg him not to escalate this even more. He’s laughing at the sight of the two of you before snagging a half finished bottle of vodka off the counter and backing up towards the back door. 

Carmen steps out from between your legs and follows Ethan to ensure he leaves. Shoulders pushed back, chest puffed out. You’d find the sight entertaining if you still weren’t so on edge. Carmen Berzatto, your protector. 

And sure, he’s probably just making this asshole someone else’s problem for the night but he doesn’t care. The main priority is getting you away from him and getting you safe. 

You catch the sight of his curls out of the corner of your eye when Carmen returns and instantly steel your spine. The shift in the air now that Ethan is gone was thick. He was a distraction from the distance between you two but now you’re preparing yourself for another argument when really you had no energy left to give it. There was a small worry that he’d think you gave Ethan any inclination that you were interested. Even though you two had been tense, there was never anyone else but you but him. Even if you’re too stubborn to drop that information just yet.

Carmen’s quiet. His heavy boots against the floor make your heart beat faster. Everyone had scattered out of the kitchen when he walked Ethan out of there but not before giving you two a nervous glance as they went. Some probably disappointed there wasn’t a fight if we’re being honest.

“Hey.” 

You don’t dignify him with a response. Crossing your arms over your chest and taking a sudden interest in the magnets that littered this guy’s fridge. Toying with the idea of putting the ‘Area 51 is for Lovers!’ magnet in your pocket. You figured you deserved something for going through this hell of a night. 

He stops himself once he’s reached your side, the silence awkward and thick in the air. Carmy’s hand is on your knee now, his touch not as firm as you’re used to. The whiplash of emotions once again not helping either of you know just quite where you stand. 

“M’still mad at you.” 

He winces but he knew it was coming. 

The two of you wallow in silence. Carmy’s just about to finally speak but someone stumbles in on the hunt for vodka, takes one look at the annoyance on your boyfriend’s face, before quickly muttering they’ll find it somewhere else. 

And you still won’t look at him. 

He’s grabbing at your waist now, pulling you from the counter and against his chest. You wanna protest but there’s still a buzz going through your body that makes it hard to think quick enough to push back. Plus God does he feel warm and smell so good.

Carmy’s walking backwards towards the fridge, waiting until his back is flush against it to slide down. Bringing down those magnets you wouldn’t stop staring at, family photos, whatever was in his way came with the two of you. He’s tugging you until you’re straddling his waist while he brings his knees up to support you. Grabbing a hold of your face, finally making you look at him and fuck he looks like shit close up. Dark circles, hair a little messier than he’d normally allow, a bit of fear deep in his eyes. 

“You gotta tell me how to fix this.” It’s all unfamiliar territory for him. There wasn’t exactly a good example set for him growing up to say the least. 

Four days ago Carmen watched as the barista at some coffee shop you wanted to go to flirted with you. That shit already annoyed him, but he tried to bite his tongue. Then your latte came out with a heart in the foam and you kept explaining that’s just how they all come out but he was jealous and possessive and didn’t know how to communicate that so instead the two of you fought in the car for an hour. It was so stupid and he’s been kicking himself in the ass ever since. 

The past four days you refused to talk to him and had done a good job at dodging the situation. Normally you two fight, you fuck, and then you pretend everything’s okay. The cycle was getting old and wearing you down.

Until now. 

You give a heavy sigh, reaching out to toy with the bottom hem of his shirt. Carmy really did look like it had been going through it so you’re throwing him a small bone. “Maybe not making me sit on a sticky floor would be a good start.” He’s muttering out this small laugh, thankful to hear anything coming out of your mouth let alone a joke, the sound vibrating against your fingertips and you hate how much it fills your heart. 

He waits for the rest. The other shoe to fall. Every ounce of laughter is gone when you finally collect yourself enough for - “Do you think we’re good together, Carmen?” You can feel him stiffen under you, his hands gripping at your waist because he needs something to give him some stability. 

A beat goes by. “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Another beat, this time it’s Carmy who refuses to look at you. Eyes downcast and trained on your lap. “But I’m not sure I’m good for you.” You weren’t expecting that. 

Once again silence falls between the two of you, still toying with the hem of his shirt before you lean in to bury your face in the crook of his neck. Taking a deep breath that’s filled with his cologne, faint smoke, and just Carmen that you’ve grown to crave. “You just gotta learn to trust me, Carmen. Outta everyone in this world, I’m the main one who never wants to hurt you. Especially for some barista with a fuckin’ comb over.” 

You hoped he would laugh again, but the sound never comes. Instead you feel his arms go tight around your body, his knees coming up a bit more which makes you fully lean into his chest. He’s clinging to you, wishing so badly he knew what to say (or could let himself) say what he knows he needs to. Instead he’s just pressing a kiss ​​to your head, sighing into your hair. 

“I wanna be better for you. Just don’t know how.” 

The two of you cling to each other and fight to get as close as possible. The distance apart these past four days has left the both of you physically aching for one another. It’s been hours, days of a tense heart and checking phones for texts neither of you knew how to send. You press a kiss against his neck, leaning back just enough to grab his face in your hands and stroke your thumbs over his cheeks. 

“It’s scary for me too, y’know? This, us. You’re not alone in being scared but lashing out at me isn’t gonna solve anything. I’m not going anywhere, Carmy.” You take the first step in mending the relationship by leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. There’s a hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as if he’s still scared you’re going to change your mind and run off before he can realize it’s happening. 

He’s letting you take the lead and only deepening the kiss once he feels your hands slide under his shirt. Fingers trailing along the toned skin while Carmey licks your bottom lip. Your hands glide around his back where you’re able to trace over healing scratches left on the skin from your last night together. 

Your lips part and you take the lead once again, letting your tongue slide along his and giving a low moan into his mouth as you taste him. There’s the lingering taste of cigarettes mixed with black coffee and Carmen. Once again indescribable and simply him. His grip on you tightens up in response and you know if you’re not careful then you’ll end up disheveled and tangled up in the backseat of his car or bent over one of the sinks in a disgusting bathroom. Both options you refuse to pick over getting home and letting him properly make this up to you. 

Dragging your nails along the healing marks, Carmen starts to lose track of his kissing. His grip on your neck tightening a bit more, hips rocking up towards you against his better judgement. The motion’s getting needy and sloppy and you have to pull away much to both of your disappointment. 

Shaking your head and bringing your hands up to rest flush against his warm chest. “You’re not gonna fuck me on this nasty floor. I deserve better than this.” Which, of course you do. He just gets carried up when he’s wrapped up in you. He’s nodding in agreement but can’t stop himself from licking his own lips to chase the sensation of you.

He’s looking over your features, his heart picking up pace even more than he thought was possible anymore. “Think you’re meant to be my forever, y’know? Sometimes I look at you and it scares the shit out of me because I look ahead and-... It’s you. Kids sitting at a table in the restaurants doing homework. A honeymoon overseas where I get to drag you around different pasty shops and restaurants and we’ll find random art in flea markets to hang when we get home. Take photos that end up framed. It’s you. Always.” 

Now how are you supposed to be mad when he’s this open and honest. Unpacking a future you had thought only you considered so far. You hope this behavior sticks. It’s not easy for either of you, but it’s worth fighting through the learning curve. “Kids, huh? Multiple? They’ll be your harshest critics, Carmy. I dunno if you can handle their reviews quite yet.” He’s chuckling, shaking his head with a lazy smile. “No, not yet. But one day.” The promise of more between you finally putting an end to this discussion for now. You make a mental note to remember this moment when the two of you bicker in the future - No matter what there’s always more on the road ahead of you. 

Which makes you smile too. Wrapping your arms around his neck. “One day.” You reward him with one more kiss, knowing that’s all the two of you can risk before you end up sprawled out on this floor. 

Carmy’s desperate to keep the lightened mood. He’s giving it a moment for both of you to calm back down from kissing before playfully scrunching up his face. “God you taste like shitty tequila.” It works. You’re laughing and swatting your hand against his chest, feeling a bit lighter than you did when you walked into this place. “Carmen Berzatto be nice to me!” 

He’s beaming at you now. Bright, happy. 

It’s a stark difference from the funk you’d both been stuck in since this fight started. The sight makes your heart swell and you bring a hand up to push some curls back off of his forehead. Leaning in to press a kiss against the tip of his nose. 

“Lemme take you home, yeah? Get you some food on the way? Gotta make sure someone so pretty doesn’t wake up with a hangover.” He loves taking care of you in anyway you'll let him.

You nod and carefully start to shuffle off of his lap. Getting yourself to your feet before reaching down to help tug Carmen up to his feet. You catch as he adjusts himself in his pants, a flush blooming along his cheeks and down his neck. Stepping back in until you’re chest to chest with him, you press a line of kisses along his jaw. Rough stubble going away once you find his lips yet again. You hum against his mouth, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. “You gotta shave in the morning, Carmy.” He’s nodding instantly, reaching his hand down into his pocket to fish out the car keys. 

There’s a notification lighting up your phone - Perfect timing. A simple “Gonna spend the night ;)” text from your best friend. You can’t help but to grin and roll your eyes, turning the phone around so Carmen can see the notification too. He’s laughing while sliding a hand into your back pocket and starting to lead the two of you out of the kitchen. 

“Yeah, remind me to tell Dave that his friend fuckin’ sucks.” 

#why am i nervous to post this #♡: c.b. #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto

[mncxbe]

What it takes to kill an angel

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: heavy angst, self-harm, intended suicide, blood loss, Dazai being toxic, reader is dazai's guardian angel (quite literally) please don't read if you're uncomfortable with any of these topics

It was a known fact that Dazai was passionate about death, his colleagues going as far as to call him a suicidal maniac. It was mostly a joke, really, no one truly deblieved that Dazai was going to do it, they thought it was some sort of coping mechanism, a mask he put on to keep people away– but little did they know how far his self-distructive tendencies went. No one was aware of the complete shitshow that went down every week in one of the apartments just above Ada's office.

You see, Dazai has never been a religious person, but not too long ago when he was on the brink of death– drunk on cheap booze and almost choking on his own vomit one Friday night– he spotted your shadowy figure at the corner of his eye. At first he thought he was dreaming but when you reached out your hand and ghosted it over his head he instantly felt... better? He stopped slipping in and out of consciousness, his heart regained its normal rhythm and he incessant shivering subsided. Strange, it was beyond strange, a phenomenon he couldn't explain even weeks after.

Night after night he laid awake in bed with these thoughts weighing on his mind– theories and ideas, questions left unanswered. Dazai always blamed his failed suicide attempts on pure misfortune but now that he caught a glimpse of you he was starting to doubt that. Maybe there truly was some higher being that kept him alive, or maybe he simply hallucinated you there. In any case, he needed to know the truth. There weren't many things Dazai despised more than uncertainty.

So here he was again, slumped against his bathtub with his wrists bleeding red– looking, searching for any signs of your presence. The bathroom was empty and cold, the cracked tiles under him covered in a thin layer of grime. Dazai tried to focus on anything else but the pain he felt– his wrists were hot, throbbing, aching but he simply closed his eyes and focused on the shallow sounds of traffic. He conjured up an image of the cars outside, taxis spilling fumes and people into the clammy air outside, men and women in suits driving home to their families to have dinner with their happy kids and spouses and couldn't help but laugh dryly.

Not long after he started feeling breathless, his fingers going numb from the loss of blood and turning a light shade of purple– still no sign of you. He thought it'd be quite stupid to die like this, too... unoriginal, but if that were to be his fate then so be it. Just as he came to peace with the thought and his vision blurred he felt a light touch on his wrists. Dazai did his best to focus his eyes, to see the person before him but it was hard considering the amount of blood he lost. He managed to lift a shaky hand and place it above yours– you felt cold and smooth, lacking the texture of human skin. It was as if he were touching a marble statue. By the time he started regaining his composure and strength your hand slipped away from his. The man cursed under his breath but there wasn't much he could do before he suddenly fell asleep.

The next morning when he woke up the fluorescent lamp above his sink still shone brightly. His body felt sore and he could see the faint traces of scars on his wrists as he looked down– despite all, he was happy. Happy that his suspicions have been confirmed. He touched you. You were real, not just a figment of his imagination. Getting up from the floor he quickly wrapped some clean bandages around his forearms and headed to work. He was late and as usual Kunikida gave him a long lecture about how he lacked the sense of responsability and was messing up everyone's schedule but the man's words seemed distant. All Dazai could think about was you.

A few night later he tried again, this time with a new objective in mine: he managed to confirm your existance, now he was going to talk to you. He sat himself on the floor, slumped against the tub just like before then dragged the thin blage across his wrists. The cut was deeper this time and it didn't take long for his limbs to grow heavy and he closed his eyes again, speaking in a low voice. "I'm not gonna stop doing this until you talk to me". No answer came at first, but his ears started to ring faintly. When he opened his eyes again your figure was looming over him, marble white and giving off a soft, eerie glow. What struck him were your eyes, a pale grey devoid of any emotion. When you spoke"I've rarely met a human quite as persistent as you, Osamu Dazai."

"So you're the one who keeps saving me..." he mused but you knew the meaning behind his words. You carefully traced your fingers over his wrists, sealing the deep cuts and for a moment, Dazai could clearly make out a sign of discomfort in your features. "Your time hasn't come yet. You still have many things to accomplish in life, great things."

"Great things... that's awfully vague" retorted the man. Reaching out a hand he touched your hair and you flinched moving away "I'm not supposed to interact with mortals"

"And yet you save me every time. Why?"

"I told you. It's not your time to die and it's my duty to save you"

"When will it be my time to die?"

"Not soon"

The man smiled weakly, still twirling your hair between his fingrtips "That's good to know..."

Little did you know how cruelly Dazai would abuse that piece of information. From then on meeting you became a ritual for Dazai. Every week he'd bring himself to the brink of death so he could see and talk to you again. At first it wasn't that bad, only minor wounds you could heal easily then leave, but he seemed to have caught on to how your powers worked and his wounds grew deeper: the worse his injuries were, the longer you stayed with him. It pained you to see him like this, but it was your job to keep him alive at any costs.

What was worst, you were aware of the twisted feelings Dazai harboured for you– he wanted your companionship to have a witness to his decay and demise, someone to share his pain with. He wouldn't allow any of his friends to see him like this but it was different with you. You weren't human, so he didn't feel a twinge of guilt abusing the power he had over you– not when you cried and begged him to stop harming himself, not when you told him that he was ruining both your lives and certainly not when you desperately clung to his bleeding body, trying to keep the life from seeping out of him.

No, he felt no remorse. Dazai got just what he wanted. With each time he caused you pain his beliefs were reaffirmed– he was inhuman, cruel, unworthy of being alive. It was a vicious cycle, a dark road that spiraled down into the pits of hell and every week he went down that road, dragging you after him.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

You laid on top of Dazai in the dirty tub, breathing slowly. The man outdid himself this time– you'd seen serial killers go lighter on their victims' bodies. 12 stabs to the gut. You barely managed to save him. You felt weak and helpless as you listened to the rhythmic sound of Dazai's heartbeat. The man ran his hand along your hip, chuckling softly. How could he laugh? How could he possibly be so joyful at a time like this? You've used up almost all your powers trying to save him and were almost as weak as him. Despite that, it was in your nature to love all souls, especially those under your protection, that's why the feeling was so sickening. You were bound to love someone who wished to die, someone who mocked the Gods every other Thursday and held you in his arms only to make you crumble "Angel..." he eventually spoke in a weak voice "How long do I have left?"

That question again, a sour reminder of what's to come. For once, you couldn't contain the tears that brimmed in your eyes and let then fall down your cheeks and onto the man's bare chest. Still, you couldn't lie "Twelve years" you babbled out in a broken voice. Twelve years of this hellish nightmare, 625 possible attempts, getting worse and worse with each passing week.

Dazai sighed, running a hand through your damp hair before tilting your head up to look at your face. Beautiful, you were so painfully beautiful. Seeing you like this, knowing that he was the one to cause you pain, made him feel oddly satisfied. He wasn't alone anymore. He gently cupped your cheek, brushing your tears away with his blood-stained thumb. His touch left a red, smudged mark on your cheek "I didn't know angels could cry"

You simply looked up at him in defeat, feeling yourself break down all over again. "We do, Osamu. We're more alike humans than you may think." "That's interesting..." he hummed, thinking of all those times he wanted to cry but couldn't. Not after Oda's death anyway. He looked down at your trembling body again– the glow you had the first time he saw you was almost gone now, your skin ghostly white and face shallow. He winced when one of his poorly healed wounds reopened and your sobs grew louder as you pressed one of your hands on the gash. This wasn't your usual divine, healing touch– it was the touch of a desperate person trying to save someone from bleeding out. The sheer pressure applied on his wound made him dizzy but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt when he saw the distraught look on your face; your features morphed into a mask of fear and madness, your eyes unfocused, like a deer caught in a trap. And he played the role of the sharp metal teeth tearing you apart.

For the first time since he met you, Dazai had a revelation: he felt guilty. Guilty that he let his selfish desires ruin a pure soul like you, that he was dumb enough to think he could break the laws of the universe. You were right, you were human, more human than he will ever be. There was no taking back the awful things he did but he could start by taking good care of himself and the precious gift of life you granted him– if not for himself, at least for you.

His vision blurred again as he began silently crying and he picked up his phone from the edge of the sink. Tapping a few keys he held his phone to his ear as he ran his free hand along your hip, trying to soothe you "119, yes. I need an ambulance at Ada's office. I've got some pretty nasty injuries that need to be treated"

#i won't overthink this #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd angst #dazai bsd #dazai x reader #dazai angst #bsd dazai #bsd x reader

[nugothrhythms]

"Criminal" by Jeddah, Saudi Arabia-based dark alternative electronic act Statues of Sinking Men off of their 2018 self-titled debut album

#dark electro #synth #electronic music #alt #Statues of Sinking Men #Criminal #self-titled #2018 #debut album #Jeddah Saudi Arabia #Arabian goth #Saudi goth #Arab goth #Middle Eastern goth #MENA goth #Bandcamp

[shewrites444]

earned it [thomas shelby x mafia/dominant reader smut]

word count - 3k

[ summary - the reader, the current head of the sicilian mob, meets with thomas shelby to discuss an issue that intervenes with both of their organizations. despite their mutual disliking for one another, thomas takes an interest to the business woman before him, and doesn’t seem to realize how powerful she may be. ]

[ warnings - mentions of violence, strong cursing, dirty talk, dominant female, oral (f & m), praise kink, unprotected sex ]

-

“and if we get ‘rid’ of him and his members, how are we going to go about that?” thomas shelby asked me from across the obnoxiously long dining table, lighting a cigarette and sinking into his chair.

i shrug nonchalantly, resting my arms against the table as i chew the steak his supposed aunt polly cooked for us. we’d be discussing this matter for so long my food was starting to get cold.

“we can handle that, all i ask is for you and your family to do the talking. get them out of birmingham and into italy. i know it’s a far stretch, but we can make it work. when someone is offered a lot of money, they’ll travel. the last thing their organization wants is no protection. i think they’d trust the mob’s word over a group of drunken, horse-betting brothers.”

thomas scoffed, moderately offended but also carrying a tone of impressment, taking a sip of his whiskey and gesturing the glass towards me. “you italians have a mouth on you, eh? you crawl around europe like the coppers, thinking you own the cities, only you’re not afraid to take out your guns, hm, mrs. [y/n].”

“i’m not married.” i mutter, once again taking the steak knife in my hand as i begin to cut the tender meat.

he quirked his brow, setting his glass down. “my mistake. i assumed that a woman who ran one of the most dangerous gangs in italy was wedded. i should’ve looked at your ring finger before i commented, miss [y/n].”

“we’re not here to discuss my marriage status, mr. shelby. this group of communists pose a real threat to both of our families. i can get back in my carriage right now and send my men in here to shoot you in the fucking head for all i care, if you don’t cooperate, or we can get back to information that actually matters, and your life goes on.” i look him in the eyes, a blank expression on my face.

he stood up, walking over to the bar cart and pouring himself more whiskey, taking another glass and filling it with a new bottle of red wine after popping the cork. he set it beside my plate, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down.

“you can get pissed off all you want, dear, but i’m the one with a gun in my pocket. i could kill you, and your men, in a matter of seconds, so don’t think your words even draw a nick of blood on me.” he threatened, sipping his drink, enough to nearly empty the glass. “we can agree to disagree all night, or you can change your temper and we can figure out a neutral solution for the both of us.”

i chew my steak, watching him speak with a smirk on my redly tainted lips. i take the glass of wine and drink it slowly. “you are quite charming, mr. shelby. it almost offends me that you think i walked into your home unarmed, too.” i take my napkin and dab it on my lips before standing up, dusting off my black dress. “do as i say, and get them to italy. we can discuss the specifics after you speak to their leader. walk me to my carriage, won’t you?”

thomas stands up, pushing both of our chairs in before walking me to the back doorway, his whiskey glass still in hand, only a few ice cubes left inside and not even a shot’s worth of alcohol. i glance down at the purse in my hand, looking through to find my lipstick, confused if i had dropped it when i stood up from the table. i sigh, looking up to the peaky blinder who stood before me as he opened the door for me.

“give me one minute, i think i dropped my lipstick by my chair.” i set my purse down on the table aside their coat rack and walk back to the dining room, hearing his footsteps trail behind as he followed.

i lean down, seeing the lipstick on the floor and pick it up, turning around to bump into thomas, our faces not even two inches apart as he lightly pushed me against the table.

i roll my eyes, both hands planting against his chest and pushing him off. “i don’t think me saying i was unmarried was a suggestion, mr. shelby. not every woman becomes a whore when you have them over for dinner.”

“do you ever freely sleep around, miss [y/n]?” thomas asks, looking down to meet my eyes, then averting to my lips. “surely, a woman like you, can get whoever she wants. you run apart of the bloody world, for what it’s worth. do you ever fuck anyone on your level? someone as powerful as you are?”

“that’s none of your concern.” i say, glancing down at the light erection that was intruding his black slacks. “although, i definitely don’t fuck men that rudely come onto me when i make it clear i came over for strictly business.”

he grinned, one of his hands gently sliding onto my back, the other setting the glass on the table, one ice cube sliding onto his fingertips. he pressed it against my collarbone, sliding it down my skin softly.

“oh, but you definitely do. i think this says otherwise, don’t you think?” thomas tilts his head teasingly, gesturing to my hardening nipples as they protruded my dress.

i blush, shaking my head in disbelief. “you have a cold substance near my chest, that’s a natural reaction.”

“it’s not even near them, dear. i’m still pressing on your shoulder. it’s not a bad thing to admit you like this, miss [y/n].” he slides the ice cube further down my chest, his pinkie pushing my dress back, the v-neck fabric tucking itself underneath my right breast through his manipulation. he slid the substance over my nipple, causing me to sigh heavily. he couldn’t help but grin at my reaction.

thomas leaned down, dropping the ice cube back into the glass and licking my erect nipple, sucking lightly on the bud before pushing me against the table and sitting me down. i moan softly, looking up at the ceiling, my body now in a heat at his teasing touch.

“i think you choose not to fuck. from what it seems like, it may be a distraction for you. you’re a busy woman. perhaps there is no time for any sort of play.” thomas says, reaching over to expose my other breast. “you really don’t let anyone in, even physically. you and i, miss [y/n], are probably more alike than you realize.”

“don’t even try convincing me of that. i know you fuck, mr. shelby.”

“oh, really? you know that, how? because of how wet i already have you?” he asks, reaching his hand down and into my knee-length dress, pressing his fingers against my warm panties.

i hold my mouth shut, breathing heavily through my nose as he pushes the fabric to the side, lightly tracing his fingers against my wet folds.

“a woman like you wouldn’t like to be fucked like a whore, though. you expect much more than that. you’d like to be praised, as if you were a crown jewel in terms of your status. you’re someone who is clearly unfazed by most men, i can see that. you don’t give a fuck about them unless they worship you.”

“do you think you could possibly do that, mr. shelby? worship a woman?”

“not just any woman, no.” he begins, reaching his arm across my waist, snaking it around me to pull me up and into his chest, where he held me up and guided me to the bedroom next to the dining room. “it takes someone who knows who they are and what they can do to make me feel like they even deserve that type of treatment.”

he helped pull my dress off, leaving me in only my panties as he set me on the bed. i chose to oblige, partially due to the pleasure he was sinking me into, but also because i found it interesting he thought he would even have full control over the situation. thomas was right about me choosing to not fuck, but that didn't mean i fell at the feet of a man who knew what he was doing. thomas shelby was a powerful man, sure, but he could never climb the ladder high enough to reach my level.

“but you, you know what you can do. you do what has to be done, miss [y/n]. you threatened to put a gun to my head, what kind of woman does that? a fucking powerful one.” thomas nearly moans at his own words, leaning down to kiss me before he began to undress.

i return the kiss, my legs still shut, as thomas began to unbutton his shirt, glancing down at my waiting body. he undressed himself fully, standing naked before me as he climbed into the bed and leaned down on his knees, sliding off my underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he hovered above me, planting a passionate kiss against my lips, leaving red residue from my lipstick on his own lips while he slid his tongue into my mouth. i feel his fingers slide inside of me, my legs spreading in reaction as he began to finger me. his lips trailed from my neck to my breasts, sucking my nipples back and forth as he pumped his fingers in and out of my pussy.

i close my eyes, my mouth hung open as i moan in pleasure from his touch. i could feel his eyes on me, watching nothing but my expression. the mental part of me hated giving into thomas shelby’s advances, but the physical side of me could care less. he knew what he was doing, it seemed like, but frankly, so did i.

“oh, you’re so fucking wet, love. you’re practically dripping onto my fingers, onto my bed..” thomas cooes, pulling himself out of me and into his mouth, licking my juices. “and you taste just as good as i imagined. how did i get so lucky to touch you?”

i lightly sit up, leaning over to pull him back into a kiss as i climb off the bed, thomas now sitting at the edge. i get on my knees and take his cock into my hand, spitting on his tip and beginning to lick his cock, up and down, pressing light kisses against his skin as he watched, his expression showing nothing but lust, as he grinned from cheek to cheek at my actions.

“fuck,” he mutters, resting his hands on the bed. “you look beautiful when you play with my cock, love.” he moans as i slide him into my mouth and down my throat, still looking up to meet his eyes. he reaches over to hold my chin in one hand, gently guiding my head up and down. “that’s it, please keep taking my cock. you’re so pretty when you do so, love. i can’t wait to fuck you, you’ve got me nearly finishing at the thought of it.”

i pump him inside of my throat, feeling his orgasm nearly reach the surface as he groans at the build up of it all. i pull away, taking his length in one hand as he cums onto my face, his seed coating all over my mouth and cheeks.

“oh, fuck, you look so fucking good, [y/n]. your mouth felt so fucking good.” thomas praises, watching as i lean back, tracing my finger across my cheeks, licking his cum off and into my mouth. he stares in awe, reaching his hands over to help me stand up and get back onto the bed. he presses a hard kiss against my lips, laying back down as i lay on top of him.

“i don’t think you understand this, thomas.” i smirk, cupping his face with both of my hands. “you don’t just get to fuck me, you know that, right? you have to earn it. i’m the motherfucking leader of a mob, after all. i don’t fuck just anyone, not even thomas shelby, no matter how good you may be at fucking.”

he tilted his head, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me back down. “is that so? your cunt is practically begging for me to fuck it. we don’t have to play this game, love. please, let me touch you further.”

i roll over and out of his grip, laying down next to him and spreading my legs, gesturing for him to get in front of me. “then fuck me with your tongue, and we’ll see what i think of anything further than that.”

he chuckles, seemingly surprised by how bossy i could be, but leaned down anyway, adjusting himself to wrap his arms around my thighs, his face stuffed between them as his tongue attached to my clit, flicking the bud of sensitive flesh. i moan softly, watching thomas lick between my folds and back up to my clit, back and forth, which only drew a pit in my stomach, as my orgasm slowly began to build. i was more surprised by his efforts more than his experience. of course thomas shelby knew how to fully pleasure a woman when she demanded it.

“fuck, thomas..” i moan softly, reaching down to hold his black hair with one hand. “just like that, baby, and you’ll be fucking me so soon. god, that feels good.”

he quickens his pace a bit, my back gently arching up in reaction to his action, my free hand gripping the white bedsheets as he helped me very quickly reach my orgasm, my fluids releasing onto the sheets and his lips. i dripped down his chin but he didn’t seem to care, taking me by the hips and moving one leg on top of his shoulder, sliding his hard length inside of me with one slow stroke, both of us moaning at the sudden stimulation.

“oh, fucking hell, [y/n], my god, dear, you’re so fucking wet, you feel so good, fuck,” thomas groans, leaning down to kiss me, his free hand taking my breast into his his palm and squeezing harshly, earning a moan from me into his mouth as our tongues fight for dominance.

i pull away from the kiss, looking down to watch him pump his thick, wet cock into my pussy. my tits bounce at his thrusts, my core feeling every single touch. thomas held my ankle to keep my leg up, his other hand pulling away from my breast and down to my hips, holding the side of my waist to further his steady grip.

“you take my cock so well, [y/n].” thomas compliments, glancing down to meet my eyes as i look away from our bodies. “i could watch you forever, fuck. the way you look right now is absolutely stunning, no one can ever fucking compare to your cunt.”

i lean up slightly, resting on my elbows, grinning at thomas as he fucks me. “you really think so, thomas? then why don’t you fuck me harder? make me cum again, baby, i want to so badly. make me cum with you.”

“if you want me to fuck you harder, [y/n], you’re going to have to turn around for me.” thomas suggests, lightly pulling himself out of me and also wiping the sweat from his forehead, assisting me as i turn around, all fours against the bed as i arch my ass up, feeling tommy’s hands play with it by squeezing the flesh and slapping it lightly.

“you’re perfect from behind too, fuck. is there anything about you i can dislike? you italians may have bloody mouth, but you take me so well in yours, love.” he says, pushing himself back inside of me.

he holds me by the hips, starting to fuck me, but much harder than before. our skin slaps together as he pushes himself in much deeper, so much so that i was gasping at his touch, grabbing the sheets and holding them as hard as i could, despite the sweat that was collecting on my palms.

“f-fucking hell, tommy..” i moan into the sheets, my head resting against the pillow. “you fuck me so good, baby, keep going like that, fuck! fucking fill me up, tommy, fuck!”

he leans down to grab my neck, pounding inside of my walls before our moans begin to sync, our orgasms releasing a matter of seconds after as we finish together, his warm seed filling my insides and my own cum dripping from between us, tricking down my now shaking legs.

thomas pulls out of me, turning me over to lay beside him. he wraps one arm around me, but glances down to meet my eyes, and kisses me tiredly.

“next time, you’re going to be the one begging me to fuck you.” he says in a more demanding tone, a small smirk on his lips. “i don’t like to ask nicely.”

i sigh, rolling over onto my stomach so i could face him completely. “then you’re fucking the wrong woman, thomas.”

he shook his head, cupping my cheek and kissing me once more. “oh, believe me, i think i’m with the exact woman i need to be fucking.” he sits up, rolling out of the bed and to the dresser, grabbing a pair of underwear.

“let’s discuss this communist issue one more time, work out the details.” he says, slipping his boxers on. “and if we come to an agreement tonight, i’ll ask nicely again in the morning, unless you need to get back to your people?"

i stand up, picking up my underwear and sliding them on, as thomas hands me a larger white shirt to put on. “i think i’d rather you ask again tonight, mr. shelby. my people can wait overnight if it's for a good cause.” i tease, opening the bedroom door before walking back out to the dining room table, grabbing the half-empty glass of wine and taking it down in one sip.

thomas stands behind me, taking the empty glass and setting it back on the table, pressing himself up against me, placing his palm on my back to push me down on the furniture. "let's push our meeting back a few more minutes then. here's me asking, miss [y/n]."

he begins to kiss my neck and i reach between my legs, pushing my panties to the side as i hear his boxers hit the floor. this was going to be an unexpectedly long night.

#smut writing #fanfic #x yn #x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #thomas shelby x reader smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine

[angelltheninth]

Can I request an on-again, off-again sex with HSR men?

I think I know what you mean by this Anon but if this isn't it I'm sorry

Pairing: Blade, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Sampo, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, breaking up and making up, angst, reunions, friends with benefits, co-workers, forbidden relationship, secret relationship

A/N: This is my interpretation of this cause I really can't think of anything else with this description.

Blade doesn't care if you think you're in a relationship or not he'll still seek you out for sex. He doesn't look ar you when he leaves, he hardly kisses you, in fact he would prefer not to look at your face at all. He doesn't need that, he needs to feel your cunt around his cock or your mouth moaning around it. The only time he kisses you is if he senses you're upset about something, it's one of the only ways he shows he still cares for more then just sex and he wishes he didn't.

Dan Heng feels like it would be for the best if he were to stay away from you for good. It would be the best way to keep you safe. So why can't he? Why does he keep giving into the desires that he never even thought of before? Every time he sinks into you and hears you moaning his name he falls deeper in love. He always fucks you full of his cum, swearing that it's the last time. A few months go by of you being professional and then you find your way into each others arms and beds again.

Gepard tried to stop multiple times. You're one of his soldiers, a great one at that but it's wrong for him to let you ride his cock when ever you feel like it. But he doesn't want to stop, he gets romantic, he embraces you behind closed doors, holds your hand and kisses it, insists that it's not just sex that he's after. And after all of that it gets scary, you need a break, he needs to think about if this is a good idea or not. While apart he can't stop thinking about you, about how pretty you looked in his arms, how your pussy made him feel good, how he kissed you. He wants this, he wants you again. For good this time.

Jing Yuan locks the door of his office as you step in, teasing you about coming back. The last time you said, as you did the past five times. It's never the last time. It's always one more fuck, one more blowjob, holding onto him as he fucks you against the wall and whispers in your ear that you make him feel so damn good. If you stayed with him it wouldn't matter that he's your boss, you wouldn't need to hide anymore, he'd make sure of it. Say that you want to be his and he will make it so, he will make you his, with his cock and his words both.

Luocha visits your town once every few months and stays for a week or so. During that week he's yours, while he's not working that it. Everyone knows it too, that you have this arrangement. You knew what you were getting into, a week of sex and passion and romance, followed by months of almost no contact. But every time when he's with you he tries to convey that he missed you, not enough to make him stay for good but he did miss you. You can tell right? His cock is just aching to be inside you again.

Sampo sneaks in and out of your bedroom almost whenever he feels like it. Weather you're in a relationship or not whenever you need a good fuck you know you can call him. Some nights are more romantic then others, with him bringing gifts and flowers, other times it's hard kisses and you stripping each other naked as fast as possible so you can fuck. It depends more on the mood then the status of your relationship but while you're romantically involved he stays until morning. If not he leaves without waking you but puts a note beside your bed, telling you he'll come back soon.

Welt doesn't like the fact that he can't seem to stay away from you, not because you work together but because he keeps meeting you in empty rooms and closets to fuck when you said you're no longer together. After a few times he wants to try again, a real relationship, but you need more time. You love how he makes you fell, the amount of times he makes you come in a single night, how expertly his hands roam your body. But you also want him to be there, sleeping beside you until you wake up. He'll try, for you, he can try to be less of a workaholic.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan x reader #luocha x reader #sampo x reader #welt x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanons #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail x female reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x female reader #hsr x you #blade smut #dan heng smut #gepard smut #jing yuan smut #luocha smut #sampo smut #welt smut

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 8)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Lots of Dialogue, Age-Gap, Infidelity

Words: 1,670

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

Previous Parts: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7

THIS PART IS DIALOGUE HEAVY AND PART EIGHT WILL BE SIMILAR, BOTH PARTS ARE NECESSARY THOUGH TO EXPAND THE STORY.

Two weeks later...

Two weeks had passed and, still, there had been no word from Robert. He had not contacted you and no one at the science faculty knew where he was. Haakon, too, had not heard from him and you certainly did not want to ask his wife Kitty about his whereabouts, no matter how worried you were when it came to his safety.

Over the past week, however, governmental security at Berkley had been ramped up and, in particular, Robert’s office as well as the two physics labs across the hallway from it, were guarded by army personnel.

No one was allowed to enter and, even though this impacted the research for your thesis, you did not dare to argue with these intimidating men, carrying guns and grimacing looks on their faces.

One man, in particular, stood out to you. He was tall, arrogant, and even more intimidating than the other. He was only there occasionally to check on how matters were progressing and it was this very same man who pulled you aside on a Friday afternoon and asked you to join him in Robert’s office.

“My name is General Lesley Groves” he introduced himself before gesturing for you to sit down on the chair across from Robert’s desk while he took a seat on Robert’s chair.

“Y/N Y/LN, pleasure to meet you” you said, attempting to shake his hand, but he would not allow it and gave you a stern look instead.

“I know who you are” he then said before placing a file with your name written atop of it on the desk, close enough for you to read the sentence “Security File” but far enough away from you for you not to reach it.

“Okay, so why am I here, in this room, with you, General Groves?” you asked nervously but politely, seeing how intimidating this man was for you.

“You are here because Dr J Robert Oppenheimer thinks very highly of you and I need to determine why” he told you sternly and hearing those words from the General came as a relief to you as, at least now, you knew that Robert was thinking of you.

“It’s about his project then, isn’t it?” you asked, wanting get some more information from this intimidating man who, unbeknownst to you at this point, was not going to give anything away.

“The project?” he thus asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “Now tell me, Miss Y/LN, what did Dr Oppenheimer tell you about the project?” he then wanted to know why giving you another intimidating look over.

“Nothing much. He just said that he would like me to join his team and that it would be a good career opportunity” you lied, causing the General to furrow his eyebrows again, this time more evidently than before.

“Well, he actually asked for two of his students to join this highly secretive government operation and, in both instances, security clearance was denied” the General pointed out, causing your heart to sink. You expected this to be the case since, after all, your parents were well known communists and, yet, you had been somewhat hopeful for a miracle.

“Now, with respect to the other student, my staff’s decision to deny him clearance was accepted by Dr Oppenheimer. There was no issue whatsoever. With you, however, Dr Oppenheimer held firm to his belief that your involvement in the project is vital. With your status as an undergrad student however, I cannot, for the life of me, understand why your involvement is so important to a man of Dr Oppenheimer’s intelligence. So, perhaps, you can shed some light into his reasons me?” the General then asked you in the most intimidating manner and you really did not know what to say and how to answer him.

“Did you ask him about his reasons?” you thus asked without receiving any sort of reaction from General Groves. “Because, if not, I suggest that you do that rather than interrogate me. Now would you excuse me” you then told him while standing up. You were ready to leave and, since the General did nothing but stare at you for the past two minutes, you were frustrated by the situation. You knew that there was nothing you could do about the army’s decision to deny your security clearance and, thus, simply wanted to put this matter to rest.

The General, however, would not allow you to go just yet and ordered you to sit down, which was a request with which you reluctantly complied.

“I asked Dr Oppenheimer about his reasons and he seems to think that your approach to quantum physics is innovative and new. You are an A grade student and your work at Harvard was exceptional and so is your work at Berkley, which is why I am considering his request to review your security clearance rejection which, was actioned by one of my senior staff members last week” Lesley Groves explained and you thought that, perhaps, there was still a chance for you to get on to the project.

“What do you want to know?” you thus asked while leaning forward and pressing your hands together nervously, fidgeting and sweating all at the same time.

“I want to know about your communist associations” General Groves then requested and you chuckled.

“I am not a communist and I have cut ties with everyone who is a party member so, really, there are is no association” you told him with quite some confidence in your voice and, the truth was, that you had nothing to hide.

“Your father was recently arrested for suspected treason. What do you have to say about that?” the General then went on to ask while taking some notes and, again, you managed to answer him confidently.

“Suspected, yes, but I doubt that he actually committed an offence. He is not that stupid. In any event, I have not spoken to him in over a year so I my thoughts on this matter are neutral” you explained as you had no intel on your father’s party involvement these days.

“Are you a communist party member?” Lesley Groves then asked which, again, earned him a chuckle.

“You already know that I am not and never was, myself, a party member. I am sure that information is in your file” you informed him and, for a moment, he chuckled himself. He knew that you were right. This information was, indeed, in his file and, yet, he asked you about it nonetheless.

“What is your relationship to J Robert Oppenheimer?” was the next question he asked and this question caused you to lie.

“He is my professor and thesis supervisor” you told him which, of course, was the truth.

“Is that all he is to you?” the General then wanted to know and you nodded.

“Yes” you lied, which is when the General retrieved two letters from your security file.

“Would you like to reconsider your answer?” he then asked as he handed you the letters which, clearly, he had already opened and read.

“What is this?” you asked before puling them apart and commencing to read them slowly while General Groves remained silent, giving you some time to digest the content of them which, to your surprise, was largely romantic in nature.

Both letters were from Robert and included poems as well as accounts of your sexual encounter. The letters were explicit in nature but also highly passionate which was something that surprised you. He clearly missed you and he most certainly had already developed strong feelings for you, using phrases like “my love” and talking of your future together which, in your mind, did not even exist.

“Oh my god, did you read these?” you eventually asked with blushing cheeks, seeing how personal these letters were.

“Yes, I did” the General answered you bluntly and you broke out in anger.

“These letters are personal. You had no right” you began to say angrily which is when General Groves interrupted you.

“This is a national emergency Miss Y/LN. We are at war with Germany and I am here to ensure that a project like the one being implemented right now isn’t subject to treason. The last thing this country needs is information being leaked to the enemy” he told you with a voice stern and authoritive.

“You mean the allies” you chuckled, causing the General to give you a look of confusion.

“What?” he asked and you ought to clarify.

“Your concern is that someone like myself would leak information to the soviet-union. This is why you are doing all this, is it not?” you asked while rolling your eye in disbelieve.

“Perhaps. So, let me ask you again, what is your relationship with J Robert Oppenheimer?” the General then repeated and you answered him again, this time more truthfully than before.

“I am his student. He is my professor and thesis supervisor. We had sexual relations once” you admitted while crossing your arms. “Now are you satisfied?” you asked and, indeed, he was.

“Yes, I am. I am satisfied that my colleague has made the right decision to deny your security clearance” General Groves announced and your heart dropped. “You can keep the letters, noting that I have asked Dr Oppenheimer to refrain from contacting you again. No doubt you will be attending his lecture at Berkley next week, which will be his last, following his resignation as professor at this facility. But other than that, I expect there to be no further contact moving forward. Do you understand?” Lesley Groves then asked and, whilst you tried hard to hold back your tears, you could not and stood abruptly before barging towards the door, thereby ignoring his question.

“Miss Y/LN, I would suggest that you choose your intimate partners more wisely moving forward. The rejection of your security clearance will be noted on record, thus impacting future employment opportunities” the General then said as you had already turned your back to him and this, itself, hurt even more, knowing that you would now struggle finding employment in the field you were so passionate about.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

Tag List

@fastfan

@elenavampire21

@dolllol2405

@allie131313

@cilliansangel

@coldbastille

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@cdej6

@kathrinemelissa

@landlockedmermaid77

@crazymar15

@damedomino  

@lauren-raines-x

@miss-bunny19

@skinny-bitch-juice

@odorinana

@cloudofdisney

@weepingstudentfishhorse

@allexiiisss

@geminiwolves

@letsstarsfalling

@ysmmsy

@chlorrox

@tommyshelbypb

@chocolatehalo

@music-lover911

@desperate-and-broken

@mysticaldeanvoidhorse

@peaky-cillian

@lelestrangerandunusualdeetz

@december16-1991

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

@romanogersendgame

@randomfangirl2718

@missymurphy1985

@peakyscillian

@lilymurphy03

@deefigs

@theflamecrystal

@livinginfantaxy

@rosey1981

@hanster1998

@fairypitou

@zozeebo

@kasaikawa

@littleweirdoalien

@sad-huffle-nerd

@theflamecrystal

@0ghostwriter0

@stylescanbeatmyback

@1-800-peakyblinders

@datewithgianni

@momoneymolife

@mcntsee

@janelongxox

@basiclassy

@being-worthy

@chaotic-bean-of-smolness

@margoo0

@vhscillian

@crazymar15

@im-constantly-fangirling

@namelesslosers

@littlewhiterose

@ttzamara

@cilleveryone

@peaky-cillian

@severewobblerlightdragon

@dolllol2405

@pkab

@babaohhhriley

@littleweirdoalien

@alreadybroken-ts

@masteroperator

@stevie75

@shabzy96

@rainbow12346

@obsessedwithfandomsx

@geeksareunique

@laysalespoir

@paigem00

@lkarls

@vamp-army

@luckystarme

@myjumper

@gxorg

@eline-1806

@goldenharrysworld

@cristinagronk16

@stylesofloki

@faatxma

@slut-for-matt-murdock

@tpwkstiles

@myjumper

@cloudofdisney

@look-at-the-soul

@smellyzcat

@kittycatcait219

@theliterarybeldam

@being-worthy

@layazul

@lyn07

@kagilmore

@50svibes

@mainstreetlilly

@ourthatgirlabby

@bitchwhytho

@takethee

@registerednursejackie

@sofi128

@mrkdvidal1989

@minxsblog

@heidimoreton

@laylasbunbunny

@laylasbunbunny

@queenshelby

@camilleholland89

@forgottenpeakywriter

@vintagecherryt

@indierockgirrl

@mrkdvidal1989

@bluesongbird

@dudde-44

@gasolinesavages

@kissforvoid

@bluebird592

@1eugenia1isabella1

@esposadomdp

@lulunalua23

@lovelace42

@bookklover23

@iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

@moonmaiden1996

@marlenamallowan

@cyphah (cannot tag)

@majesticcmey

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

@throughgoeshamilton

@alessioayla

@elenavampire21

@justforfiction

@cilliansangel

@alannielaraye

@satellitelh

@pandoramyst

@duckybird101

@snixx2088

@kylianswag

@alessioayla

@pono-pura-vida

@iraisbored69

@howling-wolf97

@aesthetic0cherryblossom

@weirdo-rules

@lovemissyhoneybee

@dazaiscum

@esposadomd

@etherealkistar

@ur--mommy

@throughgoeshamilton

@celverzonkwombatsludge

@cyphah

@atomicsouldcollecto

@heidimoreton

@nela-cutie

@futurecorps3

@delishen

@nosebleeds-247

@thirteenis-myluckynumber

@gills-lounge

@hjmalmed

@lost-fantasy

@tiredkitten

@sidechrisporn

@smallsoulunknown

@charqing-qing

@hopefulinlove

@aporiasposts

@shycrybaby

@me-and-your-husband

@hjmalmed

@lacontroller1991

@galxydefender

@aporiasposts

@multifans-things

@galxydefender

@hunnibearrr

@saint-ackerman

@raineeace

@lunyyx

@gentlemonsterjennie1

@littlewolfiieposts

@ihavealotoffandomssorry

@tn22220-blog

@nadloves​

@lost-fantasy​

@noluces​

@mcavoy-girl​

@hjmalmed​

@yogurt567

@bloodybagels​

@obeyme4life​

@richiesgroupie​

@blushykiss

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #Oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer #oppenheimer x y/n #oppenheimer x you #j robert oppenheimer x you #lesley graves #manhatten project #robert oppenheimer #lesley groves

[archangeldyke-all]

I feel like if Vika had a baby she wouldn’t baby talk and have full on conversations with them. Like she’ll tell the baby how whiskey prices went up and how “fucking stupid” it is, or she’ll talk about some new kid at her job and how “the fucker” can’t do anything right LMAO

sugar u r the smartest person i know

men and minors dni

you and everyone who meets the baby talk to her like anybody talks to a baby, cooing and exaggerating and using an exaggerated baby voice.

your typical conversations with your kid for the first year of her life go something like 'awe, do you have a poopy? sweet baby made a big poopy.' or 'can you say: mama? mmmma mmmma?'

sevika, however, talks to your kid like she's an old friend.

you'll catch her feeding your daughter baby food, scooping up the goop that falls down onto her chin as she chats. "fuckin' silco was gettin' on my last nerve today. would you be pissed if we revoked his 'godfather' status? i know he spoils you, but i think we could find a suitable replacement, someone who doesn't have their head stuck up their ass. he thinks he runs the fuckin' place, he forgets we're co-owners. co. that means both. you're so lucky you don't have to work, you know that? you've got it made, kid, shit, you don't even have to feed yourself."

or, after you've had a long day at home with the little fucker, who's been screaming her head off and refusing to latch onto your tits to drink, you overhear sevika talking to her as she gently dances her around the living room. "you gotta give your mom a break, kid. i know you're probably sicka breast milk, but it's important you drink it, it's got all kindsa good shit in it that'll make you strong. like this, see?" she asks as she flexes the arm not holding your daughter. "keep drinkin' your milk and you'll be as strong as me in no time. well, you'll have to have a pretty strict workout regiment too, it's not all genetic. though, don't tell your mom, but i'm glad you've got my build-- she's a little wimp. you're strong like me. she hates it 'cause you came out so big 'n tore her pussy apart comin' out but i think it's great. you'll be a great athlete once you figure out the whole walkin' thing..."

or at bathtime, while she's got your baby in the sink, gently shampooing the two or three hairs on her head, you're guaranteed to find her catching your daughter up on the latest drama on the soap opera she swears she doesn't watch. "i know, it's fuckin' crazy! but, then, get this, molly, the homewrecker from season three? she shows up pregnant, swearing it's travis' kid! mind you, this is all at a funeral-- at shepard's funeral!" your daughter coos. "oh, shepard's the one who came out gay in season four but then decided to marry miriam in season five, because she needed her greencard." your daughter coos again, and sevika takes this as understanding. "right, you remember. anyways this pregnant bitch molly comes marching in while we're all crying because shep's dead, and she's like 'everybody look at me and my big fat belly!' turns out? she's stuffing her stomach with blankets..."

the funniest thing is that your daughter seems to understand it all, blinking up at sevika with big, interested eyes, absorbing her every word, cooing when she's silent, like she's responding to sevika's commentary.

after a while, it starts to rub off on you, and pretty soon, both you and sevika are talking to your little girl like she's an adult.

it's all fun and games until she starts talking, and her first words are 'fuck' and 'mama' and 'dickhead' and 'milk'

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

[small-sinclair]

Breaking Walls

Vampire!Brahms Heelshire x preg.fem!reader

welcomed reader: @hao-ming-8

Tw: biting, blood, killing/murder, bone breaking, angry Brahms, reader being used as a shield, gun, proofread twice but might have grammar mistakes

You woke up to the sound of the backdoor glass shattering.

Your head jerked up from the pillows, sleep still in your eyes. You didn't want to move because Brahms had you in a cuddle, his face pressed in your stomach, his wild brown curls covering his burn, and he looked so beautiful in your arms. At first, you thought it was nothing but part of a dream, but you heard shoes crunching over broken glass.

You placed a kiss in Brahms's hair before getting up. Maybe it's nothing, but it doesn't hurt to look, right? Maybe Malcolm forgot his keys again? No, he forgets a lot of things but not the keys. Also, it's the middle of the night! He's at home with his two dogs. He can't be here at this hour.

If your mind is playing tricks on you, however, it's worth the trip; you needed a glass of water anyways. Yeah, you can get water from the bathroom sink, but the water didn't taste right? Ever since you got pregnant, you would only drink water from the kitchen sink and nowhere else. If you tired to drink from the bathroom sinks, you would throw-up. Two months in and you're still learning new things. You're tired and sleepy, but water and a mysterious noises called you.

You put on Brahms's jacket and slipped on your bunny slippers, still getting the sleep out of your eyes. You really hoped it was mice breaking something or some very angry racoon throwing rocks like last week. Brahms fought the little guy and killed it with his teeth, his fangs ripping it apart like a dog on a chew toy. You held a funeral for the little guy and had Malcolm get a racoon statue as a grave stone marker. You had Brahms read aloud a written apology to the dead racoon before you lowered the critter into the earth.

R.I.P. Ted the Racoon, who's buried in the backyard, you thought as you sneaked down the steps. Maybe Ted's family has come for revenge. You couldn't help but give a silly smile at the thought of Brahms fighting another racoon. He's so hot cute when his fangs are out. His eyes would shine brighter and his smile looked so breath taking. What a king, my man. He's the Racoon Slayer.

When you got closer to the backdoor, you froze.

Standing by the good china, a taller, stronger man had his back turned as he hurriedly took the good silver from the drawer. Standing next to him, a smaller man in a ski mask held the bag.

Out of reaction, you turned on the lights, making the men freeze.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" You snapped confused, sleep finally starting to leave. When you saw the handgun in the back pocket of the smaller man, your eyes grew wide. You did not think this through. "Oh... shit."

The smaller one was the first to jump to run after you as soon as you started towards the staircase again. "Brahms! Brahms, help--!"

His hand covered your mouth as he pulled you backwards, the taller man starting to hurry to get things packed. "Come on, Dylan! We got enough!"

"The bitch screamed for help!" The smaller one shouted. "There's another here!"

The taller man turned, his eyes glowing from under the ski mask. "Then let's get out of here! We got enough silver-!"

Within the walls, the sound of wood breaking and paint chipping echoed. The lights above you flickered and broke, it sounded like a freight train inside the walls. You struggled to get out of his grasp, but he squeezed harder around your skin. If he leaves bruises on you, all type of mercy will go out the window. Your eyes darted around the room as the smaller man took out his gun, taking it off safety.

Suddenly, silence.

You closed your eyes and started to cry silently, a whimper escaping from the back of your throat.

And that's all Brahms needs to hear.

From the right side of the taller man, Brahms burst through the wall roughly, taking down the taller man. The man didn't have time to react as Brahms took a piece of wood and stabbed him in his lower chest, burying it in deep. Brahms threw him to the side, his back snapping as soon as it hit the broken door, and sunk to the floor.

When his eyes flashed to you, his soft puppy eyes turned to a blood red, maskless. He hissed at the man, his fangs bared and bright, his body tense with danger and murder. He looked at you then at the man, hate burning his lungs. How dare he have a gun against your skin. Your his. You're not supposed to feel fear while you're in his house, your home. He promised you that since he married you in the spring.

And the baby--

The gun pressed against your throat as the shorter man said, "Move and she dies, I swear--!"

He didn't finish that statement. In a blink, he was thrown back into the wall, his back going through it. Brahms pushed you away, and you fell on back and scurried away as Brahms entered the wall.

Close your eyes and count to 100, y/n. This is going to be ugly.

The man looked up at horror of Brahms and tried to shot, but Brahms broke his hand. "How dare you," he hissed through his teeth. "How dare you come into my house," his grip tighten, "try to steal my wife away from me," his grip tightened until his bones stated to shatter all over again. The man screamed but Brahms didn't let up. "You threatened her, my darling, with a gun! My y/n with a gun! My child, that she carries, with a bullet!" Brahms twisted his arm back violently, snapping his shoulder in two.

"Please," the man whimpers pathetically. "Mercy--"

"Fuck your mercy," his accent was heavy. "Fuck your begs. It left as soon as you thought it was a good idea," he yanked the man to his feet until he was dangling in the air, "to put my wife and child in harms way!" The more he thought about you almost getting hurt, the more he hated the men. The more he hated the fact that they were in his house. Near you. Touching and bruising you. Scaring you. He hated them. He ate himself. He loves you. "Never again," he growled, his fangs growing longer and sharper. "Never. Again."

With a terrible noise leaving the attacker, the sound of the man's neck being torn from his body made you want to throw-up.

You slowly sat up as you watched Brahms come out of the broken wall, his mouth covered in rich blood from his kill, chest heaving heavily. His eyes scanned the room and saw the other man, who laid across from you, taking shallow breaths. You looked at your husband then back at the man. He didn't do anything wrong to you; he wanted to leave and call it a night! Truth to be told, you felt bad for him. He was just looking for a score, not to be killed by a ragging vampire husband. You looked between him and Brahms as you watched him breath heavily.

"Let me take care of him, doll," Brahms said in his real voice, deep and low, the corner of his lip twitching in anger. "You'll never see him again-"

"Brahms, wait," you were shaky as you stood between him and the dying man. Your hands went up and cupped his cheeks. "Honey, he's almost dead. He didn't hurt me or wanted to harm me; he wanted to leave."

"He came into our house, y/n," Brahms's voice was heavy in anger as he looked at the man gasping. "I can take care of the rat."

"Then make it fast?" You asked. "I don't want him to suffer more than he already has, okay?" You thumbed away some of the blood on the corner of his mouth. "He's done nothing wrong towards me." His eyes fell back on you, and his soft brown and blue eyes returned. He leaned into your hands and took deep breaths, but your hands left him, lowering them to your side.

He looked at you confused as you were careful to step away and over the broken glass. You crouched next to the dying man and held his hand. Your grandmother said that it's bad to die alone, and it's the worst feeling in the world. You frowned as you listened to his broken apologies, and you offered a sad smile.

"Thank you for not hurting me," you whispered. "I'm sorry that it has to be this way."

You felt Brahms standing over you, and you looked up, letting him know that you were ready, that it was okay for him to do the kill. You know it's in his nature, but he always made sure you're not in the room. He helps you stand and ushered you out of the room to the front hallway.

He kisses your hands, whispering in his voice, "Be right back, y/n."

"Please, Brahms," you said again, taking his hand. "Please be good? Make it fast?" He doesn't answer you, but he squeezed your hand and left you alone.

You stand and wait alone in the dark. You held your stomach as you waited, nervous and scared. The moments later, the light turned off and Brahms emerged from the darkness. He lowered his head on your shoulder and left a blood stain kiss on your neck, his fangs brushing your skin.

Your hands raked through his curls as you leaned into his chest, closing your eyes, allowing yourself to cry again.

"Never again," Brahms murmurs in his childish voice. "Never face scary noises by yourself again." His hand grip your arms gently before scooping you up and carried you back to bed.

You leaned into his chest a he carried you up the steps. "Did he suffer?"

"No," he answers childishly. "I was good. I listened. I promise." You looked up at him and touched his scared face. He leaned into it and kissed your palm. "Brahms was good."

You couldn't help but smile as you lean against him. "Good boy," you whispered, tears slowing down. "Good boy, Brahms."

He takes you back into the bedroom and lays you down. He leaves and washes up in the bathroom. When he comes back, he wasn't wearing a shirt as he came back into bed. He kisses your lips twice, one to say 'I love you' and one for 'goodnight', and wrapped his arms around your side, burying his face to be close to his child once more. Your hands went through his curls, again, then closed your eyes. After a few shaky breaths, you were back to sleep.

#brahms x you #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms the doll #the boy #the boy 2016 #vampire!brahms heelshire #vampire!brahms #slasher fic #slasher fanfic #slasher #the boy fanfiction #the boy fanfic #slasher fanfiction #brahms heelshire fanfis #brahms heelshire x you #brahms heelshire x y/n