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[nvareim]

bite me, v. garza x fem! reader

tags; predator/prey, fearplay, dacryphilia, degradation, drugging, thigh riding, stalking, dubcon and toxic dynamics. MDNI w/c; 4.4k ao3 link | pinterest board a/n; never arguining with a woman with big brown eyes, whatever u say gorgeous

The streets of Las Almas are still blood-stained the day you escape.

It’s been quieter since the Shadows combed through the city, killing anything that moved. The dogs no longer bark, kids don’t play in the streets, and the armed men who roamed every alley are few and far between. It’s the perfect opening. You spend the morning preparing. 

You pack lightly, only the things you’re sure you’ll need. Clothing for layering, socks, underwear, and cash. It all fits nicely in a backpack you can easily carry. You leave both of your phones on the nightstand, the backs pried off and batteries neatly stacked atop each other. 

The better part of an hour is spent prying at the metal collar around your neck. You pry at the latch until your fingers are bloody, picking at the screw that holds it together. As a last resort, you use the point of a utility knife. You sit just inches away from the mirror, neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle as you slowly unscrew the locking mechanism. You’re stock-still, barely breathing out of fear the blade will slip. 

 The second the collar unlatches, you rip it from around your neck and throw it aside. It slides across the floor, hitting the baseboard with a heavy thud. You take deep, ragged breaths as you study your reflection. The lack of weight around your neck is foreign. With it gone, your decision is final. There’s no turning back now.

Las Almas is teeming with Mexican soldiers. They pace the Greyhound station, X12s strapped to their thighs and rifles slung across their chests. Their watchful eyes follow you as you pay for your ticket in cash with shaky hands. The old woman in the booth hardly scrutinizes your forged papers, clicking away at her keyboard as she logs information. She slides your ticket through the opening in the plexiglass, wishing you a safe trip. 

You practically fall onto a bench, sighing as you hug your bag close to your body. Rain pours down from the roof, streaming toward the storm drains. The air is thick and warm with moisture, heavy on your skin. You bounce your knee nervously as you wait for the bus to round the corner. 

When it does arrive, you’re the first to board. You snag a window seat at the very back where you can watch every passenger enter. You hold your breath with each new rider, nervously anticipating Valeria or one of her men to be the next passenger. It isn’t until the bus is pulling away from Las Almas that you feel the weight lift from your chest, though just barely.

Your journey north becomes a slow crawl. The best ticket you could afford brought you just north of Denver. The rest of your cash is rationed out and stuffed beneath your clothing.

In the beginning, the kiss of cool air against your skin is refreshing. It’s a welcome reprieve from the sweltering Mexican heat. A reminder of how far you’ve gotten. But the novelty quickly wears off once the slight chill turns unforgiving. You attempt to adapt by picking up a free coat from a local church and bartering over warmer clothes from thrift stores, but they only do so much to protect you from the bitter cold. Homeless shelters aren’t an option, the lines are longer as the dead of winter draws nearer. By the time you reach Wyoming, you’re running low on money to spend. You resort to stealing food from gas stations and sleeping in alleyways. You spend your days in local libraries, reevaluating your route north and searching for updates on Valeria. Librarians typically quirk a brow at your peculiar behavior, but leave you alone until they close down for the night. 

As the nights grow longer, they become even more difficult to get through. You curl yourself into a ball, your money stuffed into the band of your bra and a knife clutched tightly in your hand lest anyone gets any ideas. Hostels are few and far between and only reserved for nights you’d surely die if you slept outside. 

In early December, you spend a decent chunk of your food budget on a cheap motel room. It’s a shady establishment just outside of a small city, the kind of place you pay for by the hour. Snow flutters down and gathers in the parking lot, the pure white flakes quickly soiled by the gravel beneath. Multicolored Christmas lights are wrapped around the wrought iron railings in honor of the upcoming holiday. A few women smoke in the shadows of the building, seemingly huddling together for warmth. 

Inside the room, The wallpaper peels away to reveal yellow-stained drywall beneath and the heating unit rattles when you turn it on, blowing a small cloud of dust into the room. You refuse to peel away the comforter out of fear of what you’ll find, so you toss a blanket overtop instead. The lingering stench of cigarette smoke and artificial lemon is nearly caustic. 

 You turn the TV on, upping the volume until it’s loud enough to drown out the noise of the heater. The throw beneath you is scratchy and thin, but the bed itself is comfortable enough that you allow yourself to sink into it. With so many miles between you and Valeria, it’s easy to lull yourself into a sense of false security.

You shrug your jacket off to use as a makeshift pillow. It’s a far cry from Valeria’s luxurious bed back in Las Almas, but it’s the best you’ve had in weeks. The steady flow of warm air filling the room thaws the stiff joints in your limbs and loosens the long-held tension in your shoulders. It’s easy to fully settle into the makeshift pillow, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. It’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in weeks.

It’s pin-drop quiet when you wake up. The constant hum of the heating unit has ceased, though the room has long gone cool. The TV had been shut off, leaving the room completely dark. 

You blink away the last bits of sleep from your eyes, willing your vision to focus. Something primal stirs in your gut, fight or flight instincts urging you to move. The darkness comes into focus slowly, the shape of the furniture comes into focus. So does a figure sitting at the foot of the bed. 

Your blood freezes in your veins. You push yourself up from the bed, heart pounding in your ears. A firm hand wraps around your upper arm, throwing you back into the mattress. The springs squeak from the force. You kick and thrash in Valeria’s hold, desperate to land at least one hit. You refuse to go down without a fight, not after all you’ve been through. You manage to land a single scratch across her cheek. Blood bubbles up from her skin, smearing onto your fingers and her face when you push her away. 

One of her hands pins both your wrists to your sternum as she bears down on you. Her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in place. You take in a gasping breath, lungs struggling to expand under her weight. For the first time, you get a good look at Valeria and what you see terrifies you. There’s a feral glint to her eyes and not a bit of playfulness in her smile. Your heart pounds against your ribcage like a rabbit. 

“You scream and I’ll gut anyone who comes in that door,” Valeria hisses, hand tightening around your wrists as she wraps a zip tie around them. Tears spill from your waterline as composure crumbles. The edge of the tie presses into your skin uncomfortably, but Valeria doesn’t soften at your whining.

“It was a fun chase, sweetheart, but it’s over,” She fishes a small bag from her pants pocket, shaking a small white pill into her palm. Valeria holds it to your lips with one hand, the other pinching your nose shut. You go as long as you can without air, stubbornly clenching your jaw shut until your lungs burn. 

Valeria watches with interest, grinning as the seconds tick by. You barely make it a minute before you’re gasping for air. Valeria doesn’t waste a moment before she’s pushing the pill past your lips and pressing her palm over your mouth before you can spit it out. Her fingers still pinch your nose shut, her grip unyielding against the restrained fists that pound against her chest.

“Swallow, baby,” She goads as black creeps into the edges of your vision. By now, the pill is reduced to bitter white chunks on your tongue, but you make a show of swallowing to satisfy her. The reaction is almost instantaneous, her fingers prodding past your lips as you desperately gulp down oxygen. Her fingers taste like sanitizer and lotion as she inspects your gum line and beneath your tongue. You cringe away from her touch but with the bed beneath you, there’s nowhere to go. 

When she’s confident you swallowed, she gives you a quick pat on the cheek. The corner of her lips twitch up in only a ghost of a grin before she’s hauling you to your feet and bending you over her lap. You huff, balance thrown off kilter by the sudden movement and lack of oxygen. Valeria’s knee digs uncomfortably into your stomach and ribs. A hand wraps around your upper arm, holding you firmly on her lap. 

“You thought I wouldn’t hunt you down?”  She asks, free hand trailing down the curve of your spine. Her chipped and jagged nails drag across your skin, leaving raised lines in their wake. Fingers curl around the waistband on your sweatpants, gripping tight. You kick your legs, gritting out empty threats as she pulls them down. She tugs until the cleft of your ass is exposed to the stale air.

“I’m sorry,” You sob into the comforter, tears wetting the scratchy blanket. You sound like a broken record, the apologies spilling from your mouth only broken up by promises to never do it again.

“I don’t believe you,” Valeria coos, a condescending smile playing at her lips. She splays her hand against your ass cheek, lightly pressing into the soft flesh until it dimples beneath her fingertips. Her grip on your arm has tightened enough to be bruising.

The heat between Valeria’s thighs only heightens at the sight of you draped over her lap. Idly, she considers the merits of a more sadistic punishment. Purpled bite marks across your shoulders would certainly remind you who you belong to. Or maybe nice ‘V’ carved into the soft fat of your ass. Both would crush your little attitude beneath her boot. Ultimately, she decides to stow those thoughts away for now, saving them for when you’re back home with her. It’d be easy to go overboard now, with the adrenaline and anger rushing through her bloodstream. For now, she just wants to make you cry. 

The first hit comes when you least expect it. The impact sends a ripple through the soft flesh of your ass. Valeria groans lowly at the sight. Your hips jump at the sensation, skin going hot beneath Valeria’s palm. The strike has you screeching, thrashing beneath her in a futile attempt at an escape. You clench and unclench your restrained fists.

“Count.” Her brown irises are swallowed by her dilated pupils, trained in the spot where her hand met your cheek. The heat of your skin bleeds into Valeria’s cold palms, goosebumps popping up across your exposed skin. 

“What the fuck?” You squeal, humiliation and fear petering into indignation. It’s not a surprise to Valeria, she’d always known there was a bit of you that needed training. You were impatient, even selfish at times. A wily little thing she enjoyed wrestling into submission. The brattiness was endearing in her own bed, but after the past few weeks, it only stokes her anger. 

“Count,” She repeats, a little louder this time. “Count and maybe I won’t fucking chip you.” The twist of anger in your expression has her raising her hand again, coming down in a perfect arc to hit the same spot again. You shriek into the bedding, fingernails sinking into your clammy palms. Valeria’s arm tightens around you, dragging you even further into her lap. “Not gonna do it?” She brings her hand down three more times, alternating which side she hits to keep you on edge. “You think I’m lying? Tracked you down like a fucking dog, tell me why I shouldn’t treat you like one?” 

“Won’t do it again, Val,” You sob. “Please, I’m sorry!” Hot tears stream down your flushed face, mixing with the drool smeared across your chin and mouth. Your voice cracks with the force of your crying. Valeria grows impossibly wetter, slick dampening the gusset of her panties. 

“Then start counting.” Your fingers claw at the blanket as she strikes you again. There’s no screech or resistance when her palm hits you, just sniffling. The seconds drag by like hours as Valeria waits with bated breath, hungrily watching the tears spill from your eyes. 

“ One .” Valeria releases your chin and you press your cheek to the mattress. She groans at your thin voice, hoarse from all your yelling. Her palm rubs soothing circles over the spot she’d just hit, contrasting the rough treatment just seconds prior. A shudder runs up your body at the sensation, eyes screwed shut. 

“Good girl,” She murmurs, lips curling into a predatory grin. The next hit has you tensing up beneath her, stammering out a low two . There’s still some resentment buried beneath your submission. It shows in the impudent curl of your lips, the angry furrow of your brow. The quiet whimper that slips your mouth before three is delicious. It appeases Valeria’s growing appetite.  

By ten , you’ve run out of tears. The quiet groans spilling from your throat have a knot winding in Valeria’s stomach. Your ass is marred with her handprints, raised marks from the trauma. Come time, they’ll darken into bruises, the sting of red-hot flesh fading to an overwhelming ache. And every time you see them, you’ll be reminded of your mistakes. Valeria loosens her grip on you, knowing you won’t even try to run. 

By fifteen , your eyes have glossed over and your thrashing has ceased. The numbers are whispered through gritted teeth between quiet grunts, attitude fully snuffed out by Valeria’s hand. A little pain and you’re her good girl again, all sweet and pliant beneath her. Your inner thighs are dewy with the slick that leaks from you, dribbling down your cunt to your swollen clit. 

There’s no resistance as she hauls you to your feet, hands placed beneath your armpits like you’re a doll. You brace your hands on her shoulder, legs too shaky to keep you upright. Valeria tugs your panties and sweatpants up, brushing the bruised curve of your ass too firmly to be accidental. You shift a little, lurching forward to escape the pain. 

Valeria grabs you by the hips, dragging you into her lap. You let out a little yelp upon resting your ass against her thighs, the sudden weight against the raw skin overwhelming. For a moment, you hover, but Valeria presses you down firmly, ignoring the way you wriggle away. Once the pain subsides, you practically meld into her, head resting in the crook of her neck as you sniffle. Valeria brushes the hair from your face, damp with tears and cold sweat. Your limbs are loose, heavy with warmth that emanates from the pit of your stomach.

“Why’d you run?” She murmurs, dragging her splayed palms up and down your thighs. When you don’t reply, she tugs your head from the crook of her neck, hand cradling the base of your skull. Valeria studies you with her dark eyes, searching for a flicker of resistance in your lachrymose gaze. She finds nothing. “Hm? What was it?” 

“I was scared,” The words slip out before you can consider them. It’s an admission only made more pathetic by your thin voice. Something in Valeria’s gaze shifts as her lips press into a line. Her hand tightens on the back of your neck. The weeks of false composure fracture when faced with her dilated pupils, only a thin rind of warm brown surrounding them. The fear hits you like a cold wave, washing over your body as the words are spilling from your chest. 

“I-I didn’t know if it was safe for me to stay,” You stammer out, clenching your hands into fists in an attempt to ward off the tremors overtaking you. “I was worried that maybe they’d come for me next and you wouldn’t be there, Valeria, and I-” The corners of her lips tug up into a smug, satisfied grin and your words are cut short with a stifled sob. 

It’s not a lie, but not quite the truth either. Valeria can see it in the split second of hesitation before you speak. There’s fear there, but not fear of her enemies. No, she saw that terror in your wide-eyed gaze when you realized she had been the one to find you. 

“Oh, mi vida ,” Valeria coos, a hand coming up to cradle your cheek. Her thumb brushes away the few tears rolling down your face. Her other hand brushes up and down your side, dipping beneath the fabric of your shirt. “You thought you’d be safer running?” You sniffle as she squeezes at the fat of your hip. “This,” She gestures to the room around you with a sardonic chuckle. “This is worse than if you stayed put. I can’t protect you when I don’t know where you are.”

“I’m sorry.” You say for the millionth time. It’s the only response your brain can formulate. She’s right, running only left you more vulnerable to people who would use you to reach Valeria. But she doesn’t take your fear of her into consideration, even with the marks spread across your ass cheeks. 

“I believe you,” She says, “But it’ll take more than an apology to make me trust you. You understand, right?” 

You nod, eyes cast downward in shame.

“Good girl,” She tugs at your lower lip with her thumb. “Missed you s’much, you know?” She purrs, pressing two fingers past your lips. Your jaw widens to accommodate the push of her finger against your tongue. “Was so excited to see my girl. Bet you can imagine how I took the news, hm?” Drool gathers behind your teeth, dripping down your chin as Valeria ‘accidentally’ bumps your gag reflex. You lurch, but her fingers remain firmly hooked in her mouth. You don’t have the energy to resist her, any coherent thought slipping from your grasp before you can make sense of it. 

“So pretty like this,” She muses. Valeria adjusts you like a doll, one hand grabbing and moving your limbs until you're straddling her thigh. “You know who owns this cunt, don’t you?” Her other hand grips your hip, rolling it against her muscled thigh. Valeria laughs at your garbled moan as pleasure sparks in your core. “Just my stupid little pet that doesn’t know what’s good for her.” 

“M’not,” You slur, fingers curling into the collar of her shirt. She continues the slow pace, occasionally bouncing her knee to relish in your yelps. The heat in your stomach only grows. Electricity shoots up your spine when Valeria perfects the angle, pressing the seam of your pants against your clit just right. You moan around her fingers, lips and chin shiny with spit. In the weeks you spent running, pleasure had been an afterthought. You never had the time or privacy to worry about getting yourself off. The neglect left you swollen, sensitive, and all too receptive to Valeria’s touch. 

“Really?” She coos, slowly pulling her fingers from your mouth. They come to rest on your other hip, fingers dampening the fabric beneath them. “Grinding your cunt on me like a dumb mutt, aren’t you?” With a firmer grip on you, she presses your cunt even harder on her thigh, rocking you back and forth. You mindlessly follow her movements, chasing your high. 

Valeria studies the pinch of your brow and pitch of moans, watching every minute expression that crosses your face. Your thighs tighten around her own, desperately humping at her. Quiet pants escape your swollen lips, your head hangs low, and your eyes shut. The languid pace is entirely your own, she’s barely moving you along.

When your moans take a higher pitch, fingers tugging at her shirt, she knows you're close. Valeria’s hand comes to pull at your hair, tugging your head back and exposing the bare column of your throat. Her jaw clenches upon noticing your collar’s absence. She meets your wide eyes, your scleras flushed red and pupils dilated. Your pace falters, but Valeria prompts you to keep going with a bounce of her leg. 

“Please,” You whimper. “Wanna come.” The desperation in your voice is palpable. It’s pathetic enough to have Valeria pitying you. It’s hard for you to keep your grip on her shirt, your muscles seem to have a mind of their own. Your restrained hands fall to your lap, numb and warm as you continue to grind. 

“Yeah?” She taunts. “You wanna cum on my thigh?” Her fingers dance up your shirt, calluses brushing over your fluttering abdomen as she makes her way to your breasts. You part your lips when her fingers toy with your hardened nipples, plucking and twisting the sensitive buds. 

“Mhmm,” You nod, eyes fluttering shut. Your tongue is too heavy to form a proper response. By now, your head has gone cottony and light, filled with nothing but Val. It’s hard to even remember how you got into this situation or even recognize the dull ache of your bruised ass on every grind. Her body heat is suffocating, the scent of her perfume leaving you drooling. Valeria can see the distant look in your eyes, so she lets your lack of verbal response slide. She dips her head to your shoulder, pressing wet kisses along the curve of your neck.

“Please,” You manage to wail, repeating the word until your voice gives out on you. Valeria’s teeth glint in the moonlight as you come, nipping at the thin skin above your pulse point. Your wetness soaks the crotch of your panties, leaving them wet and sticky along the curve of your folds. The heat bleeds through your pants, warming Valeria’s thigh. 

When your hips stop twitching and your breath slows, you slump into Valeria. The hand beneath your shirt traverses up and down your spine as you hiccup and cry. Shame curdles in your stomach, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. Valeria presses soft kisses to your cheek, slowly making her way to your chapped lips. 

The kiss is sloppy and almost entirely one-sided. You struggle to keep up with her, clumsily tilting your head the wrong way and hardly moving your tongue. Her teeth knock against yours. When you cringe away at the sensation, she follows you, biting down on your lower lip hard enough to break skin. Hands wrap around your upper arms hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer to her. She licks along the sharp edges of your teeth, presses her tongue against yours. You squirm and whine through it all, only settling when she pulls away, a string of blood-tinged saliva connecting you. 

Satisfaction blooms in Valeria’s chest as she meets your teary eyes. You weeks of planning, the effort spent running, all of it was rendered pointless in a matter of minutes. The regret has your chest tightening, wishing you’d fought harder, bared your teeth. It’s too late, you realize as she heaves you to your feet. There’s no chance at escape with the way the room sways, legs weak beneath you. Valeria anchors you to her side just as you're about to fall, pulling you toward the door. Your mind desperately screams to push her away, but you can’t feel your arms anymore. You stumble and trip over the door frame, only held upright by Valeria’s arm around your waist. 

You can’t help but feel like a prisoner approaching the gallows when you see the idling car. Gravel crunches beneath your feet as she drags you forward, ignoring your attempts to dig your heels in. Each step is one step closer back to Las Almas, back to her mansion, to the gilded cage she’ll lock you in. Fear curdles in your stomach, but there’s nothing you can do with Valeria practically pinning you to her side. She pushes you into the car, quickly sliding in next to you and slamming the door shut. The click of the locks cements your fate. Valeria wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close when you try to shuffle away. She barks out orders to the driver. The car shifts gears, quickly leaving the motel and meeting the open road. Valeria murmurs something about going home as your body loosens, her knuckles brushing over your arm. It’s only a matter of minutes before you’re sprawled across the seat, head resting in her lap. The promise of deep, dreamless sleep is irresistable. 

Valeria idly brushes the hair from your face, humming a quiet tune just loud enough for you to hear. For a while, she watches you fight to stay awake, eyes fluttering shut adorably each time you do. She smiles when you finally slip away, that pinched, fearful expression finally leaving your pretty face. It’s the culmination of weeks of work, countless outbursts, and more than a few deaths. You gave a good chase, she’ll admit, but she won. 

Valeria’s sure once the rohypnol’s effects wane, you’ll be back to your feral self. It won’t be easy to earn your submission, but to her, that’s half the fun. Valeria can already hear the foul threats you’ll grunt out from behind your gag, drool dripping down your chin as you pull against your leash. But that’s trouble for another day, another training session. It’ll take more than one session to fully domesticate you, but Valeria is eager for the work ahead. She’s always enjoyed playing with her food. 

[stuffforme2]

Lil writing inspired by these image of Michael Fucking Holden

Tw!!intrusive thoughts

I stare at the ice beneath my skates. I am unsure for how long I've been skating in circles for but it's oddly comforting.

Loosing is something I am not a fan of which is clear by the embarrassing childish way I'd ripped paper to shreds infront of Tori Spring. Tori Spring. Tori Spring a magical, pessimistic, self hating, depressed, sunshine of a person.

I feel my face get hot with anger at myself. My anger boils over me, and, I think how shameful and annoying it is that the ice won't act like a mirror and reflect myself to my eyes like it does in animated movies. I'd like to see my red angered face. I'd like to see the hatred in my eyes behind my large glasses and messy hair that I haven't even bothered to clean up today. I had been lazy enough to not gell down my hair. So fucking lazy.

I wonder what, just like in the movies, if there's water underneath the ice inside the roller rink. If I stomp right now as hard as I possibly can, will the thin layer that is holding me up and together break?

So I stomp.

I stomp and stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

I must look rather peculiar but there's not a doubt in my mind that if I do stop stomping then I'd break apart and tear to shreds the skating ring bit by bit.

My coat that kept me warm throughout my inside childish tantrum is starting to bug me and so is my jeans and my annoyingly plain shirt. Maybe when I stop stomping, when my brain registers that I won't fall through, I'll go buy a shirt that's not plain.

My stomping ceases even though my brain still hasn't accepted I won't fall through instead it's made a scenario. I stomp one more time and I fall through I fall into an endless abyss of cold dark water that's filling my lungs. It grabs me, its dark arms around my stomach, and begins to tug me down like an achor. My breaths gurgle out in fish bubbles that float to the Michael Holden shaped hole in the ice roof. My back hits the bottom and I kick and kick but to not avail. I'm stuck. I'm drowning. I'm dead.

My brain is rather poetic sadly rhe words that do come out of my mouth don't match. Imagine if I was Shakespeare. I could make the best mother fucking plays and leave DiCaprio quaking in his boots.

[heartfullofleeches]

Clown reader ! What about yandere manager ?

Clown reader ! My second favourite from Jester reader ( i'm sorry )

( basically a yandere manager ;-;;)

They have their number one fan, whom will always be there at their shows and buying each and every merchandise that got released.

But what about the fan that's been with them for the longest of time ?

Their manager has always been there - since the first day of their debut. And going all the way with them until now !

So why not go grab a meal with their dear manager after the show ? After all, it's just for asking how both have been and some talking.

Nothing could go wrong..

..right ?-

( this is my first time sending an ask so :')) My apologies if it was too long! And i also apologize if I got anything wrong about the character cuz i don't have very good memory ;-;;

I hope this ask get through)

Sincerely,

🎠

You furiously scrub as your face with a wet paper towel as you exit the bathroom. If you had known they were taking you to such a fancy place after today's recording, you would've brought a change of clothes. Walking back to the table, wandering eyes follow the colorful corners peaking from your coat. You do your best to hide them. A fellow customer from a neighboring table lifts their phone to take a picture of you as you sit; camera lens blocked by a menu.

"Sweetheart, there you are! Kept me waiting, but you're lookin stunning as always. I can't tell if I like you more with or without the makeup. Get comfortable, order whatever you want.

You can't help but grin at the nickname. They've been using little pet names since the beginning of your partnership, but they feel more sincere now than the faux kindness that they showered everyone in. It makes you happy to know they see you as someone good to spend time with other than for the paycheck. Your manager hands you the menu; drilling in the notion you could have whatever your little heart decided. With a quick look at the menu, you notice there's no prices next to the entrees.

"Are you sure you don't mind paying? This place seems really high class. We can split it if you like."

Your manager raises their hand to stop you. "Y/n, please. I gotta treat my star player well, plus you deserve the finer things in life. It's my pleasure."

"If you say so... Just kinda feels like someplace you'd take someone on a date."

The thought slips out before you can realize what you've said, but it's no harm on their conscious. Quite the opposite in fact. They fold their hands together.

"Well, like I said, I wanna treat you right. Probably the only person in town who can. Not to mention, ratings for this quarter came in the other night and viewer scores are through the roof. You can think of this as a celebration."

"Really?"

"Would I ever lie to you? Got the papers right here." Your manager places a folder on the table. You don't have to look at it to believe them.

"That's great." You look at your reflection in an empty wine glass, paint smeared into the corner of your lips. "Makes saying goodbye just a little harder."

Your manager chokes on a mouthful of water. "Bye? You're not thinking about leaving us, are you?"

You raise your hands in surrender. "Course not!... Not yet anyway."

You tug on your frilly sleeves. You're happy where you are. That's something you know for sure, but you're not positive it's the life you want anymore. The word is your stage; audience far bigger than you ever could've dreamed, but it's suffocating. Your fans love you. Not just your character, but the face benath. Sometimes it feels like that love goes beyond the screen and fan letters. Sometimes - you feel like you're being followed.

"I... wanted to keep this private until I was sure, but I think I've been followed home before. Obviously I don't want to ruin everything for one person's actions, but I know it's more. On top of that I'm pretty well off financially. This was never for the money, but I just kinda miss things before I got big, you know?"

Of course they know. Your manager knows your story better than any of your little fans could ever imagine, even if they squeeze every detail of your life from everyone in it. They had been with you through it all. Your small failures, and your biggest leaps. It was an insult to think otherwise, and that they'd give up everything you built together.

"Y/n." Your manager reaches across the table to grab your trembling hands. "Everything's going to be fine. We'll get through this - together, and nobody's going to touch a hair on your head. To start off, we're moving you out of that shoebox you call an apartment and getting you a real place to live. You can stay with me until we find something."

You close your eyes, nodding along to their proposal. "Okay... that sounds like a good place to start."

Your manager draws closer, touch working up your arm. Someone taps on your shoulder before they can reach.

"Hi- I really hope I'm not interrupting, but can i take a picture with you? The kids I babysit love the show your costume is of."

You glance at your manager. They're already looking down at their phone. "Sure."

Taking photos with the stranger, your manager is left at the table alone; reliving memories of the past immortalized by old photos. Why did they ever agree to this? If you hadn't got so popular, they wouldn't have to share you with the world, but now they used the grounds of that success to remain stable in their own right. Maybe with you in their home they'd find a new start in your relationship.

Lord knows they'll never let you leave once you're inside.

[desos-records]

Magic's not allowed in Gotham, but Jason's never been one to follow rules. // Jason Todd helps out the local exorcist.

Jason Todd/Reader

Chapters: Next

Word Count: 1,464

Warnings: some mild violence, demonic possession

-

Jason still liked churches. He told himself it was the architecture, Gotham Cathedral had no shortage of vaulted ceilings, gargoyles, and huge stained glass windows. Its roof was one of the best places to watch the city—high up, plenty of corners and crevices to hide in, no guards making rounds or rogues ready to attack. The bells echoed against the city's metal and glass, the strong notes sounding solemn or joyful, but always reliable.

On pain of death or torture, he wouldn't tell anyone that he liked the quiet most of all. Silence in Gotham often meant something was about to go violently wrong. It was an empty feeling, the second between fire sucking in oxygen and the shockwave exploding. But here, the quiet air was full and warm, something almost hummed just outside his hearing. Even sitting on the roof in the cold air, he could still feel the warmth.

He didn't dare go inside though. He had a thousand reasons not to, namely that he didn't feel like getting another lecture. Bruce was self-righteous enough to last Jason a lifetime. He didn't want to sit under the judgement of the person sitting in the pew beside him. He didn't want to talk about what he believed in or what he didn't.

All Jason wanted was to sit in the quiet and warmth. He could do that from the roof.

On an especially cold night, he sat leaning against a gargoyle, watching the light from the stained glass reflect off the gently falling snow—red, blue, gold, green, and a hundred others swirling in the wind below him. Then the quiet shattered.

"Don't move! It's gonna be okay."

He recognized that voice, its clarity and ability to be kind and commanding all at once. You didn't operate in Gotham very often; your particular brand of justice took you all over the world, but when you did, it meant something had gone very very wrong. Jason smiled to himself anyway.

You didn't keep a secret identity like he did—there was no point when all the bad guys were after your soul—but Bruce had taken to calling you Harbinger and the name stuck. He still preferred your real one though.

Then Jason heard a guttural string of sounds that fell through the air like curses. You spat the demonic language back and Jason caught a flash of golden light somewhere in the Cathedral’s cemetery. Quickly, he shot his grappling gun and swung down, landing in the snow with a soft crunch. Keeping his head down and hood up, shielded by the Cathedral’s shadow, he tracked the familiar sounds of a fight and the eerie echoes of magic.

"No, you'll get out of her right now or so help me God, I will exorcize your head right up your ass."

Jason peeked around a statue and saw you under a cluster of Yew trees, magic sparking from your hands as the golden lines pinned a young woman to one of the trees. A little boy was crouched behind a headstone nearby. Even at a distance, Jason could see how the woman's eyes had turned black. She writhed and snarled at you.

Demonic possession. Your version of stopping a mugger.

You looked a little worse for wear. He saw burn marks in your coat, cuts and scrapes that hadn't yet healed, and something dark and slick had splattered across you—something that was not mud. Even still, he couldn't help the warm buzz he felt every time he saw you.

He wanted to jump in and help, but he knew he wasn't much use while a demon still had its hold on someone. And he'd learned not to distract you while you worked magic.

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

You strode forward and pressed a hand against the woman's sternum and the other against her forehead. The weave of magic kept the woman's arms and legs pinned back even as she struggled. You were speaking Latin now and the demon screamed curses in its bitter language. Smoke rose from the points where you touched it.

A shockwave erupted outwards and a thick black liquid, like crude oil, gushed out of the woman's mouth, eyes, and ears, staining the snow. Instead of flowing away, it pulled itself inward, forming a humanoid creature taller than Jason. Looking at it, he felt a deep instinct to run.

The little boy screamed and the demon turned its head. Jason bolted forward. He scooped up the little boy, drew his gun and fired all in the same motion. The demon screeched, more surprised than hurt, and staggered backward. You were there to catch it, your magic tangling itself around the demon. With one final shouted spell, your hands moved as if pulling something apart. The demon shattered into fiery pieces, dissolving into the snow.

Quiet returned to the graveyard. You helped the woman to stand, then turned to Jason.

"I need to get her to a hospital," you said, a phone appearing in your hand with a flick of your wrist and a flash of golden light.

He nodded and set the little boy down. "I'll wait for you on the roof."

A tired smile flickered over your face as you reached out, took his free hand, and squeezed gently. "Thank you," you said softly.

Over an hour later, he heard the whoosh of sudden magic, saw a flash of gold in the dark, and then you appeared across from him on the Cathedral's roof. He smiled and slid off his helmet as he strode towards you.

"Can I assume that won't be the last one?" he said.

You shrugged, pulling your coat tighter around you. "Like rats, aren't they? Where there's one, there's ten more. Best to warn your people."

He stopped a few steps shy of you. If you were surprised to see him, it didn't show.

"How long are you here?" he asked. Longer than last time, he thought, please say longer than last time.

You looked up and over his shoulder, staring at the steeple. "A couple days maybe. Depends on how long it takes to find the nest."

Damn.

"Want some help?"

Now you squinted at him, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "I appreciate it, but it's a little outside your wheelhouse, Red."

He shook his head. "That's what you always say. It's my neighborhood, you know."

"I know. But if I make any more noise, The Bat will stick his nose in it and slow things down." You spread your arms out, twirling your hands like a performer, as sparks danced between your fingers. "No magic in Gotham, remember?"

Jason watched you carefully, paying closer attention to your injuries and noting the weight pulling at your posture, the slight tremor. "At least let me give you a place to crash. You look dead on your feet."

You smiled again, still faint as you looked away from him and dropped your hands. The lights went out. "I'm not so safe to be around at the moment."

"You never are."

You looked him up and down, considering, weighing your options. "Does this offer include take out? I took a little detour through Hell, you see. Hard to get a decent meal down there."

Jason let his smile spread wide and easy as he offered you his hand. "Sweetheart, you got yourself an in-house chef."

Shaking your head, with a scoff that sounded like a laugh, you took his hand. As always, your skin hummed with the magic that coursed through you and, as always, it sent a shiver up his spine.

"Still flirting with death, I see," you said.

He tugged you forward gently, then wrapped an arm around you and lifted his grappling gun from its holster. "Well, you're awful pretty."

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, you draped your arm across his shoulders, pulling the two of you even closer--the only trouble was you smelled of death too, blood and brimstone. But you were warm and radiant and never judged him and he wanted to be those things for you in return, if you'd let him.

There was something there in the space between you, humming like the air around the Cathedral, something magic. But it might break if he spoke it out loud, so he settled for holding you tighter. He didn't flinch from the steady glow of your eyes, inches away from his.

"Charmer," you said, the edge of a genuine smile in the corner of your mouth.

"You said it, not me."

Sparks erupted inside him when you nearly laughed. Then he fired the grappling gun and you both clung tight to each other as you rushed into the air.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  This is when things seem to get better with the Shelby family —at least with Polly— that a drunk client crosses the line with you at the Garrison. Haunted by his past insecurities and his burning jealousy, Arthur snaps. And he snaps very bad. For the first time since you've met, he reveals the beast he hides inside... And Tommy obviously uses the incident to blame you.

Words: 5k

TW: Angst, Obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy, graphic depiction of violence, murder, lot of blood, canonical violence, witch trial, allusions to smut, allusions to blood!kink, Arthur being an emotional and slightly psychotic mess

Notes:

✞ I don't condone Arthur's behavior. Also, keep in mind that Heaven is certainly a bit twisted too.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || Masterlist || NEXT

The sound of your heels hammering the cold pavement of Small Heath echoed in the nocturnal streets as you walked to the Garrison. Even though the expansion of the Shelby Company led the family’s interests away from the pub, they still hold the place dear to their hearts and sometimes they liked gathering there for old times' sake. Especially Arthur. Hence, rather than staying at home, reading in front of the fireplace, and dwelling on Polly’s odd behavior at the last family gathering, you decided to occupy your buzzing mind by surprising Arthur at the pub. A raven flew above your head and cawed, its presence stirring interest in you for he had followed you from the moment you had left your house. As you walked to the Garrison, you took a quick glance at the black bird’s silhouette, which was perched on a roof a few houses away. 

"Silly boy, want to tell me something?" You told to it, amused. The animal, dressed with dark feathers, replied with another caw. You chuckled and kept walking.

The white dress and fur coat you were wearing contrasted so well with the dull night that the few people you passed were not sure what they had just seen. Indeed, the moon's glow reflected its light on your porcelain skin, adorning your frail body with an almost supernatural aura. That was why some of them thought they had caught sight of an angel, just like Arthur did the first time you and he met.

When the dark wooden door of the Garrison opened, its noise overcoming the laughter, chatting, and sounds of glasses clinking against each other, a soft wave of warmth caressed your cold face. You had barely stepped inside when people almost all turned around, many pairs of eyes weighing on you. Curious and dumbstruck gazes looked at you, wondering what such a holy-looking creature was doing here — but you did not really care. Your petrifying aquamarine iris swept the room to become familiar with the place before you headed to the counter behind which you saw Arthur’s tall frame. The man was back to you, talking with his little boss-brother Thomas. Awesome, you thought, little King Shelby is here. Sarcasm filled your head at the mere sight of him. To be true, you were well aware that Thomas was always doing his best to avoid you, but it did not annoy you. Quite the contrary, you were more than satisfied with never seeing him — you still did not come to terms with him trying to strangle you after all. Nevertheless, you leaned over the counter, arms resting on its varnished wooden surface, and parted your juicy lips to speak. 

“Good evening, Mister Shelby. Care to serve me a drink?” 

Arthur’s whole being shivered with delight as soon as he recognized the enchanting and oh-so-peculiar tone of your voice — the same voice that had led him to you one bleak and sleepless night. Shaken to the core by your presence, he forgot about Tommy the moment you had started to speak and turned around to face you, the corner of his lips stretching in a genuine and blissed smile. Each time his steel blue eyes fell on you, it was as if God's grace struck him — even though you were living together. The thrills you gave him never left.

“Good evening, love. What is such a delicious little Angel like you doing here? It’s a bad town for such a pretty face ye know.” He almost cooed with his hoarse voice, his hands on the bar and his eyes sparkling with a teasing gleam.

“Fell from the sky and got lost in these streets, so I just followed the light.” Your fingers grazed the back of his hand and went up its skin, leaving pleasant tingles in their trail, until they reached one of the many rings he was wearing. The simple gesture, barely touching him, lit up a blazing fire in his soul. Thomas looked at Arthur and quickly understood that no matter what he would say or do, he held no power over his older brother anymore, “Evening, Tommy.” You said, finally acknowledging him.

“Thomas. It’s Thomas.” He retorted with a voice as cold as an arctic blizzard that could freeze Hell’s inferno itself. He stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and left without any single word, his shadow disappearing in the streets as he left the Garrison, for your sole presence seemed to bother him. Well, at least his opinion about you did not change. However, the lack of peculiar reaction from him reassured you: Polly had not told him what happened to the tea party yet.

“Don’t mind him eh,” 

You did not.

“I should probably give you one hell of a strong drink if you fell from Eden… Miss?”

“Heaven Lavey.” You winked, enjoying his silly way of hitting on you as if it was the first time you met, “A glass of red wine would do the trick… And the barman’s heart.” Your teasing grin widened, unveiling perfect white teeth. Arthur let out a long exhale through his nostrils, enraptured by your whole being. From your smile to your bratty pout, you got him on his knees. Each time he would dive his eyes into yours, his heart would quicken in his chest and dopamine would rush through his veins — who would want to keep taking drugs after tasting you? Not even himself. He was already high enough by your presence in his life and God knew he never wanted to sober up from you.

“As you wish.” He leaned over the counter to lay a tender kiss on your forehead. The way his mustache gently tickled your skin made you chuckle. How sweet he was, not afraid to lavish you with sweetness even in front of other people. Then, he gathered all his strength to pull away from you and take care of your order — which was nearly impossible to do, for you were both attracted to each other like two powerful magnets. But still, he did and then poured the finest red wine the Garrison had in a glass before putting it in front of you. Then, he leaned a second time over the counter to bring his face close to yours again, “as for my heart,” he paused, his eyes abandoning yours to drop on your full lips he watched with utmost desire, “You already snatched it, angel.” 

“You’re incorrigible, Arthur Shelby.” You could not help but laugh when you noticed that, as you spoke, his focus was still fiercely anchored to your lips. The urge he had to devour them was almost palpable, electrifying the air around him. Yet, you resisted the need to kiss him, rather bringing your small hands to his neck to fix his bow tie with indescribable tenderness. The pair of eyes that were watching you since your arrival could not believe that you had managed to tame the brutal Arthur Shelby — how he behaved with you was so different from the way he was with the others it almost scared them, “I hope you like this little surprise.”

“You can’t imagine how much I do.” He purred, grabbing your hands and putting them on his cheeks. How he loved feeling your cold skin against his. You cupped his face, looking right into his fair eyes with a never-ending love, and he instantly melted. His eyelids half-closed, for you had brought peace to his scorching soul again, “Lemme clean a few things and we’ll go back home eh.”

“Take your time. Je t’attends mon amour — I’ll wait for you my love —“

“Yer comfy here?”

“Arthur,” Your eyes rolled, amused.

“Want a cushion to sit on? Want to wait in a quieter room?” 

“That’s okay.”

“Mmm’kay” 

You freed his face from your sweet grip, leaving him lingering for more. When he reopened his eyes he could not hold the little growl that escaped his lips for you had not kissed him. He blinked several times, trying to chase away the charm you had cast on him with your sole presence, and reluctantly left you. Stars still danced in front of his eyes because of your intoxicating beauty — so hypnotizing he struggled to come back to what he was doing before.

Waiting did not bother you. In fact, you preferred to wait for hours here, in the comforting warmth of the pub and its hullabaloo, rather than being left alone with your thoughts in the quietness of your house. Sipping on your red wine, you were minding your own business when a man sat next to you, his body collapsing on the stool as if walking had been quite a struggle for him. Which was probably the case considering he was drunk. Only a few people were still at the Garrison, the others went home stumbling or dragged away by a fellow friend. The suffocating smell of whiskey and sweat that was emanating from the newcomer made you wrinkled your nose.

“Hey doll, all alone by yourself? ”  The man said, bringing the whiskey glass to his chapped lips to gulp what was left in it. You glanced at him and simply nodded, not really wanting to do any kind of conversation, “Your glass is almost empty. Lemme buy you another one.” 

“I really appreciate it but that’s fine.” You answered with a polite smile — but even when doing the bare minimum your angelic traits never failed to captivate your audience. The man noticed your strong accent and saw the opportunity to carry on with the conversation.

“You come from France eh? I fought in France! Bloody hell, still got the mud of this country under my nails!” 

Maybe he talked a little bit too loud, or maybe Arthur’s senses were as sharp as a wolf’s, but the fact remains he immediately raised his eyes from what he was doing to watch over you. His steel blue iris shifted their attention from you only to cast their furious fire on the drunk man that was talking to you. His woman.

“You know, I always thought it was kind of sad that all the people here only link France with the war. This is a beautiful country.” You answered, taking another sip of red wine. Somehow, you allowed yourself to talk with the man. At least time would probably fly faster that way.

“If France’s as beautiful as ya, I’ll rush back to it by tomorrow, doll. The name’s Jim.”

You silently replied to him with a light smile, gently shaking your head at the fella’s attempt to compliment you.

You smiled at Jim — And Arthur broke the glass he was holding in his hand. It had been crushed by the pressure with which he had tightened his grip around it until it shattered into bits. Sharp pieces of glass had pierced Arthur’s flesh, blood dripping from his palm, but the tormenting anger that was building within him was so overwhelming he did not even feel the pain. As seconds passed, his face contorted with rage and his eyes darkened with jealousy.  You. Smiled. At. Him.

That was definitely not okay — the man did not deserve your blissful smile. 

Deafened by the sound of his own heart pounding in his tight chest, Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat in a vain attempt to keep control. To not let his anger issue show. The rational part of his mind was telling him to keep calm, for he knew you loved him and only him. You had told him plenty of times, after all. And he trusted you, really. But the other part, led by his insecurities and his mental instability, whispered foul insinuations to his ear.

Why would she stay with such a criminal like you? You’re sick. You’re old. You’re broken — and no one loves broken men. 

You’re stupid, far less clever and charming than Tommy. HE is a real man. 

You either scare or repel women. Linda told you. You don’t deserve Heaven. 

Useless. So useless… Broken. Crazy, you’re fucking crazy. She’ll see what you are. A monster. Monster. Monster. 

Arthur’s jaw clenched as his mind spiraled into a never-ending maze of whipping thoughts and insufferable feelings. Self-loathing was becoming too much to bear — so messy it had started to drown him. He felt his sanity slowly slipping through the cracks of his skull and the only thing he could to do make it stop was to break things. And by things he meant Jim. 

“Listen, Jim. I think you should go back home and rest. This is the whiskey talking.” You stated.

“Only if you come home with me, doll.” He ought to say, his grin widening. 

Breathless with rage, Arthur felt the heat pooling in his face. A few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead as he shook his wounded hand to clear his flesh from the shards of glass.

“You really should —“

“Come home with me and I’ll make you beg.” He cut off before you had time to turn his invitation down , bringing his hand on one of your thighs to strengthen his point.

Destructive anger flowed through his veins like lava,  exploding at the moment the man laid a finger upon you. Agile like a wild cat, Arthur jumped over the counter and rushed toward you, his shoulders tensed and his arms swinging as he walked.  Earth shook under his feet, opening the gates of Hell more and more at each of his steps. 

“AL-FUCKING-RIGHT THEN,” He blurted out, standing fiercely behind Jim. Arthur’s thundering voice almost made him jump — and it was enough for him to take his hand off your thigh and turned around to meet the Devil’s eyes. You froze on your stool, astounded by your man’s anger.

His face distorted with both fear and confusion at the sight of Arthur Shelby, green with jealousy and maddened with fury, “What the fookin hell did ya say, pal? WHAT THE FOOK DID YOU SAY TO ME WOMAN?” He roared, blue eyes shining with a threatening glow. At this point, Arthur was almost choking with rage. 

“Oh my God Arthur, I did not know she was your woman. I’m sorry! I really did not —“ Jim could not finish his sentence for Arthur had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away from you in front of the few last clients' terrified looks.

“You TOUCHED her! You bloody touched her, ME ANGEL. ME HEAVEN. I can’t fucking believe it,” He spat, his words coated with bitter venom. Swirling in the chaotic vortex of his own fury, he did not hear the man’s bargains. And somehow, he did not care. There was nothing he could say to stop him anymore. Jim tried to utter another apology.

He had barely opened his mouth when Arthur’s fist crushed his nose with such a violent blow the sound of broken bones echoed through the Garrison. The man, almost knocked out by the uppercut, crashed on the wooden floor, a jet of blood gushing from his face, “Oi! Thought you fought in France. Come on, bastard! Fight me!” He snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal.

He’s going to kill him. That was what crossed your mind when you came back to your senses, overcoming the shock of seeing Arthur in such a frenzy state. You got up from your stool, “Arthur… Stop it please.” You called him, trying to be as soft as possible not to fan the flames of his anger. 

“I AM NOT GONNA STOP!” He barked, looking at you.

He looked at you 

and you saw the Hell in his eyes.

“Heard how he dared to talk to ye? Ah, you wanted to make me angel beg eh?” Arthur kneeled over the whimpering man, almost straddling his quivering body, to grab him by the collar of his coat, “Yeah that’s what you said right. But trust me, you sonofabitch, I’m the one who’ll make you beg!” He yelled, sending another powerful blast to the man’s face with his fists as sole weapons, adorned with thick silver rings. “BEG, YOU BASTARD!”

“P-please—“

Another disgusting sound of torn flesh and cracking skull filled the room. “By order —“ A third punch. Breaking teeth. Jim spat three of them at your feet. “Of the —“  Fourth. Fifth. His knuckles bruised and split under the strength of his blows but Arthur could not care less. All he wanted was to reduce Jim’s face to an unidentifiable slop of flesh.  “Peaky —“  Dislocated jaw hanging loosely. The horrible sight was accompanied by the cacophony of bloody gurgles. “Fookin — “ Jim had lost count of the punches that rained down on him. All he knew was that his body was giving up. At one point Arthur Shelby had stopped beating him, only to unstrapped the combat knife he kept in his holster, “BLINDERS!” 

“ARTHUR NO!!!”  Running to the scene and falling on your knees, you managed to grab his hands and keep him from stabbing the drunk man, “Don’t do that, please I need you. Please, please stop it.” 

Please.

Your voice, like a light piercing the thick veil of his darkness, snatched him from his murderous craze. Waking up by the smell of blood mixed with your sweet spring-like perfume, Arthur stopped in the midst of what he was doing and realized he was holding a knife above his head, ready to plunge it into a man’s chest. He took a look at you, noticing the shocked expression on your holy face, and all his anger disappeared into a void. His fingers loosened around the knife, which fell on the wooden floor with a metallic noise, “please Arthur, calm down… Call down, Mon amour.” You whispered, begging him with your eyes. Silence fell on the Garrison, as well as in his mind. The maddening voices had stopped and the buzzing hatred had vanished. Arthur left the unconscious man and collapsed in your arms, panting and shaking. Adrenaline made you shiver too, but you gently hugged his frame, one hand stroking his hair, “That’s okay… I’m here …”  You repeated just like a healing chant as a few men grabbed the severely injured victim and took him away from the pub.

“I’m … I’m sorry— Heaven, oh my god —“ Arthur stuttered, slowly realizing what he just did. He buried his face in your breasts, for comfort as well as to hide the blood that had splattered on him. He barely dared to hug your frail body for fear of breaking you.  Sometimes, he swore he had hell in his hands and he did not want to bring you down in the flames with him. 

“Shhhh… Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do it.”  You said with a soothing tone. With divine softness, you ran your fingers through his hair, not minding the blood he smeared on your clothes and bosom, “that’s okay, you’re a good boy..” But as you were trying to chase away your man’s demons, a far too familiar voice echoed in the room.

“What the fuck is this mess?!” Thomas Shelby exclaimed for he had just entered the Garrison, John by his side. His freezing blue eyes looked at you from above.  The king was here and he hated what he saw.

“John, bring Arthur home. Everyone OUT.” 

This was all it took to empty the Garrison from its remaining clients. When John gently put his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, Arthur’s embrace tightened around your tiny silhouette for he did not want to leave you.  “No,” he managed to beg between two heartbreaking sobs. His face still hidden, not daring to look at you for fear of seeing disgust and anger in your eyes, Arthur refused to let you go. Somehow, he was convinced you would not go back home — why would you after what you had just witnessed? “Don’t take me away from her!”  He said, a bit more fiercely, which resulted in John taking a few steps back and looking at you, silently begging you to help him. In the midst of the chaos, only you could bring him back to his senses. A brief sigh escaped from your lips before you gently forced Arthur to look at you.

“Listen, chéri. I need you to go back home and calm down. I’ll be very quick.” 

“No, no, you won’t come back.” 

“ I’ll do,” You wiped away his tears with your thumbs, accidentally smearing more blood on his face doing so, “and when I do, I’ll take care of you alright? I’ll keep you warm and loved.” Punctuating your sentence with affection, you slicked his hair back with a frail but oh-so-loving grin on your face. He finally accepted.

When he left alongside John, your smile vanished and you got up from the floor, legs still slightly shaking. Thomas was still standing in the middle of the pub, towering you with all his height, and looking at you with his cold eyes. His chilling stare followed your movements as you walked to the bar and poured yourself another glass of wine.

“I told you to keep a low profile,” He began. Thomas Shelby’s voice was dressed in an apparent quiet, but something in his tone was threatening — and even though he did not display any sign of emotion, you knew his blood was boiling.

“Oh come on Thomas, all I wanted was to make a surprise to Arthur.” You took a mouthful of wine — the much-needed alcohol calming your anxiety.

Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop his dawning headache, “ A surprise… I hope you like the result then,” He retorted, before shifting his eyes back to you,

“Listen, I know you don’t like me but — ” 

“He nearly killed someone for you. What the fuck are you doing to my brother, eh?” Tommy slightly tilted his head to the side, a spark of resentment lightening up his icy iris. You remained silent, still not believing Thomas was really blaming you for Arthur’s outburst. Of course, you had not reacted immediately, but the shock had petrified you for a few long minutes — but was it your fault if he had beaten the man? Certainly not. At this point, Tommy was just lashing out at you for all the issues his family was facing. It was far easier than admitting his own flaws and responsibility. Visibly infuriated by your silence,  Tommy walked to you and stopped only a few inches from you, trapping your body between the counter and his own strong frame. He was close — so close your breasts were almost pressed against his chest, “Look me in the eyes when I fucking talk to you, Heaven.” He spat your name with disgust, as if he had just bitten into an apple filled with maggots.

“Get my pretty name out of your mouth,” You looked dagger at him, anger rushing through your veins at such an unwanted proximity. Yet you did not flicker.

“You fucking white Devil,” He hissed through his teeth, his low voice still calm in spite of his blooming hatred, “Are you happy to spread chaos in our life? What do you want from us ey?” He leaned over you, bringing his face closer to yours. With his brows slightly furrowed, Tommy’s sky blue eyes were probing yours, trying to understand the mystery they hid behind their aquamarine wonders, ”What do you want from me?! After Arthur is this me you want to control??” He growled. Your heart raced in your chest — shivers ran down your spine, and goosebumps appeared on your porcelain skin, for his unpredictable behavior was starting to worry you.

“I don’t want anything from you Thomas Shelby. Whether you like it or not I’m being honest with your brother. You know Arthur’s emotional, you can’t blame me for that.  You take away his meds, turn him into a killer, and now you’re surprised he snaps?? How. Fucking. Unbelievable! Do you know what I think? Well, I think you need me to be your scapegoat . You need to blame me for your sins. For everyone’s sins.”

“Fucking burn in hell,” He spat again but could not find something to retort properly. It seemed like the skies gave you the gift of shutting Thomas Shelby's mouth. Instead, one of his hands grabbed you by the neck and forced your face to get closer to his. His breath fanned over your skin, as burning as a dragon’s fire.

“Be careful with the Rule of Three, Thomas. For each spell you cast always returns to you three times stronger.”  You whispered. Then you gathered all your remaining strength to push him away from you, his musky and peculiar perfume almost making your head spin.  Not wanting to stay here any longer — and also longing for a hot shower to wash away the blood from your skin —, you headed to the Garrison’s door. Obviously, Tommy’s eyes followed you but he did not say anything, muted by his resentment. Admittedly, he was torn between the urge to bounce on you and the desire to see you leave. You were about to disappear, the cold breeze of the night jumping at your face and rushing into the pub as you opened the wooden door. But your instincts kicked in. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally decided to warn little king Shelby.

“By the way..." You looked at Thomas from above your shoulder.

"You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.” 

He froze. Confused and infuriated.

You left. Hurt and bitter.

When you came back home, you crossed your reflection in the corridor’s mirror.  Your body refused to work anymore and forced you to stop in front of it. Facing your own person was something you hated. With trembling fingers, you brushed the blood stain Arthur had left on one of your cheeks.

Mom! Mom, no!!

I’ll fucking kill you all!!

You clenched your jaw at the memory it triggered, but still, you kept looking at your tainted ivory skin as if you were slowly learning to come to terms with what you did and what you were. Your fingers trailed down your throat until they grazed the top of your bosom, where the blood had accumulated the most. Another painful memory assaulted your mind, replaying the aching, almost inhuman screams of your little sister when her flesh had been eaten alive by the hungry tongues of the pyre’s flames.

Only God knew how you managed to keep your mind from spiraling into the darkest pits of your trauma, but you did — maybe that was because Arthur needed you. That protective instinct was stronger than your own pain. That was why you tricked your body into moving away from the mirror and went upstairs to take a hot shower before joining your man in bed. John had probably managed to convince him to sleep. Or his body had collapsed on the mattress, exhausted by the energy poured in his latest outburst.

As the running water of the shower was filling the bathroom with its regular and soothing noise, you slowly let your white dress slip along your body until it fell on the floor, as well as your lace panties. You stepped over the pile of clothes and, without waiting any longer, you hopped under the shower and welcomed its warm water with utter joy. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips as you tilted your head back, water hugging your body and raining down on your long white mane that cascaded down your lower back. You almost managed to empty your mind when, suddenly, one gentle calloused hand brushed your hip. Jumping in surprise, you turn around and saw that Arthur had joined you under the shower. His hands, arms, and face were still splattered with half-dried blood he had not cleaned. To be true, he had been too busy curling up on the bedroom floor, panicking about at the idea of you leaving him after what you had witnessed.

“You’re here…” His gravel voice said, water falling on his naked body whose millions of freckles drew magnificent constellations on his skin.

“Told you I’d come back.”  

He smiled, softly. His steel blue had stopped avoiding you and was now firmly anchored in yours.

 He took a step toward you.

You stepped back in response until your bare body met the cold shower wall.

Your pulse quickened, fascinated by the way Arthur looked. He had something in his eyes — a mix of limerence and pure madness who, combined with the crimson stains on his face, made your legs weak. His breath was slow but yours soon became erratic, even though he had barely touched you yet. 

“You ain’t scared, love? Please, tell me you ain’t scared of your Arthur…” He said, his lower lip trembling as his body perfectly interlocked with yours. A small growl escaped from his throat at the intoxicating sensation of yours curves pressed against his skin. But despite his inextinguible desire, he still looked at you with hesitation and genuine guilt — his puppy eyes would surely break anyone’s heart.

“No, I’m not scared,” You replied, not shifting your gaze from him. The corner of your juicy and honey lips stretched in a small grin, “You…” You paused, bringing one hand to his stained cheek, “you look pretty with blood all over your face.”  

Arthur’s eyes lightened with both surprise and ravaging desire, for you had witnessed the beast’s violence but still thought he was attractive. A twisted wave of arousal shook you to the core when he bared his teeth in a vaguely dangerous but oh-so-seductive smirk.

“Oh bloody hell, angel…” Not finishing his sentence, his lips captured yours in a fury kiss for he could not wait any longer. The need to possess you, to feel you, was too devastatingly strong to resist. At first, his lustful kiss surprised you, and even though you burnt for him l, a part of you felt it was wrong to feel this kind of twisted attraction. Last thing Arthur needed was someone encouraging his violence — but your brain soon shut down at the thought he did it for you. Only you. Your arms locked up around his neck to deepen the waltz of your tongues, sending fireworks in your loins. It was far than enough to turn Arthur on who, all of sudden, lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, already suffocating with the hungry way he devoured your mouth and the shower’s steam accumulating around you.

As water rained down on your two intertwined bodies, it washed away the blood from your skins. The tainted liquid disappeared down the drain, leaving pale red stains on the bathtub's immaculate marble. 

You kissed him harder. Rougher. Until his flesh dived into yours in an explosion of pleasure and shooting stars.

For you had seen the Hell in his eyes, and loved it anyway. 

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alones but I advise you to read everything if you want a better understanding of details.

Tagging those who might be interested: @areyenotfondofmelobster @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08

[booksndpoetry]

Of Blue Skies and Sparkling Eyes

A Kim Seungmin Fanfic

m.list

A/N: I don't know what prompted me to write this, this fic wrote itself, faster than my other ones. Maybe my bias is showing. It's embarrassing how I become shy, reading my own writing. Like what the heck!

WC: 2.09k words

Characters: All of Skz and their S/O's.

Genre: A little bit of angst, but mostly fluff

Triggers/Warnings: Mentions of overthinking and spiralling, implications of anxiety.

It was a pleasant day, the sky fully clear and the air cool. You weren’t surprised, you were in Paris, after all. You would believe anyone if they said that the weather was a reflection of your current mood, and you wouldn’t mind either.

You were meeting your friends, eight of your closest companions. Thinking about it, you laugh. With how much you know them, the word “friends” seems to poor a substitute to describe them. After a gruelling two years of being apart, the causes being responsibilities and work, all of you were finally going to assemble under one roof for the holidays. Even if all of you talked over the phone, it didn’t suffice.

God, you couldn’t wait. You missed your friends and their significant others too. You were surprised how quickly you bonded with all of your friends’ partners. Well, all except Seungmin’s, because he didn’t have anyone. Whether you were relieved or disappointed because it was only a matter of time, you didn’t know. Not then. 

The moment you step into the vacation house that they’ve rented for the holidays, you're pulled into a hug by Chan, words unnecessary, and nothing matters except your little world. All of you retreat to the living room and they resume their game of Uno. You grin seeing Chan’s wife beat him minutes later, Felix and his girlfriend cackling with his defeat. Chan just meets your eye and smiles, looking to his wife. You smile back, and let them know that you’re going to freshen up. They wave at you and make your way down the long corridor, into one of the bedrooms, the door wide open.

 Han, Hyunjin and their girlfriends are taking turns to paint each other’s’ nails inside and they’re having fun, judging by Han’s loud voice and the sounds of laughter. As soon as Han’s girlfriend spots you, she drags you in, and without even waiting for your greeting, takes your hand and begins painting your nails. She finishes in record time, and now your nails have a shiny coat of black, applied so neatly you know you won’t be able to apply it even with all your best efforts.  Han splutters before saying, ”So you really do like her more than me. You didn’t even hesitate to ditch me when she came in” and dramatically starts sing “Goodbye, my love” and Hyunjin and Han’s girlfriend kick him from where they’re seated on either side of him on the bed. “Ow” he mutters, rubbing his side.

You giggle and fall into Hyunjin’s girlfriend’s lap and he sighs, “You’re really out here trying to steal all our girlfriends aren’t you?” he asks cheekily while his girlfriend hides her face behind him.

“I can’t help that I’m this charming now, can I?” you stick your tongue out childishly and get up patting the lap you were leaning on.

“I love you” you tell her, looking dead serious, “…more than I like him”.

“You little menace” he lunges, a minute too late as you throw yourself out that door and bolt towards the kitchen, which has been the biggest source of noise, since you’ve stepped foot into the house. Hyunjin thankfully gives up chasing you, and instead wraps his hands around his girl’s shoulders. 

 The kitchen was where actual chaos occurred. So, you weren’t surprised when Jeongin, his girlfriend and Seungmin are borderline being kicked out of the kitchen by Minho, while his fiancée tries to sneak in cookie dough for Changbin and his girlfriend behind his back. Minho stops pushing Jeongin, looks behind him and groans.

“There will be no more left if you do that. You’re supposed to be on my side”, he whines at her. You step in, already heady with the scent of the sugary treats wafting through the entire kitchen.

“Oh thank god you’re here.”, Minho says and pulls you until you’re left to stop Jeongin and his squad from stealing the cupcakes.

It’s a lost cause though, because you are no match for three people, two actually for, from the looks of it, Seungmin has stood still, like a statue.

You go forward and nudge him,

“Hey. You there” and he breaks out of his daze tickles you faster than you can blink.

Now you’re suddenly outnumbered six to one, Minho excluded. The guy was just happy his cookie dough was spared.

“Stop, stop-” you wheeze out between breaths, “Why can’t you guys just greet me normally for once? Every time I have to go through hell when we meet.”

But Seungmin doesn’t relent and neither do the five other people tickling you.

”And where’s the fun in that? It would get boring” he smiles mischievously.

After what feels like forever, they leave, bored after a while, and you breathe normally.

“Why am I the only one being bullied?” you ask, not at all bothering to hold in your whining.

“Because you haven’t gotten a boyfriend who can shield you from our tickling yet” Minho's fiancée says, and it scares you how eerily similar they are to each other.

Done with them already, you climb up the flight of stairs, until you reach the balcony, to get some fresh air. You push the doors open and breathe.

You weren't prepared to see him today, looking so good it hurt. That would explain your constricted chest and how you were not able to breathe properly since you saw him today.

Sitting down on the floor of the balcony, you push each of your legs in between the railings of the balcony and settle comfortably. The blue sky from earlier is still there, but now the sun is hidden under clouds. When you lean your head forward, and feel the cool metal,

Seungmin joins you, dangling his legs from the railings. You ask him how he had been, all the three months you couldn’t ask him that question, face to face. He tells you the days were so boring, he almost missed you and you hit him as he grins, wind ruffling his hair.

You talk and stop, and talk again, the conversation and the following silence comfortable, because it’s him and you have nothing to worry about except your painful knowledge of your love for him and how one question has been lurking in your mind all the three months you were away, and now he had changed. The question stays on the tip of your tongue and you bite down on it, hard enough to feel the coppery taste of blood in your mouth a little.

“You know”, you begin, unsure of how to say it but you try anyway. “They all glow, they’ve been glowing, they always do but even more so, with happiness from finding their people, you know? I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love.” You concede, looking at him.

Still unsure, you tread shyly, carefully landing your next words.

“However, I can’t shake the sense that, that you glow too….. even with no one by your side, yet.” you finish tentatively.

For a long while, neither of you say a word. But the quiet weighs down on you with each passing second and you don’t know what will become of you if it isn’t broken soon. The ticking seconds that pass by coincidentally draw a realization out of you, and you’re hit by an epiphany. Seungmin is in love. He hasn’t denied it, at all. Even in the past months when you’d only spoken to him over the phone, he seemed softer, more vivid. You’d almost driven yourself crazy trying to pinpoint what made him that way.

“Oh my god” you gasp, inhaling a big breath. “You’re in love.”

Seungmin just stays, eyes taking in the scene before him for eleven seconds, he counts, before he looks down at your eyes.

“Yeah”, he sighs softly. “I guess I am. I thought it wasn’t obvious” he laughs lightly, like he just read something off the back of a cereal box, and didn’t reveal an earth-shattering revelation.

You’re stunned beyond words. The Seungmin you knew wouldn’t have admitted to something so big, so easily, without persuasion. But maybe, it added to the fact that he really was down bad for that person.

“Oh”. After a beat, you speak again, ”Really?”. Your voice is small and you throat suddenly has a lump in it. 

“Guess you are”. You keep talking, because if you don’t, you know the fraying threads holding your composure will stretch and break. If you are given so much as a moment’s silence to let his words truly sink in, it seems like they will end you. 

With all the mental turmoil you’re going through, you miss the look on his face. The lovestruck expression, aimed at you. Suddenly he shifts and your eyes are on him, waiting and pleading for something you don’t know.

“It’s you”, he says after, gifting you with one of his rare smiles that threatens to split his entire face with the joy it’s trying to contain.

You didn’t realize how two words, only two words, strung together with less than ten letters, coming from one of the only people who matter, could build you and break you. You just sit there, being. 

It’s not monumental, the moment. Cars drive by, birds chirp and the sun still shines on your beloved. But there’s a heightened awareness of everything. How you can physically feel your heart trying to escape the shackles of your chest. How the lump previously lodged in your throat has gone, leaving no mark except a dry aftertaste on your tongue. How Seungmin knows, that you love him too, without you physically trying to say it back.

And then the awareness fades, leaving you with joy. So much joy, that you think you’ll combust if you don’t relay it to him.

And so you do, and he lets you.

You take his face in your hands, admiring the gentle slope of his nose. The glasses atop it, barely hanging on. You adore, with all the time in the world, his brown irises filled with barely concealed love for you, and his lips. His enticing lips which tether you to the ground and make you soar above the sky with all the enchantments escaping them. He lets you come to a million realizations about a million things in that instant. 

You kiss him tenderly, hoping and almost desperately, praying for him to feel the love you have, before it ends you. But somewhere, intermingled in that love and ecstasy, there was gratitude.

Thank you, you wanted to say. Thank you for being my person. Thank you for choosing me, over and over again. Thank you for agreeing to be mine, along with all the other countless wonderful things you are and will be. Thank you. Thank you, thank you thank you-

He’s Seungmin and he’s chosen to be yours and he understands. You know he does when he gathers you, holding the entirety of you, and brings you close until you can see the sparkles in the night reflected in them. You sit there, side to side, pressed up against each other, in the vicinity of him and his knowledge of your love and you of his. 

Still, you’re restless and not entirely convinced and suddenly you’re overwhelmed with the urge to move and mess up the carefully crafted lines, the cage of your mind being too much for you, and maybe you need to tell him so he can brace himself and perhaps go away before it starts and-.

Seungmin’s hand settles on yours, resting on your thigh. It’s warm, you note, and a little bit sweaty. You smile in spite of yourself, thinking about a fumbling Seungmin, even if he was in the state for only a few seconds.

And you smile wider imagining the look that must have been on his face.

You giggle and freeze, your thoughts coming to an abrupt halt. Whatever had been haunting you, threatening to taint this moment, had dissipated. Seungmin had banished it.

Oh.

Oh. 

You will yourself to stop thinking for once, and interlace your digits with his long ones, and squeeze his hand. 

He thinks life is worth living, if it’s going to be this way.

Slowly, you turn your head to his and look at him, properly this time. With no thoughts clouding your mind, you observe his sparkling eyes. 

“I didn’t realize it was night already”, you say, not averting your gaze from his in the slightest. 

Seungmin startles and looks at the sky. After a beat, he replies:

 “It’s not.”

“It isn’t? Oh” you flush and look down, suddenly shy. 

“Why’d you think so?”

“I got close to your eyes and saw stars in them. That’s why.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

© booksndpoetry 2024. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise, translate, repost or steal my works in any way. All idols used in this piece are just inspiration for characters. They do not reflect the real people in any way.

[thewritingstar]

Frozen Bliss: Gruvia Oneshot

after months of being frozen in my own self doubt, I have emerged for a second to give you this.

I do hope you enjoy. Its a little bit more poetic than fic (if that makes sense and yes I have been binge listing to TTDP)

thanks for reading <3

------

In her mind, she had thought love felt like she was evaporating. They said you know when the person you love stares at you and it feels like when sun creeps on your skin after being in the cold dark for hours.

She felt that with him. A blasting heat absorbing everything around her. Hot sun on her skin yet they had all forgotten that she was made of water.

And while they said she was glowing, they didn't see that she was fading away. Becoming so lost in the blaze of him that his smoke made her steam and loose the way her eyes sparkled.

She choked on a fire that she had helped build and the clean air they once had coated her lungs black until her knees buckled and she had gasped for air. Her skin bubbled as his so call love boil her at her seams. There was nothing to be left of her if she would stay.

He said no one could love her the way he did and she desperately hoped that it was true. The scorch of his fire was crueler than the years of a dark sky. She'd rather spend the rest of her life sheltered by the rain if it meant to keep his flame away.

For a moment, after she left, she was merely raindrops of who she was. Like a ripple in a lake that never settles to see the clear reflection. Water can retain any form and yet she barely remembered hers. She thought it would be best to join the water cycle and wait until she precipitated. Maybe then she would be like a fresh water spring.

There was no hope. A fantastical heat that made her feel warm for a moment left burn marks everywhere. She wanted her heart to be mended but not if it was forged from embers.

Heat rises, yet she felt frozen on that roof top.

Locked into a tundra she had never witnessed. Her own water boiled with anger and she hated the feeling of heat. Hated how he turned her own magic against her. A rage consumed by broken promises and remorses. Once a delicate rain cloud, now stood a violent mess of a tsunami contained in a cracked bottle.

But him.

He was cold.

He was frozen.

She was mesmerized.

An ocean is meant to be a plunging cold and while the burns were still fresh, she jumped.

They were scared that her water would break out into an icicle. That she would become an ice sculpture at the center of the table. Water into a solid form that could never be melted. Oh how they thought she was going mad for following him down that snowy path.

They said that no matter the weather, her rain would prevail. There was no room for growth or flowers to bloom as she drowned everything and took herself too.

But how wrong they were.

She had sunk so far down into the depth of her sea, she had almost forgotten that she commanded its waves.

Instead of blisters of heat, there were snowflakes dancing around her. Fractals of ice surrounded her world and danced rainbows across her skin. And for the first time, when his hand caught hers, she felt a warmth like never before.

It was beautiful and peaceful. Skating on a frozen lake but she never was scared if she fell in.

They said that opposites attract but she felt perfect with him.

Her heart became mended and crystallized in a way that enchanted her. Every burn was slowly cooled to where she almost didn't notice the scars. Her face had paled from the heat that when she stared at her reflection, her red cheeks surprised her.

Some didn't like seeing their breath in the cold, but she loved it. The higher the altitude, the shorter the breath. But here with him, she never felt more alive.

Water and ice. One in the same. She was frozen in his eyes and she had never felt safer.

For a man that claimed to have a frozen heart, it thawed instantly with her.

The cold could leave someone dead, but it brought out her pulse. A remembrance of how powerful she was came back in her own tears as he held her.

Her lungs flushed out of any smoke became resistant to heat. A flower that could withstand the frost. A beauty that embrace the cold. Every trace of her skin was covered in a blanket of his lips.

Love for them was clear and pure like ice. No longer does she squint within flames to see her own hand. She parades loudly through the snow knowing no harm will come her way.

She was eternally grateful to be caught in this frozen bliss.

----

:) Thanks for reading, let me know what you think <3

-star

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 3. food play

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “gingerbread houses”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ what a fun little activity to do with aurora! surely she won’t have any other ideas in mind… right?

pairing: aurora ghoulette x gn!reader

a/n: my fave ghoulette <3 i’m so happy i get to write a fic on her. this one will be great

cw: nsfw content. food play. oral sex (f receiving). frosting on vagina. semi-public sex (?). lots of making out. cum eating

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

“that’s it… lick it all up! eat me out like it’s your last meal!” —❤︎

┅✦┅

“aww, aurora you got a bit of frosting on your face.”

“hmm? where?”

a certain multi ghoulette faced you in an almost innocent manner, trying to use her hands to wipe off the sugary decoration from her face, but she kept on missing.

you chuckled at the adorableness from aurora. her little clumsy antics were downright endearing. shaking your head, you rolled up your sleeves and swiped the pearly white frosting off of her cheek.

“over here, sweetie.” you pointed out, showing off the frosting that stained the ghoulette’s cheek.

aurora tipped her head to the side slightly and smiled, a soft giggle escaping her rosy lips. “right.. thank you.”

a cheeky grin etched its way onto your face, and you winked. taking the finger to your mouth, you licked off the remaining frosting, wiping your finger on your apron to remove any saliva.

“mmmh, it tastes great too. we really knocked it out of the park with this gingerbread house.” you applauded to aurora, and partially to yourself too.

the little ghoulette smiled, and clasped her hands together in a satisfied manner. “i’ll have to agree with you on that one, honeypie. i’d say that this year was our best gingerbread houses yet.”

throughout your time in the ministry, both you and your wonderful girlfriend, aurora, had a personal tradition where you both would make gingerbread houses together. each year, the gingerbread houses would always follow a different theme. one year you made a cute little treehouse, the next you’d make a witch’s tower. hell, there was even one season where the two of you made a full blown pirate ship.

this year was a cute little birdhouse. the tangy gingerbread crackers made up the base, and the roof was coated in a sugary and soft vanilla frosting, decorated in a way that made each clump of frosting look like a brick on the house.

shimmering candied crystals were dotted all over the base of the house, along with various sweet treats such as gumdrops, candy canes, chocolate and glazed strawberries. the best part about this elegant christmas dessert were the handmade pastry birdies. aurora came up with the idea of making two robins made out of candied pears and grapes, creating a duo of birdies that sat in the center of the bird house. they almost looked like you and aurora.

aurora squealed in delight and held up the tray that held your guys’ creation, marveling at both hers and your hard work.

“we did so good! it looks so cute, i’m gonna feel bad eating it.” aurora chimed in an ecstatic manner, before setting the tray on one of the other kitchen counters.

you just giggled at your girlfriend’s enthusiasm, loving this part about her. “if you don’t wanna eat it, rory, we can always eat something else.”

the little demon just whipped her head around to face you, her prisma colored eyes gleaming with a certain glint to them, her orbs creating a faint rainbow glow from the light reflecting off of them.

“oh? and what did you have in mind?” she asked, her tone slightly playful.

you smirked and scooped up a clump of glittery frosting with two of your fingers, before smearing it all over your lover’s face, making her gasp in surprise. “that.”

aurora marveled at your evil little scheme, before she herself smirked and wiped some frosting off of her face, and proceeding to smother it on yours too.

“whoops, my hand slipped.”

“oh you little—“

you and aurora chased each other around the ministry’s chicken, handfuls of the glazing spread staining your clothes, faces and hands. the two of you laughed gleefully as you had your little childish banter.

it was so fun just being able to let loose around your lover.

“heyyy come back here! let me smear frosting on those pretty little lips of yours!” you called out in a sing-song voice, but aurora stuck her tongue out at you and chuckled.

“neveeerrr!!” she called out, running away from your antics again.

after a bit of back and forth, you eventually had aurora caged onto the kitchen counter between your arms. you then brought your hand to her face and put frosting on her face again, making the ghoulette laugh with delight.

“hahah! alright, alright time out!” aurora managed out between her laughs, and you actually listened and stopped putting frosting all over her face.

though that devious little smirk was still on your face.

“my baddd~” you cooed, snickering at your lover’s pouting face. “here, let me clean it up for you.”

aurora tilted her head, before nodding and leaning against the kitchen counter, a smirk evident on her face. you brought your fingers to wipe some of the frosting off of aurora’s face, licking it off of your fingers.

you were sure that aurora saw that you got every last bit of frosting. your finger-licking movements were slow, and it was a little teasing too. aurora watched every moment, every swipe you made with your tongue, every sucking sound you created when you licked your fingers clean of frosting.

oh. she knew what you were doing alright.

neither of you said anything when you were eating up the frosting. however, the looks you both gave each other spoke volumes, and the heated tension was intense.

as you finished licking, the only frosting that was left was on aurora’s beautiful lips.

“babe…” you whispered, your tone slightly dropping. your hands cupped aurora’s cheeks and you leaned in. “come here.”

aurora nodded. she wasted no time, and brought her hands to grasp at your hair before drawing you into a passionate, deep kiss. her taste was delicate, and sugary sweet, like the most tasty dessert you’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.

as the two of you made out and your tongues swirled together, your hand trailed down to the space between aurora’s thighs, before you started rubbing her aching cunt through her jeans, making the ghoulette gasp from the sensation. you could still taste sweetness of the frosting on her plump lips.

“fuck, y/n…” she rasped out, growing more wet and aroused in her panties.

“mmh..” you hummed into her lips, kissing her aggressively with a fervent passion. “i’m going to eat you up, rory.”

wasting no time, your fingers fumbled to unbutton aurora’s jeans, yanking them off along with her panties so harshly you swore you accidentally tore a fabric. you lifted her off the floor and sat her on the kitchen counter, before you slipped between her legs.

you cursed at the sight of your girlfriend’s glistening pussy, reveling in its wetness and how pretty it looked.

“you’re so turned on.” you cooed, hot breath tickling at the bundle of nerves, making aurora jolt. “can’t wait to feast on you.”

“please do.” she begged.

“hold on, baby… i need to prepare my meal properly first…” you replied.

dipping your fingers in the nearby frosting bowl, you got a good chunk of it before rubbing the fluffy coating all over aurora’s wet cunt, making her gasp and moan from the pressure of your fingers and the frosting.

“shiiit!”

“fuck, there we go. all done.”

the frosting was sloppily smeared all over aurora’s pussy, every crevice and nerve had the frosting all over it. you licked your lips and wasted no time.

drawing your head in closer, you wrapped your arms around aurora’s thighs before going to town on her. lapping your tongue at every inch and corner of her puffy cunt, taking your time eating off the frosting. all the while, aurora squealed gleefully and you drank up her juices.

she tasted so damn good. so sweet, and the frosting only enhanced the taste even further. you moaned deeply, delighted from her taste, and the vibrations sent shockwaves of pleasure up her spine.

aurora’s moans grew louder and more pornographic as you got more erratic with your tongue movements. “nnngh! baby! your tongue— it’s so good!”

you groaned in response, being sure to lick up every bit of frosting as you lapped at aurora’s cunt. your tongue flicked over her coated clit and you sucked on it hard, making your girlfriend cry out loudly in pleasure and grip your hair.

“s-shit! right there, babe!” she practically screamed. “that’s it… lick it all up! eat me out like it’s your last meal!”

and that’s exactly what you did. you kept eating her out until there was no frosting left, and even then, you didn’t stop licking. moaning and groaning with delight into aurora’s pussy as you tongue fucked her.

“aah! y/n! i’m gonna fucking cum!” aurora warned, her painted nails digging into your scalp more tightly.

and you made sure that your girlfriend reached her release. as you lapped at her cunt, her body convulsed wildly and her thighs gripped your head tightly, before she screamed and came all over your face, practically suffocating you.

you didn’t mind however, as you gladly drank up her love juice and swallowed aurora’s cum, some of it dripping at the corner of your mouth. separating yourself from between her legs, you looked up to be met with a blissed, fucked out aurora, who was basking in the afterglow of her release.

“you tasted amazing, aurora.” you praised again, drawing her in for another kiss. she whimpered slightly, but gladly gave in as she tasted herself on your lips.

as the two of you kissed, she broke it apart, and smirked. “thanks, honey.”

aurora then leaned into your ear, and whispered seductively, her tone of voice seeing shivers of excitement down your spine.

“now it’s your turn.”

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

[lesbianambulon]

Hey girlie pop I'm back with another super cool Magnus ask. How do you think this man would react to snow or the winter?

Note: bro I am from like the carribean I have limited experience with snow but I'll try my best.

• Winter. He’s somewhere in the middle. Doesn’t hate it, doesn’t particularly love it. 

• He admits snow can be quite pleasing to look at, but dislikes the hazards it imposes.

• He doesn’t mind the cold, such a big frame like his, he tends to conserve heat well, but doesn’t take any chances with being in subzero temperatures for too long. He knows what happened to Optimus and Arcee.

• Appreciates the Aurora Borealis. The first time he saw it, he was mesmerized. It reminded him of some of the colorful nebulas he’d seen in deep space during his interstellar travels. 

• Hates deep snow or snow drifts. He was on a mission once with the other bots when he walked right into one and fell helm-first into it, misgauging the depth. It was embarrassing and Wheeljack wouldn’t stop laughing. He was irritated the rest of the mission.

• Has personal beef with ice. Like actually hates it. Since he's huge, he slips easily and breaks through the ice layers on frozen lakes. He skids on iced out roads. If he could, he'd have ice arrested and banned. Black ice? Illegal. Diabolical. Evil.

• Gets snow chains for his tires. Bro isn't messing around anymore.

• He has a tendency to only repair and touch up his frame when absolutely necessary. He’s not the greatest at self-maintenance, as he rather have those resources given to another bot more in need than him. He’s particularly bad at oiling up his joints often. The bitter cold makes his joints stiffen and hurt with the friction. Ratchet has to scold him to take better care of himself (hypocrite lmao). 

• Understands why humans consider winter a time of reflection, as the barrenness of it all makes one look inwards. This notion makes him sort of uncomfortable. He tends to get lost in thought while among a snowy landscape. He rather not dwell on his thoughts.

• Dislikes greatly how things can easily fall into chaos from the cold. Hypothermia, blackouts, roof damage, vehicle accidents, fires, exploding pipes. Thinks humans could be better at preparation.

• Started keeping space heaters in the base. Modified his ship to now have antifreeze. Hates flying in snowstorms. Visiblity is awful, the wind rattles his ship, ice coats the windows. By Primus, he rather fucking die.

• Gets a bit annoyed when the roads are covered with snow and he has to wait for human crews to remove it. If he's alone, he just transforms and walks around it, but if there's humans nearby, he's stuck behind a snowplow. May consider blasting the snow to melt it.

• Definitely is writing new chapter in the Autobot Code about weather hazards on Earth at this point. What's going on on this planet.

• Wonders HOW humans, that need heat, have survived in the most frigid of places on Earth. Is kind of impressed at their ability to adapt to harsh cold environments.

• Bro glistens when the snow hits him and melts on his frame. He looks so pretty and doesn’t even realize it smh.

Short fic underneath the cut because I was ✨ inspired ✨

He was out on a routine patrol early one morning. The streets of Jasper were mostly deserted, and it was more apparent than usual that the few remaining folks out and about wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. He didn’t understand why. The sky above was ashen gray. The clouds churned alongside the frigid air that blasted the landscape that came with the approaching cold front. He forged ahead, noting it as peculiar but not threatening. 

As he came to a stop at a red light near a residential area, he noticed two humans walking briskly. One was a woman and the other was a child. The woman held the girls’ hand firmly as they walked with haste towards an unknown destination. The girl shivered slightly, purple scarf raised to cover her mouth and nose. The mother’s face bore an expression of subtle concern, eyebrows furrowed. They crossed the street in front of him. The mother spoke to the girl as they traversed the crosswalk. “Come on, the storm will start any second now.” she said and muttered something else in a language he did not recognize. Something about their demeanor struck the commander as unusual, and he didn’t notice his light had turned green for a few seconds. He proceeded onwards, senses now heightened, unaware of what was happening but sensing a shift in the environment around him. He’s been through enough in his experience to recognize when something is even slightly off. 

He decided to pull over into a parking lot of a commercial building complex, which was empty minus a few cargo trucks here and there. He blended right in. Nearby was a short walking path lined with various trees. The already sparsely populated town seemed emptier than usual. To him, it seemed that whatever was brewing on the horizon was driving people to seek shelter indoors. A sudden icy gust of wind made his frame rattle for a second. The temperature was dropping faster than he anticipated. The sky continued to darken, blocking out the sun’s rays and covering the town in a washed-out darkness. It was quiet, minus the occasional sounds of the wind rustling the trees. He had grown accustomed to being in dynamic environments where a myriad of sounds emanated constantly, so this rare silence was almost…unnerving. 

He began to feel something hit his armor plating. It felt…wet, and cold. He noticed white particles falling around him slowly. He had experienced liquid rain on this planet, but this was new. These particles fell slower than rain did, and they almost drifted downwards instead of the violent pelting that accompanied rain. These particles also seemed to pile up and cover whatever surface they landed on. He adjusted his side mirrors to get a better look at the substance. It was beginning to cover his vehicle mode’s exterior. He concluded it had to be water-based, or something similar. He remained there for a few more minutes, observing, before pulling out of the parking lot. He set course back to the Autobot base. For once, he activated his radio, searching the airwaves for possible information. After flicking through a few channels, he came upon one that piqued his interest. A man’s voice spoke over the speakers.

“...The National Weather Service has declared a winter storm warning in effect for the following counties: Clark, Lincoln, Nye, White Pine from 8 AM to 12 PM Pacific Standard Time. 9 to 10 inches of snow are predicted…folks if you’re listening…avoid driving on roads if possible. If you have to travel, drive slow and be wary of iced roads. Temperatures will drop below zero. Remain indoors and prepare for possible power outages. Stay tuned to WZ2519 for further updates. Stay safe.”

The commander tuned back out once the message ended and it returned to the show that was previously airing. A sense of unease briefly sparked in him for a second, then extinguished. Since this was a situation he had no knowledge about, he couldn’t help but run through the scenarios in his mind of all  the things that could go wrong.

He pulled into an empty field near some large rocks, and transformed to his robot mode. He gazed upon the landscape before him. The fervid scarlet and orange of the desert rock contrasted with the stark white of the fresh snow, now beginning to accumulate on the ground. Cacti and sagebrush were sprinkled with the powder. He couldn’t help but somewhat admire the barrage of colors in his view, something about it had an almost ethereal quality. He discovered something unique with each passing day he spent upon this unfamiliar world. He appreciated the novel stimuli of something new that wasn’t trying to actively kill him. He held out a servo, feeling the snow fall graciously into his palm. He noticed the way it would dissipate upon making contact with his frame. He stood there wordlessly for a few minutes, taking in the sounds of the howling wind and the snow hitting the ground. 

The snow was coming down harder around him now, visibility now diminishing. He transformed back into his vehicle mode and drove in the direction of the base. He recalled the human’s words over the radio, and decelerated his speed to avoid causing a collision. For a second, he felt himself skid side to side on the ice as he hit the brakes. He corrected himself, noting this new hazard.

He didn’t have time to ponder any longer about the strange weather phenomenon he had experienced, as Optimus had contacted him via his comm to inquire about his availability for a new mission. The snow would have to wait.

[roofprotectproducts]

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[toytanks]

jimbat fic.......... bc yaoi..........

can be read under cut or on ao3

The Bat had disappeared shortly before the lights came on, promising he’d be back soon, so Jim had waited in an alleyway near-enough-by to be easily found by the Bat but far enough that it was unlikely their captors would find them. He lit a cigarette shortly before the Bat had dropped behind him with a not-quite-familiar sound. When Jim turned ‘round he was faced not with the Bat, but with a seemingly normal person. 

It's almost funny. This is both the most and the least Jim’s ever seen of the Bat. He looks so painfully normal. 

“It’s me.” The Bat rasped.

His clothes aren’t different, it's just that Jim’s getting a good look at them now. They are all baggy and loose on the Bat’s frame, probably an intentional choice. He’s wearing plain grey cargo pants and tennis shoes, with  layered long-sleeve and shorts-sleeve gray and black tees. He has a black baseball cap with some sports team Jim doesn’t recognize on it, black cotton gloves, and a surgical mask around his nose and chin, the light morphing the pale blue into a murky grey. Sweaty black hair peeks out from behind the back of the cap. With no cowl, he sees clearly the black power smudged around the Bat’s eyes.

With his hunched posture, he looks no different than a common street thug.

Jim feels the Bat’s heavy gaze on him, as stifling as always. He coughs through his dry throat and hopes that his blush isn’t visible. “Coulda fooled me,” Jim grunted. “Where to next, Bat?”

“Rooftop. Need to survey the area.”

They climb the fire escape of a nearby apartment complex, the Bat helping the older man up. It was a nice night, not raining but still cloudy. His gaze trails unwittingly to the batsignal reflecting off the underside of distant storm clouds. He still remembers the day they installed the thing.

He’s distracted by the Bat grunting and shifting uncomfortably as he takes his perch on the roof-edge. 

“You okay? Are you hurt?” Jim asks as he tentatively walks closer to the Bat, prepared to have to dress any injuries.

“No.” He grunts, “Just- Just feels wrong without the cape.”

“Oh.” Jim stops mid step, concern evaporated. He feels more relieved than he thinks he should.

The Bat takes a breath. “...Can I tell you something? Don’t laugh.”

Jim furrows his brow. It’s not common that the Bat is willing to share information about himself, let alone the type to be followed by “don’t laugh.”

“...Sure.” 

His voice is a shade or two higher than normal, and Jim can tell why by the grin in his voice. Can’t talk low and smile at the same time. “I’ve...started thinking of my cape as my wings. Feels wrong to go too long without them. Taken to wearing long coats to compensate.”

Jim snorts, and he half expects  to be called out on it. “You’re talkative today.”

The Bat freezes. “...The persona is slipping. Happens sometimes. I become the Bat in my off time and then can’t focus when I’m out on the streets.”

“You’re telling me that sometimes you get all dark and silent and broody at like...the dinner table?”

He snorts. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Jim’s chest feels warm at the admission, and slightly dizzy at the fact that the Bat, of all people, told him this. Trusted him with this. A jealous, vindictive voice in the back of his head hisses that the Bat only told him because he wasn’t really himself right now. Jim doesn’t listen to it.

He coughs. “When you smile, you sound kinda like Bruce Wayne, you know.”

He’s grinning. “I get that a lot.”

But then he turns his focus back to the city, figuring out the best routes and possible dangers and planning for things Jim can’t even think of. Even now, with this rare shard of humanity, it's hard not to hold some reverence and awe for the Bat. His heart flutters when he beckons Jim closer. 

From then it’s all business, deducting the who, when, where, and why. The Bat has a couple theories, but so does Jim. They talk a while, debating, but eventually decide that ultimately, it's too early to tell. The Bat turns to leave.

“...Will I ever see you again, Mr. Not-Batman?”

“Maybe,” The Bat laughs softly. Jim never wants to forget what it sounds like. He wants to see the grin splitting his lips. He wants to know what it would be like to have the Bat’s lips on his own. His body twitches with the urge to move forward, press himself against Gotham’s loyal protector, and kiss him with more force and passion than he thinks he’s ever kissed anyone.

But then the Bat is gone, melded not into the shadows for once, but the thin midnight crowd. Jim’s heart aches in his absence.

[mizuha]

What I Meant When I Said "I love you."

夜に駆ける (Racing Into the Night) by YOASOBI - Deep dive

fattest TW for suicide !!!

The song Racing Into the Night by YOASOBI is based on a short story called Seduction of Thanatos. In the story, the people in modern society are said to be governed by either Eros (the desire to live) or Thanatos (the desire to die). The narrator is a man who finds himself in love with a woman of the latter type. On multiple occasions the woman has attempted suicide, going to the roof of the apartment complex where they live and crossing the safety fence. Before she falls, though, she always sends her lover a "goodbye" message and waits patiently for him to arrive. So he finds her on the roof, coaxes her back to the correct side of the fence, and tries his best to continue their everyday lives, until the same cycle happens again.

A rare symptom of being governed by Thanatos is the ability to see the god himself, who appears to the victim as a hallucination of their ideal person, constantly seducing them to their demise. The woman in the story is one of those kinds. Now and then, she would stare into the air, her warm and loving gaze directed at nothing. Her lover hates it when she gets like this. She looks at a hallucination instead of looking at him, and before you know it, she's on the rooftop again.

This reflects the ancient idea of Thanatos being an elusive figure, since normal people governed by Eros cannot see him. The narrator represents Eros, desperately trying to pull his lover back from the clutches of Thanatos. This parallels the philosophical concept of these two opposing forces perpetually vying for control. In essence, this short story/song uses a modern narrative of a suicidal woman to represent the ancient concept of Thanatos. It highlights the seductive nature of the death drive, its conflict with the life drive, and the cyclical nature of its influence. 

Near the end of the story, the tension climaxes when, yet again, the narrator goes to the rooftop to stop the girl from committing suicide. But this time, she refuses to get down. They're both tired of this cycle. They both can't take anymore. They both want it to end. The woman firmly tells him that she wants to die, and he impulsively replies, "I want to die too!" 

Because how can he keep living when his love wants to die? Nothing he says will change her mind. She doesn't have a coat to bear the winter like he does. Can he really ask her keep standing in the cold with him? No. He would rather die than live knowing that she is in constant pain.

Upon hearing that thoughtless sentence from him, for the very first time, she smiles. Looking at her expression, he finally realizes. All he has ever wanted was for her to be happy, and now he's found what will bring that happiness. The woman always messaged and waited for him on the roof, not because she wanted to be stopped, but because she wanted him to come with her. So on this occasion, he is the one who crosses the fence and takes her hand, and with the stars in the sky as their only witnesses, together they race into the night.

To everybody else, though, only one individual fell from the sky. From that apartment complex, it was one person, not two, who tragically took their life. Some may have assumed that the man chose to jump because of workplace abuse or exorbitant debt, but the truth is simple. From the very beginning, he was the one governed by Thanatos, and she was his angel of death.

[fishwithtitz]

The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 2

Summary: From beside me, I heard what sounded like a mix between a groan and a low breath. My brain told me to keep looking ahead, to ignore him, to wait until the movie was done and I was feeling better before finding Des and asking for somewhere to crash for the night. My impulsivity got the best of me and I slowly cast my eyes in Mary's direction. His eyes were slightly larger, the flickering light of the screen reflecting off the olive hue of his irises, and his bottom lip was just barely caught between his teeth. He clearly felt my stare because his head pivoted in my direction. His gaze was nearly smoldering.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Mary Goore x OFC / 8.5k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of oral sex, graphic depiction of manual stimulation, recreational drug use, alcohol, light gore

ao3 link

Chapter Two: Hook-up #2: The Den

Five hours. Five long, arduous hours of measuring, mixing, cooking, cooling, trimming, crumb-coating, frosting, and piping. I was almost certain that I had inhaled flour or powdered sugar at some point as my nose felt gritty and raw on the inside, but I tried my best to pay it no mind. I was on a mission.

It had been a few weeks since the house show at Thomas’ place (and the subsequent tonguelashing from Mary on the weather-torn roof), and I’d had done my best to try to write it off as the once-in-a-lifetime experience that I’d tried to originally pacify my nerves with. 

It turned out that Thomas and Des had hit it off at the party, in more ways than one. I couldn’t say that I was necessarily surprised; Des was charming, alluring, and very persuasive when she wanted to be. Ever since she’d locked eyes on Thomas at the smoky bar downtown a couple of months ago, she’d known she had to have him, and to her credit, she’d accomplished it in record time. And honestly, I was happy for my friend. It had been a while since I’d seen Des so happy and free spirited while in the arms of someone she was so blatantly enamored with. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a tad bit jealous of Thomas and the hold he’d captured on Desiree. 

Routinely, weekends had been spent just the two of us together - Doll and Des - curled up on my worn couch watching trash TV or engaging in parallel play as we sent videos back and forth that had us laughing so hard that we were covered in equal parts tears, mascara, and snot. Takeout or a drunken “do” meal (as I grew up calling them) of randomly delicious ingredients thrown together and cooked often followed, and both of us banked more memories than we could count of bonding through the sillied, domestic tasks we enjoyed together. 

Not the past few weekends, though.

I got it, believe me, I did, but after the third night in a row that I’d been blown off for either a bar or a bedroom, I couldn’t help but be a little bit worn down at my best friend’s new love interest. To avoid being the ever-dreaded third-wheel, I denied Desiree’s kind offers of accompanying them out or to Thomas’ house, which unfortunately meant many nights of movies alone and crappy blue-box mac eaten straight out of the pot.

So when Des came begging for me to use my baking talents to make Thomas a custom cake for his 30th birthday (Puss in Boots eyes and all), I didn’t even hesitate to agree to the task. I missed my friend, and although I wasn’t looking forward to slaving over the black-metal themed confectionary after finishing a particularly grueling shift at work, I was happy to do this for her. “Besides,” Des had said, “it will give you a chance to do something you enjoy and live a little.”

So, here I was: my grandmother’s old apron tied haphazardly across my curved waist, melted chocolate and white icing smeared across my forearms and the backs of my hands, and the tip of my tongue perched between my lips in concentration as I finished piping the intricate Baphomet head and pentacle on top of the three-layer cake. I glanced up at the microwave clock and felt my stomach drop deep in my guts. The party was in a little over an hour, and I still had to pack up the cake, shower, and make myself look at least semi-decent before heading over. Taking a step back, I admired my work. It wasn’t perfect, but I knew that if I kept fussing with it I’d inevitably fuck it up, so I dusted my hands off with a sigh and left the kitchen to hurry through a shower and makeup routine.

After a way-too-quick rinse and a blow-dry of my hair in record time, I futzed through my closet to try to find something acceptable to wear. It was warm out, so I opted for a dark-printed swing dress and a pair of worn, black sneakers. As always, I lived by the motto of “comfort before style,” and I was fresh out of fucks to give.

I ran my curling wand through the long tresses of burgundy hair that hung down my back and framed my face before putting on a light face of makeup. It was too warm to wear anything heavy, and despite my annoyance of my freckled cheeks, I didn’t want to spend the evening wiping flesh-toned grease from my face every time I felt a sweat droplet dripping down my jawline. Simplistic it was, then.

I fastened my weathered St. Peter’s Cross necklace to rest on my decolletage and gave myself a quick once over before hustling into the kitchen to pack up the cake. After finding a cardboard box, some saran wrap, and multiple crumpled up balls of newspaper stuffed around the cake, I was off. 

 🜏🜏🜏

“Doll, you’re here!” Desiree swung open the front door with a cheshire-like grin, beckoning me in with the wave of her hand. I smiled at my friend, feeling genuine happiness for her excitement of both the party and for us finally getting to see each other. Awkwardly, I stepped into the home and followed her through the short hallway to the garage. “I want the cake to be a surprise,” she said in a low, nearly-whispered voice, ushering me out towards the outdoor fridge. 

We set the cake on a lower shelf, still hidden by the recycled box I’d used to transport it in. She took a quick glance at the hand-drawn decoration on top and her eyes went wide before she all but pounced on me in a tight hug. 

“It’s fantastic!” she squealed, holding me firmly before pulling back to look at me properly. “Doll, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so fucking rad. He’s going to love it.” 

I flashed my own warm smile in response and chuckled. “Of course, Des. If he’s important to you, he’s important to me.”

We headed back into the house and Des led me out to the back patio, motioning towards a cooler propped against the sliding glass door as she stepped onto the eroded deck. I grabbed a random beer from the red and white Igloo and sat down in a nearby plastic chair, crossing my legs as I twisted the top off the bottle. 

“Happy Birthday, Thomas,” I said as I leaned over, clinking the tip of my bottle against his own. At this point, Des had slid into the seat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as she absorbed herself into the conversation happening around us. 

“Thanks, Dahlia. Glad you could make it,” He replied as he tipped his bottle towards me in salute and took a swig, smiling politely before turning back to the chat we’d interrupted. I looked around and noticed that this party was definitely much smaller than the last one I’d attended here. There were only about ten other people, most of them acquaintances or friends from the music scene, and I recognized a few of them as Thomas’ band mates. 

Leaning back in my chair, I took a long sip of my beer and allowed the warm air of the evening to envelop me. I had to admit, this was nice. It’d been a while since I’d been around friends with no expectations or masks to wear. I could just be me. I could enjoy the banter between the boys of which Metallica album was most iconic (and why according to Johnny, it was definitely Master of Puppets, because “zero skips,” of course), or how Mark was told by a coworker that it was “gay to wash your butthole” and how he found it completely fucked that one, he didn’t wash his ass, two, his coworker was homophobic, and three, Mark finally knew where the smell in the stock room was coming from. At some point during the story, Johnny had lit a cigarette which was now dangling dangerously from his lips, ash falling onto his jeans pocket as Mark animatedly told the tale. Suddenly, he patted the ashen pocket and his eyes went wide. 

“Oh shit! I forgot to give you your birthday present!” Johnny fished a square (and slightly smushed) package from inside his pocket. It was wrapped in what looked like an old titty magazine, but I couldn’t be completely sure from my distance away from him on the patio. He leaned forward and plopped it into Thomas’ lap with a grin. “Happy 30th, dude,” he beamed with a salacious smile. “You’re officially a senior citizen.”

“30’s still young!” he defended with a glare, thumbs inching under the duct tape holding the wrapping together. 

A snort was heard from beside him, and Greg, one of the guitarists from his band, muttered something to the effect of, “Yeah, for trees,” under his breath, which earned an even harder scowl from Thomas. 

Thomas ripped the wrapping off and turned the slightly smashed box over in his hand. “Heat?” he questioned as he squinted at the brand on the box. He shook it a little and gave the parcel a quick sniff. “...is this a box of chocolates?’ His eyes looked at Johnny questioningly, but his lips were curved into a curious smile.

“Yup!” Johnny replied as he took another drag from his cigarette. “They’re kind of a present for the both of you.” He motioned to both Thomas and Des as he spoke, smoke rising from his hand.

“Are they spicy or some shit?” Thomas asked as he tried to read over the back of the box, picking at the plastic wrap covering. 

“You could say that…” Johnny grinned, ashing the cigarette and taking another drag. “I figured that since you’re so old now, you might need some help getting your dick to work.”

I had been mid drink of my half-downed bottle of beer at his comment, and I found myself snorting as I swallowed, immediately causing the fizzy liquid to seep its way into my lungs. I coughed loudly, which luckily covered my laughter. Des and I both leaned over to get a better look, and I glanced at the small print at the bottom of the box:

“The high-quality chocolate that uses natural ingredients to increase your pleasure and boost your sex performance.”

“Are these aphrodisiacs?!” Des yelled out incredulously, eyes wide as she stared at Johnny.

All of my efforts to hold back my laughter were gone as I tilted my head back and dissolved into uncontrollable giggles. I couldn’t even formulate what Des was screaming at Johnny (although I knew it was likely something hilariously angry and defensive), and I beamed at the ridiculousness of the situation. I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks, and it felt good to let go a little. Though, I’d never admit to Des that she was right…I’d never hear the end of it, especially now.

The conversation was cut off by a pounding on the door followed by three succinct doorbell rings. Des shot up out of her seat, yelling “pizza!” as she ran toward the door, tapping my knee on the way out as if to nonverbally ask for help. I grunted and rolled my eyes, begrudgingly getting myself out of the chair as I followed her. She must have ordered a ton of food if she needed two people to carry it out back, I thought.

Des swung open the front door and her look of excitement slightly fell, but she kept her smile in greeting. “Oh, hey Mary,” I heard from my place behind her. 

Mary? I thought to myself. I felt my stomach somersault in my gut and I unknowingly bit at my bottom lip. 

I hadn’t really seen Mary since the house show a few weeks back. Sure, he and Thomas had probably hung out, and if Thomas was socializing with anyone these past few weeks, Des had to have been there, too. However, she never mentioned anything to me. Then again, it would make sense that she hadn’t — I had never let her in on my evening hanging out with Mary (only that we had talked on the patio that night), and I definitely didn’t tell her about his shitty beer slushies and the eventual redemption arc of his head between my legs. 

“...Do you need some help with that?” Des questioned as she moved aside, watching as Mary balanced at least three giant packs of beer while stepping through the threshold. The heavy boxes made the muscles in his arms appear permanently flexed, each limb framed by the cut-off sleeves of what was once a short-sleeve Morbid Angel tee. He was deceptively strong, and images of those arms curled around my legs as he dipped his face between my thighs ramparted my mind. I couldn’t help but watch as he moved swiftly through the house and out onto the patio.

“Nah, I’m good,” Mary grunted as he hurriedly beelined for the back door, pushing the crack of the door opening to the side with his foot as he slipped through with his contribution to the party. I subconsciously licked my lips and followed Des as she made her way back out to the patio with a sigh. Apparently, she’d really been looking forward to pizza. 

The patio crowd cheered as Mary appeared and Thomas got up to help him empty a couple of the boxes of beer into the cooler. I slipped into my seat quietly, almost hoping to avoid his notice, yet watched as his hands smoothed out the cans of Keystone in the ice to ensure they fit when the lid was dropped. 

He must have felt me staring, because his eyes shifted up towards me, quickly locking on mine. I felt my heart rate begin to staccato in my caged chest and I did my best to keep my face fairly stoic, though I knew it was futile. Those eyes like spring, of sage and straw, glued me into place. 

“Hey,” he said, ever nonchalant as he finished organizing the brews and secured the lid. I looked down briefly, trying to mimic his cool behavior, and then flashed him a small, polite smile. 

“Hi,” I replied quietly. 

Mary took a seat on the other side of the patio (it was the only empty seat available) and struck up a conversation with a couple of the guys and their girlfriends that were nearby. I tried my best to engage myself in the exchange happening between Thomas and Chassie (another mutual friend of ours), but my mind was swimming with snapshots of my evening with Mary. I mentally shook it off, likening my response to my all-too-often loneliness and trying to focus on celebrating Thomas’ milestone birthday.

Not long after, pizza came, and we hovered both in the kitchen and the patio as we listened to Sabbath playing over the speakers and shot the shit with one another. The more beer I drank and pizza I ate, the more I loosened up, and I found myself reconnecting with some of the old friends I used to see at various venues around town. Mary weaved in and out of the conversations, but I did my best to pay him just as much mind as anyone else. He didn’t seem phased by me, and surely, I wasn’t phased by him, either. 

I heard the door to the garage slam, and Des’ voice echoed through the kitchen landing. “Move it, out of the way, come on,” she said as she weaved through the couple blobs of congregated bodies, the cake box obstructing her face enough that she had to peer out from the side to see. I met her at the kitchen counter and helped her to unsheath the cake from the box, gingerly peeling the plastic wrap from it. 

“Oh, god damn it,” she exclaimed as she stared at the top of the cake. I felt my stomach drop with fear that I had messed something up, but it was quickly abated when she continued her sentence. “I fucking forgot candles.”

Mark, who was unknowingly standing behind us, fished through his pocket before brandishing a cigarette. He held it between his lips and lit it before plopping it dead-center into the cake, the smoking stick appearing as if it was perched in Baphomet’s mouth. I let out another chuckle and Des shrugged. 

Mark moved to help Des carry the cake, but she slapped his hand away playfully in an act of defiance and likely in worry that his drunk ass would immediately drop it on the floor. Though somewhat heavier than she expected, she slowly glided across the open kitchen and into the dining area. Chassie noticed and yelled out “Hey, cake’s lit!” and waved a few people in (Thomas amongst them) from outside to the dated dining table. 

A raucous chorus of “Happy Birthday” rang through the room as Des set the pitifully smoking cake in front of a now front-and-center Thomas. I could tell he was trying his hardest to hide his smile, but as he looked at Des with softened eyes, it was obvious how touched he was at the personalized gesture. The moment was immediately broken when one of the guys belted into his own rendition of the song, singing, “Happy Birthday to you, you’re older than poo. If you were a horse you’d be made into glue!” which earned deep laughter from the majority of the room. 

The cake was a three-layer round cake coated in thick chocolate frosting. A bright white Baphomet stared ominously from the center of a pentacle, while swirling piping lined the borders and edges. Thomas took a moment to study the cake, shaking his head in mock-annoyance at the song. As he went to blow out the “candle,” he stopped just short of the cake, eyebrow cocked, and slowly removed the smoking (and now ashen) cigarette from the middle of Baphomet’s lips. Mark took it from his fingertips and inhaled before licking the chocolate off the filter with a shrug. 

The cake was cut quickly by Des and passed out on whatever dinnerware Thomas had laying around the house. It didn’t take long for only crumbs to remain on the cake board — a badge of honor that I took with silent pride. 

After everyone enjoyed their cake, additional pizza, and sweaty cans of beer, Mark sidled into the kitchen to stealthily pour himself a shot of vodka and a chaser of soda. The bottle of soda that he’d found hidden in the fridge had been nearly empty, and as he drained it, realization lit his face. “Shit, Tommy, there’s one more present we forgot to give you!” he yelled out as he grabbed the bottle and ran out to the patio. 

Empty two-liter bottle in one hand and a bag of bud that he had fished out of his pocket in the other, he looked at the crowd on the deck with a grin. 

“Anyone up for grav hits?”

🜏🜏🜏

A small group of people crowded around the stained tub in Thomas’ spare bathroom — one sitting on the closed toilet lid clothed in a fluffy cover, and two others leaning up against the side wall. I sat on top of the builder-grade countertop, legs crossed, a shiver dancing against my skin at the feeling of the cold formica on the backs of my thighs. 

Mark sat on one side of the tub’s edge while he fashioned some tin foil to place over the top of the mouthpiece of the cut-off soda bottle. Thomas sat across from him watching intently while his hands clasped onto the bag of pungent flower. Only a handful of us had been interested in the present Mark brought for Thomas ( Des had decided to stay out on the patio with the rest of the crew). I didn’t mind — the bathroom was small and it already felt pretty cramped with the amount of willing participants. Plus, I saw this as opportune bonding time for Thomas and I.

My eyes studied Mark’s fingers absently as he pricked holes into the tin foil and began to load the bowl with a mixture of shake and bud, packing it almost fastidiously, his movements careful as to not drop it into the water-filled bathtub. After he was satisfied with his work, he proudly  handed the makeshift contraption to Thomas and extracted a BIC lighter out of his jeans. “Want to do the honors, birthday boy?” he asked as he handed him the light.

Thomas sank down to his knees and crouched over the tub, lowering the sliced bottle into the water so that only the top third was left unsubmerged. He held onto the threads of the mouthpiece as he flicked the lighter with a quick flit. The flame etched the surface of the weed, leaves and flower petals curling into charcoaled darkness as smoke began to simmer and swirl in the bottle's thick body. Thomas focused on making sure the bottom of the bottle's cut-off edge remained submerged but that there was enough room inside to collect as much smoke as possible.

When he was satisfied, he removed the flimsy silver bowl and handed it to Mark quickly before fixing his mouth over the neck, inhaling deeply as he pushed the bottle down into the water. The thick haze slurped into his lungs almost instantaneously and he all but shot up, the plastic bottle bottom dripping as his face contorted into discomfort. He let out a series of coughs before grinning wide at Mark. 

"Forgot how hard that shit hits-" he started, head shooting to the side when the door bolted open and almost hit the man standing behind it. 

"Oh fuck, sorry," I heard, and I lifted my legs from their dangling position over the bathroom vanity to hug my chest, hoping to avoid getting smacked by limb, body, or door. 

Mary slipped into the bathroom, his golden hair stringing into his eyes as he turned to fasten the door shut again. He stood awkwardly in front of the threshold as he realized there wasn't much room in the bathroom for him to stand. Thomas reached up and opened the small window above the shower to filter out some of the smoke before inching his way past the person on the closed toilet and the few against the wall. 

"I'm gonna find Des. Thanks for this, man," he reached across and clasped his hand with Mark's in gratitude, grasping into the handshake tightly before slipping past Mary and out the door. 

I sat awkwardly on the countertop, doing my best to keep my legs folded and out of the way while still ensuring my dress covered my crotch and ass. I could feel the cold metal faucet pressing into my back and my butt felt like it was about to slip into the basin of the sink. 

Over the next ten or so minutes, I watched from my uncomfortable position as a few more people in the bathroom each took their hits, most of them leaving directly afterwards to find some air in a less-cramped space. Eventually, only myself, Mary, Mark, and the guy sitting on the john (who I’d learned was named Jesse) remained. Mark gestured to me as he dumped the ash from the foil into the clear water of the tub and began to fill the bowl again. 

I hopped from the counter, smoothing the skirt of my dress as I slipped past Mary and toilet man, eyes straight ahead to avoid any contact. As I knelt in front of the tub, I felt the cool tile lick at my knees and the heels of my feet dig into my bottom. Mark handed me the bottle and lighter. 

I could feel Mary’s stare from behind me, and while I’d like to say he was decent enough to keep his eyes above the belt, I was certain he had snuck a glance at my ass as I flicked the wheel of the lighter. Shaking the perverse thoughts that bombarded my head, I pulled the aluminum from the bong and lowered my head, lips dancing across the mouthpiece as I inhaled deeply and fully while expertly submerging the bottle. 

It was as if I licked a fiery raincloud. The smoke hung heavy in the alveoli of my lungs, pricking at the blood vessels and sacs, and I closed my eyes to keep them from watering. I rose up and exhaled, my hand softly pushing the 2-liter to Mark as I turned and gently pushed past Mary to exit. My head was swimming and I was doing everything in my power not to cough. I didn’t want to make a complete ass out of myself. Unfortunately, that also meant I was holding my breath. 

I could hear the dull thud of the music playing through the speakers outdoors and unremarkable chatter punctuated the beat. I didn’t even recognize the feeling of my feet against the Pergo as I padded down the hallway and across the landing, down the carpeted steps, and right into the den, sinking onto the worn plaid couch with another weighted exhale. My head was spinning and my stomach wasn’t far behind. Maybe smoking after a handful of beers wasn’t my smartest choice. 

Eventually, I lowered my forehead to the armrest of the couch and closed my eyes, lifting my legs up to curl under me as I soaked in the cool quietude of the empty den. I sat there for what my mind registered as an eternity. The calm doused my speeding heart and helped me to keep the heavy reams of impending panic from erupting in my chest. 

I melted into the firm side of the couch, brow bone melding with the scratchy plaid material, and reached an arm out to ground myself against the side table. I'm not sure how much time passed —it could have been a few minutes or nearly a half hour— but my body was lulled into a calmer, settled state when I heard the slap of a remote against something firm followed by some quieted curses. The click of plastic buttons on the TV console tickled my ears. 

Within seconds, sound from the TV began to ring out in the quiet den, the volume loud enough to hear over the buzz outside but quiet enough as not to startle me. I felt the couch slump next to me and the scent of cigarettes, weed, leather, and musk whooshed into my nostrils from the movement. I craned my head up to look at the man next to me. I'm not sure why. I already knew it was Mary.

"Assholes found lawn darts in the shed outside and decided to set up teams. Fuck if I’m gonna get stabbed," He started, bringing a bottle of water to his lips. My eyes trailed his form. His legs were crossed at the ankles, boots perched on top of the coffee table in front of us, and at some point during the night he had put on his leather jacket. He looked over at me and his demeanor changed from one of kind indifference to one of concern. "...you good?" he asked, turning to face me.  

"Mmph," I mumbled, trying my best to sit up straighter against the pillowy back of the couch. I licked my dry lips and realized for the first time just how cottony my mouth felt. "Too high."

Mary let out a soft chuckle and the nerves that I had spent time pushing down into my belly threatened to peek through again at the warm sound of his voice. “Not surprised," he said with a shrug, eyes flickering to the movie on the screen before falling back on me, "I’ve never seen a chick take a hit like that before. You’re a pro.”

I wanted to argue with him. In a much more sober state, I would have denied his compliment and told him that getting the spins from smoking bud was not the sign of a pro, but at the moment, all that came out of me was the sentence "I am liquid garbage." I licked my dry lips again and inwardly groaned at the Sahara that was my mouth.

“It’ll pass.” Mary reached over and handed me the water bottle he had been drinking. I smiled, recalling the last time he'd shared his beer with me weeks ago out on the patio, and I took a couple of swigs. Capping the bottle, I handed it back to him, sinking a little further back into the couch as I began to watch the scene unfolding on the screen. 

"What movie is this?" I asked after a beat, bringing my legs to cross in front of me as I snuggled into the pillows resting against the arm of the sofa. 

Mary murmured his response, clearly focused on the film, and I didn't quite hear what he said. Or, if I did, I didn't recognize it. It looked like an older film (something I confirmed when I glanced across the room and saw the VHS cover thrown on the floor next to the TV console) and the quality led me to believe it was likely an indie film or B-movie. That seemed to track from what I knew about Mary. 

We sat there for a while in a comfortable silence as the movie played in front of us. The lights of the den were off, but the incandescent kitchen lights shown in from the hallway, which paired with the glow of the TV made the details of the room fairly visible. We watched as the characters on the screen sculked down a dark alleyway, not a care in the world, and from my horror trope knowledge I knew that the action was about to start. 

From my left, I heard the crinkling of a wrapper and the distinctive clunking noise of something bitten. Another wrapper crinkled and Mary brushed my arm with his own, his hand coming out in front of me. 

"Here, eat something," he said as he handed me what looked like a square of chocolate. I felt my stomach tumble a little at the thought of something sweet, and I made a gruff noise in response, shaking my head a little. 

Mary shook the chocolate slightly as if to double down. "It'll make you feel better. Settle your stomach." 

I all but rolled my eyes as I grabbed onto the candy and muttered a noise of thanks. Typically, I'd argue with him that sugar was the antithesis of a sour stomach remedy, but his sweetness and ever-present thoughtfulness won me over. I snapped the chocolate with my teeth and as it melted on my tongue, I sank a little further into the couch cushions. It was good — a little more bitter than I expected, citrus-y, and not nearly as rich as I had worried about. Damn it, I hated when he was right. 

Before I knew it, I had downed the whole square. Unbeknownst to me, Mary had watched with side-eyes and already had another square ready for me when I'd finished, which I accepted gratefully.

We remained like that, mere inches between us as we snacked on square after square of dark chocolate until barely any remained, absorbing the scenes of the movie unfolding before us. I felt warm and heavy and full in the sanctity of the cozy sunken room and the party outside lived far from the boundaries of my mind. Glancing at the table, I looked to see if I could find a wrapper or box to mentally note the brand of chocolate to buy it later, and I noticed a familiar smashed box laying open on the surface. Within seconds, the recognizable panic rose in my chest. 

"Mary," I started cautiously, staring at the box, "where did you get those?"

I saw Mary shrug out of the corner of my eye. "They were in the kitchen."

I swallowed harshly. "So...you just…took them?" I said slowly, hoping to clarify that he hadn't taken what I thought he had. After all, Mary had shown up late. He wouldn't have known what they were.

This time, Mary turned his head to look at me straight on. The look on his face was relaxed and seemingly unbothered. "The box was all damaged so I assumed someone would throw them away. And Thomas is more of a Hershey guy," he reasoned. 

At that moment, my heart fell out of my ass — partially because we had just eaten Thomas' entire birthday gift, but more so because of what we had eaten. 

My face must have been a clear tell, because the long-haired man in front of me cocked his head in confusion. "Mary, those were, uh..." I tried to choose my words carefully despite the haze in my mind, "...those were fucking chocolates."

He laughed and looked at me with eyebrows raised and eyes wide, a look of ridiculing understanding on his face. "I know they were chocolates," he said with another mocking chuckle.

I grunted in frustration. "No, they were FUCKING chocolates!" I sighed and ran my hand through my long hair, tilting my head back as I searched for the right words. "God damn it, Mary, chocolates for fucking. Sex chocolates!" I looked over at him, my grey eyes widened a little in irritation, and studied his face for his response. 

He shrugged, fucking shrugged, and leaned back a little further into the couch. "That shit is all marketing BS," he waved his hand and settled back in to watch the movie. I was certain he didn't notice me glaring daggers at him. 

Despite my frustration, I followed suit and decided to distract myself with the film. I couldn't really decipher the plot (which I mostly attributed to my intoxication), but I began to deduce that it was some sort of slasher film riddled with horror cliches and gore.   

My suspicions were quickly confirmed when the movie cut to an intimate scene between two of the side characters. As they moved against each other in the dark, clothing half-ripped off, lips trailing skin, and almost pornographic moans permeated the screen, I felt my stomach tighten. I wasn't typically the kind of person to be affected by sex scenes in movies or TV, but for whatever reason, I felt a rush of heat flood my abdomen and pull at my navel. 

Shadows moved behind the preoccupied couple on the screen and I tried my best to focus on the horror element of the plotline. The murderer is in the room and is waiting for the opportune time to strike, I told myself in prediction, willing my eyes to study any and every small detail in the movie to keep the tugging at my core from building. 

I licked my lips and let out a quiet breath, hoping to God that Mary didn't hear me. Anger started to prick at my gut. Was this a placebo effect? A side effect of weed and alcohol? Or were those chocolates the real deal? Regardless, I pulled my knees to my chest and did my best to not allow the movie to bother me (one way or another).

From beside me, I heard what sounded like a mix between a groan and a low breath. My brain told me to keep looking ahead, to ignore him, to wait until the movie was done and I was feeling better before finding Des and asking for somewhere to crash for the night. My impulsivity got the best of me and I slowly cast my eyes in Mary's direction. His eyes were slightly larger, the flickering light of the screen reflecting off the olive hue of his irises, and his bottom lip was just barely caught between his teeth. 

He clearly felt my stare because his head pivoted in my direction. His gaze was nearly smoldering. I licked my lips, the wet sounds and moans of the TV punctuating our focus on one another, and I felt the air grow thick with tension that was practically palpable. My fixed stare drifted downward to look at his bitten lip and I shuddered as I noticed the reddened teeth mark against the soft flesh.

I don't know what overcame me. Suddenly I was lurching forward, my legs bent below me as I pushed into him, hand resting on the worn fabric of the band shirt below the jacket, knees brushing the fabric of his jeans. Our faces were inches apart and I could see the stubble outlining his chin and cheeks. His hand snaked up between us and grasped the back of my neck, and before I knew it, he pulled me into him with such force that I nearly lost my balance. 

My lips crashed against his for the first time ever, and through the fog in my brain and body, I noted their firmness, how they were slightly chapped but still velvety as they moved against mine. I shifted to lift a leg over his lap and straddled him, both hands resting against him as his own free hand came to slot against the curve of my waist. The fabric of my dress floated around our conjoined laps and I tilted my head to the side to deepen our locked lips.

Mary groaned and the hand on my neck traveled down my back and over my ass before gripping onto the other side of my waist. With both hands, he held me firmly and pulled me down into his crotch. I could feel the rough jean fabric scraping against my inner thighs and seat of my panties. I let out a whimper.  

Heat soared through my groin and had I been clear-headed, I would have laughed at the aptly-named chocolates, but I was too distracted by Mary's noises and his guitar-calloused fingertips now brushing up my thighs and oh god did he smell good (all leather, spice, cigarette, and earth). I felt my dress flutter up to the crease between my legs and pelvis and his hands came to cup around my backside. I let out a wanton moan into his mouth and he pushed his tongue against my lips, parting them as he ground himself into me. 

Had we been completely alone in the house (or at least in a more secluded space), I couldn’t promise myself that I would have had any restraint against Mary completely taking me right there on the old sofa. However, a moment of worry panged at my core and I separated from him slightly, mere centimeters between us as we both breathed heavily. 

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” I stumbled out, lips brushing against his own as I spoke. 

Mary grunted in reply and pulled me in against him deeper. “Everyone is distracted outside," he murmured against my jawbone as he pressed slow, tantalizing kisses that flowed down to my neck. I tilted my head further to the side and fluttered my eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against my own, fingertips digging into the tines of his zippered jacket. His lips ghosted a sensitive spot on the curve of my neck and I felt electricity swim across my skin. 

"I don't fuck people I don't know," I breathed out, feeling my own hips move against his now as if betraying my own words. 

He let out a noise that registered somewhere between a groan and an "mmm" before detaching from my neck. One of his hands reached up to brush some rogue strands of hair that had fallen into my eyes, tucking them behind my ear as he brought our faces close together. "I guess we'll have to get to know each other better, then," he rumbled out, voice low as his thumb pressed into my jaw and pulled our lips together again. 

The lights of the movie flickered behind us and screams from the victims of the story percussed our heavy makeout. I paid them no mind, but after the third scream and the sploshing sound of what I assumed to be blood, I could have sworn that Mary's kisses became more heated. 

His hand trailed from my jaw and down to squeeze at my breast through the thin fabric of my swing dress, which earned him a moan from me in response, before he traced his fingertips down to the skirt gathered at my waist. He dipped his fingers low between the heat of my legs, swiping them once, twice up the crotch of my panties to feel the wetness gathered there. I felt him smirk against my lips and his nimble fingers pushed the damp cotton aside to graze my pussy. I let out a whimper into his mouth and he took this as permission to go a little further, stroking along either side of my inner folds with his pointer and middle fingers. 

The muscles of my legs quivered at the sensation and I moaned a little into his mouth again, my tongue licking against his own almost lewdly as he rubbed his hand against me. He broke the kiss just barely, squeezing his fingers on either side of my clit. "Did you want me to stop?" he purred out as he languidly stroked. 

"Please," I choked out, the tenseness of weeks without physical touch bubbling up in my abdomen and throat. 

He began to remove his hand teasingly. "Please what? Stop?" he asked as he bit softly on my bottom lip. 

I tugged my lip back from his teeth and opened my eyes to look at him imploringly. "Please don't stop," I practically begged before leaning back into his touch. He slammed our mouths together again and began moving his fingers with more speed and intensity, rubbing me up and down but being careful to never directly touch my most delicate spot. His teasing had me dripping for him, and right when I felt my frustration about to run over, he dipped his hand lower and slipped inside of me smoothly. 

I let out a noise of complete pleasure against him, our lips breaking apart, and rested my forehead against his as my eyelids squeezed together. His free hand rocked me against him and he added another finger before curling them into me, pushing and stroking and prodding at my g-spot expertly. 

"Mary..." I moaned breathily, and he grunted out in response as he leaned down to lick a stripe from my collarbone to my ear. Goosebumps pebbled my skin and I ground my hips into his hand, unknowingly pushing it into his swelling cock. 

"I've been staring at you in that dress all night," he purred into my ear. The movements of his fingers began to speed up and I reached down between us to rub at my clit, but he beat me to the punch, his thumb reaching up to massage it at a teasingly slow speed. "How your tits were pushed up against your knees as you sat on the bathroom counter," he took in a sharp breath and I felt his inhale prickle the curve of my ear, "The way your ass looked bent over the bathtub, lips around that bottle. Fuck, I wanted that to be my cock."

I could feel the outline of his hardness pressing against me through his jeans, and images of his leaking cock being pressed between my lips made my gut flutter with need. I brought my fist up to my mouth and bit into it, groaning loudly and hoping that it was at least somewhat muffled. The desire pooling in the pit of my abdomen was threatening to break through, the dam nearly cracking, and I could feel each nerve of my pussy jolting with fiery synapses, just waiting to explode. 

My head tilted back and I looked down at Mary through half-lidded, lust-drunk eyes. "Mary, I'm—"

He cut off my whine, his voice gravelly as he spoke. "I want you to cum on my fingers, babydoll. Just like you came on my tongue." 

I felt the fire rage inside me and it was as if I lost complete control of my body. My hips writhed into him and my hand reached up to grab onto his shoulder for support, fingernails digging roughly into the leather of the battle jacket as I let out a noise of complete rapture. His hand on my hip darted up and quickly covered my mouth as he continued to fuck me with his fingers. 

"Shhh, you didn’t want them to hear us, remember?" His eyes pierced into mine, pupils wide and blown with desire, and he watched every minute movement of my face as I came around him. Despite his sultry reminder, I keened against his hand, his skin tasting salty against my tongue and lips with each little noise. He pulsed me through my orgasm and circled my sensitive nub with increasing gentleness as I came down in his arms.

After a moment, he slipped out of me and brought his soaked fingers to his lips before making a show of sucking my slick from them. "You taste just as good as I remember," he breathed out with a smirk. I let out a shuddering breath, closed my eyes, and rested my forehead against his once more, our hair tangling in a mess of golden brown and mahogany tresses. I felt his dick pulse beneath me. 

My mind shot back to our time together on the roof, and as I sat nearly puddled against him on his lap, I realized that I had yet to return any of his favors. With shaky knees, I pushed myself from him (earning me a brief look of concern) before I slid down his lap and onto the floor in front of him. The worry melted from his face as his eyebrows rose, and a grin stretched across his lips. 

My hands slithered down the black denim of his thighs, ghosting the skin of the ripped knees, and I grabbed his shins to push them open. Settling between them, I reached forward to push his bullet belt up and pull at the button on his pants. It popped open with minimal effort and I gripped my hands onto the meat of his thighs as I leaned my face directly over his crotch. Taking the zipper in my teeth, I wrenched it down smoothly. The heat of his groin flushed against my cheeks and even without looking, I could tell he wasn't wearing boxers.

He quickly pulled his pants down from his hips to his knees and his cock sprung out, nearly hitting me in the face. While he was no Owen Gray, it was longer and thicker than I had imagined given his height, and I knew that it would be difficult to take him completely. Grasping onto the base, I flittered my eyes up to him and peered at his face through thick lashes as I licked the tip lightly.

Mary let out his own series of aroused noises and his hands grasped at the couch cushions below him. I smirked and knelt a little closer, back curving to highlight the swell of my ass as I took the tip into my mouth and sucked sparingly before letting it go with a pop. Mary whined at the loss of my mouth and I let out a small laugh, enjoying returning some of the teasing he'd put me through, before I grabbed the base and licked from his balls to his frenulum. 

The dialogue from the TV just barely drowned out his heavy breathing and I surprised him by taking him into my mouth as deeply as I could without gagging, hand still squeezing around the base as I began to bob up and down. By now, the spinning nausea and hazy headspace was gone and I was feeling the more positive effects of the gravity hit, so I slid my other hand down to cup his balls as I took him a little more deeply into my mouth. 

One of Mary's hands came to thread through my hair, grasping the burgundy locks with a tight grip as he helped guide me up and down his shaft. I pressed the tip of my tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock and he groaned out, lips spilling out the words "Fuck, just like that” as his hips quaked beneath me. 

I continued to move my head against him, alternating licking and sucking, hollowing my cheeks and pulling lightly at his balls. I could tell he was close when his moans became louder and his arm started to tremble. Speeding up my ministrations, I looked back up into his eyes to see them closed, his head tilted against the back of the couch, and he started to jerk his hips up roughly into me. I relaxed my throat and stilted the gagging feeling the best I could, tears pricking my eyes as I let him fuck my face. 

The tip of his cock hit the back of my throat and he let out a guttural noise, his other hand coming to grab onto my head as he thrust into my mouth. "Ungh, fuck, babydoll, you're gonna make me cum," he growled, and even with my recent orgasm, I felt wetness instantly pool in my already soaked underwear. 

Seconds later, his hips spasmed into my face and he came roughly into my mouth. His salty spend pooled on my tongue and I swallowed around his cock before slowly sliding off with an audible "pop". A bead of cum dribbled down my lips and I wiped it with the pad of my thumb, popping the digit in my mouth to lap at it slowly while locking eyes with Mary.

He looked at me half-lidded, completely enthralled as I nearly devoured every drop of him, and I leaned back a little while shooting him pleased smile. 

"I couldn't let you go through life without experiencing one of my blowjobs at least once," I said, nearly echoing his words from weeks prior. He instantly recognized this and laughed, one of his hands moving from my head to trace his thumb over the swell of my bottom lip. 

"I don’t know what it is about you, dollface," he whispered. My heart leapt again at the nickname he'd assigned me and I hummed as I leaned into his touch before slinking up to sit next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could hear the clink of his belt as he carefully tucked himself back into his jeans, the sound of his zipper whirring briefly through the heated air. 

His arm came to snake around my waist and we sat there in a comfortable silence, film credits dancing on the screen. I heard the sliding glass door open from the kitchen and footsteps clatter against the fake laminate flooring, but I didn't move from Mary's grasp. I was too tired (and too satiated) to care. 

After a while, I felt his lips press onto my forehead and I opened my eyes again to look at him. He motioned towards the last chocolate square on the coffee table with a subtle flick of his head, a smile carved into his face, and broke the quiet. 

“...you gonna eat that?”

[quotidian-oblivion]

Congratulations on your 100s! That is super awesome!

Since you asked for a prompt, I've got a fluffy and a whumpy idea, but ofc don't feel obligated to do either:

Whumpy: Someone Dangerous discovers that 9yo Timmy knows who Batman is...

Fluffy: Damian collecting a series of increasingly non-domesticated animals and naming them after his siblings. When asked, he gives an embarrassing reason (the turtle is called Drake bc he moves at the same speed Drake's neurons fire), but the internal monologue reveals something really sweet (turtles are slow and careful, reflecting Tim's strategic nature)

Congratulations again, and have fun writing whatever drabble you choose!

Me, munching on an easter bunny chocolate at 3:04 am in the morning and reading this: *whisper-squeals* Thank you *voice cracks*

This is honestly one of the best day (night) of my life??? Not only a 100 followers on Tumblr and Ao3, but an ask from sardonic-sprite? LORD have mercy on me because I'm about to melt.

I love the prompts so much!!! I think I might do both since it's just gonna be drabbles and I don't need to go too deep (bcuz honestly, I'm exhausted from the last ten nights of Ramadan where some Muslims stay up all night). So... Imma just post it here then post them both on ao3 when possible.

Thank you so mcuh sprite 🥲 I appreciate it.

~

WHUMPY:

Pluviophile

Tim hated the rain.

The wet clothes, the soggy socks, the squelch of the shoes, the water showering from the sky and barging into people’s lives; an uninvited guest. Not to mention the increased risk of pneumonia and hypothermia for someone who didn’t have an umbrella or a warm(er) jacket. He really should have been more prepared.

But his camera bag was torn from last night’s mishap with the drunk muggers and he really wanted to go out tonight because Nightwing was coming to Gotham after three months and he and Robin always got up to the best of shenanigans when together. He had nearly half a wall filled with printed pictures of their endless pranks, most of them on Batman himself. 

Looking at the pictures, it wasn’t hard to imagine that Batman was secretly a softie. That Bruce Wayne was secretly a softie. 

Tim sighed and tugged the not-thick-enough jacket closer around himself, leaning back on the fire escape rails and gathering the motivation to get up and leave the snug, rare dry spot under the roof to go catch his bus. It was time to call it a night, but Tim didn’t want to leave. 

Rain loudly splattered onto every surface, sounding like a million bins dancing to a jig.

“Should you be out here?” a voice called from below. 

Tim startled, but kept still. He had plenty of experience being silent and invisible. Maybe the man below was speaking to someone else?

“I am addressing you, child.” 

Maybe there was another child?

“We’re the only two people here. Everyone else is fast asleep.” 

Tim gulped and didn’t move, he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Very well.” 

There was silence. It stretched out for several minutes, only the sound of thudding rain echoing in the alley. Tim stopped counting at 560. He finally released a long shaky breath and opened his eyes, only for thunder to boom and lightning to strike, showing a large man sitting right in front of him. 

Tim gasped, but his breath got caught in his throat, so a squeak came out instead. 

The man grinned, his bushy black beard parting way to a scary smile. Two scratch scars on his face scrunched up as his eyes crinkled in a smile. “Hello,” he said, clearly audible over the storm. 

Tim gulped. 

“I won’t hurt you if you take a moment to listen to me.” 

Tim’s hands started shaking. 

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” The man shifted, sitting in a criss-cross position on the fire escape and taking up most of the space, leaving only a few inches gap between the two of them. His dripping coat released water, spreading the puddle enough to touch Tim’s legs. Tim pushed himself further into the fire escape rails. 

“My name is Vandal Savage,” began the man in a deep, calm voice. “And I have come to seek help from you.” 

Me? Tim wanted to ask, but his throat was still clogged up. 

“I came upon a source that said that you were a rare bright child. An interesting and possibly dangerous specimen.” 

I’m not an animal for you to bid, Tim wanted to retort, but his voice failed him once again. 

“I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll keep this brief.” Vandal Savage leaned forward. “Is it true? That you know who the Batman is?” 

An unexpected sound pulled itself up his throat, resembling something between a squeak and a growl. Tim winced. 

Vandal Savage eyed his face, then his body, scrutinizing his body language. Tim shifted uncomfortably. “Come with me,” he then suddenly said. 

Tim stilled once more. But this time, his throat finally started doing its job. Tim swallowed and hoarsely sounded out a very confused, “What?” 

“Come with me,” Vandal Savage repeated. 

His breathing was morphing into short bursts of undiluted panic. “Wh— Why— What if I say no?” 

Vandal Savage tilted his head. Then he smiled. 

Chills crawled up and down Tim’s spine and he knew that he was doomed. 

Savage did not say anything else, he stood up and jumped down the fire escape, landing on the ground with a soft ‘squelch’. He took one last glance at Tim before walking away. 

Tim sat unmoving for a few seconds, catching up on his breath. 

He wasn’t going to follow him. No way. That was crazy. He was going to go home. Mhm, he was going to go home and huddle up in his cozy bed, plop some headphones on and blare music loud enough to keep the memory away. Savage didn’t say that he was going to hurt him if Tim refused, so it should be safe enough. He wasn’t going to follow Savage. He wasn’t. 

Tim took a deep breath and picked up his camera, shoving it into his bag. Curse this whole night. Couldn’t he have waited until tomorrow to take some pictures? It wasn’t like Nightwing was going to leave after just a day. He wasn’t his parents. 

He hoisted his bag on his shoulders and climbed down from the fire escape. He looked down at the ground, ignoring the rain and the chills still running down his spine, when he collided with a fully solid surface. He looked up to see Savage, smiling down at him. A Cheshire cat smile. Except without the teeth.

Savage did not grab his wrist to pull him towards where he wanted to go. He just turned and walked. 

Tim was not following him. He was not. 

His steps fell behind Savage, squelching through the gray, dirty Gotham rain. 

Suddenly, a flash of red and yellow got caught in Tim’s peripheral vision. He stopped walking. So did Savage. 

Robin and Nightwing were talking animatedly with each other on just the next roof. Batman was nowhere to be seen. 

Tim stared at them, mentally urging them to turn around, look here, please! But they never did. He didn’t know if Savage would hurt him if he yelled or tried to get their attention. He could, however, kick the empty can in front of him. 

Trying to be as casual as possible, he brought his foot slightly backwards and punted the Pepsi can, making it crash against the fire hydrant at the side. 

Thunder just then decided to clap against the sky. Lightning followed suit and Robin and Nightwing disappeared. The can came to a stop. 

“I love the rain,” Savage said, smiling at the sky. “I’m a pluviophile. It’s so peaceful, isn’t it?” He turned to Tim. 

Tim felt his bones seize with dread and he looked down, resigned. 

“Come,” Savage prompted, stalking forward, his feet barely making any noise. 

Tim followed, his shoes filling up with water and soaking his socks. He didn’t know where he was being led, but at least he could enjoy his home city one last time.

~

FLUFFY:

Regarding The Workings Of A Zoo

“What. The fuck.”

“Tt. I knew I had accurately named my turtle.” Damian threw some more turtle feed into the pond. “Drake is a most excellent turtle. Much unlike his predecessor.” 

Tim turned to Dick. “Are you seeing this?”

Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “Seeing what?” 

“Damian replaced me with a turtle.” 

“It’s not my fault that his movements fire faster than your neurons, Drake.”

Dick gave an insecure smile. Tim glared at him and folded his arms. 

“What about the chicken?” Steph asked, popping another grape into her mouth from the large bowl she was holding.

“Her name is Todd.” 

Dick’s snort quickly turned into a cough. 

Jason looked up from the frog. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused,” Damian simply said, patting Drake the turtle’s head as it neared him. 

“What’s the frog then?” Jason frowned. 

“Brown.” 

Steph choked on a grape. Tim thumped her back. “Now that’s mean,” she said once she stopped coughing. 

Damian shrugged. 

“Who am I then?” Dick asked, sounding curious but hesitant at the same time. 

Damian looked at him straight in the eye and declared, “Meerkat.”

The four of them bulged their eyes at him. 

“And where is it?” Dick questioned. 

“He’s on his way. I needed time to prepare a room for his mob.” 

“What are we, a zoo?” Tim scrunched his nose. 

“Tt.” Damian rolled his eyes, closing the turtle pellet jar. “I must take my leave now. I have school. Do not touch my pets while I am away.” 

They watched as he walked away haughtily, nose stuck up in the air. 

“Tell me why Bruce allowed him to have pets again?” Tim voiced out loud. 

“He survived a League attack without killing anyone. It’s actually a pretty big achievement,” Dick replied. 

Jason groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This family is fucked up in so many ways.” 

Steph kicked him in the shin. “You’re one to talk.” 

------------------------------------------

Dear Mother,

I am required to write this letter to you as part of my school assignment, but not post it. It should be handed back to my so-called “teacher” at the end. I did not originally have a topic, but after much deliberation with Father, I finally settled upon writing about my new pets. 

This isn’t meant to be shown to anyone, so if someone reveals this information, they will be found by GCPD in a street corner as a cold corpse at precisely midnight there will be consequences. 

Firstly, I have Drake the turtle. He is a very nice and gentle creature with eyes that constantly smile though they are dark. I’ve named him Drake because he is slow and careful, much like the real Drake’s strategic nature. Drake the turtle at first did not like me when I neared him at the beach. However, once I showed myself as a friend and proceeded to help him with the plastic bag around his shell, he did not like leaving my side.

Secondly, I have Todd the chicken. From the times I have seen him at the manor and the rare occasions I go to his safehouse when injured, I have observed him constantly worrying and fretting about the tiniest thing. He worries whether someone has eaten, or drunk water, or has a scratch, or even a paper cut. Grayson once described him as a “mother hen”. And Todd the chicken, when I saw her, she was fretting over her chick who was rejecting a worm. Immediately, I made the connection.

Then, there is Brown the frog. I told her that I named him Brown because he was as ugly as her, but that was not the truth. Once during our other school assignments, I discovered that frogs symbolize rebirth. Brown truly made up her own identity, by herself, might I add. I… I still struggle with my past, Mother. I am ashamed to admit but… 

In any case, Brown has gotten over that obstacle. I wish she would teach me how. Brown the frog on the other hand, is extremely bubbly and never stays still. It was accurate of me to name him after Brown.

Finally, there is Grayson the meerkat. Grayson is confused, he does not know if it is an insult or a compliment. He does not know that meerkats have one in their mob look out for danger, constantly keeping the others safe. I’ve seen Grayson scan an environment like the arcade before letting me roam free. He is worried, and does not know how else to show. I am hoping he will learn to calm down once in a while. Like Grayson the meerkat who always joins in to play with his mob no matter what.

I know you are not very fond of pets, Mother. But I still think about Noora, the bird you once gifted me during my stay at Nanda Parbat as a child. I am thinking of getting another bird, but… I am not so sure. I feel worried that I might lose it if I get another bird. Much like how I lost Noora to Grandfather. I hope you are keeping her grave clean as I am not there to do so myself. 

I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Mother. Including bringing me to Father’s family. His whole family. 

Kind Regards,

Damian

~

These were supposed to be drabbles. Not around a thousand words long! In any case, it's 6AM and my eyes are burning. I got a little too into things and, uh, yeah finished both of these in one sitting.

Thanks so much for the prompts again, Sprite! I loved them!