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#dark fluff
toxicanonymity · 3 months
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Let me stay awake.
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7.2k, vampy!Joel x f!reader | vampire masterlist | playlist SUMMARY: Joel tries to take better care of you and plans a date night in. Next time he takes your blood, it feels amazing. WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap (440s to 20s-50s), reader is in captivity, angst, hurt/comfort, dark fluff, POV alternates (twice?), a lot of character dev in the first half, a former blood donor joins the cast, alcohol (minimal), chains, shackles, ankle collar, joel gets handsy and a little creepy, dry humping, groping, perfectly timed ejaculation. All dubcon because you're captive. SERIES IMMERSABILITY: Reader can menstruate, be lifted by vampire Joel, and has no allergies.
After Joel took your period, you told him he was doing a bad job taking care of you, which was true. But he did a good job at something. You slept like a baby. He was back with when you woke up. Now he’s sitting next to you on the mattress, back against the wall. Against his thighs, he’s holding a pen on top of a book that looks ancient.  He adjusts his glasses and opens the book. The pages are blank, discolored, and thick. Some have been ripped out. He takes the cap off his pen and asks, “What’d ya have at your old house that we don't have here?” then rests his hand on the page to write. His hand dwarfs the page, and you feel a surge of desire recalling his sounds of pleasure. No, you don’t want him, you tell yourself, as if you didn’t fantasize about him on your way to sleep.
“Freedom,” you answer, and he winces. 
He closes the journal with the pen keeping it partly open, then he turns toward you. “If ya just gimme a chance, sweetheart. . . I'm really gonna do my best. . .” 
When you stay quiet, he says, “Ya know. I think one day, we’ll get there.” 
“Get where?” 
“Outside, out in the world together.”
“Really?” 
He nods. “That walk we took was nice, right?”
“What walk?”
“Through the alley, that first night, when I walked ya to your car?” Right. . .what a gentleman. 
“Yeah, I guess.” Now your mind is drifting back to the way he gently pushed you against the brick wall to kiss you on that walk. Did he already know what he was going to do to you when he first pressed himself against you? 
His eyes are earnest.  “It can be like that again,” he nods.  “Just need a little time.”
You nod. 
He clears his throat, opens the journal, and picks up his pen. “So what do you need?” 
Your stomach twists. Answering would feel like resigning yourself to some dark fate. “I'm not gonna help you keep me prisoner,” you mumble. 
“Prisoner?” He dips his head and his brow furrows. “God, no,” he softly reassures you. He reads your face, then stares into the mattress and swallows.
You rephrase, “Well I’m not gonna help you keep me.” 
He looks you over with pleading eyes.  “I'm gonna go out for a while, okay? Can I get ya anything?”
There are things you need, but you still can’t bring yourself to acknowledge you’re there for the long haul. So you shake your head no. He goes to get the chain from the floor.
“Hate doin’ this,” he mumbles. “‘s’just for now.” He drags the chain over and lifts the sheet to expose your feet. He sees the scrapes and irritation on your ankle. “Shit,” he shakes his head at himself. “Hold on, sweetheart,” he mutters. “Stupid,” he mumbles at himself as he gets up.  He goes upstairs and takes the tray from breakfast with him.  He returns with the same tray. It’s holding a pair of his own wool socks in a fair isle pattern, a paper bag, and a translucent teal bottle full of water. “Lunch,” he says as he sets the tray down next to you. He puts the socks on you, and they're toasty. Then, he puts the cuff on over the sock. “Little better?”
“A little,” you answer. 
“Good,” he whispers. 
— JOEL —
He’s gotta do something about that chain. He’s about to lay down on the sofa to think, but when he moves a decorative pillow out of the way, he feels a rush of shame. “Oh my god,” he whispers. He’s so stupid. How did he not think to give you a pillow? He goes straight to a guest bedroom. The tall, oak door creaks as he opens it. The light from the window nearly blinds him. He blocks it with his forearm as he hurries over to close the heavy curtains.  He sneezes. He picks up an old pillow off the bed and fluffs it. Dust swarms around. There's no way he's giving you that. This whole room has a sad vibe. But he could make you a different room, maybe. His wheels start turning as he goes back downstairs - he has ideas for what room he could use, and what he could do with it. 
He says your name as he descends the final steps. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking,” he apologizes as he crosses the room.  He hands you the pillow and assures you he'll get a better one. Then he goes back upstairs.
After a little research, he packs a leather, cross-body bag and checks the weather. “Damnit,” he grumbles to himself.  Cool but no cloud cover. If it were another sunny day, he’d stay home, but this is too important. He puts on a scarf and grabs his parasol from the coat closet and tucks it under his arm as he pulls on his gloves. He’d rather endure the strange looks than come home without the energy to take care of you. 
-
-
Joel’s first stop is an erotic boutique. It's been a long time since he was anywhere like this. The mannequins in mesh bodysuits and strappy leather catch his eye on the way in, and he almost forgets what he came for. He can't help but imagine you wearing some of these things, but he'd rather just see you naked. 
He slowly makes his way through the store. Should he get you a toy? It seems like sexual health would be a basic need. No, he decides. It might make you uncomfortable. He doesn't want to assume, and doesn't want to invade your privacy. Plus, he has to be careful. He doesn’t want you to think this is all just to get him off. He knows how it feels to be fetishized.
“Can I help you?” Someone asks. Joel turns around and squints through his transition lenses at the worker’s face, then their name tag. Craig.  Where does Joel know him from?  Joel stays home a lot, but not as much as one might think. He needs some kind of social contact. 
Craig interrupts Joel’s thoughts, “You’re the one with the mansion, right?”
Joel chuckles. “Uhh, I dunno if–”
“Oh, sorry,” Craig  holds his hand up. “Ya know what? I must be thinking of someone else.” His lie is an unconvincing attempt to allow Joel his anonymity after the slip-up. He probably thinks Joel is in disguise. 
“No, no, it’s okay, man. I was just gonna say. I wouldn’t call it a. . . mansion,” Joel feels stupid as he finishes the sentence. 
“Okay,” Craig concedes with a playful eye roll.  “The house with the Christmas party” 
Oh, God. Joel hadn't even thought about his party. It's gotta be small this year, if it happens. Maybe it would be nice. Joel pictures you in a fancy dress sitting next to him at the table. He imagines having someone to kiss at midnight. 
“New year’s, “ Joel corrects him and sticks out his hand. “Joel.” 
“Right, right.” Craig shakes Joel’s hand and asks, “Friend of the Fishers, right?” 
Joel snaps his finger, “Yes! Right. You're in David's choir.” Another thing Joel forgot. His life has revolved around you ever since you stepped into it.  You're all he thinks about.  Joel starts to apologize, “Look, I dunno if I'm gonna make the Christmas concert this year, it snuck up on me.”
“It's okay, it's okay,” Craig reassures him with a wave of his hand. “Can I help ya find anything?” 
“Yeah, uh, it said online y’all have some cuffs and chains and stuff?”
“Oh yeah,” Craig nods. “Come with me.” He guides Joel to a back wall covered in all sorts of contraptions. “Looking for anything in particular?” 
“Yeah, something really comfortable and secure.”
As Craig rings up Joel’s purchase, Joel silently worries if this is going to work. 
“Want me to show ya how the lock works?” Craig asks. 
 “Uhh, sure,” Joel says. 
Craig takes the leather cuff out of the package and demonstrates the metal lock. He dangles the two keys. “One for you, and one for them,” he smiles. 
“And both cuffs have the same key?”
“Yep,” Craig nods. 
The cuff seems comfortable–the inside is suede and there's metal over the leather-–but Joel wonders if it's secure enough. What if you get away and he never sees you again? He looks at the metal loop on the cuff.
“Hey,” Joel asks and scratches his neck. “Y’all don't have any, uh, ID tags or anything do ya?”
“ID tags?” 
“Like the little metal ones that hang on a loop.”
“Ohhh, like for a collar.” Craig raises his eyebrows. 
“Or for this?” Joel asks, holding up a cuff. 
“Cool,” Craig nods as if Joel is an innovator.  “Gimme one sec.” 
Craig goes out to a nearby shelf and comes back with a few collars that have their own tag – mostly hearts, either blank or with something generic like princess. “This is all we got.”
“Y’all do engraving here?” Joel asks. 
“No. . .But if ya only need the tag, and it's gotta be engraved, I can tell ya where to go.”
When Joel is done with his next stop, he opens his leather bag and slips the metal tag into a zippered pocket. Damn, he thinks.  He doesn't even know your favorite color. He hopes you’re okay with a black heart. Certainly better than a bone shape. He starts his car and heads toward the library. 
-
When Joel walks into the library, he politely nods at the information desk, then heads to the computers. He sits down at one in the back row. He takes his gloves off, pulls his journal and a pen out of his bag, then logs onto the computer. He searches the catalog and the internet. What do you need? Food, water, shelter, this all seems obvious. What do you want? Freedom, he can hear you saying it. How much can he give you? How can he make you stay? How can he make you understand how much he cares? He retrieves a book and opens his journal to make some notes.
-
Joel puts down his pen, looks over his notes, then takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes. He wishes you’d talk to him. What do you really want? 
He whispers your name out loud. “God I wanna make you happy.” He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. He has a headache. The sun is catching up with him. He shouldn’t have gone out today. He should go home. When he opens his eyes, he puts his glasses back on. Someone is approaching. He swiftly locks the computer screen and closes his notebook. 
“Joel.” It’s a kind, grandmotherly voice.
“Carol,” Joel smiles, and leans back as casually as he can. 
“You alright there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Joel nods, trying not to wince. She looks at the empty computer screen and closed notebook. 
“Okay, well, you know where to find me, dear.” 
“Great sweater, by the way,” Joel tells her. “Perfect color. Really makes your eyes pop.”  
“Oh, Joel,” she coyly pats down her white curls. “Thank you, dear--OH, Christy asked if you came in. Do you want me to get her?” 
Joel didn’t even think about her on his way in. He feels a twinge of guilt for silencing her call, ignoring her text. 
“Joel?” Carol asks, looking concerned. 
He snaps out of it and feigns a little smile. “Uh, no. No, thank you. Don't bother her.”
“Okay,” Carol says in a sing-song voice. “I'll leave you to it then.” She smiles and walks away. 
So she was expecting him. Oh, shit - he thinks through his mental calendar - Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Warmth rises to his cheeks. It’s been so long since he’s felt his cheeks get warm. It must be something in your blood.  Not only has Joel taken blood from Christy, but she’s been his wingman before. They'd go out somewhere, and he'd listen to her drone on and on–she never took a breath–about  her armchair detective community. 
She’s always been a little too into the whole situation. If Joel thanked her for her help, she’d beam, “Any time.” She wasn't with him the night he met you. He wasn't on the hunt. But you smelled special, and he couldn't physically resist. 
Joel hears Christy greet someone. He can't dodge her, he just has to hope she walks on by.  He picks up his leather bag and puts it in his lap. He rifles through it until he finds a stick of menthol balm. 
“There he is,” Christy calls. 
Too late. He stuffs the menthol back in his bag without using it. He looks up, and she’s paused in the middle of the library with one hand on her hip and her eyes wide, even wider than usual.  
“Hey, Chris.” 
She hurries over. “So you are alive,” she teases with her arms crossed, then tilts her head, widens her eyes, and whispers, “figuratively speaking.” She laughs at her own joke. 
She knows as much about him as anyone alive. It's made a big difference having a friend who knows. This has been one of Joel’s better eras, but the era he’s moving into with you will be lightyears better. And it’ll be more than an era. 
“Kinda late,” she cringes lightheartedly. 
“Oh, no, no, none for me. I’m good, thanks. Sorry, I’ve uh – I’ve gotta go.” 
He stands up and puts his bag on.  She’s gonna know something’s up. He scratches the back of his neck, weighing whether to break down and tell her everything so she can help him know how to make you comfortable and happy. Plus, he just wants to talk about you. He wants to tell the world. But today he has one priority: taking care of you. 
“Waait a second,” Christy says knowingly, studying his face. “You’re glowing. You just got some good stuff, didn't ya?” She playfully punches Joel’s arm.  “Good for you,” she beams, then raises her eyebrows and lowers her voice. “Bet it was menstrual, O positive.”
“The blood type doesn't–”
“--You say that, but if you’d let me do my experiment. . .Oh! We’ve got some new microfilm downstairs. 1880s, if you can believe it.” 
“Not today,” Joel replies a little too quickly if he doesn’t want her prying.  
Her lips form a line and her eyebrows go up, then she shrugs it off. “Okay, mister. Hey, can you still take care of Cal next weekend? Nat and I are–”
“--Uh, yeah,” Joel starts to walk off. “If you can drop her off.” You might enjoy the cat’s company.
“Joel!” Christy calls after him. “Don’t forget this!” She’s holding his parasol. 
Next, Joel stops by the hardware store to get some supplies to secure you more comfortably. He’s sure he’s forgetting something, but this is a good start, and there’s always delivery. He doesn’t want to leave the house again this week. Thankfully, the hardware store is next to a Walmart, which has groceries, clothes, and pillows. He gets you some loungewear, socks, and new bedding. It’s the least he can do.
—--
When Joel gets home, he brings you four different pillows and some bedding. 
“Wasn’t sure what firmness.” 
He unlocks you and shows you the socks and lounge clothes. “These looked comfortable. Here, I can help. . .”
“I can do it,” you tell him. 
“Right.”  He turns around. While you’re changing, he says, “Let's order in tonight. Too tired to get anything started.”  
“I’m not hungry yet,” you tell him.
Then he shows you the new cuffs and chain. He rings the heart shaped tag onto one cuff, then puts it around your ankle. “Better?”
The chain is much lighter.  “Yeah, I guess,” you admit. “What’s this?” You look at the tag. 
“Oh I dunno, I just–I started worryin’.” 
You stare at him blankly. 
“I dunno, just in case.” 
“In case what?”
He swallows. “If ya. .” He looks around. He doesn't wanna say it out loud.  “If ya left. . . so ya could . . . I dunno, get back.”
Now there’s a hint of pity and bewilderment in your eyes. 
“It was stupid, sorry.” He takes a deep breath and manages a small smile. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll be right upstairs.” 
-
When he gets upstairs, he looks at his phone and has a message from Christy. His stomach drops when the picture loads. It’s his search history about taking care of adult human women and what makes them stay.
“God damnit,” he curses himself. Of course he didn’t clear his search history. He didn’t even log off. She's typing. She stops, then starts again, and he presses the heels of his palms into his temples. What now? Should he call her? She wouldn't tell anyone, but – Her message comes through with a woosh: “this is what librarians are for.”
“Ha," he scoffs with the slightest smile. He shakes his head and turns the screen off without answering.  He should be relieved, but can’t help but worry. He's seen her at her worst. God, he hopes that was her worst.  What does she want?
Another message comes in: “let me help you."
Of course that’s what she wants. Funny enough, he’s seen her at her worst specifically when she was trying to help. But it’s still tempting, because she’s smart and resourceful. She could tell him everything there is to know about you within an hour. He’d love to know what kind of clothes you’d like, your favorite foods, how to make you happy. But for now, he’s doing alright on his own. He doesn’t text back. 
-—You—
A while after Joel goes upstairs, you hear drilling, then clanking, metal jingling, things being dropped. 
Later, he brings you dinner. He doesn’t eat, but he sits with you.  Then, after you’re done, he faces you, cross-legged on the mattress.  He’s wearing his glasses and has his journal again. There are handwritten notes in it. From upside down, you can see the words “buy” and “do.” Some items are crossed through.
“I was thinkin’,” he studies the page, then looks up at you. “Ya might need a bed.” He looks at your face for confirmation.   “Right?” he asks. Wow, he really wants an answer. 
“I mean. . . yeah, I sleep in a bed, if that’s what you’re asking.” 
“Okay, I’m workin’ on a room for ya.”
For the next few days, he’s hard at work. 
—----
He comes downstairs one evening around dinner time and says,  “I was thinkin’, maybe we could watch a movie or somethin’.”
“Here?”
“Uh, no sweetheart. I was thinkin’, if ya wanna come upstairs for dinner, then maybe, after that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he smiles.
“Okay.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Great.” He goes to the other end of the chain and takes a key out of his pocket to unlock the cuff from the floor.  As he's doing it, he mumbles, “You can, uh, pick the movie. If ya want.” The chain is sliding around on the mattress as he fiddles with the cuff. When the cuff is free from the hook, he puts it around his wrist, then locks it. Your breath hitches. He sees you looking at his wrist. 
“Don't wanna get separated,” he chuckles sheepishly, then puts a hand on your wrist. “Want yours here?” 
“Yeah.” 
He moves the leather cuff from your ankle to your wrist, and it's nice to feel his hands on yours as he fastens it. He smells good. Fresh, woodsy. He opens his palm and takes your hand to help you up. He holds the slack of the chain as the two of you walk upstairs. 
It's a large room with high ceilings. It's dark, but cozy. A fire is lit. There are plants, lots of plants. And bookshelves in the walls. He takes you through the main room, to a dining room with a huge table already set for two.  He offers you the head of the table and pulls out the chair for you. He lets the slack of the chain pool between your chairs, and you're both still wearing a cuff on your wrist. 
 You eat mostly in silence, which makes the jingling of the dog tag deafening when you move that hand. He asks where you’d like to travel. You’d love to just travel outside, down the driveway, but you humor him with more ambitious places.
The space is lit with gas candelabras, and it’s hard not to admire his handsome face and the way his eyes sparkle in the candlelight. Sometimes a flicker catches the silver in his beard just right.
After dinner, he takes you back to the main room. There's an oversized sofa with a large, soft blanket draped over it and pillows like the one Joel brought downstairs. There's a big, square ottoman. There's also a side table with two clean, empty wine glasses. The sofa faces the fireplace, which is quite wide, and there’s a screen mounted above it. Joel offers you a glass of wine, and you accept but won’t drink much of it. He starts the movie.
-
Joel puts his arm around you while you watch the film. The chain lightly clinks against itself as he strokes your shoulder, then your arm, and you feel yourself melting. He arranges the pillows and asks if you want to lie down. You do. He spoons you, with his free hand resting over your body. His chained hand is under the pillow, and it finds yours as the movie goes on. Your fingertips brush, and you don’t pull away. Then he fully rests his hand on yours. 
The hand draped over your side gradually begins to wander. He slowly, lightly strokes your side. . .then your hip. . . then your stomach, over your clothes. His breath deepens. His light, meandering touch makes you weak with desire and lulls you half asleep. 
“Thanks for being here,” he whispers. He kisses the nape of your neck. “I know it’s a lot to take in.” He kisses your hair. “But it'll be worth it.” His light touch continues, and you begin to tingle. “Won’t be stuck here forever. . .we’ll travel the world one day.”
His hand travels higher on your body as he moves it in loose circles, until he’s skimming the bottoms of your breasts. His palm grazes the outline of your hard nipple, and a hard shape twitches against your ass. You don’t flinch, but you inhale sharply through your nose, trying to suppress a wave of desire. 
Joel pulls his hips back and tucks the blanket between you, to your secret disappointment. Then he props his head up to admire you. “So many things I wanna do with you,” he murmurs, running his massive hand down your side again where he started. “And for you,” he whispers, draping his hand over your lower belly. Then, barely audible, so quiet you might be imagining it, “and to you.” He puts his head back down on the pillow and inhales your hair, skimming your top with his fingers.
His hand nudges under your lounge top, then his fingertips slip into your waistband ever so slightly, and you’re throbbing.  His fingertips skim your bare belly, dipping a little further into your pants. 
He asks, “You okay from. . .”
Your heart rate quickens. “Yeah, I think so.” 
“I can check,” he quietly offers. “Make sure I got it all.”
“Ok,” you whisper. 
“Good,” he slides his hand down your lounge pants. You’re not wearing underwear. You gasp softly as his fingers reach your clit. He pauses there, and an involuntary push of his hips lets you feel him through the blanket before he pulls back again. His fingertips get lower, then hook between your legs, and he softly gasps when he reaches your wetness. He runs his fingers through your folds, then uses his massive hand to hold the waistband open while he peeks at his fingers. 
“You did,” you whisper. 
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shoulda waited, though. I wasn too rough. Shoulda let it happen.” He lets the waistband close over his wrist and cups your  mound.
“You weren’t,” you tell him, closing your eyes, embarrassed at the whole situation. Now he knows how wet you are. 
His middle finger twitches and nudges your clit, then begins nudging it rhythmically. Soon, it evolves toward a more deliberate, pleasure-focused rub, and he inhales deeply, chest expanding against your back. 
“I think I should go to sleep,” you whisper, overwhelmed. His finger stops moving, but his hand stays in your pants.  
Joel offers, “Might sleep better if–” 
“Not tonight.”  You twist your hips away from his, already hating yourself for cutting this off, but knowing you’d judge yourself for continuing. 
He slowly withdraws his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Somethin’ came over me.” 
On the way downstairs, he tells you again, “I’m workin’ on a room for ya. Just gimme a couple days.” 
He chains you back to the floor, then makes up the mattress with a new set of bedding and a comforter. He tucks you in, and leans over you. He wets his lips, looking at yours. You look away. He kisses you on the cheek, soft and slow. Somehow, it feels just as sensual as if it were your mouth.
“Night, sweetheart.” 
—-
The next evening, your room is finished.  He brings you upstairs and shows you what he’s done. It’s an actual bedroom, with a nice, roomy bed. There’s a reading nook with a big, comfy chair and a wall of books.  It’s dim, of course, but he shows you how to use the dials to remotely adjust the flames of the candelabras and chandelier. There’s a window with a curtain. It has steel bars, but at least it’s there. There’s a closet with clothes and some packages not yet opened.  There’s even a fireplace. 
“And here’s the best part,” he says excitedly, gesticulating in a way that makes the chain between you jingle. He brings you outside the bedroom and closes the double doors. There are two dark panels that create a heart where the doors meet.  “Check it out.” He retrieves a key from his pocket, and locks the door from the outside. It’s a heavy, satisfying click. He looks at you like you’re going to be excited. “So you can take this off,” he explains, holding up the chain. 
-----
You see Joel more often once you’re out of the basement. He’s happy to have you close, and you’re glad to have the accommodations. But you’re also confused, and a little depressed. You crave his presence and his touch in a way you know is unhealthy. You know it must be because he’s all you have right now, but your heart tells you there’s more to it. The whole situation has felt like a dream, and maybe that’s how you’ve coped. But the longer it lasts, the more real it feels.
One night, it catches up with you and you have a good cry. You try to be quiet. You try to stop, but you can’t. So you let it go, you just sob. 
After a while, you hear the heavy lock, and the massive door opens just enough for Joel to come in. He closes it behind him, then stands there rubbing his beard.  He looks at you like he’s lost, then cautiously approaches. 
“Hey,” he whispers. He sits down on the bed. You’re curled up, facing him. You don’t turn away. He strokes your arm, and you cry harder. “Oh, sweetheart.” His eyes are sad. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He knows. He lies down, facing you. He hugs you into him and you cry into his soft t-shirt, inhaling his scent with every gasp for air.  “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay.” 
You close your eyes, wanting him to kiss you, and you’re disturbed by your own desire.  You pinch your lashes shut harder, and your whole face tenses. It hurts.
“This isn’t okay,” you sob. “It’s not gonna be.” You try to push him away, but he holds you still. After all the times he’s folded, apologized, and backed off, that’s not what he does. He holds you in his arms, making you stay there. “What are you doing,” you whine, and you push at his chest. He doesn’t budge. You half-heartedly hit and kick at him, and he cages you with his leg, too. It soothes you, like a weighted blanket, but you fight it. 
“Shhhh,” he holds you tight. His voice is deep and quiet against the top of your ear. “We’re gonna be happy one day,” he insists. “Promise, sweetheart.” You exhaust yourself crying, and he holds you. “I love you.” You try to ignore it, but that doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering. Soon you’re nuzzling your head into his neck, gripping his shirt in a fist like you don’t want him to go. He drapes a heavy blanket over both of you. He holds you like that until you fall asleep and your fist releases his shirt. He stays a little longer, then kisses you on the forehead and leaves. 
—--
The next afternoon, Joel approaches you and sits down on the edge of the bed. “How ya feel? Ya look good,” he whispers, and cups your cheek. You don’t shrug him off. 
“I’m fine,” you reply, wishing he would lie down with you again, but not wanting to invite him. 
“What do you want for dinner?” he asks. 
“I don't care,” you answer.  
He sits there in silence and places a hand on your knee. 
“Got ya somethin’,” he murmurs, and stands up for a moment. He appears to get nervous as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a shallow, velvet jewelry box. He sits down again and holds the box out for you to take, but you don’t. He opens it for you. It’s a necklace. He tells you what the stone is. It’s your birthstone. It’s thoughtful, but he only knows your birthday because he has your wallet. He faces you and puts his hands around your neck as he puts the necklace on, getting his face close to yours so he can see the clasp. With his temple nearly brushing yours, you feel a surge of want. There’s no denying it. The scruff of his cheek scratches you lightly as he finishes fastening the necklace. “There,” he says, and looks at you adoringly.
“Thanks.” 
“You’re one of a kind, ya know.” 
He wets his lips and you notice they’re chapped, dehydrated. He’s pale. You find yourself wanting to hug him, kiss him, but you don’t. He kisses you on the cheek. 
One night, Joel makes you a special dinner. He cuffs the two of you together, and you eat in the dining room at the big table with him again. He tells you he needs your blood again. “I don’t have to take much,” he says. “It can be tomorrow,” he offers. “Don’t wanna spring it on ya.” 
“It’s alright,” you tell him. “You need it.” And the truth is, you want it. You want him to take it. You want to be taken back to that moment against your car. You want something that overwhelms your senses and puts you on another plane. You need something to remind you that you aren’t just a girl in a room, and he’s not just some guy keeping you there. If you can physically feel all of that, maybe you can let yourself relax. 
After dinner, he brings you back to your room and unchains you. You sit on the bed. He turns on the fireplace and tells you he’lll be right back. When he returns, he has an old medicine bottle with a cloth. He wets the cloth and says, “I’ll lay with ya, til ya wake up, okay?”
You look at the cloth in his hand and say,  “You don’t have to put me to sleep.” He adjusts the cloth in his hand. “Don’t,” you shake your head. 
His brows knit, and he reads your eyes for a few seconds. 
“Let me stay awake,” you plead. 
“You sure?”
You nod. He closes the bottle again and puts it on your nightstand. 
“Thought it scared ya,” he mumbles. 
“Well it did, when it was a surprise.” 
He nods solemnly. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. I really shoulda. . . I don’t even know.”  If he had asked, you wonder if you would have let him. Surely not, so you can’t exactly blame him. 
-
“Okay,” he looks you over and gets on the bed with you. “You warm enough?” He nudges the cardigan you’re wearing. 
“Yeah,” you nod, and shrug it off. You’re cozy enough from the fire.
“C’mon, let’s get up here.” He guides you up the bed and gets you to lay down with your head on a pillow as if you’re going to sleep. 
He gets close to you, and starts lightly stroking your shoulder as he looks you over. His eyes glue to your neck, and he wets his lips, then he pulls his eyes back to yours. 
“You can choose,” he offers. “Where I take it.” 
You bite your lip as you watch his face and inhale his scent. 
“I can take it here again,” he caresses your neck. Then he holds your arm and lightly brushes his thumb across where you’d normally get an IV, giving you an unexpected surge in arousal.  “Or here.” 
He checks your face, then lays his hand on your waist. His palm skims your side, down your hip. “Or,” he runs his hand up your thigh under your dress. His thumb caresses your thigh, right near your pelvis, and he whispers, “I can take it here.” You’re nearly overwhelmed with desire already. 
“I dunno,” you whisper. 
He gently rolls you onto your back. He takes a deep breath, scoots down the bed, and gets between your thighs. He nuzzles your inner thigh with his nose, then whispers, "up to you, sweetheart."  You're throbbing.
“Tell me what feels right,” he murmurs and nuzzles your inner thigh with his nose.  His hair is fluffy and his eyes are dark and sparkly as he looks up at you. “God, you’re . . .” He reaches up and wraps a hand around your arm. “You’re perfect.” 
“Where do you want?” you ask. 
“Everywhere, anywhere. I want every inch of you.” 
You allow yourself a little smile and hold his eyes for a few seconds. 
He sits up again and offers, “I can make ya feel good.”
“I know,” you nod with a laugh.
“I mean, it’ll feel best, if you’re already feelin’ good.” 
You nod with butterflies in your tummy, telling yourself it’s for a practical purpose, and you might as well enjoy it. 
He nods and whispers, “Okay. . .good.” His eyes rove your body hungrily. He asks, “Anywhere ya don’t want me to touch ya?”
You say "no" so fast your cheeks heat in shame.
His eyes darken and he growls, “good,” as he prowls back up your body.  His triceps swell out from under his shirt.
He kisses you tenderly below your jaw and brings a hand to your breast.  You lift your chin with a sigh. He drags his lips and nose down your throat to your chest, pausing at your neckline. He looks up and you nod. He nudges the fabric aside with his nose, then plants a wet kiss on the swell of your breast, and his eyes close. He moans into your skin. Your gaze fixates on his softwash khakis, and he briefly removes his hand from your chest to adjust himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“s’okay,” you whisper.
“‘Sposed to be about you right now,” he murmurs, looking up at you. You tilt your head, trying to look at his pants, but the room is too dim. Truth is, you’re finding it hard to think about anything but his cock at the moment. You only felt the briefest hint of it the other night. You want to feel it all.
He slides his hand up your thigh again, and his thumb nudges just slightly under the crotch of your panties, making you twitch. He takes a deep breath through his nose, then withdraws his thumb and lets down the edge of your panties. He scoots up to lie to your side again, leaving his knee between your legs. He rests his hand on your mound, and slowly ghosts your clit, closing his eyes.  When he opens his eyes again, they sparkle, and his face drifts toward yours.  You don’t flinch, you don’t pull away. You let him kiss you.
With one hand still between your legs, he slides the other one under your head. He kisses you slow and deep, stroking your most sensitive spot through your panties.  Your mouths remain connected as his massive hand slides up to your bare abdomen. He gives your side a little squeeze before sliding back down and nudging his fingers under the hem of your underwear. He pulls his lips from yours and looks at you darkly. It’s not a question, but you nod as his hand slides down.  You gasp and his knuckles strain the fabric as he cups your naked heat.  “Good,” he whispers when he feels how wet you are.  “What if ya just. . .” he kisses you again, then murmurs,  “let your body decide." He plants a soft, open mouth kiss on your cheek, then whispers in your ear, "I'll go everywhere. You tell me when.”
You wrap your wrists around his neck and he catches your inner arm with his mouth. He wetly kisses the inner crook of your elbow, looking up at you. Then he drags his lips down toward your chest, where he pulls your dress down. Your skin hardens with goosebumps as your nipples sharpen, and he groans softly. He kisses your bare breast, then fixes your dress, and kisses your hard nipple through the thin cotton. You arch your back and sigh. He gets between your legs and backs up as he kisses his way down your torso. He lifts your dress and thumbs your panties, sighing “oh, God.” 
He lifts one of your knees over his shoulder and kisses at your cunt through the damp fabric.  Your hips lift into his mouth. He licks along the edge of the crotch, then your inner thigh. He leaves a meandering trail of kisses around your inner thigh, then plants his lips and leaves a hickey. He glances up at you and adjusts himself again, and you let out a little moan.  “C’mere,” You nudge him, pulling at his arms, wanting nothing more than him on top of you. 
He prowls up your body and plants his hands on either side of your chest.  Lays his hips into yours, and when the shape of his warm, hard package presses into your most sensitive place, you gasp and he lets out a low moan. “Should I take-” he asks, reaching for his belt.  You’re nodding before he finishes the question. He uses his left hand to unbuckle his belt. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he pulls away from you enough to take his pants off. Now he’s in long johns, and it’s quite a bulge you’re looking at. Your face and chest burn. You pull him toward you with your feet. He presses his throbbing arousal against your aching heat, and you moan. You card your fingers through his hair. “Feel so good,” you whisper. 
“Good,” he whispers, then kisses your neck again.  
He puts his hand on your thigh and you wrap your leg around him. He lightly grinds into you as he kisses your neck, then your cheek, then your lips again. Your mouths open and draw each other in. You breathe each other’s air and drink each other’s spit. Your lips tingle. Your chest tingles. As you kiss harder, he grinds harder against you. You badly want him inside you, but  you won’t, you can’t, you shouldn’t, you tell yourself. 
The next time his mouth comes to your neck, he teases you with his tongue and a bolt of pleasure shoots down  your spine. Your nipples harden.  He opens his mouth wider against your skin. “Do it,” you whisper, then feel the prick of his fangs against your flesh. “Do it,” you repeat, and his arousal swells against you as he sinks his teeth into your skin. Your hips lift against his. He moans into your neck, and as your blood flows into him, he gets harder. You shudder in pleasure as he takes what he needs. You move his hand from your thigh to your breast, and you lift your pelvis into his, whispering, “yeah.” You’re not lightheaded, not yet. He’s doing this slowly, pacing himself. 
His warmer, harder cock twitches against you, and you reach down to grope it desperately. He groans. You grind up against him and moan, “Joel,” with a surge of need overtaking you. He ruts against you slow and hard, warm and stiff, then his cock pulses right against your clit. He groans into your neck, and you grind back against him, and the whole front of you begins to pulse with him. “Oh God,” you gasp and grab his ass, pulling him against you harder as the warmth of his cum seeps through the thermal fabric, “oh fuck,” you sigh as you cum with him. 
As you finish convulsing, his fangs release you. His breath is humid against your neck. “Fuck, i’m sorry,” he mutters. He leans his cheek against your shoulder, and you can feel how warm his face is. 
“Don’t be,” you whisper. “That felt really good.” He pulls back and looks at you, cheeks blotchy. 
“Really?” he asks. He cups and adjusts his manhood through his damp bottoms. “I never. . .”
“I know,” you reassure him. “It’s my blood, isn’t it?”
He nods with his eyes half closed. “It’s incredible.” 
You nod. “It was good for me too,” you admit. 
“I could feel it,” he puts a hand on your panties.  He sighs and lays half on top of you. He strokes your face. “Can I do somethin’ for ya?”
You shake your head no. “I’m good.” 
He caresses your neck. “I’ll get ya some ice.”
“No,” your hand comes to his back, and you don’t let him leave. “Just stay right here.” 
You lay in silence with him half on top of you. Then he props himself up to look at you. 
“We're made for each other,” he whispers, looking at your mouth. He kisses you softly, then meets your eyes. “You don’t believe it yet.  It’s okay.” 
“It’s not that I don’t-”
“It’s okay. Don’t have to,” he reassures you. He rests his head close to yours on the same pillow, and nuzzles his nose against yours. “Just hope ya feel it one day,” he murmurs into your cheek. “I know ya will.” 
You feel it. You disagree, you think, but you feel the truth in it. 
He puts his arm all the way over you. His arm is solid, and you imagine very heavy, but it's not dead weight. It's tense, like he's actively holding you there, just in case. 
—----
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His parasol was inspired by @gasolinerainbowpuddles mood board. 
Thank you so much for love for vampire!Joel and your patience for his story to continue.
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This Charming Man- dark!Frankie Morales x OFC Camila
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Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Camila
Summary: Frankie’s wife kicks him out and files for divorce following a second trip to retrieve their money. He feels lost and hopeless until he meets someone new. He falls hard and fast for her. He’ll do anything to have her.
Rating: E for EXPLICIT MDNI 18+
Warnings: alcohol and drug references, stalking, Frankie POV, unhinged Frankie, violence, Frankie is not a good guy here, birth control talk, emotional manipulation, unprotected PIV, oral sex f!receiving, creampie, Good Dad ™️ Frankie, implied character death, uhhhhh i hope i didn’t miss anything but let me know if I did and I will add it!
Word Count: 9.2k
Author’s Notes: If i had to categorize this, it would be dark fluff. Frankie is not a good guy but you still kinda wanna root for him. This fic (like many of my fics) would not exist if not for the love of my life, Gin @wannab-urs letting me scream at her for weeks about it. @beskarandblasters also gave this a once over for me! I’m so lucky to have friends like them!
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exitus acta probat- the outcome justifies the deed
Frankie is spending his Friday night much like he had nearly every Friday night for the past year, in a dingy high school gym, supporting his brother in arms. Benny is determined to make a name for himself in the MMA circle. Even after they returned from retrieving their money from that ravine in The Andes Mountains, he was still here, getting pounded into the mats week after week. It’s his way of coping with all the shit that went down in that jungle. Will threw himself into his work with veterans, Pope threw himself into the bed of any woman that would have him, but never the same one twice. Benny gets his face bashed in every weekend and lets the ring girls comfort him afterwards. As for Frankie, when he came home from that second trip to South America, all his shit was on the lawn and the locks had been changed. He crashed on Benny’s couch for a few weeks seeking comfort in the bottom of a bottle and those little baggies. Then he bought himself a house, nothing flashy, just a simple home with enough space for the kids, if she ever lets them come visit. 
Frankie had been on a few dates, mostly with friends of whoever Pope or Benny was banging. He’d taken a couple of them home, showed them a good time, and then promptly asked them to leave. Unlike the guys, the solution to Frankie’s problems wasn’t a mouthful of pussy. To be completely honest, all Frankie wanted was to feel something, anything, again. Redfly’s death hit him the hardest, he blamed himself for everything that went down in that little village. All those deaths, including Tom’s, are on him. He was too quick on the trigger and people lost their lives. Their friend, their leader, lost his life. Tom’s kids lost their dad. Sometimes he couldn’t stand to face his brothers, knowing what his actions cost them all. Sure, the money was nice, but it didn’t come close to making up for what they lost, what Frankie took from them. He’s missed the last two Fridays, so he dragged his sorry ass off his couch, showered and came out to cheer Benny on. 
Benny’s been seeing one of the ring girls for a few weeks and keeps trying to set Frankie up with her friend. He’d been able to hold him at bay so far, but he has a feeling his luck has run out. He’s tried to tell them he isn’t interested in hookup or a fling. He steps into the gym just as the lights go down. The ring is lit up with spotlights and he quickly finds Pope and Will right in the front. He slides into the seat they saved for him and accepts the beer Pope holds out to him. It tastes like warm piss but that doesn’t stop him from gulping it down. Benny’s fight is the headliner so he’s going last. Frankie doesn’t give a shit about MMA so he lets his eyes wander the crowd. He makes eye contact with a woman across the gym from him. She gives him a sweet smile, but she doesn’t look away. She holds his gaze, mirroring his intensity. He feels like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs. This is what he’s been looking for. He feels like a spark has been ignited inside his chest, radiating electricity throughout his body. She finally looks away, but not before giving him a sly smirk. She shoots up from her seat when the fight ends, and Frankie does the same.
“Where ya goin’, Fish?” Pope asks.
“Bathroom.” He replies, not even looking at his friend. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of her for a second. He half jogs through the door she exited, just in time to see her slip into the women’s room. He almost follows her in until a woman’s voice catches his attention.
“Oh this is the women’s restroom.” She offers politely. Frankie puts on his best smile and turns to her.
“I am so sorry, ma’am. Forgot my glasses at home.” The elderly woman pats his shoulder and moves past him to open the door.
Frankie waits for what feels like an eternity for her to come out, ears perking every time the door squeaks open. He jumps when a hand claps down on his shoulder.
“What are you doing, man? Benny’s fight is about to start.” Pope asks.
“Just needed some air.” Frankie offers. He tosses one more regretful look over his shoulder before he follows his friend back into the gym. He is determined to find her again after the match. He can’t let her get away. He has to at least talk to her. He spends the entirety of Benny’s fight imagining all the things he could do to her. How pretty she would look on her knees for him, with his cock halfway down her throat. What kind of sounds she’d make when he has his tongue buried inside of her. He has no idea who she is but he wants to do terrible, depraved things to her. Before he knows it, the lights are coming up and the guys are rising from their seats.
“C’mon, Fish. Let’s go find Benny.” The fight was over and Frankie didn’t even know who won. He stands from his seat and dutifully follows his friends. Hopefully, he’ll be able to figure out which way the fight went by the interactions between the other men. He’s too embarrassed to admit he’d been preoccupied fighting the half chub in jeans to pay attention to Benny’s fight. 
They make their way over to the locker room and Benny swings the door open, a wide smile on his face. Sure, that face was sporting a split lip and a black eye, but that grin couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than victory. “Hey, Fish! Glad you were able to make it out this time. I was starting to think ya didn’t love me anymore.” Benny jokes while sling his arm around Frankie’s shoulder.
“Congratulations, man.” Frankie tells him, his eyes scanning the crown for the girl.
“Where are we going to celebrate?” Pope asks.
“Gotta check with my girl.” Benny replies and Frankie winces internally. If he didn’t want to be set up before, he definitely doesn’t now. He’s trying to think of an excuse to blow them off and go look for her. Since they were all rich now, he couldn’t really use work as a reason to not celebrate Benny’s big win.
“Here she comes.” Benny says excitedly. And there she was. The girl she had been sitting next to came to stand opposite Frankie, tucking herself in under Benny’s other arm. “Fish, meet Rochelle. Rochelle, this is Catfish.” Frankies sees her cock an eyebrow at hearing his name and stifle a giggle.
“Pleased to meet you, Catfish. And this is my friend Camila.” Frankie shakes Rochelle’s hand and turns to extend it towards Camila. She grasps his hand firmly.
“Nice to meet you.” She says sweetly. Every hair in his body stands on end when her skin makes contact with his.
“Alright!” Will says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s party.” 
An hour later, Frankie finds himself alone with Camila. Pope had snuck off to the bathroom with the waitress, he isn’t nearly as slick as he thinks he is. Will had called it an early night already, and Benny was on the dance floor, grinding on Rochelle. He is surprised at how easily the conversation flows between them. Even more surprised when he discovers how much they have in common. He almost protests when she begins to gather her belongings. She has to drive and doesn’t want to drink too much.
“At least let me walk you to your car.” Frankie offers. She smiles and nods.
“I would like that.” She says. Frankie holds out his hand to help her down from the tall stool, she accepts but doesn’t drop it right away. He feels the same jolt of electricity in his body that he had before. He knows that there is something special about her. He walks her to her car and even opens the door for her after she unlocks it.
“Would you wanna have lunch with me sometime?” He asks, a little sheepishly. He hasn’t asked a woman out in years. He wonders if he even has any game still. Her eyes light up and she gives him a thousand watt smile.
“I’d love to, Catfish.” She says with a wink.
“Gimme your phone.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to her. She punches a few buttons and hands it back. Frankie looks down at the brand new contact and smiles. Camila ❤️.  He closes her door for her and she offers him a small wave. He waves back and happily jogs to his truck at the other end of the parking lot, not even bothering to say goodnight to the guys. 
He’s about to turn towards his house when he spots her car a few lengths ahead of him. He sees her turn signal indicating that she is going to turn right, the opposite way from Frankie’s house. A little detour won’t hurt , he thinks to himself. He turns where she did and can just make out her taillights making a left turn. He follows, once again, and sees her pull into a driveway. He slows down a bit as he passes and makes a right at the next stop sign. Then he makes another right. After a third, he finds himself passing by her house once more. The porch light is off now and there is only one light on inside the house. She must be readying herself for bed. The thought of her taking her clothes off, so close to where he sits at the end of her driveway, makes his cock ache inside his jeans. He grabs his phone from the cup holder and opens a new text thread. He just sends one word. “Catfish.” He’s putting his truck back into drive when his phone dings.
“Lunch tomorrow?” The text reads.
“Absolutely. You can choose the time and place.” He sends the message and thinks about going home to jerk off, but when the light inside her house turns off, he has an idea. So he just sits back and waits.
The next day, Frankie sits at his kitchen table, staring daggers into his phone, willing it to ring. He slaps it against his palm a few times while he paces the kitchen. As if that will produce the desired effect. He's so antsy that he actually drops his phone when it finally does ring. When he retrieves his phone from the kitchen floor the screen is lit up. Camila ❤️. He smiles when he answers.
"Hey there, I was just getting ready to head out the door." He says, trying not to let his excitement show.
"Hey, Frankie. I'm sorry but I don't think I will be able to make it to lunch." Camila says. She sounds disappointed. "I can't get my stupid car to start." He can hear the frustration in her voice.
"Well, that's okay. We can reschedule. Unless you want me to pick you up. I don't mind. Maybe I can even take a look at your car for you." He tells her in a soothing voice.
"That would be great! Thank you so much, Frankie." He smiles so big the corners of his mouth start to ache.
"Send me your address." He tells her, like he doesn't already know where she lives. But she can't know that he knows that. He hangs up and grabs his keys from the hook by the door. He pats his pockets to make sure he has his wallet, his phone and the starter relay he pulled from Camila's car last night, and heads out. 
She slides into his truck with a comfortability Frankie isn’t expecting. Flashing him a dazzling smile and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you so much, Frankie. You really saved this date.” She says. Frankie shoots her a smile of his own and pulls his truck into drive. He takes her to his favorite burger place, figuring it was casual enough for a first date. They fall into comfortable conversation immediately. Trading stories from childhood and facts about themselves. Favorite movies, death row meals. They talk about her divorce and Frankie’s pending one. Frankie’s heart flutters inside his chest. He’s so glad that he didn’t blow off the fight last night. Camila is nothing like the other women he’s been set up with. She’s smart and funny. She has a sharp wit and she's already comfortable teasing him, giving him shit. She might be the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on. 
Anyone who knows Frankie, knows that he isn't a man who half-asses anything. He gives everything he does all that he has. The army, flight school, his marriage. But that quality doesn't only apply to the positive aspects of his life. On more than one occasion his dedication, that borders on obsession, has come back to kick him in the ass. Like the time he tried cocaine. It developed into a full blown addiction in record time. And lost him all the things he loves. His career, his wife, his kids. He’s feeling that familiar tingle in his bones now as he listens to her talk about the things she loves. There is something so special about listening to someone talk about something that brings them true joy. The way their eyes light up and they talk all fast. He hasn’t done more than hold her hand for a few, brief moments and he already can’t get enough. He wants more. And he is planning on getting it. 
After lunch, Frankie drives her back to her house. “Pop your hood.” He says, cocking his head in the direction of her car. She opens the car door, which Frankie had already noticed she doesn’t keep locked, and reaches under the steering wheel to pull the lever. The hood pops and Frankie unlatches it and pulls it up. He can feel her eyes lingering on where his biceps strain the fabric of his t-shirt. He may have worn one that fits him a little tight on purpose. He fiddles around with a few things under the hood and asks a few questions like when she last had it serviced and if it was making any noises.
“I…don’t know actually. My ex usually took care of all that kind of stuff for me.” She replies sheepishly. Frankie gives her a soft smile and says
“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” He assures her. She returns his smile and walks around the car to peer over his shoulder. He shows her where a few key things are, and explains some common issues. “Doesn’t seem to be any of those things though.” He says. Her brow furrows and he places a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. Just gotta check a few more things.” He says. He feels her shoulders relax under his palm. “Do you think I could trouble you for a glass of water, sweetheart?” Frankie asks.
“Of course!” Camila replies and she digs her house keys out of her bag and makes her way to the front door. Once she’s in the house with the door shut, Frankie looks around to make sure nobody is watching and pulls the starter relay out of his pocket. He moves his body around the car so that his back is facing towards the house, blocking his hands, just in case. He opens the black box and reattaches the relay. He closes it just in time. Camila comes up behind him with her keys in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Frankie turns to face her.
“Looks like one of your relays was loose. Why don’t you try starting it up now?” She hands him the water and slides into the driver’s seat and crank the key. It starts right up, just like he knew it would. He knows it was sneaky, but the elation on her face when she hears the engine purring makes it all worth it. Even more so when she shuts the car off, gets out, and launches herself at Frankie. He wraps his free hand around her and settles his face into the crook of her neck.
“Thank you so much!” She squeals into his ear, and he isn’t sure he’s ever heard a sweeter sound. But he’s sure he can get her to make some. He’s a little taken aback when her lips find his. It takes him a second to register what’s actually happening, then he wastes no time slotting his lips between hers. 
Frankie is feeling happier than he has in months on his drive home. Thinking about his date this weekend with Camila has his dick throbbing in his jeans. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, doesn’t want to scare her, but he can’t wait to see what she looks like squirming underneath him. What the inside of her thighs taste like. What her legs feel like locked around the back of his head. His phone ringing interrupts his daydreams and he rolls his eyes when he sees his almost ex wife’s name fill the screen. She never calls with good news, with anything positive. He answers and presses the button for speakerphone. “Hello?” He answers hesitantly, unwilling to let whatever this is going to be about sour his good mood.
“Francisco, I need some money.” She says unceremoniously.
“Hi, Vanessa. I’m doing well, thank you for asking.” He replies sarcastically. She huffs into the phone.
“Are you gonna bring me some money or not?” She asks, her voice drips with disdain. How had they gotten here? Frankie wonders. How had they fallen so far from what they used to be? Best friends turned high school sweethearts. They got married right out of high school. Frankie enlisted shortly after his eighteenth birthday and shipped out two days after they graduated. He received a letter from Vanessa a month into basic training letting him know that she was pregnant and a few weeks later, when he came home, they had a courthouse wedding. With each deployment, he could feel the cavern in their marriage grow wider. But way back when, when Diego had first been born, they were deliriously happy. Of course, Frankie knows that his drug use didn’t help matters, neither did losing his pilot’s license. But no matter what the breaking point had been, that rot had been festering under the skin for years. He just doesn’t understand why she hates him so much.
“How much do you need?” He resigns to just give her what she wants. She’s been known to not let him see the boys when she doesn’t get her way.
“A couple hundred at least, Francisco. Raising your kids isn’t cheap, ya know?” She snarks.
“Yeah I know. Since you haven’t had a job in years. How is the search coming, by the way?” He can practically feel her roll her eyes through the phone. “I'll be there in twenty.” He says and ends the call, not giving her a chance to respond. He keeps some cash at the house, but most of his money is in a bank in Belize. His lawyer is ready to make it all look legitimate the second his divorce is final. And that bitch won’t get another dime from him that isn’t court ordered. 
Diego and Mateo run out the front door and down the porch steps when they hear Frankie’s truck pull up to the curb. “Papi!” They scream in unison before flinging themselves into their father’s arms. “I missed you, Papi.” They exclaim.
“I miss you more.” He tells them quietly, wrapping his big arms tightly around them both. He plants a kiss on each of their heads and straightens, but doesn’t let go of them. “Where’s your mama?” He asks them. They point to the house and head in.
“Papi’s here!” Mateo shouts when they cross the threshold. Vanessa appears from in the kitchen and Frankie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a brown paper bag. He tosses it to her and it falls to the floor before she can catch it.
“Real nice, Frank.” She says. He brushes past her to the stairs, where the boys have already disappeared. At 14 and 11 they know when to make themselves scarce. Frankie and Vanessa tried hard to keep their problems from the kids, but they knew. They always know. It’s impossible to miss the tension that fills the room when they are forced to be together.
“I’m going to spend some time with my kids.” He tells her. Not bothering to wait for a response. When he reaches the top of the stairs and turns toward Diego’s room, he can see her counting the money out of the corner of his eye. Greedy bitch , he thinks. But if keeping her happy was what he needed to do for his boys, he’d put up with it. For now. Once he has his money, he’ll go after her for full custody. If he can’t find anything to prove she’s unfit, he’ll make something up. 
Diego has a movie queued up on his tv and the boys are sitting on his bed. “We chose ‘28 Days Later’.” He tells Frankie as he toes off his boots and squishes in between them. Two hours later, the boys are both asleep, each with their head on their father’s shoulder. Frankie wriggles out from under them, trying his best not to wake them up. He grabs his boots from the floor and tiptoes out of the room, shutting the light and the door behind him. Vanessa finds him sitting on the bottom step lacing up his boots.
“The money was for my lawyer.” She tells him.
“So I’m paying for you to take half my shit and keep the kids away from me?” He retorts.
“He said we should try mediation.” She replies.
“Tell him to call my lawyer. Next time you need money, call someone else.” He tells her and walks out the door, careful not to shut it too hard. 
When he steps into the shower, his mind can’t help but to wander back to this afternoon. The way Camila wrapped her arms around his neck. The way her breasts pressed tightly up against his chest. The smell of rosemary in her hair, mixed with something else, maybe mint. His dick grows harder than he ever thought possible at the memory. He strokes himself with the sound of that squeal playing on repeat in his ears. He touches the tips of the fingers of his other hand to his mouth, where he can still feel the ghost of her lips on his. Now he knows exactly how soft they would feel wrapped around his cock. The thought has him spilling over his hand and onto the floor of the shower with a shudder and a moan. When he falls asleep that night, it's with Camila on his mind. 
Frankie finds himself sitting in his truck at the end of Camila’s driveway again. They’ve spent three Friday nights in the high school gym, watching Benny kick ass. They all always end up at the same bar afterwards to celebrate. Frankie walks her to her car, just like he did that first night. The guys give him shit when he comes back into the bar. His cheeks are flushed pink and his lips kiss-swollen. They make whip noises at him. And kissy faces. Santi is the only one who doesn’t tease. He just claps Frankie on the shoulder and tells him that he’s happy for him. And the following night each week, they’ve gone out together. Three dates. Three perfect nights. Every second that he spends with her makes her that much more irresistible to him. He isn’t quite sure what’s happening to him. He’s never felt like this in his life. Maybe this is why his marriage didn’t work out. He never for a second felt for Vanessa what he’s feeling now, after just a few weeks. His divorce had been mediated, just waiting for the finalization. He got split custody of his boys.
All the pieces seem to be falling into place for him. He knows he’s going to see her tomorrow, but he can’t stay away. When they were at dinner tonight, she told him about a man at work who had been asking her out, despite letting him down gently more than once. Just the thought of it had Frankie’s blood boiling. Not just the thought of another man vying for her affection. More than that, he disrespected her boundaries, he disrespected her, won’t take no for an answer. Frankie can’t have that. He lets the anger bubble there, just under the surface, as he gets out of his truck. He slinks up the driveway and slips the blade from his pocket. He unfolds it and jams it into her tire. The air hisses out of the tire and Frankie’s mouth turns up into a satisfied smirk. She’d also told him about the footprints she found outside of her bedroom window. Frankie’s eyes filled with faux concern. He couldn’t let slip that he was the one who made them. She hadn’t answered her phone that night and he was concerned. He just wanted to make sure that she was okay. When he found her sleeping peacefully, alone, he went right back home. Turns out she hadn’t been feeling well and took some cold medicine and fell right to sleep. She texted him all about it the next morning. He brought her some soup and Gatorade but she made him leave it on the porch because she knows he can’t keep his lips to himself when they’re together and she didn’t want to get him sick. 
Frankie knows it isn’t right. He doesn’t know why he does these things. He just knows that he can’t stop. Not until she’s his. She’s a little gun shy after her own divorce, and now the strange things that have been happening around her house. Every time someone calls her from a blocked number and doesn’t say anything, every time something goes wrong with her car, she calls Frankie. He places the burner phone in his gun safe in his closet, and rushes right over. He’s become the person she runs to, the person she feels safe with. The rush he feels when he wraps his arms around her, comforting her, is like nothing else, not even flying. He feels a pang of guilt as he drives back to his house for the night. Would she still feel safe with him if she knew the lengths he was going to just to be nearer to her? He was the one making her feel unsafe, just to be afforded the opportunity to comfort her, to soothe the wound he made. He makes sure his ringer is on before he places his phone on his nightstand. He wouldn’t want to miss the call he knows is coming in the morning.
The ringing wakes him from his sleep and he fumbles around until his hand lands on his phone. The photo he took of the two of them together, Camila’s head on his shoulder, fills the screen. He smiles, remembering how they spent the night sitting in the bed of his truck, looking up at the stars. “Hello?” He says, his voice thick with sleep. The sound of her crying clears his head, memories of the previous night’s activities come flooding back.
“Frankie! I need you” She cries.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks.
“My tire is flat.” She exclaims. Frankie holds the phone to his ear with one hand and scrubs the other over his face,
“It’s okay, baby. I can be there in ten.” He tells her. Knowing that she hasn’t been brought to tears by a flat tire. He rises from the bed and slips a black t-shirt over his head.
“Babe, someone cut it!” The anguish in her voice almost makes Frankie regret it. Almost . Hearing the pet name fall from her mouth makes him smile. Still in his gray joggers, he rushes towards the door and slips on his tattered New Balances.
“Keep the door locked. I’m on my way.” He tells her, slamming the front door behind him. He makes it to her place in seven minutes, daring to go over the posted 20 mph speed limit. He knows she isn’t in any danger, not really. But she doesn’t know that. Her fear, that is very real, and Frankie doesn’t want her to feel it for a moment longer than she has to. 
When he arrives he attempts to open the door but the knob doesn’t turn. Good girl. He knocks gently on the door, to make sure he doesn’t scare any further. “Hey, baby. It’s me. Let me in.” Camila throws the door open and leaps into Frankie’s arms.
“Thank you for coming.” She says into his neck, where she has buried her face.
“Of course I came. I’ll always come.” He assures her, tightening his hold on her. “Why don’t you go pack a few things and come stay with me a couple nights?” He suggests. She looks up at him through her lashes.
“Are you sure?” I know you’re supposed to have the boys this weekend. Frankies heart wrenches at the sight of tears on her beautiful face.
“Course I’m sure. I’ve been telling them all about you and they’ve been bugging me to meet you.” He tells her as he brushes away a tear with his thumb. She leans up to give him a kiss and then heads to her bedroom to pack her things. “I’m just gonna run out and take a look at your car, okay?” She hums in response, already feeling much safer with Frankie in her home. He just smiles and heads outside, pretending to be entranced with her shredded tire. Camila comes out a few minutes later with her purse and a duffel bag in her hand. Frankie finishes his “inspection” and takes the bags from her while she locks the door.
“I checked all the windows and the back door. Twice.” She tells him as he helps her into her seat.
“Good. If you want we can change the locks.” He replies. Tears well up in her eyes again, but she nods in response.
“I’m just so thankful for you.” She tells him quietly. He kisses her forehead and closes the door. 
On the way to Frankie’s house they stop and grab some pizzas for lunch. When they arrive, Vanessa is there already, waiting by her car at the curb. “Why don’t you go ahead and run inside?” He tells Camila. He hands her his keys and plants a kiss to her temple.
“Who the fuck is that, Frank?” Vanessa asks.
“According to the judge, that’s not any of your business anymore.” He tells her, with a smile on his face. He doesn’t need his boys seeing him be nasty to their mother. She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. Camila is struggling with figuring out which key goes in the door along with juggling her bags, so she overhears more of the conversation than she was meant to. “She’s my girlfriend, okay?” Camila’s lips turn up into a smile just as she slides the key into the lock. She enters the house and closes the door behind her.
“Is she the reason you decided to stop helping me out?” She asks. Frankie laughs and shifts the pizza boxes to his other hand.
“No. Our divorce, a divorce you fucking asked for, is the reason I stopped giving you money to get your nails done, your hair done, and whatever the fuck else you were spending my money on. Sure wasn’t on our kids.” The anger is starting to bubble up in his chest again. “You told me they needed new shoes and I gave you $400. Why did Diego ask me to take him shopping this weekend?” He asks. She opens her mouth to make an excuse and Frankie cuts her off. “Don’t worry about it. I already bought them both new shoes. Hope you enjoyed whatever you spent that money on. It’s the last fucking dime you’ll ever see from me.” He nods his head towards the car, where the boys are watching the scene unfold through the windows. “Let my kids out. They’ll see you next week.”
The mediator worked out an even split in custody. They spend a week with her, then a week with Frankie. Since he lives so close, the school district is the same. The added bonus is that he doesn’t have to pay her a penny. If looks could kill, Frankie would have dropped dead right on that conference room floor. He waves for the boys to get out of the car. They hop out and run to give their dad a hug. He hands the pizzas to Diego and tells them to run inside and wash their hands. “And be nice to Camila.” He calls over his shoulder.
Vanessa narrows her eyes at his last comment. “Don’t forget, Frank. We were married for a long time. I know all the skeletons in your closet. I know where all the bodies are buried.”
Frankie takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his hair. “What’s that supposed to mean? You threatening me?” She points a finger at him.
“I’m not threatening. I’m just saying. Molly has some questions about Tom’s death you boys seem unable to answer. I’m sure people would be interested in what you all really got up to down there in the jungle.” Frankie scoffs but she continues. “And you can lie all you want, but I know you went back for that money.” She opens the door to her car, “Don’t test me.” She warns before she gets in and speeds off. Frankie stands there for a moment, unable to believe that she was actually threatening him. He shakes his head and joins Camila and the boys inside. 
While Frankie cooks dinner his sons interrogate Camila, The boys ask her question after question. Each answer leads to more questions. Frankie’s heart swells seeing the three of them get along so well. Diego and Mateo seem to genuinely want to get to know Camila. And she seems content to answer all of their questions. “Are you my dad’s girlfriend?” Mateo asks. She turns her head a little to catch Frankie’s eye, not wanting to say the wrong thing. He nods lightly and smiles at her. She returns his smile with one of her own and tells Mateo,
“Yes. Yes I am.” Mateo smiles brightly at her and then asks her if she wants to play Monopoly after dinner. The whole scene is so domestic . He tries to remember the last time he and Vanessa had a night like this with their kids. No drama, no arguing, just enjoying being a family. Frankie wishes it could always be like this. That Camila could be here every night when he gets home, that his sons could. And now she’s threatening him? He can’t have that. Not when everything is finally starting to come together. Not when he can finally envision a future for himself. So, he begins to formulate a plan.
“Spring break is in two weeks, right?” He asks Diego who nods, intent on winning. “Would you all like to go camping?” The boys' faces light up with glee. They love camping with their dad.
“Can Tio Santi come?” Diego asks.
“And Uncle Benny and Uncle Will?” Mateo adds.
“We can ask them.” He chuckles. “Do you want to come?” He asks Camila.
“I’d love to. By the way, you owe me rent.” She points at the game board. When the boys finally lose interest in Monopoly, Frankie sends them up to bed. They both give Camila a hug before starting up the stairs. 
“Let me just shower and I’ll take the couch tonight.” Frankie offers. Camila rolls her eyes.
“Be serious, Frankie. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch in your own house. I was hoping you might want me to sleep with you, seeing as I’m your girlfriend now.” She smirks. “But if you don’t want to, then I’m fine with the couch.” Frankie closes the distance between them.
“I’d love nothing more than to share my bed with you, baby. Maybe I’ll even show you why they call me ‘Catfish.’” He teases with a wink and begins kissing her neck while walking her backwards. Thankfully, the master bedroom is downstairs. He toes the door closed and leads her to his bed. She moves her hands to the hem of her shirt and starts pulling it up. Frankie reaches a hand out to stop her.
“Wait.” He says. She drops her hands and her gaze falls to the floor.
“Oh, sorry. If you don’t want to- I mean, we don’t have to.” She says quietly. Frankie hooks his fingers under her chin and gently lifts her head til her eyes meet his.
“Hey, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.” He tells her. She doesn’t say anything so he takes a deep breath and continues. “It’s just, this is our first time spending the night together. I just want you to feel comfortable. I never want you to feel pressured.” He rubs his hands up and down her arms and he can feel her relax under him. She lets out a deep breath and nods her head.
“I promise, Frankie, I want this. I’ve wanted to for a while, I just- I just wasn’t sure what this was, and after my divorce…” she trails off. Frankie saves her from having to continue by slotting his lips between hers. She returns his kiss hungrily. He places his hands on her shirt, where hers had been previously, and peels the fabric up. Her hands only leave his body to allow him to pull her shirt over her head. Something snaps between them and suddenly they are ripping each other’s clothes off, kissing each other ravenously in between tossing articles of clothing wherever they land. Frankie grabs Camila’s thighs, just under her ass, and lifts her in his arms. Instinctively she wraps her legs around his trim waist and gasps when she feels the hard length of him fill the space between their bodies. She grinds her naked core down the length of him, and a growl reverberates low in his throat. He tightens his grip on her and sits on the edge of the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and grips the curls at the nape of his neck. He moans into her mouth quietly and she swallows it down. She tugs even harder, eliciting a loud groan.
“Fuck, baby! Come here, I can’t wait any longer.” He says as he lays back on the bed. He grabs the meat of her thighs and urges her up toward his head. “I need to taste you, querida. Come sit on my face.” Camila doesn’t hesitate to acquiesce. She scoots up on her knees until she’s sitting on his chest. She’s been waiting for this just as long as Frankie has. She settles over his face and her body jolts with the first swipe of his broad tongue. 
This is it for me, Frankie thinks with the first burst of her taste on his tongue. He’ll never do another line in his life if he gets to taste this pussy every day. She reaches down to grab his hair and he moans when she gives his curls a hard pull.
“Oh fuck, Frankie. Right there, baby.” She cries out. She begins grinding down on his face, taking what she needs from him. The action makes Frankie’s cock rock hard against the soft flesh of his stomach. His senses all feel heightened somehow, as if the taste of her pussy has lifted the fog that had settled over his life. Cleared the cobwebs from inside his brain. He tightens his grip on her thighs, pulls her down to his mouth further, not leaving any space, and begins to fuck her with his tongue. The noises she makes only spur him on, his nose grinds on her clit and her walls clench around his tongue. “Don’t stop, please, don’t fucking stop. I’m gonna come.” She pants out, barely audible. Frankie needs her to hurry up and come because he’s about to do the same. He’s not sure how much longer he can last. This is definitely not something he’s ever experienced. He’s about a minute away from coming, untouched, just from this. Suddenly, she stills over him, and the most beautiful sounds spill from her mouth, and her pussy gushes into his. Frankie can’t spare another second to even wait for her to come down from her orgasm. He grabs her tight and flips her onto the bed. Her legs fall open and he kneels between them.
“I, uh- I don’t have a condom.” He admits. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone.” He assures her. She nods while pulling him closer.
“I haven’t been with anyone since my divorce and I have an IUD. I trust you, Frankie.” She says. He doesn’t wait any longer. He nudges the tip of his cock into her dripping entrance. She’s absolutely soaked from his saliva and her own arousal, but it’s still a tight fit. He stills over her, needing a moment to gather himself. He’s about to blow his load then and there, and that’s not exactly the impression he wants to make.
“Fuck, baby. Just give me a second. You’re so goddamn tight.” He screws his eyes tightly shut. Even looking at her is too much for him. He takes several deep breaths and Camila runs her hands across his shoulders and down his arms. When he finally feels composed enough to show her a good time, he slides all the way in. One smooth stroke and he suddenly knows what heaven feels like. The velvet heat of her walls mold to him, like she was made for him. He fills her up completely, like he was made for her. Frankie could die right now, a happy man. He knows that he’ll never need anything else, anyone else. He fucks into her at a brutal, punishing pace. Like his life depends on it, and in a way it does. He wants to ruin even the idea of another man for her. Wants to be all she can think about it, all she wants. When he finds the spot inside her that makes her cry out his name and claw at his back, he fucks her even more desperately. He can tell she’s close, the way she’s squeezing him. He grinds his pubic bone into hers, putting just the right amount of pressure on her throbbing clit, and she comes undone for him. She comes so hard that her muscles squeeze him out, and she cries for him to put it back in. The second he does, his own orgasm follows. He finds his release buried to the hilt in the wet warmth of her cunt, and he knows that he needs to find a way to keep her like this, under him, surrounding him, forever.
Camila spends the next few nights at Frankie’s house. He takes her to work in the morning after they drop the boys off at school. He picks her up in the evening and takes her back to his house where he cooks dinner for the four of them. Frankie doesn’t want it to ever end. But he knows it’s too soon to ask her to move in. They’ve only been seeing each other for a little over a month. He doesn’t want her to think he’s crazy. But what if she feels it too? This string that keeps them connected, tugs them closer together with each passing day. Maybe he just needs to give her a little motivation. Five days after her tire was slashed, Frankie picks Camila up from work in her own car. He took it to have the tire replaced while she was at work, as a surprise. He likes being the person she depends on, the person she can count on. He likes knowing that she’s gotten to work safely, that she made it home okay. But he knows how much she appreciates her freedom, having been married to an asshole who wanted to control every aspect of her life. Frankie didn’t want to control her. That wasn’t the reason for his actions. He just wanted her to have the chance to see how well he would take care of her. How good he could be to her. That he could keep her safe. She spends that night at his house as well. He makes a comment about how much he likes seeing her car next to his truck in the driveway. She smiles in response.
“You trying to hint at something, Catfish? ’ She teases. He just shrugs his shoulders, trying to play it cool. She doesn’t need to know that it takes every ounce of his self control to not drop to his knees right there and ask her to move him, to marry him, to spend her life with him. She returns to her own home for the weekend, to give Frankie some alone time with Diego and Mateo. He takes them to Academy to buy supplies for their upcoming camping trip. They are old enough now to have their own tent. Besides, Frankie has a few plans in mind for his tent. 
The week leading up to their camping trip the boys are at their mom’s house. Frankie spends a few nights at Camila’s house, coming and going as he pleases since she gave him his own key. She feels better knowing that he’s there, keeping an eye on things. She’s told him her suspicions about who has been wreaking havoc at her home. She thinks the chances of it being her persistent coworker are slim. She is much more convinced that Charlie, her ex husband, must be behind it. She had changed the locks when he moved out, but had Frankie change them again after her tire was slashed. When he finished he handed her the extra keys and she handed one back to him. He cocked his eyebrow in confusion, she just closed his fingers around the key and said
“Just in case, you know? For emergencies.” He had felt such joy, and a strange sense of pride, every time he used it since then. Not that he would be needing it today. He had parked his truck a few streets away, tucked into a quiet alley. He was wearing a black hoodie and jeans paired with black hiking boots he had bought at Academy last weekend with his boys. As he slips over the fence into Camila’s backyard, he slides a black ski mask over his face and black nitrile gloves, two pairs, over his hands. He slinks across the yard, well hidden by the privacy fence. When he arrives at the sliding glass door he gives it two swift kicks near the door handle. The glass shatters with the first kick, the second provides a nice hole to stick his arm through. He’s careful not to nick himself on the glass, he can’t have any evidence of his involvement lying around. He had sent Camila a text before he left his house, letting her know that he was going to grab lunch with Benny this afternoon. He had left his phone at home, just in case anyone ever checks his location services. As soon as he finishes up here, he’ll be meeting Benny at their favorite barbecue spot. With his alibi intact, Frankie goes about trashing Camila’s house. He’s chosen his targets carefully. The table next to the door where she keeps her mail and other semi-important papers. The drawers of her dresser, where he tosses her clothes around the room. The drawers of her nightstand. The box in her closet that has some sentimental items in it. He finds the divorce decree and rips the documents in half, leaving them on her bed. Every single move he makes is setting up Charlie to take the fall for this. Frankie might actually feel bad for how good of a job he’s doing if Charlie wasn’t such a piece of shit. 
Once he’s finished, he sneaks back out of the sliding glass door, across the yard and over the fence. He takes the hoodie and ski mask off, balling them up and tossing them in a trash can in the alley. The gloves and boots find their way into separate trash cans as well. He drives the speed limit on his way home, not willing to risk a ticket this time. He runs inside to grab his phone and then heads off to enjoy a nice lunch with his friend. They hammer out a few details about their camping trip that’s in a few days and part ways. Just as Frankie is about to turn onto his street, his phone rings. He can barely understand Camila through the tears, but that’s okay, he doesn’t need to. He pulls into the closest driveway and turns around, heading back in her direction. When he pulls to a stop at the curb, the police are already there. He catches her eye when he steps onto the lawn and she excuses herself from the officer she is speaking to and runs to him.
“Baby! What’s going on? Are you hurt?” Frankie asks, holding her at arm’s length to look her body up and down.
“I’m fine, babe, I swear.” She promises. Her eyes still shine with tears and the whites of them are bloodshot.
“What happened, querida ?” She sniffles a little and buries her face in his chest. He can tell she is trying not to fall apart, and he wraps his arms around her and holds her tight. Maybe he took it too far, this time.
“Someone broke into my house and trashed it.” She explains. “The police think it was Charlie. Damn it! We just changed the locks.” She looks up at Frankie and takes a deep breath.
“Do you think we can change them again?” He rubs his hand up and down her back, comforting her.
“Of course we can, baby. I’ll go to Home Depot right now.” Camila shakes her head at that.
“No, it's fine. I’ll just stay the weekend with you since we are leaving to go camping Sunday morning. We can just do it when we get back.”
That night, in bed, Camila is laying with her head on Frankie’s chest and her leg thrown over both of his. “What if I don’t change your locks?” He asks quietly.
“What do you mean?” She asks while absently drawing with her fingers on his bare chest.
“What if you just moved in with me, instead” her fingers stop for a moment, then resume their trailing.
“Okay.” She says, taking Frankie by surprise.
“Really?” She looks up at him and furrows her brow.
“Unless you aren’t sure.” She says. He grabs her chin gently and tilts her head until she can see his face.
“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. I just thought I’d have to do a little more convincing.” He tells her. The earnestness in his face makes her heart melt.
“I don’t feel safe at my house anymore. But I always feel safe with you. I think- Frankie, I think I love you.” Tears sting his eyes then because he’s known for weeks that he loves her, he was just waiting, til he was sure she felt the same, to let her know.
“I love you, too, baby.” He says. Then he leans down and seals his proclamation with a kiss. They spend all of Saturday making sure everything they need for their trip is packed and stuffed into the bed of Frankie’s truck. They order some Chinese for dinner and continue watching Narcos. After Camila falls asleep on the couch, Frankie sneaks out of the front door and walks the three blocks to Vanessa’s house. Twenty minutes later, he’s back in his own house, waking Camila up and taking her to bed. If anyone were to ever ask, she’d say Frankie was home with her all night. 
They leave the house early the next morning to go pick up the boys. Vanessa had offered to drop them off, but Frankie had insisted. They’d have to pass by her house anyways, and Frankie didn’t want her driving the boys in her car, not today. Camila stays in the truck while Frankie knocks on the door. Vanessa answers the door and rolls her eyes when she sees Camila.
“You didn’t tell me she was going.” She snips. Frankie just shrugs his shoulders in reply.
“I don’t have to tell you shit, Vanessa. You should get used to seeing her around, anyways. We’re moving in together when this trip is over." She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head.
“I can’t believe you Frank. We just got divorced.” Frankie laughs.
“Yeah after you kicked me out, over a year ago.” She huffs at him, clearly pouting.
“Don’t forget about all the things I know, Francisco.” She warns one last time before the boys are bounding down the stairs and out the door.
“See ya around, Vanessa.” He tells her, closing the door behind him. The campground is a three hour drive. Camila commands the radio and Diego has the directions pulled up on his phone. Mateo chatters away, in that way that little kids always do, about nothing in particular. When they arrive they find Santi, Will and Benny already there. They’ve already got their own tents put up and a fire going. The boys run to hug their uncles while Camila and Frankie unload the truck. Santi takes the boys to go fishing with Benny, while Will helps Frankie put up their own tents. They eat fresh caught fish for dinner and the adults drink too many beers. They all wake up late in the morning the next day and when Frankie checks his phone he sees multiple missed calls. The signal isn’t great this far out, so he isn’t surprised that he missed them. Several are from Vanessa’s sister. A few from her mother. Since none of them are from Vanessa herself, Frankie can guess what this is about. He tries to return the calls but none of them will connect. He shoves the phone back into his pocket and smiles. Seems like his plan worked. Nobody will be threatening him or his brothers anymore. He thinks, in time, his boys will come to love Camila as their mother. He finally has everything he wants, exactly where he wants it. 
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toxicbrothel · 2 months
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Joel has to drive somewhere, and Carter is busy. It’s just you and Joel, and you’re taking the smaller van. As Joel gets in the driver’s seat, for the first time he tells you to buckle up. It feels silly, given everything that’s happened in this van while it was moving, but you do it anyway. The road is mostly quiet, and you never see another car. It feels weird having a seat all to yourself, but seeing Joel drive really turns you on. His massive triceps casually flex with every turn. His thick thighs shake a little on the bumpy road. Joel looks over at you and does a double take, allowing himself the hint of a smile. 
“What?” you ask. 
He shakes his head as though to brush it off, then says. “The way you were lookin’ at me.” His nose pulls downward and he bites his lip like he might actually laugh otherwise. It gives you such a burst of joy that you could cry if you dwelled on it too long. 
“How was I looking?” you smile. 
He shakes his head. His nose twitches again. 
“How?” you plead. 
“. . . Like,” he shrugs.  “Like you’re . . .watchin’ a movie, or somethin’.”
You shrink into your dress to hide your smile, embarrassed of how wide it is, and for something so simple to make you so happy. It’s wrong to feel happy when you’re driving by pits full of skeletons and rotted clothes, you think. Looking out the window, looking at anything but Joel, is a reality check, but you can’t keep your eyes away long. 
You bring your left knee up on the seat and turn toward him, resting the upper left side of your head on the headrest as you watch. “I never see you drive, you know.” 
“Guess not,” he agrees. 
“I like how you do it.”
He reaches over and pets the crown of your head, and his eyes travel down your body before he returns his hand to the wheel. “Dress looks good on ya."
“I love it,” you gush. You fiddle with the hem and look down. There's that sting and pressure behind your eyes again. It’s the fact that he picked it up for you, back when he used to leave you at the trailer. And he didn’t give it to you until now. He wasn’t sure you’d like it, he said. Then, on this unseasonably warm day, he finally took it out of the bottom of one of his drawers. Like it was always in the back of his mind--you'd like to know what else is back there.
Unshed tears begin to blur your vision, and when you blink, the tears web your lashes. Joel notices. He watches you for a second and your lip quivers. He looks at the road again. You bring your knee down from the seat and look straight ahead, and when you blink again, one rolls down. Joel draws in a slow breath through his nose and looks at you as he exhales. You wipe your eyes with your fingers, then glance at him, brow furrowed, and quickly shake your head like you don’t wanna talk about it.
He nods in agreement and goes back to watching the road. A few seconds later, he looks at you again and puts his hand on your thigh. His voice takes on a soothing tone. “I know, sweet pea.” After a minute, he opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't. 
He rubs your thigh, then squeezes it. You nod and take a deep breath.
He adjusts his head on the headrest, looking pensively at the road. He's driving with one hand. He makes everything look so easy.
Sitting side by side, with what feels like a massive gap in between, even though he can reach you. . . It suddenly feels wronger than ever. You feel strange and exposed without your bodies together. 
“I feel weird in this seat,” you admit and wish it didn’t come out whiny. 
As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, he takes his foot off the gas and the white noise of the gravel becomes slower, more soothing as he pulls off the road. He parks on the grass, surveys the area in silence for a few seconds, then turns off the engine. He gets out and gently closes the door. You take off your seatbelt while he’s coming around to your side.
You start to open the passenger door, and he opens it the rest of the way. You scoot to the edge of the seat and he leans into the van. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands on your back pull you even more toward the edge. “It’s okay, I got ya,” he murmurs. You wrap your legs loosely around him, and he pulls you flush. A moan slips out when you feel him against you. You lift your chin, and when your lips brush his beard, he tilts his head down. His lips quickly find yours, and he moans quietly into your mouth as his embrace tightens.
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Thank you so much for reading! And ty for the photo, Lum! 🌸🫛 💕
I imagine she picks the flower at some point on this trip as well.
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weirdohasleft · 1 month
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‘The stars really were gorgeous out here.’
Fanart for @iammyowncryptid’s fanfic ‘Growing Pains’.
Very dark fluff and delulu Deathstroke but overall, a very interesting read. This isn’t exactly how the scene played out as Danny was actually laying on the ground and staring up at the sky and not just sitting there but ehhhh. I had an idea and my hands started moving
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hatterbby · 8 months
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bunny
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cw: "touch her and die" vibes, fluffy tho, anxious x psycho, violence
not proofread ~
An unfamiliar hand grips tightly at my thigh, almost bruising in its force and I swallow nervously as I stifle my nausea. "Let go, please," my voice comes out shaky over the music, almost inaudible, but the guy presses further into me, his cologne furthering my nausea.
"You're so pretty, so soft," he murmurs, eyes dark with a sinister lust as his hand on my thigh starts moving upwards. He's gone in a flash, only the phantom of his touch lingering as I wrap my arms around myself tightly. The sick crunch of flesh against cartilage fills the room and the music seems to stop as I watch in slow motion the man who touched me being beat to a pulp.
My eyes are focused on the unconscious mess of a man before bloodied hands grip my chin and pull me out of my thoughts. "Are you okay, bunny?" his voice rushes over my skin, soothing my nerves and making a home in my soul.
My words fail me, so I merely nod. He doesn't look convinced and fury flashes across his face as he glances back at the meatbag. "I'm sorry I left you alone," he whispers against my head, pulling me into his chest.
"You were only gone like 5 minutes," I try to argue but he shushes me as he picks me up. It's only then I realize that I'm crying as his shirt catches the moisture. The music of the club fades as he carries me out into the chill of the night air. The iciness fills my lungs and his presence seeps into me as the sounds fade away, only him remaining.
"I got you, I'm here. No one's gonna hurt you as long as I'm alive, bunny," he murmurs into my hair as his hands rub my back in soothing motions.
Shaking my head, the unease and panic begin bubbling to the surface once more. I feel us stop, he sits down on a bench and holds me closer to him. His larger hands cup my face as he makes me focus on him, brushing away the tears. "Breathe with me, can we do that?" he coaxes and I give a hesitant nod as he takes in a deep breath I try to match.
After a few breaths, the tears and the shaking stops and I've devolved into a clingy statue wrapped around him. "Thank you for always saving me," comes my tired voice.
"Always," he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, "You are worth saving."
The fatigue from the panic attack sets in and I mutely whine up at him. He gives a gentle smile as he presses more kisses along my face. "Did I tell you how beautiful you are tonight?" he teases between pecks.
"A million times," comes my soft reply.
"Mmm, a million and one now," he smirks into my lips before capturing them, "Let me tell you more, let me touch you more. Let's go home and just forget anything else but us."
He pauses, despite me melting into him as he searches my face, waiting for my answer.
"Please..." is all I manage before he consumes me.
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buckgasms · 10 months
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Ok, I'm sorry for interrupting your busy schedule AGAIN, but hear me out. I really wanna see the softer side of Daddy Bear. I know he's a dark character, and all but I just hear me out a little bit I wanna see what he does when let's say Goldilocks get and injury or something from chores or like just like cute interactions between them LIKE cute little gifts he makes her cute little things she does for him or celebrating holidays and birthdays together or Goldilocks having a bad day and how she gets treated or vice versa or Daddy bear reading Goldilocks to sleep when she can't sleep or Goldilocks treating daddy bear after a nightmare or Goldilocks having separation anxiety crying ugly when daddy bear has work and wanting to cuddle him to death the moment he returns home or bucky heart melting into a FUCKING SWIMMING POOL when Goldilocks complements him I'm sorry I've written the whole dictionary but you don't have to though we have imagination for a reason lol. also, I wrote this poem for you enjoy my love😘. I LOVE YOU POM I HOPE YOU'VE HAD A GREAT DAY OR WEEK OR MONTH I HOPE YOU HAVE GREAT COMPANY IN YOUR LIFE CAUSE IF HEAR THAT A BITCH MADE YOU FEEL THE SLIGHTEST AMOUNT OF AND THING THAT ISN'T JOY I'M NUKING FUCKING RUSSIA UNTIL THEY APOLOGISE love you tons pom bye wife🫶🏾
Babes I love you so much - I would do anything for you okaaaaay!!!!
You want soft Goldilocks hmm?
Ok lemme give you something sweet just because you are such a sweetie to me 💖 I hope this is okay????? I might have to explore some of these ideas further 😅
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- Well any time Goldilocks hurts herself doing chores Daddy Bear is beside himself both with worry and pride. His perfect sweetheart/wife in training has worked so hard to make everything perfect just for him!
- You're gonna get cuddles, kisses, he's gonna rub your sore muscles and tell you how much he loves you.
- I can imagine him checking you over for other injuries just so he can squeeze at your body possessively and tease you until you are 💦wet💦 so he can then say what a naughty girl you are and what a perfect wife you are going to make because you are always ready for Daddy Bear.
- Obviously you can't go out or anything but he lets you roam the immediate area of his cabin and sometimes you find pretty flowers or pebbles or feathers and collect them for him which he loves.
- Or you draw something beautiful like the scenery or a picture of him and he's just thrilled because even though you don't have much to work with, you still think of him and make something special.
- Daddy bear will bring home all kinds of gifts for you, but he has to be careful not to arouse suspicion. So everything comes in discreet packaging and you get quite excited wondering what's inside.
- Mostly it's clothing, although often very skimpy things like little frilly aprons, or sundresses or pretty shoes.
- If you mention a book you loved to read he would get that for you too, although he avoids too many reminders of your old life just in case it makes you want to leave him!
- He will also make you little things. Wooden items are his speciality of course but I feel he is quite crafty with other things too. Like I imagine he makes you a little leather collar with his name etched on it????
- And so many flowers 🌸🌼💐
🩷
- He decides instead of celebrating your birthday, he wants to celebrate the day you came to him. So every year he gets a little bear for you, and I feel like some kind of roleplay into reliving the night but he has heavily edited it to make you think it's more like a rescue than what it actually was.
- One day you shyly ask him when his birthday is and from that moment you are planning the most perfect day.
- You wake up early and surprise him with a little treat under the covers which has him growling awake. The rest of the morning is spent doing whatever he likes to you, but it works out well for you!
- Then you make him a delicious birthday cake and surprise him with a present. I like the idea of it being a pregnancy test because that's what Daddy Bear wants more than anything, but it could also just be something sweet like you've packed a picnic and ask if you can go into the woods for the day?
🩷
- Also random but I totally picture him dancing alot with you.
- Its a nice excuse to be close and touch you and hold you tight without being so intense. And he can have fun with it, swirling you around, dipping you suddenly and lifting you up.
- You squeal and giggle a lot because you don't really know what is happening but it's fun and makes your stomach flip when he's holding you like that 🥹
🩷
- If Goldilocks has a bad day.... Well it depends why. If it's because she is missing home or being mopey, Daddy Bear doesn't have much patience for that. He will be kind, but he just reminds you that he is the only one who could look after you so well.
- If it's because you need him, well he's got all the time in the world for that. He'll snuggle up with you, play games and tell you funny stories because he loves you giggling in his lap.
- Maybe he'll take you for a nice walk in the sunshine and then find a suitable tree to fuck you against until you can't even remember your name, let alone what you were sad about.
- Your wellbeing is his top priority so whatever you need, you get.... Sort of 😂
🩷
- If you complimented him?????
- He would be such a goofball about it.
- Firstly because you'd be so shy and cute and he'd know you must have been thinking about it a long time before you could say it.
- But also, he doesn't want to be a monster in your eyes, so when you tell him how handsome he is, or that you loved his gifts, or you are glad he's your daddy bear.... Oh it's just too much.
- He compliments you all day long
- You are perfect, soft, gonna make such a good momma bear, take him so well, always ready, beautiful, everything to him.
- ugh
🩷
- I think you both have separation anxiety tbh! He hates leaving you alone because what if someone finds you and takes you away? He sometimes calls you over the radio at lunchtime and checks in on you.
- You always sit around it at lunchtime waiting for his call and you chat very briefly feeling a little better for it.
- For your part, you hate when he leaves for work. It takes you a few hours to come out of your gloom, wishing you could just sit with him and cuddle all day.
- You distract yourself with chores because you know it makes him happy and that does help.
- But nothing beats when you hear his truck driving down the long road to the cabin.
- You fix your hair and apron and wait eagerly on the deck, bouncing from one foot to the other in excitement.
- Once he's out of the car you run over to him and jump into his waiting arms, kissing his face until your lips meet in a hungry kiss.
"Missed you Daddy Bear" you pout and cling to his arms. He smiles at the routine of it all. "Missed you too Goldilocks"
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cometcon · 6 months
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I did it. I wrote fanfic for Helluva Boss. It's consuming my mind. XD
So I was looking through the Striker tag on here for more of my favourite bastard snakey boi and found this really neat artwork. :D
And it's a really interesting concept and the artwork is so well done and they've kept just enough of Striker's sinister energy in the images that my brain just wouldn't leave me alone about it. And it got me thinking: Redeemed Striker cuddling up to Moxxie for warmth is definitely cute and even I love it (and I'm aromantic as fuck XD ). But would it be possible to write something with the same basic concept, just making it a different scenario to involve my first impression of Striker instead, without having to redeem and develop Striker first? Can I have my cake and eat it too? XD
I've changed my mind since I first posted this so here's the freshly edited new introductory waffle:
I want to flesh this out a little and write it as a whole oneshot partnered with my Blitz/Striker fic which is also set during Harvest Moon and maybe ending along the lines of the events in the canon episode, but in the meantime my brain churned out about 800 words for the specific prompt. I think I'm leaning for the fic being about Moxxie's perspective of Striker arriving at the farm. Moxxie dislikes him immediately and since Striker is an egotistical supremacist piece of shit he just doubles down on the dickwad behaviour, but keeps it subtle enough for Blitz and Millie to do their usual thing of overlooking Moxxie's concerns about things they don't see as a problem/threat/red flag (I promise I'm not hating on them; I love their characters but also sometimes it does seem like a fair bit of the shit Moxxie gets dragged into could have been avoided if they'd listened to him. XD Though then we wouldn't have the show so again, not complaining, just playing with it. Don't kill me lol.) And Moxxie understandably gets sick of Striker's shit and they begin a tit for tat resulting in Moxxie shooting Striker's window 'by accident' and then 'forgetting' to fix it. XD And since they're all sleeping in the farm house, Striker chooses to escalate with a cruel and unusual punishment...
Behold, my first ever attempt at dark fluff. XD
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The sound of the door opening and soft light spilling across the room made Moxxie's eyelids flicker, a low growl of annoyance building in his chest. 
Millie had a bad habit of laughing off their boss' infuriating behaviour, finding it amusing. Cute, even. Moxxie vehemently disagreed, yet his complaints typically fell on deaf ears, so he usually just endured. But these night-time visits were reaching the absolute line and Moxxie had had enough. He didn't care what his wife said, he was going to fucking murder Blitz if he took even one more step toward-
His back tensed in surprise as the covers lifted, the mattress behind him sinking beneath Blitz's weight. The night had finally come. He'd suspected his boss would escalate, but the fact it was really happening took its sweet time trickling through his outraged mind. Moxxie's vicious attempt to slam his elbow into the licentious imp's gut was too slow and easily thwarted as a large hand latched onto his arm, halting its trajectory. 
"Blitz, I swear to fucking Satan, I will claw your eyes out of your skull and feed them to Luna! Get off me," he hissed quietly, hoping not to wake his snoring wife. She might just tell him to move over and give Blitz more space before falling asleep again anyway. 
Before he could do much else however, a long, clammy, lithe body that was decidedly not Blitz pressed into him, strong arms wrapping around his much smaller form and pulling him closer. His heartbeat accelerated and a bolt of fear shot down his spine. 
"Shouldn't make threats you can't follow up on, rodent." 
Striker's breath wafted over Moxxie's ear in a gentle caress. He shuddered, tugging uselessly at the unyielding grip trapping him against the assassin as he felt Striker curl further, moulding himself into every part of Moxxie he could reach. Moxxie's tail twitched, caught between them and unable to find a gap to escape.
"What the fuck?" 
It should have been a shout, but his throat was tense with fright, the words emerging in an embarrassingly pathetic whimper. One hand searched for Millie, desperately praying he could wake her before they were both slaughtered in their sleep. 
"Quit wriggling," Striker rumbled, fingers lacing through Moxxie's to draw the hand back into his chest. 
"Why are you in here? Get out." 
Moxxie still couldn't manage more than a choked whisper, but the fact there seemed to be no intention of actually harming him allowed a rising indignation to take fear's place. He tried kicking, though that only served to annoy Striker, who immediately enveloped the flailing legs between his own. It was like being stuck in a patch of quicksand; the more Moxxie struggled, the deeper he sank.
"Someone hasn't fixed the wall in my room yet. It's cold." 
That long, spiked tail snaked across Moxxie's shivering skin, coiling around their tangled limbs and draping itself over his abdomen. The quiet rattle as the tip continued upward and settled by his face sent a chill through him and he squeezed his eyes shut. 
"That doesn't mean you get to- mmph!" 
His final, barely audible attempt at protest was swiftly cut off by Striker's free hand covering his mouth. 
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," came the deceptively soft admonishment, arms and tail constricting in a painful warning. Moxxie groaned and went limp, hoping it would be enough to appease, the understanding he really was at his captor's mercy sinking to the base of his stomach like a concrete brick on the ocean floor. Striker chuckled and thankfully granted him the ability to draw breath after a moment, though he remained tightly entwined with the trembling little body in his clutches, chin resting in mock affection atop Moxxie's head as he murmured, "Good boy. Go back to sleep."
This was just another one of Striker's games, he told himself. If he stayed very still and didn't cause a fuss, his tormentor would get bored and leave. 
Any minute now.
The dark outline of Millie's senseless form under the blanket was silhouetted against the window, her peaceful snores the only sound stirring the atmosphere. Striker's breathing had slowed too, apparently content to stay snuggled against him, leaching his warmth and sanity alike. 
Well, fuck.
When several minutes had passed without any further threat, Moxxie forced himself to relax. There was nothing he could do anyway. If Striker wanted him dead he would be already. Staying alert all night would play right into the other's aims, showing him the intimidation tactics were working the second he saw his victim's tired eyes and frazzled demeanour the next morning. 
Moxxie refused to let him win that easily.
He listened for Millie, his breaths steadying as he timed them to match hers and held the image of her beautiful beaming grin in his mind. Striker was bound to slip up eventually and when he did, Moxxie would be prepared for him. A new thought of slicing the trecherous demon's throat with his own knife flashed through Moxxie's head and he smiled, playing it slowly on loop until he managed to drift off again.
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terrence-silver · 2 years
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"You can't expect me to stop worrying about you if you keep getting yourself into dangerous situations..",beloved said whilst she cleans the blood off Terry's knuckles in the pale moonlit night. His reaction in different eras..
Thank you!
― I don't think Twig received too much care in the classical sense. Well, not counting the type of care you get in extreme, highly traumatic situations that involves someone saving him from literal death like John did multiple times in Vietnam, lets say. I think Twig would've been starved for commonplace, day-to-day, ordinary tenderness, attention, someone fussing him, taking note of his injuries (or even just taking note of him in general) without mocking him for sustaining them and...beloved patching him up feels like a wonderful something he undoubtedly hasn't really experienced in abundance, if at all. Them saying they're worried for him and that he needs to stop putting himself in danger? That too feels good. Too good. Twig could imagine himself living off of those words alone and rushing to tell John all about them at once. He almost wants to disregard everything beloved just uttered and put himself in harm's way on purpose now, purely if it mean that beloved could fluff him like this always. Maybe he should get battered and bruised up deliberately even more next time? Maybe give himself a few tactically manipulative injures and come to beloved like a wounded, lost, whining puppy, even though his goal is contradictively enough, to get stronger and appear more in charge? Maybe he is still in charge by pulling the strings here? Yes, yes, maybe he is. Maybe beloved's attentions cannot go anywhere else if he usurps every vestige of it all. Oh, but it is so tempting to bat his eyes and harvest their love and concern, all of it. Sounds like a plan.
― 80's Terry Silver doesn't think he was putting himself in dangerous situations, regardless of what beloved feels. Terry Silver in this era knows and is convinced he is the dangerous situation. However or whatever he confronts is the one in danger, and he's the it factor they should fear, baby, whether they realize it initially or not! If Terry's fist is bloodied, you should really see the state of the other guy or guys. He isn't someone you want to meet in a dark alleyway at night, at a crowded club, on a seedy street, or really anywhere, because Terry in the 80's, in his very physical prime, is a force to be reckoned with, and at first, his opponents might not even realize how deadly he really is. Heck! He might manipulate a group of people to fight each other without dirtying his hands one bit, but if his own fists got bloodied...then that other individual is undoubtedly in a far worse shape. What Terry is fascinated by is the blood and beloved cleaning it off for him and showing him their worry. He chuckles. How sweet. His cockiness and teasing conceals very conflicted emotions, though, because Terry Silver isn't really treated like a gentle someone and he hasn't been...in a while --- perhaps in some other life he scarcely remembers to the point it doesn't even feel his anymore. He is almost perplexed at how foreign, alien and tantalizing it feels. He fantasizes about ramming his fist into a nearby wall so it would bleed even more, garnering beloved's shock and horror which he can seep up. He doesn't. He allows beloved to finish as he watches them with unblinking, hyperintense eyes.
― What old man Terry loves is that he can come to beloved with wounds. That he can be open. Honest. Slip that damn mask off because he trusts them enough to see him like this and clean him up. That he can show them the fallout of violence and all it brings and all he is. That there's this mutual loyalty and understanding. Sense of...ritualized refuge delivered through the act of cleaning up a scratch, I daresay? Even a snake goes home somewhere when it is done hunting on the prowl and the snake that is Terry returns here. He loves that beloved worries. That they're concerned. He enjoys it to almost inappropriate degrees that very much serve to turn him on. Old man Terry loves having someone who he doesn't have to share with anybody (especially after the fallout with John --- but my goodness, in general as well) and who is entirely his and entirely and primarily loyal to him and his needs, even if that need is what he considers a very mediocre flesh wound he wouldn't have even noticed otherwise. Then again, if Twig would've been prone to get himself hurt on purpose so beloved could care for him, old man Terry might just occasionally play up his age and vulnerability as someone senior so beloved could worry for him as well, notwithstanding that even now, Terry's stronger and tougher than most young people --- or really even all young people. Oh, but cunning Machiavellian that he is, he might just give beloved an oddly tender stare as he lies 'My joints aren't what they used to be.' Only to follow up those lines with a wolfish, toothy grin.
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highladylily · 1 year
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fidget-scribbles · 2 years
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(real) friends help you move (bodies)
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Read it on Ao3  as part of the Dramione Fluffy Gore Fest 2.2k words, rated M for mention of murder-y activities
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f4irycafe · 9 months
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thinking about sugar daddy toji who loves to go for the sweet and innocent girls. while his other ceo buddies (gojo, geto, sukuna) prefer to go for the high maintenance, hair laid, expensive ass women, toji prefers the cutie pies. he wants a tiny, pretty little baby on his arm. don’t be fooled though, while he might admire the innocent outward appearance, he likes his girls to have bite to them. he finds women he can walk all over and treat any type of way boring, and why would he spend his hard earned money on something that doesn’t entertain him. but most of all, he loves it when he gets to watch his little girls reduced to a mile of mush and cum underneath him every night as he fucks you like he wants to break you, sometimes you think he truly might. your hands are white knuckling the sheets as he rudely pounds into you from behind, his eyes locked on the way his massive cock stretches out your tiny, wheeling hole. “daddy. daddy. daddy” you chant as he his cock reaches places you didn’t even think where possible. and when he’s all finished, he loves his pretty baby curling onto his big chest as he lazily plays with your messy cunt, giving you sweet kisses as he promises to pay you 2k for each orgasm you gave him that night.
should i continue this hc w a lil fic 👀 lemme know
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muggycuphead · 11 months
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Lord forgive me I listened to funni reddit story men
Jokes aside, here, have a small post of Reddit Youtubers fanarts I’ve made bc I kinda vibe
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'Hey there! Mr redder here!'
Ah yes, the creamy voice boy (?)
Tried to reenact the style his new avatar has but didn’t come out as planned, oops
At least Karen looks funny, that’s a plus I guess
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'Hello, my beautiful friends!'
Your local sheep boy, Dark Fluff
His character’s funny, I like it
Gave it a small tail there btw, idk it looked kind of cute
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'Hey everybody, my name is Steven and welcome back to Storytime!' 'Hello everyone, I'm Jake, and welcome to Storytime!'
The dynamic host duo ay
PD: Y’all I dunno what was FakeJake’s intro back when he was in that channel, I just tried to guess there, if it ain’t it you’re hereby allowed to call me a dumb ass thanks
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'Welcome to Rslash'
Had to use references from a side fanart on dA, the fanbase kinda small :pensive:
Also funny dog u got there
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yuujispinkhair · 5 months
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Death's Bride
Death visits your village to reap the souls of the dying, and you end up making a deal with him. If he spares your sister's life, you will join him in his dark kingdom and become the woman by his side.
Halloween Masterlist 2023
Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Dark Romance, fluff, smut Word Count: 14k Warnings: 18+, smut, dark content, mentions of death, gore + blood. Reader has to take her own life so she can join Sukuna in the afterlife. Sukuna is described as a fallen angel who became the God of Death. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.
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You know this is no mortal man who is walking towards you with his white cloak billowing behind him as he strides through your village, carrying himself like a king, while you lie on the threshold of your small house, breathing weakly, clutching the bag with herbs to your chest. You know this is no man. You know that this is Death coming to your village to collect what's rightfully his: The souls of the dying.
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It started two weeks ago. A strange sickness took root in your village and spread like wildfire. By now, almost everyone has been infected. For some, the sickness is easier to bear, and they are on the way to recovery by now. But others are at the end of their strength.
You are the only one out of your little family who is able to get up while your mother and younger sisters are still bedridden, trapped in fever dreams and violent shivers. You went out this morning to get more herbs, taking hours for the task because you were so shaky on your feet, weakened by almost two weeks of fever, your chest hurting from one coughing fit after the other. But you forced yourself to keep moving. You had to. Your family needed you. You had to prepare more tea to fight their fever.
You dragged yourself through the streets back to your small house, feeling dizzy and nauseous but driven by desperation. But you only came as far as the door before your legs finally gave out, and you broke down from exhaustion and ended up where you are now: Lying weakly on the threshold in the open doorway, staring in horror at the scene in front of you.
A tall, broad figure striding with large, strong steps through your village, dressed all in white with a long flowing cloak with a hood that covers the head of the man wearing it.
It sparks a memory inside you. Old tales whispered to you on long, cold winter nights when you huddled together with your little sisters to keep warm, and your grandmother, who was still alive then, told you those gruesome tales about him. The one who could walk freely between the realms of life and death. The Reaper of Souls. The Fallen. The merciless, cold-hearted God who ruled over the afterlife and held judgment over the souls of the dead.
Hysterical laughter bubbles out of your chest. You cannot look away as the huge man leans down over a crumbled body on the ground. The cobbler, who was always so nice as to accept homemade pie in exchange for a new pair of soles. He was one of the first who was infected. And now he broke down in front of his shop.
The white-cloaked figure extends a large hand and brushes over the head of the lifeless man on the ground. His touch has a frightening finality to it. As if you can see the life leaving the cobbler's body.
The figure in white straightens up again, and the wide hood of his cloak slips off and reveals reddish pink hair and a face more beautiful and otherwordly than anything you have ever seen.
You draw in a sharp breath as you stare at him. Now that you get a clear look, it is obvious that your mind wasn't playing tricks on you. This man really isn't human. You are looking at a creature beyond mortal limitations. You are looking at a God.
He turns his head at that moment, and a pair of glowing red eyes trap you in their intense gaze. Your eyes widen, and your breath comes out in short, panicky huffs. You know you wouldn't be able to move even if you tried as if his gaze alone holds enough power to shackle you to the ground.
He is here. The Fallen. The Grim Reaper. The God of Death.
And he starts walking in your direction with slow, sure steps. There is no hurry in his movements. He has all the time in the world because, after all, he is the end of all time for the ones he claims or a neverending cycle of the same suffering over and over again for the poor souls he decides to punish.
Behind him, bright red splotches appear, and you realize that those are flowers, blood-red spider lilies that grow out of the dirt, building a small path to mark where Death walked. It is a horrifyingly beautiful sight.
He carries himself like a King, walking through these dirty streets as if walking down a wide marble hallway in a castle. You suspect that even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to tear your gaze away from him.
His beautiful face is adorned with black lines. Intricate filigree patterns accentuate his angular features. The black symbols mark his otherwise flawless skin with a story of pain and sin. Your mind is suddenly flooded with the tales your grandmother told you on those winter nights long ago.
There once was a beautiful angel, the most powerful of them all. But he was too proud to abide by the rules, and so he was punished. His beautiful white wings got torn out of his flesh, and his skin was etched with the marks of the crimes he committed. He was cast out and cursed to become The Fallen. The one who claimed the throne of the afterlife, of the world beyond mortality. He took the reins, and from then on, his true name was forgotten, and everyone only called him by his new name, which was Death.
And now he is walking towards you. Strangely, you don't feel fear anymore, only fascination as you watch him approach.
He stops next to you, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. This close, you can see his face even more clearly, and your mouth opens in awe. He is devastatingly beautiful.
And so big. He is towering over you, tall and broad. From where you are lying on the floor, he looks like a mountain that is about to crush you.
"Are you here to collect souls?"
Your voice sounds weak and hoarse from coughing so much.
His glowing red eyes watch you intently for a long moment, and you think that he almost looks surprised for whatever reason. But then the moment is gone, and he nods. A slight smirk lifts one corner of his lips,
"Yes, but not yours, little one. It's not your time yet. Your body will heal again."
His voice is low and calm. He sounds soothing. Not at all how you imagined Death to sound. You were always scared of this mysterious figure you heard all those grim tales about. A terrifying, violent creature with blood-red eyes and monster-like fangs, a devil who brings pain and suffering.
But right now, you only feel calm. You feel strangely at peace with him here. His power emanates from him, so powerful that you can feel it on your skin and smell it in your nose. But it doesn't feel evil or threatening.
Instead, it feels comforting, like a warm bed with freshly washed sheets waiting for you to sink into and wrap yourself in its sweet comfort. Like the relief you feel after finally lying down after a hard day of physical labor, like the feeling of sinking into a hot bath that eases the tension in your limbs.
But that momentary feeling of peacefulness slips away again a second later when Death takes a large step past you. His feet stomp heavily on the wooden threshold next to your head, and with it, terror fills your senses.
"No!"
Your voice is a hoarse scream as you lunge forward despite your weakened state, your hand darting out to wrap around his ankle and cling desperately to it.
"Please don't go in there! Please don't!"
Your family is in there. Your younger sisters and your mother.
Your lips tremble, just like your hand, but you refuse to let go of the black leather boot that's slippery with mud. You cling to it, sobbing as you gaze up at Death through the hot tears clouding your vision.
He looks down at you, an elegant eyebrow lifted in a curious expression. He stares at your tiny hand wrapped around his ankle. You cannot tell if he is angry or amused about your pathetic attempt to stop him.
"Let go, little one. I told you, your time hasn't come yet. But I have to collect a soul from in there."
You are drowning in dread. And the words pour out of your lips, desperate and panicky,
"Please don't do it! Please take me instead! I am begging you, my Lord! Please spare them!"
Narrowed red eyes meet yours. He laughs softly and lifts his leg, effortlessly shaking your hand off. His low voice sounds amused as if you made a nice little joke.
"Look at you trying to negotiate with Death. You are a brave one. Foolish but brave."
Now you see how truly terrifying he is. Death knows no mercy. He doesn't just collect the souls of the old people who lived a long, fulfilled life. He claims anyone whose time has run out in the cruel hourglass that is life. He will go in there and take your mother or one of your sisters with him even though they still deserve so much more from life.
He looks at you with a cold, intimidating look in his red eyes. His mouth is set in a thin line, and his shoulders are pulled back, making him look even more massive. You cannot negotiate with Death. He is the God of the afterlife. There are forces at hand which every mortal is completely helpless against. Humans are all just little toy figures on the game board of the Gods. Or not even that. Just tiny, irrelevant grains of dust.
And yet, you cannot stop yourself from pleading with him.
"I don't care what you do to me! Take me with you! I am ready to die any death you see fit! Just please, please let my family live! My sisters are still so young. They deserve to see more of life! And they need my mother, she has to live too! But I am dispensable. Take me instead! Please! I will do anything you say!"
He watches you with amused eyes and a thoughtful expression.
"You're such an interesting one. You aren't dying, though. So I cannot take you to the other realm. But we could make a deal. I have to collect one soul from this house. I don't care whose it is. There is still time. I could still heal your sister. But only in exchange for another soul. You die, she lives. How does that sound to you? Are you still brave enough now?"
His red eyes watch you with an amused glint in them. Cruel excitement seems to fill him. You can't help but think that you are something like a strangely colored bug that he watches for his entertainment before he crushes it under the soles of his boots.
But you don't care. You refuse to avert your gaze, staring stubbornly into his otherwordly red eyes, your hands balled into fists as you nod.
"I agree. Please, my Lord. Please save her."
He chuckles softly, a low, amused sound, and his face lights up in a grin. He looks disgustingly delighted.
"I will, little one. But only if you seal a binding deal with me first. I spare your sister's life, and in exchange, you take your own life and let me take you with me. The moment you breathed your last breath, you belong to me, and I can decide what to do with your soul. I am in a good mood today, so I will be open about my plans for you. It would be a waste to send you back here as a curse that haunts your family. Instead, I want to keep you by my side. I could use someone who looks after my temple and warms my bed. I could use a bride. What do you say, little one?"
You can see that he is amused, that he expects you to decline after hearing his plan for you. But you don't. For a moment, you stare at him, horrified by what his words imply. But you shake yourself out of it, driven by a desperate conviction. You cannot let your little sister die today. You could never live with the guilt of knowing you had a chance to save her and let it pass. You will do what it takes. Even if it means following Death into his dark kingdom and giving your body to him. You swallow hard, lips trembling as you answer him,
"Alright. I will be your bride and look after your temple. I agree to your terms. Now, please hurry up and save her!"
More laughter falls from his lips. His red eyes glitter like two precious rubies. He sounds pleased when he says,
"You're a fearless one. I like that."
His red gaze never leaves yours as he reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a wicked-looking dagger.
"Here. Do it. End your life, and let me collect your soul. The moment your soul belongs to me, your sister will wake up from her fever dream and recover from the sickness that has befallen her."
You gulp hard, fear squeezing your heart tightly, as you stare at his large hand wrapped around the golden hilt of the dagger, his red eyes watching you challengingly, watching if you will really fulfill your part of the contract.
You are scared suddenly, your breath coming out in short huffs. You feel lightheaded, adrenaline pumping through your veins, making stars dance before your eyes.
Maybe this is how things are. No matter how prepared you are for Death, when he comes to really collect you, you feel fear after all. Fear of the finality of it all. There is no way back after you take this step.
But you don't hesitate. You press your lips together tightly and take the offered dagger out of Death's hand.
The moment you hold the heavy weapon in your grasp, Death's large hand wraps around your wrist, and he pulls you to your feet, making you stand before him.
He is so much taller than you, even now when you are standing. You have to tilt your head back to look into his eyes. He looks even more intimidating up close. Powerful, strong, unrelenting. A cunning business partner who is waiting for you to fulfill your side of the contract. A contract you pay for with your life.
You half expect him to taunt you, and it makes you clench your jaw and stare up at him defiantly. But to your surprise, there is no mockery in his low voice when he speaks up again.
"Have no fear. You won't feel any pain. I will make sure of that."
His words bring tears to your eyes, making them spill over with the hot salty liquid as your chest fills with comfort, finding solace in the fact that Death apparently knows mercy after all.
Your hand is trembling violently, but you bring the sharp blade of the dagger to your neck, gazing up at Death as you do so, looking deeply into his glowing red eyes as you slice your own throat.
The sharp metallic taste of blood fills your every sense. You taste it, you smell it, you feel it hot and wet running down your slit throat and your chest, you hear it gurgling in your mouth when you try to speak.
But Death leans down to take the bloodied dagger from your hand. His other hand cups your cheek. It's so large against your face. But his touch is gentle as if he is holding a thin, fragile porcelain cup,
"It's fine, little one. You did well. Brave until the end."
His voice is soothing. Low and calm, almost seductive. Like a lover luring you into his comforting embrace. You lean into his touch, smiling weakly when you feel his thumb caress your cheek soothingly.
Black spots dance before your eyes, and you feel so tired. You see his lips move, but you can't hear anymore. Your legs and hands feel numb. You fall forward, but strong arms catch you.
You feel yourself get swooped up into Death's strong arms and pressed safely against his broad chest. You feel him move as your head lols back weakly. The ghost of a smile tugs at your blood-stained lips. He carries you like a groom carrying his bride to the bedroom on their wedding night.
How fitting. After all, you are truly his bride now.
If you weren't so weak, you would laugh at the commentary your delirious mind provides.
By now, your vision has vanished completely. The only thing you are still aware of are his arms around you. It's peaceful and warm. As painless as he promised. You feel one last weak throb of your heart. And then it's only sweet, comforting darkness and the feeling of those strong arms carrying you safely across the border from mortal life into Death's dark kingdom.
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You wake up feeling rested and comfortable. Your eyes are still closed, and you sigh contentedly, snuggling deeper into the soft and warm sensation of a silky pillow and blanket.
In the back of your mind, some strange warning tugs, but you are too wrapped in the luxurious feeling of being well-rested after a good night's sleep to pay it much attention. You can't remember the last time you felt rested like this. It was hard since your father died. You are the oldest daughter and had to help your mother raise your younger sisters. You were the one who had to do most physical labor, working on one of the farms day in and day out. Your body constantly ached somewhere.
But not today.
You sigh happily, stretching your limbs and marveling at how soft the bedsheets and the blanket feel against your naked skin and how large the bed is.
That's when the little voice in your head becomes too loud to ignore. You blink in confusion and open your eyes.
You are in a large room with marble walls decorated opulently with red and gold murals. Red candles are flickering in large lanterns. A fire is crackling in a beautifully decorated hearth. The bed you are lying in is huge and definitely not made for only one person.
You gasp and sit up, looking around hastily.
There are two red pillows and two red blankets, and everything is made of the finest silk. As if you are in a King's bed chambers.
And, suddenly, you remember everything.
The sickness haunting your village. Your dying sister. Death walking towards you. The deal you made with him. The dagger in your hands. The blood. Strong arms carrying you. You remember him. Death himself. Your bridegroom.
Instinctively, you grab the blanket and wrap it tightly around your body, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Your heart is beating wildly, and it makes you feel nauseous. You still remember the feeling of your heartbeat becoming slower and slower before it finally faded away completely. You remember dying.
And yet you are here now, breathing, feeling the silk on your skin, feeling the thrumming of your heart. So very alive, even though you know you can't be.
And so very naked in a man's bed. Or not a man's bed. In a God's bed. In Death's bed.
At that moment, the large door opposite the bed opens, and you wince in fear. You clutch the blanket tightly against your body, staring at the door with wide eyes.
He stands in the doorway, his pink hair almost brushing against the doorframe. Tall and massive. He looks intimidating even without the white cloak he wore when reaping souls. Even the way he is dressed right now, as if he just woke up too, with only a pair of black pants on his muscular body. His feet and chest are bare.
There are more tattoos on his body, matching the ones on his face. Black lines decorate the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, as well as his strong arms.
He could almost be a human man. Almost. But those glowing red eyes tell you otherwise. Those are the eyes of a mythical creature. The eyes of a God.
And you feel like a small animal trapped in that gaze as you sit there on his large bed, naked except for the silk blanket wrapped protectively around yourself, unable to move as you watch him walk into the room.
He moves gracefully like a big cat, even though he is so tall and muscular. A slight smirk lifts his lips as he approaches the bed. His red eyes never leave your small figure huddled in his blanket.
"Ah, I see you are awake."
"What... what did you do to me?"
The words have left your mouth before you can stop yourself. Confusion and fear make you blurt out mindlessly. You are distraught by the memories of slitting your own throat, by the feeling of dying. And you are terrified by the knowledge that you are naked in Death's bed. Terrified by what he might have done to you in your sleep. On the other hand, maybe it would be better for you not to have been awake for what he did.
He falters for a moment, his beautiful face shadowed by a frown as his red gaze bores searchingly into yours.
"We made a deal. Can you not remember? Your life in exchange for your sisters? You agreed to follow me here."
You nod firmly,
"Yes, yes, of course I remember."
"When what..." he starts, but then comprehension seems to dawn on his features, and he laughs, sounding mocking, his eyes glittering amusedly when he continues,
"Don't worry. I didn't touch you while you were unconscious. Where would be the fun in that?"
Oh.
You feel some of the worst tension leave your body, a long breath you had been holding finally finding its way out of your lips.
"But why am I... naked?"
"You were dirty. Do you think I would let you sleep in my bed like that, full of dirt and blood? My servant undressed you and cleaned you and put you in my bed."
So you were right. This is his bed.
"Why am I in your bed?"
He huffs at your question as if you asked something utterly stupid.
"Because you are my bride. Of course, you sleep in my bed. We have a deal. So if I say you sleep in my bed, you will sleep here. Is that clear?"
You lick your lips nervously, feeling fear tingle under your skin at his imperious tone and the intense gaze out of those unnervingly red eyes.
You quickly avert your gaze, bowing your head obediently,
"Yes, my Lord."
"Sukuna."
You blink and lift your head again to look at him questioningly.
"What?"
"That was my name before I became Death. Sukuna. I want you to call me that from now on."
He sighs, and the stern expression on his face becomes softer when he adds,
"It would be uncalled for my bride to address me with my title. I am Sukuna for you. Your betrothed."
He says his own name with a slight tilt in his voice as if he isn't used to saying it. Maybe he isn't. It must have been a very long time since he told someone his name. Maybe eons.
You gulp hard.
How strange it is to be here with him. To talk to him as if he is a regular mortal when he is so much more than that. He has never even been human. He is a being so ancient and so powerful, so crucial to every mortal's existence, that your head spins just from trying to imagine it.
But you force yourself to be brave and look at him.
He is right. You agreed to his terms. And he did his part. He spared your sister. Now, it's your turn to fulfill the rest of your side of the contract.
You are still trembling and hugging the blanket tightly to your naked form, but you look bravely into his eyes and give him a polite nod,
"Of course, Sukuna. Thank you for saving my sister. I will be a good bride for you."
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A day ago, you were a mere mortal. One of millions who were caught in the hands of fate. Working day in and out to stay alive, always hoping, begging, praying to have more time and to see your loved ones live a long life too, while all of you were exposed to the threat of Death cutting your lifespan with his sword at any second.
Now, you are beyond that. You died, and you came back again. Brought back by Death himself, the Master over every soul who left the mortal world behind.
From this day on, you reside in the afterlife. From this day onwards, you will be Death's Bride and live your new life, or rather your afterlife, by Sukuna's side.
He tells you that you are free to move around in the temple. When you ask if you are also allowed to go outside, he lifts an elegant eyebrow and seems strangely amused, as if you asked something stupid.
"You can also go outside. But I don't think you will find anything interesting there, little one."
You don't know what he means, but accept it and take the fine clothes his loyal servant Uraume brings you. Everything is made out of the finest silk. A fabric so luxurious and soft that it feels like a caress when Uraume helps you get dressed. You gulp when the servant puts jewelry on your neck and wrists. Heavy gold and pretty jewels, red rubies that glitter in the same color as your groom's eyes.
Sukuna's temple is enormous and luxuriously furnished. Not at all like the tiny, shabby house you grew up in. But you cannot claim that this temple is better than your old home because, contrary to the vivacious atmosphere of your former home, Sukuna's house is eerily silent. A silence that feels haunting.
You don't dare walk too fast so as not to make any loud noise. You catch yourself whispering because your normal voice sounds too loud in these empty halls. It's a ghostly place. The silence feels too heavy, almost tangible. Something that can easily drive a person into madness.
You try to focus on the little noises that are there. The little signs of existence, like the sound of water flowing into the large bath. Or the sound of the doors sliding open and closed.
It takes a while to explore the whole place. To see all the large rooms with their rich tapestries and carpets. Gold and rubies shine and glitter everywhere. But a lot of the rooms look too clean, too perfect. There are no signs of someone actually living in them.
It is lonely here.
Maybe this is why Sukuna was willing to make a contract with you that would bind you to him and make you join him here. Maybe he was looking for a companion, or just a pet, to amuse him in this everlasting silence.
It is not like you are a servant here, as Sukuna made it sound at first. You assumed you would tend to him, clean his temple and clothes, wash and cook for him. But that isn't the case. His servant, Uraume, takes care of those tasks. They mostly remain invisible, like a ghost, taking care of everything for their Master, seemingly manifesting out of the shadows to bring you fresh clothes and oils and wine.
You ask them timidly what you are supposed to do, and they shake their head to inform you that you are just here for Master Sukuna's enjoyment.
A statement that makes a shudder run through you.
You have been here for three days, and so far, he hasn't laid a hand on you, maybe because he was away most of the time, apparently reaping souls on a battlefield.
But he demands your presence at dinner with him, where he sits across from you at a large table, and those gleaming red eyes never leave you. He is polite, asking questions about your day and how you like the jewelry.
And he joins you in the large bed every night, naked, with his tall and broad body full of solid muscles and black lines unashamedly on display for your terrified gaze.
You try to tell yourself it is the shock that makes you unable to look away from him when he undresses next to the bed and then slips in. But a little voice in the back of your mind whispers treacherously to you that maybe it is because Sukuna has an undeniably beautiful body.
"You're getting quite intimate with Death, my dear, aren't you?"
His amused low voice makes you hastily look away and hide your face in the silky pillow, heart racing nervously. His mocking laugh makes goosebumps creep over your skin. But he doesn't seem mad. He is just amused once again.
"Don't be shy, little one. Look all you want. You'll have all the time in the world to explore this body."
You bite your lip at his words, your body tensing up under the blanket when a large hand lands on the nape of your neck and slowly slides down your spine. Your heart is fluttering, and you don't dare breathe. But he pulls his hand away after a moment.
You slip to the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, knees pulled up, curling into yourself, instinctively trying to protect yourself as if it would help anything against this God in your bed.
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The more time you spend in Sukuna's Kingdom, the more you realize that this is really death. It is the absence of life, the absence of sound, and plant- and animal life. You begin to understand that the once graceful angel Sukuna really got punished. This here is his suffering, his punishment. The loneliness, the absence of life that so suffocatingly surrounds him at all times.
But he was cunning enough to cheat and take his chance when you offered it so beautifully to him. Now, it is the two of you here in this dead place.
It's truly a lonely place. Maybe that's the definition of hell. To be trapped in a beautiful temple that holds all the riches the world could offer but lacks life, lacks the connection to other beings.
You try to befriend Uraume, but they seem to vanish when they aren't busy with some task. Your attempts at chatting with them get declined with a polite but stern bow and a "Please forgive me, my Lady, but I must ask you to refrain from distracting me from serving Master Sukuna."
You meet no other being aside from Uraume and Sukuna.
The worst thing is the eerie silence. It almost drives you crazy. It makes you stomp your feet loudly just so you can reassure yourself you are still able to hear. It makes you slowly push open the large gate that leads outside in a desperate attempt to find anything living.
The rich opulence inside Sukuna's home is a stark contrast to what greets you when you finally step outside the temple.
A seemingly endless wasteland stretches before your eyes. There is no sky above you. It feels like you are in an enormous cave with a ceiling so high your vision cannot reach it. Eternal darkness lives in this place. Cold with icy winds and a rotten stench of iron and decay.
It's gruesome. Hopeless.
You press a hand over your nose and mouth and stand there wide-eyed, staring at the endless darkness in the distance. But as frightening as it is, the complete darkness in the distance is a blessing compared to what you see in the strange, dim, reddish light surrounding Sukuna's temple.
A vast crimson-red sea surrounds the island upon which the temple is built. The color and the stench make you ask yourself a question to which you already know the answer. Yes, this sea must be a sea of blood.
You shudder as you take a tentative step closer to the crimson-red liquid at your feet. You gulp hard as you lift your head to look straight ahead. There is a narrow path leading through the sea of blood, a path that is made of stones and other shapes. Shapes that look too similar to bones to be a coincidence.
But at the end of that path is something even more horrible. A massive pile of bones. It is so high that it seems like a small hill. And on its top is a large throne made out of skulls.
This must be the place from the tales you heard whispered.
Death's throne.
This must be where Sukuna holds court and decides on the fate of the newly deceased. Some will move on to eternal peace. Some will suffer forever in the fires of the afterlife. Some will be forced to return to the mortal world. But not as humans but as empty shells. As curses that were laid upon them by others.
A heavy hand lands on your shoulder, and you scream.
You whirl around wide-eyed, only to stare into the smirking face of your soon-to-be husband.
Sukuna's red eyes wander slowly from your face to his throne in the midst of the sea of blood and back again to your face, looking deeply into your eyes as he says in his low, velvety voice,
"I see, you found my throne. You can sit next to me up there if you wish while I pass judgment on the newly reaped souls."
You shake your head frantically.
"No! No, there will be no need for that!"
He raises an elegant eyebrow and huffs softly.
"Such a pity."
But he leaves it at that. His white coak billows behind him majestically as he strides back into the temple, and his soft laugh carries over to your ears, amused, maybe a bit mocking.
You follow him hastily, not wanting to be out here any second longer.
You plan to never set foot outside again after that. It's easier to pretend when you are inside the temple. It's easier to pretend that you are not in the middle of literal hell.
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You aren't sure how many days or weeks have passed since you arrived in Sukuna's Kingdom. Time is nonexistent here. There are no seasons. There is no night and day. You have dinner at appointed times, and you go to bed where you still slide to the far end of the bed. But you have no idea if the days have the same hours as in the mortal world.
It might be a week, maybe since you were brought here when Uraume informs you while dressing you in the morning,
"Tonight, the wedding ceremony will be held. I will bathe you and dress you in your wedding dress later on."
And you feel like you are falling. Falling deeper and deeper into darkness so absolute it feels like velvet brushing over your skin as it swallows you wholly.
You knew this was coming. But it still shakes you to your deepest core. There is something so final about becoming Death's bride. You know you will be here forever. You will be Sukuna's forever. Bound to him by a promise, by a contract, by a union of bodies, maybe by blood too.
The wedding dress is the most beautiful dress you have ever seen. White silk, so delicate it looks like a mere spider's web. Your skin shimmers through it. The dress clings to your curves, showing your body almost as if you are naked. It looks like the dress of a Queen. Or a Goddess.
"Master Sukuna wanted the finest wedding dress ever made for his bride. You should be grateful and wear it with pride."
The disapproval in Uraume's voice is evident as they catch you crossing your arms timidly in front of your breasts, trying to hide your body.
When you walk towards your groom, you hold your head up high, clutching the wedding bouquet of spider lilies tightly in your hands, your gaze glued to Sukuna's glowing red eyes, trying your best to be brave.
You play along and do what Uraume instructed, extending a hand so Sukuna can take it and let him lead you to an altar. You are brave. You don't flinch when Sukuna takes the same dagger that you took your life with and touches it to your wrist, cutting your skin lightly.
No blood is welling up from the wound. Another mystery. What are you now? You feel a heart beating in your chest, but you don't bleed. Is anything you feel even real? Or is the beating of your heart just a phantom sensation you remember from being alive and refuse to let go of?
You feel lightheaded as you stare at the thin wound on your wrist, but only for a moment because then Uraume hands Sukuna a tray with a small pot with a black liquid in it.
You know what is to come. Your husband is marking you as his, filling your wound with the black liquid, giving you the same markings he bears.
He doesn't kiss you but stands in front of you, so close that you feel his warmth. One of his large hands cups your cheek, his thumb brushing slowly over your lower lip before it pushes into your mouth and feeds you some of the black liquid he marked you with.
"Take my sin into you and become mine for all eternity. Be my companion in this eternal darkness, like I will be yours."
There is something in his voice and about his choice of words that makes tears prick at your eyes, but you will them away and repeat his vow.
He takes you that night for the first time, consummating your marriage by pushing you onto the bed, one of his large hands pressing your face down into the silken pillow, as Sukuna settles over you.
You clutch the pillow tightly between your fingers when you feel his heavy weight pressing your body down. You tell yourself to be brave and obedient, but you cannot stop a muffled cry from falling from your lips when his huge cock splits you open and claims you for the first time.
He takes you with deep, thorough thrusts. The initial pain vanishes after the first few thrusts, and after that, your union isn't exactly painful anymore, but it feels frightening how full you feel, how stretched out. You have never lain with a man before, but even if you had, you know no mortal man would have been able to prepare you for your wedding night with a God like Sukuna.
He is so big, so strong, taking you unrelentingly while you tremble in his arms, knowing you could never run from him even if you chose to back out of your contract with him.
His large hands are placed on each side of your head, his lips trail over your neck, sharp teeth grazing over your skin, while he snaps his hips and makes you feel like you are getting crushed anytime his heavy weight presses you down onto the bed.
There is no love in this union of your bodies, but it's not like you were as naive as to ever imagine your wedding night to be filled with love or tenderness.
You always expected to marry out of convenience. A girl like you couldn't afford the luxury of love when picking a husband. You had a family to look after. Maybe it would have been one of the farmer's sons if you were lucky. You would have given birth to his children in exchange for a relatively comfortable life for yourself and your mother and sisters in one of the big farmhouses.
You never were so foolish as to believe you would have a loving marriage. So this wedding night with Sukuna isn't that much different from what you were expecting in your future anyway.
And so you grit your teeth and take his cock obediently, letting him use your body to satisfy his desire until you hear his low groans in your ear when he finds his release and fills you with his warm seed.
You are a good bride.
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You know you aren't expected to work, but you find your way into the large kitchen anyway, standing behind Uraume as they prepare a meal.
Sukuna has been gone the whole day, and there is only so much staring at the ceiling while lying in your bed that you can do before you inevitably go insane. So you went in search of the only other living being down here, hoping they wouldn't send you away.
"Do you need help with the cooking? Can I maybe chop some ingredients or something?"
Sukuna's servant sends you a cold gaze over their shoulder, looking at you as if you offended them by the suggestion alone.
"I have spent eons preparing Master Sukuna's meals, my Lady. I don't need any help. And you aren't a servant here. You should do other things."
"But... but that's not what I meant. I am sorry if I offended you. The food you cook is always perfect. I just...I am looking for something to do and for some company maybe. Can I please assist you? There is nothing else to do here."
Uraume sighs, but they nod slightly, and you feel relief wash over you. They wave you over, hand you a knife, and point to a cutting board where a small pile of vegetables is waiting to get sliced into little pieces. You smile at Uraume and murmur a soft thanks, going to work immediately.
"Uraume? Can I ask you something? Does Sukuna even need to eat?"
It's something you have been curious about since the first time you sat across from him at the large dining table. You don't feel any hunger since you woke up here in the afterlife. Why would someone who is already dead need food? But you eat because you feel like it is required of you in your role as Sukuna's bride. It made you wonder, though. Why would a powerful being like Sukuna need to eat? Or does he just do it because he likes the sensation of eating?
Uraume watches you warily for a long moment, probably contemplating whether they should chat with you about Sukuna. In the end, they sigh softly and answer you,
"Master Sukuna doesn't need any food. But he wants to eat."
Uraume hesitates for a moment, their hand with the knife hovering over the meat they are currently chopping, but then they add softly,
"In the heavenly realms, they have big feasts all the time with as much food and wine as one can imagine. Even after The Fall, Master Sukuna didn't want to give up on that. He was supposed to have a life void of all those joys, but he evades that form of punishment by consuming the food I prepare for him with ingredients I collect from the mortal world. Of course, it's not quite the same taste as the foods prepared in the celestial realm, but for the ingredients I can obtain, it is the best food he can get."
It makes sense.
You can't help but chuckle softly as you realize that eating a four-course meal every night is Sukuna's little ongoing rebellion against the ones who turned him into The Fallen.
It somehow makes you see your husband in a different light. It makes him seem a little more human. A little more relatable. You have been there, too, several times, feeling the desire to do something out of spite when someone tries to forbid you something.
That evening, you watch him closely while he eats the meal Uraume and you prepared for him. For the first time, you take in how much he seems to treasure the food served to him. He takes his time eating it, letting it melt slowly on his tongue, taking in all the different flavors, and his eyes close in pleasure when he savors the taste.
It almost makes you feel sorry for him and for what he lost when he got cast out of heaven.
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You never wanted to set foot outside the temple again after seeing the endless wasteland and the sea of blood. But your curiosity gets the better of you when Sukuna informs you he will be holding court today, and you watch him slip into his white cloak and walk through the huge doors of the temple towards the path that leads to his throne.
You follow him after a few minutes, unable to resist the lure his words have on you.
A horrifying sight greets you. The sea of blood is filled with a large crowd of shadowy figures. The bloody waters are shallow, only reaching up to the knees of those standing in it. But none of them look down. They all have their heads tilted back to look up at the imposing figure who thrones over them. Atop the gruesome pile of bones, sitting on his throne of skulls, is Death.
He looks bored. His long legs are crossed casually one over the other. His chin is resting on the back of one hand while his eyes trail slowly over the souls standing before him, awaiting his judgment.
Eyes that glow blood-red, vibrant like two lights in the dark, standing out frighteningly in the dim light of the afterlife.
He is beautiful and terrifying.
You can see the immeasurable extent of his power and can even feel it as if it is a physical thing that surrounds you, making the air thick and filling your senses with dread. A dread that comes with the absence of all hope.
Sukuna is the King of the Afterlife. The God of Death. There is no escape from him. Every living soul will one day end up here and stand before your husband.
A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. You instinctively hug yourself even as your gaze stays glued to the scene playing out in front of you.
As expected, Sukuna is unrelenting in his judgment. There is no mercy to be expected when he makes his decisions. He isn't swayed by the cruelty of the fates of the ones standing before him, no matter how tragic they are. His decisions are rational and brutal at times. And yet, after you stood there for several hours and watched him, you have to admit that his judgment is fair. Of course, he won't revive anyone. But he assigns an appropriate ending to their lives. He punishes the ones who did evil. He transforms the ones who got cursed. He leads the ones who are innocent to their eternal sleep.
When the last soul has vanished in a cloud of red smoke, Sukuna gets up from his throne and slowly walks back toward the temple. His movements are graceful, making you watch him with a feeling akin to admiration.
His red eyes land on you, and for a split second, a surprised expression crosses his beautiful features.
When he reaches you, he stops next to you with a content expression on his face and a small smirk lifting the corners of his lips,
"So my bride watched after all, hm? I am pleased."
You nod at him, and to your surprise, you see his smirk turn into a smile.
One of his large hands reaches out and lands on your head. Long fingers brush over your hair, petting you for a brief moment before he pulls away again and continues walking toward the temple.
You feel strangely light-hearted when you fall into step behind your husband.
When he takes you that night, he is gentler in the way he handles you. He doesn't press you face down into the pillow like he usually does, but instead rolls the two of you to the side, entering you from behind while you lay in his strong arms and his large hands trail down your body, cupping your breasts and rubbing circles over your belly.
His lips graze your earlobes while his low groans and murmurs fill the room,
"You're a good little bride."
You don't know whether it's his words or the way he snaps his hips that makes you clench around his thick cock and exhale a surprised moan, as for the first time, you feel thick syrupy pleasure explode inside you and spread through your whole body in warm crashing waves.
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Your husband is often away. In the mortal world, reaping souls. You know that anywhere he goes, he brings devastation and fear. But when he comes home to you, he brings a certain comfort with him, as strange as it sounds.
You are almost glad when Sukuna's tall, broad figure walks into the wide double doors. It is very lonely here and scary at times when you become too aware of where you are, and the silence becomes too suffocating. Sukuna's presence brings comfort. His low, calm voice helps you drift away from that brink of madness you sometimes feel yourself drifting towards when you are alone with your thoughts for too long.
Your husband is Death, but to you, he is the only sign of life you meet down here, and that is enough to make you drift towards him when he is at home.
He is terrifying because of his role in this cycle of life and death. He is terrifying because he symbolizes the end. His position is terrifying. But the man Sukuna doesn't seem so bad.
He treats you well. He is polite. And as long as he looks at you and talks to you, you feel real. You still exist. You aren't gone. You aren't a ghost or a curse. You are very real and corporal.
You catch yourself following Sukuna around, watching him while he polishes his sword and the various daggers he carries. Watching him when he sits comfortably on the bed with books spread around him, reading and making notes.
His red eyes find yours and narrow in a frown.
"You've been staring at me for half an hour. Do you have nothing to entertain yourself with? What are you usually doing while I am away?"
The question catches you off guard. Is he mad at you? Is he accusing you of being lazy?
You look nervously at him,
"There isn't a lot to do here... I mostly just... wait? I sleep a lot, I take baths, and I help Uraume in the kitchen. Is there anything you want me to do?"
He blinks at you and shrugs.
"Why don't you find a past time? I showed you my library. Why don't you spend your days there and read?"
You feel shame wash over you. You get treated like a noble woman here by the King's side. But you have always been just a poor peasant from a dirty little village where the only thing that mattered was physical labor.
"I never learned how to read."
Sukuna's red eyes widen, and he stares at you for a long moment before he finally says firmly,
"Follow me."
He gets up and walks toward the door without bothering to check if you follow him. A man who is used to everyone obeying his commands.
You quickly scramble to your feet, bunch up your dress, and do as he says. You have to walk fast to keep up with Sukuna's large steps, probably looking pathetic as you hurry after him. But he doesn't comment on it. There is an amused smirk on his beautiful face, though, when he waits for you at the door that leads to his personal library.
It's a vast room with large shelves filled with so many books that you suspect he must own every book that has ever been written.
"Sit."
Sukuna's low voice is demanding, but you can hear the tint of amusement in it as he points one long finger to one of the large armchairs.
You nod and sit down, watching Death stride through his collection of books and pull several books from the various shelves, which he then places on the small table next to your armchair.
"I will teach you how to read. These are all books that contain very little text. We will start with those."
Your head snaps up, and you stare at him, caught off guard and astonished by his offer. Why does he care whether you have something to do in your time here or not? Why does he take some of his precious time to teach his bride, who he claimed is only here to warm his bed, how to read?
At the same time, you feel a shudder run through your body, feeling flustered suddenly as you realize that this means you will spend a lot of time with him.
Holed up in Death's personal library, where he sits so close to you that his large hand brushes against yours anytime he turns a page. So close that his breath caresses the skin of your neck anytime he tells you something in his low, velvety voice. You find it hard to focus on his words, too distracted by the warmth emanating from his tall, muscular body.
He takes you almost every night, but somehow, those hours spent with him in the library where he teaches you how to read feel much more intimate than the nights spent under his heavy body.
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Sometimes, Sukuna returns home as immaculately looking as he left. His white cloak clean, his beautiful face flawless. But at other times, he comes home covered in dirt and blood from walking over a battlefield or through a slaughtered city.
On those days, you help him shrug out of his stained clothes and then lead him to the large bath, where you join him in the hot water to wash the blood and dirt off his muscles.
It is something he demanded from you.
"Why should I wash myself when I have a perfect little bride to do that. Isn't it your duty to serve me? Now take off your clothes and join me in the bath."
At first, it took all your bravery to slip out of your clothes in front of his wolfish gaze and smug grin. But now, it is no cause for shame or discomfort anymore. You are used to being naked in front of Sukuna. Used to getting claimed fully by him.
But it's not just that, you realize as you slip into the hot water and walk towards your husband.
By now, you feel a certain pride in this. Sukuna is Death. He is a God. A being that seems untouchable with all the power he holds. But you are allowed to touch him. You are allowed to invade his personal space.
There is something so intimate about straddling his lap here in the hot water, naked skin on skin, as you cup his beautiful face with one hand and use a washcloth to wipe the blood off his skin and wash his hair. A certain bond blossoms between the two of you when his muscular arms encircle you, and his red eyes watch you intently, glittering like two rubies in the flickering candlelight while he lets you take care of him. There is a certain softness in the way he thanks you for cleaning him despite his former claims that this was your duty to him.
It's during one of those shared baths when Sukuna kisses you for the first time.
He has claimed you almost every night, had you under him or in front of him, or made you be on top and sit on his large, heavy cock while he lifted you up and down and rolled his hips to thrust deeply into you. He made you bury your nose in his pink pubic hair while he used your mouth for his pleasure, made you choke on his copious amounts of seed, or sneered when he pulled out in time to shoot it all over your face and naked breasts.
He claimed you in every way a man can claim a woman. But he never kissed you.
In all the months you have been here by his side, Sukuna never kissed you until this afternoon here in the large bath where you sit on his lap and wash the blood off his face.
Your face is barely inches from his as you scrub at the dried blood on his right cheek when you feel one of his large hands trail up your back slowly. A caress that feels too gentle for a being like him. Your eyes flicker to his, and you see him watching you intently with an unreadable expression in those glowing red eyes.
Before you can go back to scrubbing at the blood on his cheeks, you feel his large hand cup the back of your head and pull you closer.
Your eyes widen when Sukuna's lips touch yours. They are surprisingly soft. His kiss is slow at first, lips barely moving against yours. But it grows more passionate quickly. His large hand tightens its hold on your hair, his mouth opens against yours, and his velvety tongue licks over your lips before pushing between them.
You shudder, not able to tell if it is from fear or pleasure. But your eyes fall shut, and your hand drops the washcloth. Your arms link behind Sukuna's broad neck. You open your mouth willingly for him, letting him in further, licking against his tongue experimentally, surprised at the heat that it makes throb in your core.
A soft growl is heard, and you can't tell if it's coming from you or Sukuna. But you know that his arms tighten around you and that you press your naked breasts against his muscular chest as you push your tongue eagerly against his, caressing it with a hunger that you didn't know you possessed.
You feel an all too familiar hardness growing beneath you, but instead of dreading it, you press against it eagerly, allowing yourself to fall into those hot, red feelings of desire and need. Allowing yourself to dive into those stormy waves of carnal pleasure, embracing the comfort and freedom it offers you.
This time you shudder in pleasure when Sukuna's thick cock pushes into you. This time, you gasp needily when his large hands knead your flesh, and his nails dig into your skin as he lifts you up and down on his throbbing hardness. This time, you meet the snaps of his hips eagerly, taking him deeper, making the act faster and more passionate as you ride him shamelessly until you are both grunting and gasping loudly, and the warm water splashes out of the large tub anytime your bodies connect in those passionate and frenzied moves. Both of you cry out loudly when your pleasure reaches its peak at the same time.
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When Sukuna is at home, you can almost believe you are living a normal life in the mortal world. Of course, a life very different from your former one. A life as a princess, maybe, or a queen, who is living in a castle, wrapped in luxuries, with nothing to do except improve your newly acquired reading skills and help your loyal servant prepare decadent meals that you eat with your husband before he leads you to your opulent bed chamber where you both read and share the occasional laugh about an amusing passage in a book until your low moans fill the room while your lips and bodies meet in a passionate union.
You almost succeed in pretending that you are still alive.
Almost.
But then Sukuna leaves the temple to fulfill his duty as Death, and you become too aware again that the windows are only enchanted to show day and night and a blurry landscape instead of the eternal night and the nothingness surrounding Sukuna's temple.
And that's when you feel the unsettling presence of the complete silence choking you again. That's when you feel the absolute absence of life closing in on you again as if the temple walls are moving closer and closer to you.
You can only escape for so long into the fantasy world of the books you are able to read now. And Uraume isn't very helpful with how they seem to avoid you except when dressing you or cooking with you.
You catch yourself humming under your breath to comfort yourself. The humming turns into soft singing. At first, you feel a bit weird about how loud your voice sounds, but soon, you become braver and sing at an average volume, unafraid of how your voice fills the marble rooms of the temple with its clear sound. You are surprised by how many songs you remember. Songs from your childhood, folk songs from your village, popular songs from the big cities you heard performed at the harvest festival every ear.
You get so comfortable with it that you don't think twice about singing, even when Sukuna is at home. You only realize what you are doing when you hear him chuckle softly behind you, and you gasp and stop singing and turn around to see him standing in the open doorway, leaning against the door frame with his muscular arms crossed in front of his broad chest, his white cloak painted with the scarlet pattern of a soul claimed.
He smirks at you,
"Don't let me interrupt you. I am just unfamiliar with such sounds here in my domain. But it sounds lovely. Keep singing for me, my little bird."
You feel intimidated all of a sudden now that his red eyes are watching you, but you swallow down the nervousness and continue singing the song you were in the middle of before Sukuna entered the room. A song as old as your village, kept alive from generation to generation, speaking of the human longing for company, a home, a fire to keep you warm, and a love to comfort you.
Sukuna's gaze is glued to you, a strange emotion flickering over his god-like features. Something akin to longing, you think. Something akin to sadness even. But before you can wonder too much about it, he turns away from you and leaves the room without any further word.
When you wake up the next morning, you can't move. Your eyes fly open in panic, only to realize you are lying draped over your husband's broad, muscular body, your naked skin pressing against his, one thigh thrown over his hip, your head resting on his buff chest. And what made you unable to move are his strong arms that are wrapped tightly around you, holding you in their firm embrace while he is still fast asleep.
Your breathing calms again, and a small smile lifts your lips as you relax against Sukuna's warm body, letting his strong embrace pull you back to sleep.
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"Sukuna, look!"
You are walking next to him on the path leading from his throne back to his temple when you spot it. A bright green patch of color in the otherwise dim and monotone landscape of greys and browns.
You hurriedly walk over to it, only to realize that, to your utter astonishment, it seems to be a cherry tree sprout growing bravely out of the seemingly dead ground of this Kingdom of Death.
You lift your head to look at Sukuna, only to find him staring at the tiny sprout bewilderedly.
Before you can ask him what's wrong, he stomps towards the small flower, yanks it out of the earth, and burns it with a swish of his hand, making you take a hurried step back and gasp,
"Why... why did you do this?"
His eyes glow viciously in the dim light when he turns to look at you.
"A flower like that doesn't belong here! This is the land of the dead!"
He stomps away, his white cloak billowing behind him as you can only stare after him with a confused frown.
Why does a little delicate flower bother him so much?
It is later during dinner when you dare ask him again. Sukuna's gaze is stern, his expression filled with a cold rage that makes you gulp fearfully.
"You don't know why I am upset? Then let me tell you, my little bride. Nothing grows here! No life exists here! That is how it always was! But now you are here with your singing and your liveliness, and suddenly, a symbol of renewal and hope grows in the middle of my kingdom! I disturbed the balance! By bringing you here, I disturbed it! You brought life into the realm of Death!"
"B... but that doesn't make sense. I died. I took my own life to follow you here!"
"And yet, you are still so ... so full of life. It's not right!"
You gulp hard, instinctively trying to hide the hurt you feel at his words. You bow to him, muttering,
"Forgive me, my Lord."
"I told you not to call me that."
You don't answer him but just get up from the table and hastily walk deeper inside the temple, fleeing from his words that cut deeper than the dagger that you used to slit your own throat with.
Tears are gathering in your eyes. You cannot bring yourself to care about whether you are allowed to leave the table before Sukuna or not. If he wants, he can punish you later, and you will endure whatever punishment he sees fit.
You wipe angrily at the tears that spill over as you stumble into the library and close the heavy door behind you. Why does it hurt so much? You came here because you agreed to his cruel conditions. You sacrificed yourself to save your sister. It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience. Come here, get wed to Death, and warm his bed. It was something you were supposed to hate. So why does it feel like you are being ripped apart upon feeling like your husband rejects your presence?
You huddle into one of the oversized armchairs, hiding your face behind a random book you grab from the table in a fruitless attempt to distract yourself.
That is where Sukuna finds you later that night.
You lift your head from the open book in your lap when you hear the door opening and see Sukuna's tall, broad figure looming in the open doorway. His red eyes glow devilishly in the dim light of the room.
"Don't run from me, brat."
A sad laugh escapes your lips, and you close the book you couldn't focus on anyway, lifting your head to glare at him.
"I thought you didn't want to have me around. So shouldn't you be glad if I run?"
"I never said that."
"But you think something is wrong with me and that it was a mistake to bring me here."
You hate the way your voice breaks at the end, turning into a teary sob as fresh tears spill over and slowly run down your cheeks. You don't understand yourself anymore. You don't understand why this bothers you so much, why you are so hurt by his words.
You should be glad if he doesn't want to spend time in your presence! You should be glad if he decides to let you go and fall into the nothingness of eternal sleep! You should even be glad if he decides to send you back to the mortal world as a curse that lives in your family's house!
Anything should be better than being forced to live here in his temple and be bound to him! But here you are with an aching heart and tears running down your cheeks because apparently, somehow, during the last months, you grew attached to Sukuna, and somehow, knowing he thinks you don't belong with him makes your heart break in ways you didn't know before.
Sukuna stares at you, a baffled expression on his beautiful face. The silence stretches on, deafening, suffocating, making you ball your hands helplessly into fists.
But then your husband moves. Sukuna marches towards you with large, sure steps, and before you know what is happening, he grabs you and pulls you up from your armchair and against his tall, broad body.
"That's not what I meant. I apologize for my careless words. There is nothing wrong with you. I am just... surprised by what you do to me."
His words make you lift your head to look up at him, blinking against the tears as his large hand cups your cheek.
"I don't understand, Sukuna. What do I do to you?"
His red eyes flicker with an array of emotions. Regret, pain, longing. He looks so strangely human right now. As if he isn't an almighty God who reigns over this Kingdom of Death and has the final say in the fate of every soul who comes here.
His voice is soft like a caress, low and velvety, but filled with a sadness that surprises you.
"Don't you see? You made a flower of life grow in the depths of the afterlife. When you sing and laugh and hug me with that warm, soft body, there is so much life everywhere around me. I am Death. I am used to being alone. I am used to numbness, to silence, to nothingness. It is part of my punishment. But now you are here, and you fill everything with colors and sounds and warmth. You are a source of light in this eternal darkness. And it... it unsettled me when I saw the extent of your power."
You blink at him in utter astonishment.
"But Sukuna... you are Death. How could you be unsettled by anything? What effect can someone like me even have on you? What power could I ever hold?"
He huffs softly, a sound that reverberates in his broad chest.
"I have existed as Death for eons. And it was always an existence in solitude. It's the irony of being me. Death belongs to life. It is inevitable. And yet, everyone who lives chooses to ignore it. They push it away, they demonize it, they make a taboo of it. I was always just a fearful whisper. I am something the mortals try to pretend doesn't exist until their last moments, when all hope is lost. Their delusion is so strong that I can walk through the middle of a crowded city filled with mortals, and no one will notice me. That's how much they banished me from their existence. I am invisible to them. They can see me only in the moments right before they die."
He stops momentarily as if to let his words sink in while his gleaming red eyes gaze deeply into yours. Something about what he said makes no sense. You frown.
"But... But I.."
"But you saw me. Yes, I know. You weren't supposed to be able to see me. But you did. Do you begin to see what I mean? You talked to me, and I was greatly amused by it but, at the same time, utterly fascinated. Do you think I go around randomly making deals with people? So many beg me in their last moments, but I always ignore their pleas. But you were different. You weren't standing on the threshold between life and death, but you still saw me. That's why I offered a deal to you. I was curious. But I wasn't prepared for what you would do to me. I wasn't prepared for what it would do with me when you talk to me and eat with me and bathe with me or when you kiss me and lay with me and find pleasure in it. I wasn't prepared for what it means to be seen by someone."
Sukuna's thumb brushes gently over your cheek, wiping your tears away while his red eyes gaze deeply into yours. He is a God, yet he is so human now. His words make your chest feel tight, and more tears well up in your eyes. But this time they aren't for you. Those tears are for him. 
You realize that you are pressing your body tightly against him, wrapping your arms around him, and holding him. Hugging Death and looking at him with a gaze full of compassion.
"And I will keep seeing you, Sukuna. You aren't just a shadow. You are very real, and you aren't unspeakable or evil."
This makes him raise an eyebrow, his red gaze burning into yours.
"You don't think Death is evil? If you could, wouldn't you bring an end to it? Isn't that the ultimate goal mortals want to achieve? To defeat Death?"
You gulp hard but shake your head, refusing to avert your gaze but instead looking deeply into Sukuna's gleaming red eyes.
"No. You have a right to exist. Death belongs to this world just like life does. Why would anyone value their life if they knew it was everlasting? Many things are so much more special because of their fleeting nature. Your position brings a certain beauty to the world, a certain urgency, that wouldn't be there otherwise. Death can be cruel and unfair. But it belongs to this world. There could be no real value of life without you."
Surprise flickers over his face before it gives way to a pleased expression.
"I knew from the start that you are brave. And maybe fate sent you here to conquer Death after all. You definitely have conquered me."
A smile lifts his lips, so beautiful and flawless that it's not hard to believe that he once was an angel. Red eyes as beautiful as jewels glitter in the soft glow of the candlelight, making your heart flutter.
You look up at Sukuna, reaching out to touch his cheek too. He is so much bigger than you. Tall and broad. Death is standing in front of you, powerful and merciless, and yet you feel no fear anymore. His red eyes are soft when they look at you. His large hand is gentle when it cups your cheek. His voice is full of tenderness when he asks,
"Will you sing for me again?"
You smile at him and nod gently.
He picks you up and carries you to the bedroom, his lips finding yours several times on the way while your small hands cup his beautiful face, and you kiss him back eagerly.
You sing for him again when you are in bed, and he lies beside you, his hand playing with your hair. You sing even while he undresses you, parting your robe and exposing your naked breasts to him. Your chest heaves, and your voice flutters, but you keep singing even while Sukuna cups one of your breasts with his large hand and squeezes it gently, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple.
You keep singing, only interrupted by short, breathy gasps when his hand travels down further and slips between your naked legs. He is so loving tonight. His touch is tender, his large hands surprisingly gentle. Long, strong fingers caress you in a way that makes your whole body fill with heat. He isn't taking from you tonight. He is giving to you.
And you fall apart under his tender touch, spreading your legs for him shamelessly, lifting your hips to press your naked cunt against his hand, letting him feel how wet you are for him and how much you long for his touch.
You only stop singing when you can't form coherent words anymore, and your song turns into needy sobs and loud moans. Your hips buck, and you whine when Sukuna's fingers spread your creamy wetness over your folds and over your pulsing nub that he caresses slowly.
He keeps touching you, keeps caressing that little bundle of nerves that sends shocks of desire through your body, almost overwhelming in its intensity. 
Loud gasps of Sukuna's name fall from your lips. The heat and pressure become so intense that you think you can't take it anymore. Your tiny hand's claw at his large one between your legs.
But Sukuna is unrelenting,
"No, let me. Let your husband take care of his beautiful bride."
A loud, raw scream falls from your lips as the pleasure crashes over you in hot, unrelenting waves, and your body arches up, thighs twitching as your swollen nub pulses hotly against Sukuna's large, firm fingers. He keeps rubbing it, slow but firm, and you feel hot wetness gush out of you and over his hand while you scream his name and twitch helplessly in his arms.
He is breathing heavily, his red eyes gleaming as he watches you intently. 
"So beautiful for me, my sweet bride."
He pulls his hand away, but only to push your thighs wide apart, exposing your naked, wet heat to his hungry gaze. And his face gets pressed against your soppy cunt, mouth licking up your wet mess. Your hands tangle in his pink hair, tugging on it, crying out as your head falls back on the pillow when your husband pushes his tongue into you and licks and kisses you.
You fall apart for Sukuna that night on his fingers and on his tongue. And when he finally takes you with his cock, it is slow and intense. He faces you this time, kneeling between your spread legs and capturing your lips in a kiss when he sinks down on you and claims you with his thick cock.
He is everything you see and feel, tall and big, a mountain of muscles, and a cock that fills you so completely. He takes you with slow, strong thrusts that make you clutch his muscular back and moan his name while you chase peak after peak of blinding pleasure until you are so exhausted that you fall asleep right there in Sukuna's strong arms while his low voice whispers to you,
"You sing the most beautiful songs for me, my little bird."
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"Mortals always say they will love each other until death do them part. What do you think that means for us?"
Sukuna's lips are lifted in an amused grin as he asks you the question.
He is lying next to you, his beautiful naked body laid out for your admiring gaze on top of the dark red silk sheets. His chin is probed up lazily on one large hand as he watches you, letting his gleaming red gaze trail slowly over your equally naked body.
You smile at him, reaching out to run a hand down his muscular arm, tracing his biceps and the black bands around them with your fingertips before they wander to his broad chest. You let your small hand rest there, fingers sprawling over his firm muscles, right where his heart would beat if he were a living being.
"I would say this means nothing and no one can do us part. It means our love will last until the end of time, just like Death will."
Sukuna's large hand lands on top of yours, covering your hand completely under his. He sounds pleased when he murmurs in his low voice,
"My bride is not only brave but also smart."
You laugh softly at his words before you lift your head to look deeply into his eyes.
"Sukuna?"
"Yes, my love?"
"You told me I could sit on a throne next to yours if I like."
His red eyes glitter in the firelight as he cocks his head curiously, a small smug grin lifting the corners of his mouth.
"Yes, I did."
"Is that what you want?"
"It is your choice, but yes, I would like it if you sat next to me."
"Then I will do so."
There is respect in Sukuna's gaze when he gives you a nod to signal that he will set things in motion.
You know this is where you belong. By Sukuna's side.
One day, you will see your mother and your sisters standing in front of your husband's throne of skulls, but you don't fear for their souls. You will sit next to Sukuna when it happens and guide them to eternal peace, where they can finally rest free of all pain and worries.
You are Death's Bride.
You kiss him gently farewell before he leaves for the mortal world to reap the souls of the dying. You greet him with a smile when he returns, hugging him tightly and helping him out of his coat. You wash the blood off him, you kiss him, you talk to him. You fill his dark kingdom with light, just like he said.
And he lets you.
He even laughs softly when another little green sprout fights its way through the rotten soil next to the sea of blood.
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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! I didn't think this story would get so long, but once I started working on it, I got dragged into Sukuna's world and didn't want to leave again. The power he has over me!!
I hope you enjoyed this story!! Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!!
This is the last story for my Halloween Event 2023! I am so happy that I could write all the stories I wanted! Thank you so much to everyone who read a story (or maybe several) of this event!!
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kawareo · 2 months
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Baby Cravings
Love that Durge eating babies is canon (im like 99% sure). Horrible being. Gortash might have started planning for the future but he's reconsidering lmao
anyway i am becoming less of an enemy with backgrounds every day, slowly
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daneecastle · 4 months
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Angst War Page 8 and 9
@goodomensafterdark @vavoom-sorted-art @gahellhimself-blog @gleafer @kotias @lauramoon1987
A little fluff with the angst I did and plan on doing. I’m not done yet! There is more to come. Next week will be three pages. Good luuuuuck!
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terrence-silver · 1 year
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Could you do a terry silver fic where the reader really loves like reptiles and kinda like geckos and all of that and when the reader finally moves in with him the reader brings a gecko with them
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Geckos are small, mostly carnivorous lizards that have a wide distribution, found on every continent except Antarctica. By encyclopedic definition. He had Margaret order in a book on the subject specifically so he'd know what enemy he was up against while researching the topic between calls with his agents in Borneo and his lawyers upstate. And Terry Silver would be envious on every continent and in every semblance imaginable where the very prospect of sharing your affection with an animal, another living being, a creature small enough to fit into the palm of his hand was concerned if there wasn't a far better tactic to approach the issue with than secretly boiling in one's concealed anger over it and letting the inertia of envy win and control his thoughts as he observed you caress the thing --- play with it. Separate even mere seconds of attention on it rather than dedicating the same kindness to him and placing your devotion back where it rightfully belonged. Terry knew what to do once he calculated that accidentally ensuring your little friend is lost under mysterious circumstances might cause more rancor on your part than was worth in the long run. No. He needed to rethinking his strategy; Make the lizard love him more. More than it loves you, of course. That's what he'd do, yes. Until it is less your pet and far more his. This was a sort of war. Everything, in effect, was a sort of war, and nothing was too mundane for consideration. A war he intended to win without a single bullet fired and no blood shed. Soft warfare.
Of course coldblooded reptiles don't love. Not in ways mammals do.
Not snakes, not cobras, not geckos.
But they can trust.
They knew whose body-warmth they enjoy. They knew who brings the boiled rats and the meat and the food. They knew scent. They knew instinct. Territory. They knew when to feed, when to mate and when to brumate. They knew ultraviolets of a familiar shape and the outline they habitually see every day, in domesticated captivity and Terry decides he'll be the food bringer, the ultimate warmth, the source, the residual benefit and the owner. He related to reptilians and their ways, after all --- knew how they were wired --- an embroidered silk lace cobra on the back of his white satin Gi, it was safe to say he took on the beast as a sort of spirit animal. A manifestation of self. Maybe why he felt so standoffish at the prospect of his mate loving another thing that wasn't him --- completely and utter and entirely, without pause. King Cobras? They don't share their turf. Not even with another reptilian. Seated on the plush ottoman connected to his mansion's training hall, dripping with searing sweat, he caresses the gecko ardently, a daily ritual he's been practicing for months now, polishing it not unlike his fighting stance, outside of feeding and tending the thing like a child --- and it responded to him, nestling into his hand as per norm, ready for its shedding, covered in coating of peeling, thin, translucent flesh. It responded to him. As planned. More than it did with you nowadays, he noticed. And thought makes him grin into his chin as he runs a forefinger down the lizard's leopard dotted scales. After all, you belonged to him --- and with you, all things that in turn belonged to you did as well.
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