#I am holding onto my sanity by my fingernails

[gatorademachinegun]

Anyone have any self care tips that Aren’t centered around taking a shower/bath?

I’m all for a good long self care shower but i also don’t have the spoons/energy to shower like,,,,,,every night. And I still need a things to do during the hour it takes for my brain to unsee the blue screen of my phone.

So far I’ve got:

• straightening out your bed/moving squishy off it so there is more room for you

• putting on lotion before you go to bed (it’s the freshly shaved legs on clean sheets feel but I don’t gotta shave my legs)

•spraying a room spray or setting up a diffuser with a calming scent (no candles or I’ll burn my house down)

•rereading a favorite book you already know the plot of and won’t be SUPER INVESTED it

•doing ‘boring’ and slow chores like putting away clean laundry, folding laundry, picking up the tissues off the floor, or brushing the cat. Low brain power no screen time stuff

I will greatly appreciate any suggestion or ideas!

[drewsbuzzcut]

https://www.tumblr.com/drewsbuzzcut/737096003153461248/nick-and-dallas-have-a-lot-of-morning-sex

Can we get a blurb

Love In The AM

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes blurb

warnings: SMUTT

The insistent pounding of Dallas’ bed frame hitting the wall and Nick fucking her into her mattress is enough to wake up anyone else in the girl’s apartment. Good thing Sienna is always leaving early to start her day- she’d be scarred.

Dallas is clung onto Nick, arms looped around his neck and legs haphazardly wrapped around his waist as he holds her by her hips to fuck into her with a controlled ease. Their morning usually starts like this- Nick nestled in her pink blankets and her hands wandering all over his bare chest until he wakes up to satiate her.

“Fuck. Fuck. Oh my god, Nicky. I’m going to cum,” she whines, body arching up off the bed.

Her fingernails start to dig into his skin, and Nick feels the tightening of his balls as he feels his orgasm start to approach. When Dallas finally gains some control over her pleasure, she raises her body as much as she can so she can attach her lips to his neck. She sucks his skin into her mouth, nipping and licking at him until he’s whimpering just as she is.

“Cum baby. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so tight and so wet. I love it,” he moans, a stray finger circling her clit, making her writhe and cry out as she finally cums around his cock.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop,” she begs, hips meeting his movements- thrust for thrust.

He grabs her hands, pinning them down next to the pillow below her head, his hips moving at a sickening pace. She continuously flutters around his length, her cum dripping onto the bed sheets.

“Cum in me. Please, baby. I want your cum,” she releases her hands, locking them around the back of his neck as she whispers hotly in his ear. Her bare breasts press into his chest, and he can feel his sanity start to slip away.

He quickly pulls out, ripping off the condom and flipping them over so he’s on his back now.

“Uhhhh, you’re so big. I feel so full,” she whimpers when she sinks down on him, feeling his thick head prod at that spongy spot.

“If you keep squeezing me, I’m not going to last too long,” he warns her.

“I don’t care. Cum in me, baby,” she responds, rocking her hips back and forth with her hands pressed to his chest.

She knows he’s close, she can tell by the slight trembles in his body and the way he keeps tilting his head back. She grabs one of his hands, placing it on her lower abdomen, so he can feel just how full she is.

“You feel that, Nicky? That’s your big cock making me feel so full. Now, I just need your hot cum filling me up, marking me as yours. I’m yours, always, but just think about the way I’ll be dripping. When you’re at practice, I’ll be here in bed, in your shirt, dripping your cum from my pussy. Cum in me, baby,” she leans down, whispering in his ear and kissing down his neck.

His hips drill up into her, getting off on her cries and moans. He keeps her still on his length as he paints her insides, feeling another orgasm start to bubble with the way her pussy contracts around him.

“Oh my god,” he breathes out, forehead lined with sweat and a spent Dallas draped over his body. They’re both boneless.

“You’re so sexy,” she says, picking herself up with a wince at the feeling of his half hard cock stirring inside of her. She cards her fingers through his hair, leaning down to kiss his lips.

“I don’t think I can go to practice now. There’s no way I’m moving. Not when you’re warming my cock, and definitely not when I know my cum is inside your pretty, little pussy,” he says in between kisses.

“We should start every morning like this,” she suggests playfully.

“I’ll get kicked off the team,” he retorts.

“I don’t know. I think I’m worth it,” she muses, rocking her hips at a teasing pace.

“Hell yeah you are,” he agrees, flipping her back on her back, ready to go another round until his alarm clock eventually goes off. Maybe then, he’ll peel himself away from his insatiable girlfriend.

a/n: I really love this! Enjoy!

[blisterinballista]

spam liking people got me feelin like /hj

[d3nt4l-d4m4g3]

A few days ago, I emailed my former professor about a paper on women’s food practices in the middle ages. At least, that’s what I told him it was about, initially. 

But actually, I wanted to discuss heresy. This professor teaches a women’s rights course every year. Every year at the beginning of the class, he calls attention to why he, a man, is talking about women’s rights. He looks us in the eyes and says, no one else is doing it, and I’m sorry it’s me.

This man made us read the SCUM manifesto, Gerda Lerner, Maria Mies. He grazed the subject of the Lesbian Sex Wars, delicately, so gingerly, posing the question: “Can sex work ever be just work?”  And my  (all woman) classmates, generally mute—in a Women’s Rights class, they all seemed averse to saying the word “woman,” at all. Then one woman raised her hand. and she said, “Sex work is real work.”  A statement that, as I hope you know, is a deflection and a discussion killer.  

At the time I was non-binary. Hah. I submitted a comic at the end of the year of my final project. My thesis for that project was this: the very language female people have to use for themselves was constructed by the patriarchy. for example, the english word “vagina” comes from the latin word for “sheath”. so the vagina invokes the act of penetration upon its utterance. Whereas the word “penis” has no clear etymological root, implying that it is original while the vagina is constructed for him. Why should I carry the fact that I will always be a tool, the hole, of the human that is man? My solution, at the end of the comic, was to continue using they/them pronouns, to shield myself from the horror of being a wo-man, a s-he—an appendage of Him. 

I got a good grade. A stellar report. And it wasn’t a bad comic, for what I knew then. For my condition of blindness and deafness. I made a compelling argument, using sources from class.  But oh, how much older I feel now. I’ve always felt old but now I feel almost like I’m dying. Like I don’t have enough time to fix the world before I disappear. And women’s stories never survive. They are not surviving. networks spring up like mycelium and then every century at least they are burned. Witchcraft is in the air shared by women in a room of their own, and witchcraft is doused in gasoline.

I don’t have enough time to explain how the veil lifted for me. Maybe I forget the big moment. the days after were a blur of searching the no-no tags like radical feminist, GNC, gender critical. Amazed at the wealth of journals that these women linked to with real statistics showing that children are being sterilized for no reason. Mostly gay children. like me, a lesbian, who now lives in a house with three  “non-binary afabs”. This summer, one of these women, who I have known since freshman year, will start taking testosterone, a procedure I took up  for three turbulent months during my freshman year of college. I get to watch her become what I turned away from, knowing the experience fractured my sense of self to a point of  terror and estrangement. I get to watch her hide from her problems and cut herself off from womanhood the way I did for 3 years. I am not a woman, so do I not feel Woman’s pain, she is telling me, I told myself, when I was in a dream.  She has so many problems, she laughs. But trans is a separate problem that has nothing to do with those other problems. A coincidence.

 (For any trans people reading this, you may think: This transtrender fake-trans never-was-trans woman is treating these nonbinary people as if they were dead! as if they weren’t happy people finally living their truth! —well. I put my mom through the process of trying to convince her that I should have always been a man. and I did lose her, for months. For her it was the height of cognitive dissonance that I should want to go on a life-altering hormone to cure my lifelong social awkwardness and self-hatred and self-harm and depression. And I blamed her for not accepting my real self. I was basically made to shun her and my family because of transphobia.. It is disrespectful to anyone’s sanity and integrity for me to perpetuate that cognitive dissonance in this post.)

So I eventually got through to the professor. I knew because of the texts he had us to read for class. He is gay.  He has read all the theory, and lives by it.  And no (woman) student wants to speak to him. To bring the theory alive. They cannot breathe into it and it sits dead in his mouth.

Maybe it is because he is a man. because the presence of one man in a space of all women immediately sends up alerts.  lockdown. Certainly that is the case. Radical Feminists here: I know he’s a man. But I don’t have a woman. And I felt on the strength of the texts he’d given us that he would be my best bet. Maybe somewhere in the corrupted, rotting heart of my college there was a person who knew about thoughtcrimes and was thinking them anyway.

My professor starts with diversion. He starts by talking about my paper. I find it disconcerting that he starts that way. I worry that he won’t want to refer to my email. Where I say: I have woken up from a dream to the apocalypse—Does this man think I’m crazy? Chipper and kind of frantically, he lists off  primary sources of medieval nuns and women saints. for my paper.  Does this man think I’ve turned into a bigot?  Am I confessing lunacy, like a flat-earther?

But I steer the conversation to the meat at his first tentative encouragement. I tell him something like: “children, mostly gay children, a whole generation of gay children, are being sterilized. Porn is a symptom of late-stage capitalism—men’s ownership of women’s bodies. trans is an extension of this. I was part of this. I was in a cult.” I was shaking a bit. I don’t think I’d uttered those words out loud. They sound crazy. Some of the things I said did sound far-fetched. disorganized, remote. But I prayed that my professor would believe some of it, any of it. 

 What I will say is that he believes me.  Thank fuck, right?

He tells me something along the lines of this, vocalizing my fears: 

that all of academia is being scrubbed of anything that doesn’t support Trans.

And it is trans-identified female students and women who are reporting him to Title IX, who spend all their time in his classes fuming at the lack of validation for trans women in the  history of women. My sisters, footsoldiers for the cause. What cruel irony. This man is holding onto this class by his fingernails, speaking through his teeth, hoping any of the twenty young adult women staring blankly or angrily at him will hear him and listen.

 Looking back, the professor’s responses to my emails are vague, completely refusing to acknowledge a point of view other than “WOW. I look forward to discussing this.”  I think he thinks he could be blackmailed. Anything he says on gmail dot com can and would be used against him. It’s like, really, really, really that bad. 

No ideology should involve a cultural cleaning of women’s history feat. witch hunts. 

I will end here with an excerpt from my first email to this professor:

I'm sure you know what a total bummer it is to realize this. 

[kuuderekweenfics]

Dabi is Not a Liar

Hello everyone,

This is it. I’ve fallen off the precipice of...what exactly? Sanity? Or, perhaps, lack of shame? Who knows. But this was a fun little piece I wrote about a month ago. I put it up on AO3, but I thought I’d create a Tumblr for future fics since this is a bit more social.

Please keep in mind that I am shaking the dust off my writing and so it may not be the most polished piece of work. Go easy on me. But I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Explicit Warning: non consent or extremely dubious consent.

Fingernails carve into the the filthy brick of the abandoned building nestled by the sea. The pier moaned, it’s cold breath wrapping around your body and reeking sourly of fish and decay. 

Your head hangs low between your hollow arms. How you got yourself into this position is due to several reasons, of course. One, your brain is swollen twofold in your skull, pounding with the weight of lead. Two, shame caresses every part of your body far more thoroughly than the man who currently has you trapped between him and the wall. Three, and most likely the most crucial reason, Dabi, ‘the Cremator’ as he was so often called, has been railing you senseless for the past hour.

You cried yourself dry after about ten minutes. He came quickly the first time, unabashedly getting off on your whimpers and pleas. Where he dug up the stamina to keep his cock hard for another three rounds was a dull ache for your mind, and pussy, to ponder over. 

The strength in your knees escaped long ago. His fingers gripping your bare ass as he currently pounds himself into you, deeper and deeper each time, is the only support you have against gravity. 

He attempts some foreplay occasionally, killing the space between the two of you as he whispers into your ear threats of what is to come and reaches under you to thrash at your clit rough and carelessly. This is, you figured out, more to his benefit than yours; he had to get you more motivated to continue the little game he set for the both of you somehow. You mewl softly when he does, cursing your needy body for betraying your wants.

Because this isn’t what you want. No, no, no. Not even if his thick, veiny cock fills you to the brim and sometimes hits a spot in your core that makes you see stars and silently beg, much to your humiliation, for more.

What you want is to go pro. You just started working for a small agency start up only a week ago. You’ve dedicated to becoming a top ten hero, even if your quirk isn’t the most convenient. But if a guy who’s power was to do laundry could make it to the top, so can you and your absurdly comical gacha quirk. You are able to generate capsules from your hands, ranging anywhere between the size of a tennis ball to a beach ball, but the contents inside are always random. This little inconvenience made your quirk almost entirely useless. Despite it all, you trained hard and got a once in a lifetime opportunity at this agency. Your task today was to survey the pier for any suspicious activity called in by a concerned citizen. You were strictly told not to engage and call for back up as soon as you surveyed something worthwhile. But you immediately ran in, all too confident in your ability at hand-to-hand combat, as if you had something to prove. You crouched behind stacked crates and fumbled through your creations: a teddy bear, a toaster, a tennis racket. Before you could generate another capsule, you heard his whistle behind you. He was crouched, hands lazily in his pockets and looking over your shoulder with a deadpan expression that plainly said you were in over your head. 

But you knew you were quick. The tennis racket sped toward its target only to be crumbled to ash as his hand stopped it an inch from the side of his head. He smiled at you then, not quite reaching his eyes but eerie and menacing all the same. And before you could even fathom throwing the toaster, he pinned your neck to the wall. Your feet kicked helplessly against the brick, unable to find purchase on the floor a inches below. One of your hands pried at his arm while the other reached for his face or his neck or anything you could grab hold of that could cause enough pain to lot weaken his grip. Your breaths came up short, your lungs screamed for a sip of air. 

“It looks like a little mousy lost her way,” he chuckled. “Now whatever am I going to do with you?”

Drool leaked from your mouth as you fought against your restraint and blurred vision. Your mind clawed for consciousness, your body begged for survival. You had come to terms that one day you could potentially meet your end at the hands of a villain, as does any hero in this field of work, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon. 

You felt the obstruction in your mouth before you saw it. The thumb of his free hand pressed on your dancing tongue, drool pooling where he held it down firm. If the look in his eyes scared you before, now they were wild and carnal and more terrifying. 

He first has his way with you with his hand still around your throat. He let up on his grip and was so gracious enough to let you wrap your legs around him while he impales you without a second thought. 

He grunts. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You are no longer a virgin, but you’re sure you never experienced cock of this size, all the while without some form of foreplay. Granted, he used your drool to lubricate himself before sheathing himself deep in your gummy walls, the friction elicits a gasp of pain while from you as he moans and nips at your neck. Not long after he begins to thrust do you start sobbing, and soon after that he shoots inside of you, his cock twitching to unload what feels like everything he had. You hope it is over then. He would either kill you or leave you there broken physically and mentally. You find out soon enough it is neither.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your voice is gone from screaming my name, little mousy,” He gasps into your shoulder as the twitching finally ebbs and his release oozes down your thigh. “I’m gonna fill you with my cum until I am sure that when I leave you in this shithole, you will have a little part of me with you for the rest of your miserable life.”

And if there is one thing you can call Dabi, among the million curses and names you can conjure, you aren’t sure if you can call him a liar. For true to his word, albeit only partially, he comes into you, hard and relentless, two more times before starting once more. You are absolutely positive this goes against all modern male biology. But you guess, in a world with bizarre quirks, anything is possible.

Halfway through round four, you feels his fingers weave into your hair and, for a moment, you think Dabi just may capable of being passionate. Or, at the very minimum, maybe he thinks more of you than just a bucket for him to shoot his load in. This moment, you find, is fleeting as he yanks your head back and pulls you up until your back lies flat against his chest. He slowly pulls the zipper of your shirt down and grabs your breast callously, pinching your nipple hard until you cry out. 

You can only imagine that he’s grown bored of your silence and complacency because his other hand reaches around until his fingers find your clit, exposed and hungry for some well-deserved stimulation. His fingers rub small circles against it, and you feel nauseated as you let out a moan, your pussy clenching desperately around him in newly kindled desire.

He hisses at your reaction, an obvious stamp of approval and continues flicking your bundle of nerves as he pumps in and out of you. “Say my name.”

Your mind, which, up until this point, had been lost in a sea of fog, finally breaks the surface. And it is pleading with you to not give in. He speeds up, each thrust hitting the right spot and oh no, oh no, it feels so fucking good.

“Say my name, little mouse.”

Your core coils tight with stimulation, the spring on the precipice of release with the pressure of his calloused fingers. The ache you had felt up until then is replaced with an immense pleasure that you haven’t felt in, let’s face it, ever. You stand on your toes to give him a better angle. Your hands searched for something to anchor onto. One mindlessly reaches above to grab onto his hair as he licks you, hot breath warming your already flush neck, the other latches onto your ignored breast.

“Say it.”

You bucked against him, almost there, almost there, so very close....

Until he becomes utterly and completely still. 

“No, no. Please, Dabi! I need it. Fuck me, please Dabi!” You sob. 

And with that, you feel a smirk form against your neck. He pulls out of you and before you can so much as whimper, he shoves you back onto a large crate. He grabs one leg and forces it up and over his shoulder as he penetrates you, holding your waist to keep you steady as he pumps in fast and hard. His hip bumps into your overstimulated clit with each thrusts and it nearly obliterates you. In this new position, his cock kisses your cervix and, if you ever had any semblance of control since being pounded into, it has all but disappeared.

“Dabi! I’m going to...Ah, shit, I’m gonna...”

As you begin convulsing, you hear his name, loud, hot and heavy, escape from your lips. Your release sends him over the edge, and he ruts into you. 

Just as quickly, he slides out of you, places himself back into his pants and walks out with his hands in his pockets without a word before the cum can so much as leak out of you. You lay still and let the world refocus before you get up and go home. You come to realize that he didn’t so much as care if you came or not, and that the fact that you had was a happy coincidence on your part. What he was really aiming for was you to scream his name, just as he said you would. How little regard villains had felt about others left you in awe. Can you really go head to head against him or any other villain again? 

You submit your resignation the next day.

And two months later, as you stand wide-eyed and frozen over the test exposing itself to you on the bathroom sink, you can finally confirm that Dabi is, in no way shape or form, a liar.

[endcant]

someone missed the point of a post i made. i am holding onto my sanity by the tips of my fingernails

[honeymoonjin]

green room - jungkook x reader

A/N: anon request for a post-concert jealous Jungkook. He’s not happy that you were teasing him while he was performing Euphoria, and now it’s time for you to get your just-desserts. Word count 1.8k. Warnings for sexually explicit content: exhibitionism, public sex, unprotected sex, dom!jk, sub!reader, dirty talk, cum eating (does it count as cum eating when it’s hers not his?).

His breath is hot on your neck. “Did you think that was funny, hm?”

“Not here, Jungkook.”

“Oh?” He’s smiling but it’s bitter, harsh. “Is my baby girl making demands now? See, I’m pretty sure when you decided that teasing me out there in front of all those cameras was a good idea, you lost your right to decide where exactly I’ll fuck you.”

You press your body back into the concrete of the stadium hallway, shivering at the way the coldness seeps past your t-shirt. “Jungkook, come on. I was just playing around.”

You can hear the way footsteps echo throughout the area’s backstage area. This hallway is all but abandoned for now, but it’s impossible to not feel exposed when someone could pass through at any moment. Jungkook has one hand propped up on the wall, elbow crooked above your right shoulder as he leans in. Unlike you, he seems completely unconcerned about any onlookers. “Alright, then. You had your fun. It’s my turn to play now.”

“Jungkook, please,” you whisper, but all protests die in your throat as he takes his other hand and slips it without hesitation into your leggings, cupping your heat. He lets out a surprised laugh when there’s no additional barrier between the cotton and your folds. “The panties leave an outline,” you defend, “that was the only reason. I swear.”

His middle finger curls up, slipping easily between your folds and pressing against you. You whimper and writhe against him, thighs tightening around his hand. Although your cheeks burn at the thought of getting caught, you can’t help but wish he would at least sink that digit deep inside you, hitting those spots only he could.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. I have to watch you sitting on Hoseok-hyung’s lap the entire time I was performing the solo, and now I find out you weren’t even wearing panties? You’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No, that’s not it, Jungkookie. Please.” At this point you don’t even know if you’re asking him to stop or pleading for more. You crack open your eyes, only to see his face hovering over yours, drinking in your reaction.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyes darkening. “You seem to think it’s perfectly okay to tease me in public when I’m trying to work, so surely you wouldn’t care too much if Hoseok himself were to walk around that corner right now and see you with my hand buried inside you?”

You let out a little frustrated huff and throw your head back, knocking it against the concrete. The tip of his finger was circling slowly, pressing down right at your entrance, but never dipping in. Your hands clasp in and out of fists, wishing you could reach down and push him in, but you know if you did that, you’d have far bigger problems to deal with than his jealousy. “Come on, Jungkook, take me to your dressing room. Take me home. I need you.”

The hand is removed from your leggings, leaving you wet and wanting. You watch blearily as Jungkook begins to lap casually at his fingers, licking all your slick off of them with a doe-like expression on his face. If it weren’t for the glint in his eyes and the ache of your cunt, you might mistake it for innocence. “I’ll give you a choice,” he offers, sucking noisily at the tips of his fingers, cleaning them one by one with a pop, maintaining eye contact as he does so. Once he’s finished, his hand goes to the wall so that he’s pinning you to it, not bothering to wipe away the gloss that gathers over the freckle under his bottom lip. “Either I fuck you here like the shameless little girl you are, or I’ll take you home and you’ll get nothing at all. How about that?”

You glare up at him, but he just grins, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you. You hold his gaze for one moment longer, making sure he’s serious, before you come to a decision. “Make it fast,” you mutter reluctantly, hands grabbing at the belt on his jeans.

He lets out a satisfied chuckle, propping himself up as you undo the buckle hurriedly, tugging at his zip to free him from the confines of his black skinny jeans. As usual, you can’t help your mouth from watering at the sight of him. Although the two of you had been together for long enough and were no strangers to the bedroom, his dick really was a statement in and of itself, fitting the man it belonged to so well. Perfectly straight and delicately curved up, it was ambitious in its length and intimidating in its girth. You thumb at the head, collecting the few beads of precum that your grasping of him has produced.

Were it any other time, he would’ve let out that beautifully melodic sigh of his, curled closer into you, but today he masks it with a hiss of air through his teeth, dark brows furrowed. “That’s it,” he makes out through a tensed jaw, “so desperate for cock that you didn’t even care whose it was, is that right?”

“No,” you protest with a whine, taking one last glance down the hallway before you throw caution to the wind and tug at your own waistband, pushing the fabric down under your ass, feeling how wet the crotch is now that its pressed between your thighs.

Jungkook simply shakes his head at you when you go to grab his dick again. “How am I supposed to fuck you like this if your leggings are keeping your legs together? Either take them off or turn around.”

You swallow down your annoyance at him but can’t deny the swell of pleasure that rises inside of you when you turn and lean into the wall, letting your boyfriend widen your stance with his boots pushing at the insides of your ankles. You gasp and jump when an ice-cold hand, the one that had been propped up on the concrete wall, dips down between your legs to gather your slick.

“You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, in an infuriatingly loud tone, “your ass looks so beautiful like this. Bent over for me. But I think it’ll look much more beautiful tonight, after I’ve spanked you raw.” You whine and sway your hips from side-to-side slightly, hoping he’ll take pity on you and hurry up. “Since Hoseok-hyung enjoyed your ass so much, maybe I should send him a picture.” You naturally tense up with anticipation when you feel the blunt head of Jungkook’s cock pressing against your entrance. “So he knows that what he got is fucking nothing compared to this. So he knows who this ass belongs to. Hm?”

You hold back a strangled moan when he snaps his hips, burying himself about halfway inside you, you having clenched too hard for him to make it all the way in. “Oh, god,” you moan out, muffling the noise against your arm.

He laughs condescendingly. “But that might not be necessary. After all,” he stops to punctuate his statement with a thrust, plunging himself to the hilt and grinding his hips against you, “Hoseok and the other hyungs are in the green room right now, just around that corner.” He fucks into you again and your mouth falls into an o, toes curling inside your shoes, and fingernails scratching at the polished concrete. “Why bother sending a photo when I can just make you scream so loud that he hears you?”

With that said, he reaches forward to grab a handful of your hair, and tugs your head back, using his grip to give him momentum as he begins a steady, unforgiving rhythm. The stretch is tight; had it not been for the limits of doing this right where anybody could see you, Jungkook would’ve fingered you properly first, probably brought you to an orgasm to relax your body enough to take him. But with no time for that, the intrusion is making you pant hopelessly against the wall, fogging the cold surface with your breath as each brutal thrust lifts you up onto the balls of your feet.

“Fuck, Jungkook, I can’t-” You do your best to keep quiet, biting your lip, but it’s no use. With your neck arched back, you can’t bury your face properly onto your forearm, so the noises that do escape echo freely around the empty corridor, bouncing off the walls.

“What was that?” He breathes heavily, the hand that isn’t in your hair is curling tightly around your hip, latching onto your hipbone to pull you back onto his cock every time he spears forward. You’re certain it’ll bruise tomorrow, but for now you don’t care. “Are you close?”

“Not- yet,” you puff out, though Jungkook surely knows that. As much as you can feel pleasure all the way down to your toes, you and him both know you can’t cum from penetration alone, certainly not in such a short time.

“Take your time,” he sneers out, “I’m happy to just keep on going until you cum around me. No rush.”

You whine out his name but he just laughs, thrusting even harder with a grunt of exertion. There’s no way anyone near the corridor wouldn’t have heard you; being a concert venue, the sound traveled so well that you wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was echoing all the way around to the green room, like Jungkook said. The thought makes your body sing, clenching around him, but the small piece of sanity inside you cringes at the thought.

“Can I… Jungkookie, can I touch myself?”

“Fuck, yes, touch yourself for me. Good girl.”

You do as he allows, feeling that warm spreading feeling of a building orgasm inside you the moment your fingers, frigid cold from the concrete, massage frantically at your clit. “Oh god, I’m gonna-” You cut yourself off in favor of putting all your effort into cumming, but Jungkook gets the hint, speeding up even more until you’re crying out with every brutal thrust.

Like with any particularly powerful orgasm, you go completely silent; mouth hanging open and body convulsing. Your boyfriend lets you ride that wave, holding himself buried deep inside you as he follows you over the edge, filling you up even more with his cum.

The two of you go slack against the cool wall, panting and sticky with sweat. “Come on,” Jungkook says finally, “unless you want to hang out with the men who just heard me fuck your brains out, I think we should head home.”

[morgana-ren]

Hell and You XI

Summary:  After being abducted but somehow escaping a horrible fate, your life has been turned sideways. It's been months now and you're still trying to recover and cope with the traumatic events that occurred in that dark basement. Your friend and roommate, determined to get you back into the groove of things, convinces you to come out for a night on the town despite your better judgement. What's the worst that could happen? After all, it's been months, and Strade is long since through with you, right?

Rating: HA HA HA holy shit look if anything bothers you, just don’t. Stay far the fuck away. R+. 

AO3 Mirror if you prefer to read it there

You heard it right, folks. Chapter 11 is finally up and ready for business on a newly re-edited version of Hell and You, my dumpsterfire of a magnum opus. Gods I need to reevaluate my fucking priorities lmao

“Wake up, little one!”

An involuntary grunt pushed itself out of my throat, voicing my reluctance to oblige the command. It took me a full moment to drag my heavy eyelids open, only to be greeted with Strade’s predatory grin beaming down at me. The foggy veil of sleep lifted from my brain and reality hit me like a fucking truck. I realized exactly where I was and what was happening. My groan turned into a long, drawn out whine and I did my best to turn from him, only to quickly be reminded of the shackles around my wrists with a sear of pain as they grated my skin. The renewed need to get away from him was tearing me apart, inside and out.

“Come now, liebling! You’ve been asleep for hours now. It’s far past the afternoon!” He placed a large hand on my ribs and shook, digging his fingers in a little too deeply to be comfortable.

I hissed, shaking him off. I tried to remember even falling asleep, feeling violated by his presence, both conscious and not. “What time is it?”

“Almost three now.”

I almost jerked up, held back only by the stinging pain in my wrists again and a warning flare from my sore shoulders. “What day is it? How long was I out?”

A condescending smirk slowly made its way across his face. “It’s still Sunday, häschen. Why? Expecting something?”

A slow, deep crevice carved down into my stomach. Acid crawled up my throat, and I resisted the urge to hurl.

“What do you want, Strade?” I closed my eyes, if only so I didn’t have to look at him. I wanted to tear those golden eyes out with my bare fucking hands.

“It’s been a while since you’ve eaten.” He pulled something from his pocket and thrust it into my face. I forced myself to look at it, only to be greeted with a broken, crumpled energy bar held between his meaty fingers. “You should eat. Keep your energy up.” He twisted it around, shaking it slightly as if to entice me.

Between the smell of stale grain, the raisins that were dangerously close to fermenting, and his horrid, wolfish smile, something inside me broke.

Despite the obvious danger I was in, I almost choked on my own spit laughing. It bubbled up from deep in my chest, breaking through a barricade of self-preservation and sanity. The overwhelming need to be petty overrode my better judgement. “Is that the only thing you ever eat?”

He stared at me blankly, a sliver of curiosity breaking through his stoic façade. My anger boiled over, and I cackled even louder, tears brimming in the corners of my eyes.

“Holy shit. I knew you were pathetic, but this really takes the cake.” The words came out like vomit. I knew this would be a big mistake, but I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to spew some of his own bile back at him. I closed my eyes again to keep the tears from falling.

“You technically have an entire house, including a fully stocked kitchen, and you still choose to live off those cheap fucking energy bars.” I began digging my nails into my palm to ease the mania, trying to bring myself back down to reality, but it just kept coming. “You have no idea how to even take care of yourself, do you? Too busy taking people apart and reenacting your bullshit slasher fantasy to learn how to take care of yourself even on a base level?”

I opened my eyes briefly, enough to see him scowl, face darkening as he narrowed his eyes on me.

I stopped laughing.

“Such a sweet girl,” He bared his canines at me as one of his hands shot down, grabbing my jaw and yanking it towards him, pulling my face far enough to tug on my restraints and forcing a small cry from me. “Offering to make me food. Is that what I heard?”

“Mhmm!” I nodded fervently. “Okay, okay, let go!” His fingertips were digging into my already sore jaw, pushing my cheeks and lips into a pucker.

“What was that?” He leaned in, cocking his head, clenching his hand even more. “One more time?”

“Please!” It wasn’t so much a sentence as it was a mushy worded plea. “Strade, please stop!”

He pulled his hand away but kept his face close. I could already feel his handprints bruising into my flesh. He stroked my hairline as I moved my jaw back and forth, trying to ease the ache. “Kind of you to offer.” Reaching behind him, he pulled his knife. “Now be a good little pet and don’t move.”

One of his hands slipped the blade just under my chin, and the other went to unlock my handcuffs. I thought about rushing him as I felt one of my hands fall free, at least until his knife dug into my chin hard enough that I felt a small drop of blood dribble down my throat. He looked down at me almost knowingly as he immediately grabbed my other free hand and slapped the constraint back on, only in front this time.

Motherfucker.

He pulled himself up from the bed, yanking me up by the chain of my binds as well. I opened my mouth in a wordless cry, letting him drag me upwards by my raw wrists from the mattress. One of them began bleeding anew, letting small crimson drops fall onto the carpet as he led me out the door and down the hallway, jerking me along by the small amount of slack he allowed. This carpet is so beyond ruined.

When we reached the kitchen, I was breathing deeply and clenching my fingers. My wrists were raw and bleeding, my arms aching and shoulders barely able to move. Either oblivious or uncaring to my pain, he shoved me towards a counter, letting me catch myself against the harsh granite with my forearms.

I rubbed at my joints, trying to scrape off some of the dried blood as he lumbered over by the fridge, stopping halfway as he spied my knife block. He looked at it for a few seconds before he picked up in his hands, turning and smirking at me as he placed it on top of the fridge and pushed it back where I couldn’t reach, doing the same with our silverware drawer and anything he deemed a threat to his personhood.

“Oh, fuck you, you fucking prick.” I spat, coaxing a small giggle from him.

“If you want me to reach anything for you, you just have to ask me nicely.” He reached over and ruffled my hair.

“Strade, will you please hand me that big ass knife?”

He pursed his lips and gave me an annoyed look. “Cute.”

“Okay, genius, you go ahead and tell me how I’m going to cook anything without any silverware.”

He looked to the side for a few seconds as he pondered it, chewing on his lip. He looked around again briefly before turning and stalking back over to the fridge. He yanked it open, pulling out a carton of eggs and throwing them on the counter. He then proceeded open and slam a few drawers before pulling out a spatula and holding it towards me.

“Eggs sound nice, don’t they? And I don’t think you could do much damage with this.”

I yanked it from his hand, lip twitching. “You want to test that theory?”

“Oh, süße. Don’t bring a spatula to a knife fight.” He grinned, palming his blade.

“One of these times, I’m going to get that thing away from you, and I’m going to dig it into your fucking eye socket.”

He gave me a coy look, running his tongue over his teeth and biting his lip subtly. “I was planning on just eating a little food but talking like that makes me think you have something else in mind.” He went to reach for me again, and I jerked out of his range, holding my hands up defensively.

“I’ll make the damn food, just don’t touch me.”

He kept the predatory smile on his face, leering nearby. “Playing hard to get, hmm?” He pulled his knife out, tapping it playfully on his lower lip. “That’s fine, for now. But you might want to hurry. I am hungry, but I’m also feeling a little... under stimulated.”

I backed away from him, showing him that fear I’d tried so hard to keep down. I had to draw this out as long as I could. I just had to hold him off until someone came home. I knew what under stimulated meant for Strade, and I knew what that meant for me.

Pain. Lots of it.

Something about the way my hands were shaking or maybe my terrified expression must have excited him. His face blossomed into a deep shade of red, and he ran his tongue along his teeth. “Keep looking at me like that and I might not be able to resist.”

I swallowed down hard, turning from him as quickly as I could. Shakily, I looked around in the upper cabinets for a bowl I could crack the eggs in, which was much harder than I’d like to admit in handcuffs. The rest of my efforts went to pretending I couldn’t feel his horrid stare on my backside. “Is scrambled okay?”

He made a small humming noise which I took as acceptance. He had taken to leaning against the opposite cabinet nonchalantly, using his knife to clean out underneath his fingernails. I started cracking the eggs in the bowl, trying to focus on the cooking instead of him.

I wasn’t sure how many he’d want, so I just used as many as we had left. I used the spatula as best as I could to beat the eggs into a yellow slurry before reaching down and pulling a small pan out from underneath the oven and putting it on the stove. Something so simple seemed so terrifying with the knowledge that Strade was so close.

It did occur to me that I might be able to use the pan to fend him off, but frankly between the stunted movement of my arms and his overbearing form, I decided against it. He’d probably just take the pan and knock me clean over the head with it. If I was going to play the attack card, I needed the advantage.

I noticed he was being uncharacteristically quiet, which was exceptionally unnerving. I didn’t know where his mind was wandering, but whatever it was, I had to put a stop to it. If I could steer his mind somewhere that didn’t involve more of my blood, I had to do it.

“The um...” I paused briefly, not entirely sure what I wanted to say. As I poured the eggs into the pan, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, he was staring pretty intently at me, waiting for me to speak.  “The cut on your chest is pretty nasty. You should probably clean it.”

I turned over my shoulder and looked at him. He had a surprised look on his face, eyebrows raised and slow blinking. He stared at me for a few moments before looking down, prodding at the shreds of his black undershirt and across the deep, marred flesh that crossed his chest courtesy of me. He rubbed his fingertips together, trying to dust off some of the dried blood that wiped on his fingers. It looked like he had managed to patch up his arm but didn’t have time to get to his chest before I woke up.

“I suppose you’re right, Schatz.”

I was moving the egg batter around in the pan but stiffened when I noticed Strade approach the sink beside me. He chucked his knife aside, turning the faucet on and digging his fingers underneath his tank top. He yanked it over his head, chucking the discarded clothing in the sink under the running water.

He was completely shirtless now, and I tried to recall if I’d ever seen him quite this naked before. It was odd to say the least since we had technically slept together (if you could call it that) but there was something too familiar, too personal about seeing him do something like this. I don’t think I’d ever seen so much of his skin, let alone his bare chest. Then again, we didn’t have the most normal relationship.

It was strange. His stomach was dusted with tufts of hair, particularly on his upper chest and then kicking back up again near his happy trail where it thickened again. Considering his heritage, that didn’t surprise me, but what did strike me is how tan he was. I guess I hadn’t really noticed it before, with the torture and all. While he was definitely a bigger guy, he was also fairly built, large muscles tucked away under the layer of chub on his tummy and arms. All things considered, he would have been a very handsome man, were it not for his dirty little secret.

His golden eyes peered intently downward, lip gently clenched between his teeth in concentration as he palmed water in his hands and washed over the crossed, jagged slices on his chest. They looked painful, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He ripped a few paper towels, dabbing the wounds gently and wiping away at the excess blood.

“Your attention is flattering, Hase.” His gaze slowly turned up to mine and a deceptively soft smile curled across his face.

“I wasn’t staring, I just-“ What was I doing, exactly? “That looks bad. I was going to offer you a bandage or something. You might want to wrap it.”

His grin turned patronizing, lowering his eyelids and tilting his head. “We can pretend that’s what you were doing if you want.”

I scowled, turning back to the eggs that were beginning to cook. “I take it that’s a no then.”

“Don’t worry, little one. Of all the nasty little injuries I’ve seen in my days, this one barely holds a candle.” He scoffed, waving his hand around before picking his knife back up off the sink. “You are quite good with this knife though. Knew just how to make it hurt.”

“Good.” I huffed out under my breath.  

“See?” Strade chucked the bloody paper towels on the counter and stepped toward me, playing with a lock of my hair in his fingers. “There you go again. You know what that kind of talk does to me.”

I rolled my eyes, making a noise of disgust as I turned my attentions back toward the food. I pretended not to notice that Strade pulled away from me, opting to stand menacingly in my peripheral watching me for a few moments before moving back behind me where I could no longer see him.

That made me anxious. Very, very anxious.

It wasn’t until he pressed himself against me that I began to panic. I could feel him leaning down, his breath on the back of my neck. I almost jumped when I felt his hands on the low of my hips, the metal handle of his knife pressed against my hip bone.

Fuck me.

“You know, you’re precious like this.” His free hand crawled up my stomach, making its way to my ear where he pushed the stray strands of hair back behind it. I had to swallow down the bile when I felt his upper body fall against my back, his mouth right in my ear. “Cooking me breakfast. Worrying about me. My little domestic hausfrau.” He let his arm wander down and rest on my shoulder, curling around my neck slightly. “A man could get used to that.”

“Could a man get used to having his head smashed repeatedly with the heaviest object his ‘frau’ can find? Because that’s what you’re going to get.” I hissed through my teeth, scraping the forming egg clumps from the bottom of the pan.

Another dark laugh bubbled up from deep in his chest. His grip on my neck tightened uncomfortably, and he allowed his full body weight to push into me, trapping me between him and the hot stove. The thing that made me almost swallow my tongue, however, was the unmistakable hardness I felt from his pelvic region pushing against my lower back.

“I can think of several better uses for your mouth rather than sassing me.” The hand with the knife slowly crawled upward, trailing the edge up my stomach and neck, pushing only hard enough to sting slightly. When he reached my face, he turned the blade, pressing the flat bit against my cheek.

“Strade-“ I started, the gravity of the situation setting in. Very hot stove in front. Very dangerous stab-happy man in back. This had to be the world’s worst threesome.

“Let’s play a little game, Hase.” He pulled the knife from my face, opting to grab my hand that was holding the pan straight instead, clenching his fist against my knuckles. “Put your hand on the stove.”

“What? No!” I almost tried to buck him off, but he dug the blade into my joints, letting a small stream of blood drip down onto the ceramic. I whined in pain, looking over at him pleadingly.

His maniacal smile was back, and he bumped my backside with his hips, sending my upper body lurching forward as my legs collided with the oven. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Strade, please, I need that hand to cook your food with! I can’t cook for you if my hand is burnt to shit!”

He gave me a faux look of disappointment, wrapping his fingers harshly around my hand before slamming it down in the middle of the stove; thankfully away from a heating plate. “I thought we were becoming so close. You know I like to give you a choice in these things. You might not even get hurt at all.”

The literal pain in my neck from his romantic idea of fellatio said otherwise.

Whatever it was he wanted, I knew it was pointless to fight. He was getting excited, breathing heavy and beginning to sweat heavily from his chest and neck. I could feel his front beginning to stick to my back from his overexcitement. I just needed to get it over with quickly. I could take it. Just handle him until they got home.

“O-okay. I’ll play.”

“Nettes Mädchen.” His grip loosened on my neck, clawing down and making a point to grab and knead my breast before moving down and playing with the band of my shorts. “I want you to beg.”

I was taken back a little bit. Begging, in the grand scheme of things, was easy. If he wanted me to beg, sure.

“Strade, please.”

He laughed, nipping at my neck. The hand on my lower body started teasing down the elastic, slipping down to my private areas. I squirmed, feeling his hands dip low, violating me.

“Eager, hmm?” One of his feet harshly kicked my legs further apart, rubbing his groin on the back of my shorts. Two of his fingers found their way between my folds, stroking gently. “Good.”

I sucked in a breath. His calloused fingers, as much as I hated it, felt good. At least until I felt a sharp pain in my hand and yelped, seeing him dig the knife far enough into my hand to make it bleed. A small bit of blood coated his blade before he pulled away, reaching down to the front of the stove and switching on one of the burners. The one directly adjacent to my hand.

He began rubbing me gently in small, controlled circles. I maneuvered the spatula around, if only to maintain a small amount of control as he manhandled me. I closed my eyes as he loosened his grip, holding back a sigh of relief.

His bloody knife tangled slightly in my hair as he brought his hand up and stroked my head. An uncharacteristically gentle act. “I want you to scream.”

As quickly as his gentleness came, it left. He yanked my hair, forcing my head back, letting the tip of the blade run along my scalp. “I like when you scream for me. Scream for my hands, or the knife, or even the burn. But you will scream. And you can even choose!” He sounded giddy for a moment until his voice darkened. “Or I will.”

I didn’t need to see his face to know the look on it. The same one he gave me when he pulled out the knife the first time. The same one he got in the alley way. Pink and flushed and needy. Enthusiastic. Excited in anticipation of what was to come. Or who.

“You’ll come undone by your hands,” he picked my hand up and held it by the burner, reveling in my uncomfortable worming for a moment before returning it back to its original position. “Or mine.” His fingertips stopped rubbing me, finding its place at my opening.

“Understand?” He leaned his head down by mine, pulling on the strands of my hair tangled in his fingers.

I swallowed, trying to think about the situation. There wasn’t an answer but yes. Strade did not take ‘no’ for answer. Even if I entertained the notion, he’d either cut me or burn me anyway. There was a part of me that felt him beneath my bottoms too, understanding that just letting go and giving over to him might be the best option.

For my pride? No. For my well-being and continued breathing? Absolutely.

I nodded, swallowing down hard and trying to finish the food in front of me. I can do this. I’ve survived Strade before. I can do this.

“Let’s play then.” He whispered in my ear, slowly pushing a thick finger inside me. I couldn’t help but gasp as he worked his way in, keeping his thumb padding against my sensitive nerves. I hadn’t been with anyone, not since the last time with him, and it’s like I had somehow been expecting him. My fear only served to heighten the sensations he gifted me.

I could feel the heat of the stove against my free hand, understanding the consequences if I disappointed him, but his actions were already making my knees weak. I couldn’t help but grind into his hand, trying to push him deeper, work him further against me.

I felt him smile into my hair, adding in a second finger. A moan left my lips as he nudged it inside as well, curling his fingers slightly as my body yielded to him. I tried to mix the eggs again, seeing the slight burned brown beginning to appear on the bottom, but I couldn’t focus as his fingers began thrusting harder, his thumb actively circling my clit.

I let my head fall against his shoulder, breathing heavy as his finger fucked into me. At least until I felt my alternate hand maneuvered close enough to the burning stove to panic me. The heat wasn’t quite so intense as to hurt, just enough to for me to feel waves rolling off the burning metal and onto my hand. Squealing, I tried to rip my hand away, only for Strade to hold it down in a cruel grip, never stopping his ministrations.

“You like it, don’t you?” He giggled, curling his fingers further and dragging them against my walls, coaxing a loud noise from me. I was acutely aware of the danger I was in, but it didn’t stop me from thrusting my lower body against him, trying to give him deeper access. I exhaled, letting my head drop and allowing him to do to me what he wanted. He obliged me, pressing his thumb deeper and oscillating his fingers, rubbing his growing erection against the thin layer of fabric that was my shorts.

I bit my lip, refusing to answer him. If I had to cum for him, fine, I guess, but there was no way in hell I was going to admit that I actually enjoyed it. He continued regardless, pushing his fingers deeper inside me until I could feel the dripping wetness leaking between my thighs and onto his palm.

“See? You don’t have to say anything. You tell me everything I need to know.” He licked across the clotted wound on my neck, delighting in the response he had elicited from me.

“I-it’s a fucking-“ I breathed out, trying to keep my voice even. “Uncontrolled r-response. It doesn’t mean I want this.”

Wow. Even I didn’t believe me. I might as well have said ‘Fuck me Strade, fuck me now.’

“Whatever you have to tell yourself. You can’t lie to me. I know you.” He removed his other hand from my wrist, releasing me from the precarious situation my hand was in near the burner, opting to reach back up to my breast instead. He yanked my top down, rolling and harshly tugging my nipple between his fingers. Liquid fire shot straight between my legs, and a loud mewl escaped my throat as I bucked into him.

He chuckled, groping and kneading as he continued pumping his hand. I could smell the eggs burning, and I knew somewhere in my mind that I needed to stir it, but I couldn’t bring myself to move, too busy laxing into him and losing myself in his touch.

“Move your hand closer.” He muttered, trying to give the strain in his pants some relief against my thigh.

“Mmm?” I stuttered out, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. Fuck it felt good it felt really really good and-

“Näher!” He seethed, bumping my arm with his body until I lurched into the stove again. My hand. He wanted me to move my hand.

Shakily, I moved my hand even closer to the rim. The heat was intense now and leaving it here for too long would dry my skin into complete rawness, slowly weakening and cracking the skin. A slow burn. Seems fitting. It was beginning to hurt, but the sensation wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as his fingers invading me.

“You’re getting close.” He huffed, practically dry humping me into the stove.

“I can see that.” I mumbled, glancing down at my hand through heavily eyelids.

“Not what I meant.” He began maneuvering quicker, and I threw my head back on his shoulder, whimpering pathetically. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to plead for him, urge him to go harder, faster, cry his name and cling on to him.

“J-Jesus fuck-“

My cursing only spurred him forward, thrusting me very rapidly into oncoming orgasm. I could hear my breaths getting more and more high pitched, abandoning the eggs and clenching both my hands on the warm porcelain as I threw myself forward. I was on the peak, about to go off the edge, just a little more, fuck just a little more fuck fuck fuck!

That’s when I heard it. The sound of the front door opening.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Love me, love me not ~ pt.7

07: When Grayson makes a mistake

Summary: Grayson and Y/N have a heart to heart, but not before they learn each other’s clothed secrets first and Grayson’s wish to dominate her comes to life.

Warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT, blood, swearing

Word count: 4 k

Love me, love me not ~ Series Masterlist

Grayson entered the dark apartment, wondering if he had come at an inconvenient time. A part of him thought she wasn’t home, the house unusually quiet, the lights turned off. He knew she feared the dark, she’d never leave the lights off, but the door wasn’t properly locked and he felt inclined to check. She asked him to come. She wanted to talk. Grayson refused to believe she’d go back on her word.

And then he heard the faint sound of shattered glass and a disgruntled voice with it. He set out to find the source immediately, noticing light come from a cracked door of her bathroom, knowing she kept her word. She was there and she wanted to talk.

“Y/N?” But when Grayson pushed at the door with just the tip of his index finger, he found more than just the girl he couldn’t get his mind off of.

The blood smeared on baby blue tiles and a small, white, fluffy carpet in front of the sink. She had her bloodied, right hand close to her chest, a dustpan filled with glass in the other, no reflection in the mirror he saw her brush her hair in front of the last time they were at hers.

“What the hell happened?!” He rushed in, blasting the door open fully, grabbing the dustpan and throwing it into the sink with one hand and pulling her into his chest with the other. He needed to hold her. Just for a moment. He needed to freak out and hold her before he could calmly fix her hand. Fix her.

“It’s fine. I just slipped and hit the mirror hand first.” She plastered a fake smile upon her pink lips, the lipstick half-eaten by now. “Stupid carpet.” She kicked the white fluff under her feet dramatically, but she wasn’t fooling Grayson.

So, he picked her up with ease, placing her on the corner of her tub on the other side of the bathroom, folding her right arm in the elbow and lifting it to use gravity as a way to lessen the bleeding. She didn’t fight him much. How could she when he could tell her lies now? He could read her a little easier now.

“What are you doing?” She asked with slight annoyance in her tone as Grayson turned around and started opening her cabinets in search for something.

“Looking for first aid. Gonna tell me where it is or will I have to go through your pads to find it?” He didn’t mean to sound as harsh as it came out, nor did he mean to seem insensitive. He felt his temper spark and his impatience grow and his worry for her didn’t help either.

“At the top of the cabinet.” She piped up, understanding he’s on edge and she needs to tread lightly.

“Fuck. How would you ever reach that?” He muttered under his breath, barely reaching it himself only to rush toward her, ready to help.

“You really don’t have to. I mean, do you even know how?” She asked, not trying to be mean but it made him scoff anyway. She knew it would be smart to be quiet for a while.

Grayson busied himself with her hand, turning it over in his to properly see the damage, discovering a few deep looking cuts and one with a small shard still in. He washed the tweezers with alcohol, turning her hand so her palm would face him, allowing him to grab the piece with ease, pulling it out in a single twist of a wrist.

She hissed under her breath, closing her eyes so forcefully in an attempt to stop herself from crying out. He noticed. She hoped he wouldn’t, but he did, especially when he had to wash her hand with alcohol to rinse any leftover bacteria.

Grayson pulled her hand over the tub before warning her. “This will sting like a bitch. If you need to cry, do it. No shame in that.” He tried to sound softer and he managed…to some degree, but his anger was palpable.

She didn’t cry as he let the alcohol pour, managing to clear the area well enough for him to see the cuts aren’t deep at all, allowing him to place sterile material over the cuts instead of blindly applying pressure and rushing her to the emergency room.

“You know, when me and E. did YouTube, there was a year when bad luck seemed to follow us.” Grayson began, deciding to distract her and use the chance to tell her he knows she lied to him about this injury. Grayson didn’t like liars.

“We were on tour, our dad got a terminal diagnosis, still posting videos on Tuesdays despite the traveling and fan meetings and missing our family.” He sniffled as if the memory pained him greatly and she knew…she had heard the short version of this story before…on his channel.

“We were both losing it…slowly, but surely. And one night it got particularly bad.” He drew in a deep breath, his eyes focused only on the bandage he was wrapping around her hand like a professional, while hers remained glued to him.

“We didn’t think we’d have the video out in time, we were running on no sleep and emotions were high…and I grabbed Ethan when I noticed he would explode. In his…episode, he pushed me off and I fell on my arm, breaking it about the same time he had punched a window.” Grayson swallowed thickly, his fingers holding the end of the bandage as his free hand looked for something to hold it in place.

“The glass nearly severed his finger. It was that bad. So, with a broken arm, I still held onto his bleeding, nearly severed hand as we waited for help. I held it all the while watching the damage his fist had done to the glass window.” Grayson finished, tapping her hand lightly before running the faucet behind her, washing his hands clean of her blood.

“That’s how I know you punched the mirror. I know people consider me to be the dumb twin, but I’m not stupid. I see things more clearly because I’m always overlooked. I know things no one would expect me to know because I lived through some serious shit. If you don’t want to tell me why you did something, just say so. Don’t lie to me. I deserve better than that.” He stated, finally meeting her gaze, catching her nod just in time.

“You do. I’m sorry. And I do want to talk. I do. But not right now when my emotions are all over the place…So, if you’re not too mad, what do you say we have sex first and talk second? It’s been a month since that first night.” She smirked, wanting more than anything for Grayson to accept and fuck her into a good mood…into some sort of stability. She needed to forget this outburst and to find some bravery in the adrenaline he would provide her with. It would surely be enough for that talk.

“You’re hurt. And I am angry. And my clean bill of health is in the car.” Grayson reasoned. “And while I’d be thrilled about a girl wanting to have sex instead of talking on any other day, I don’t want to use you. And I don’t want to feel used by you.” Y/N felt her heart drop, her healthy hand quickly moving to cup his cheek, stealing his attention.

“Fuck, Grayson. You really don’t get it? I do want you, and to talk to you. But I need to forget this.” She looked down at her bandaged hand, sighing. “I need to calm down to think straight and I need you to help me. Please. Just fuck me back to sanity where my mind isn’t trying tear my heart to bits because I don’t know how to make it stop. The noise in my head never stops.” She croaked the last part, her tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Please make it stop.” She whispered and Grayson felt his heart ache as her teary eyes pulled at his strings. But the hand she let slide down to his thighs, just inches shy from his dick had made his pants tighten, his cock twitching and throbbing again after weeks of desiring this broken woman who was begging him to fuck her.

And he wanted to. He did. So he caved when he jumped to his feet and grabbed her by the waist rather roughly. He gripped her so tightly she felt the bruises come in and this is before she even had any clothes removed. Lucky for Grayson she was in just a little pink dress, the straps falling off her shoulder the moment his lips pressed against hers and her arms wrapped around his shoulders instinctively to pull him closer.

She moaned into the kiss. It wasn’t a gentle, romantic kiss he had gotten her addicted to. This was a forceful, teeth-clashing, lip biting, painful kind of a kiss and she couldn’t get enough of it. She couldn’t get enough of him nor his wandering hands. The left one remained at the small of her back, making sure she doesn’t fall into the tub and breaks her neck. The right one slid down her shoulders, delicately dancing along her collarbone before grabbing the silky material of her dress, pulling it down with such ferocity it ripped, revealing her beauteous breasts, and his lips detach from hers.

He sucks on her nipple, her hand pressing into the back of his neck as he does, her thighs rubbing together for some friction before he slaps her knee and growls.

"Stop or I will."

His right hand replaced the left on her back, the left one sliding down, pulling the dress up, his fingers trailing her inner thigh, all the way to her soaked panties, rubbing her clit through the fabric, getting a shuddered moan as his reward. He sucked and nibbled on her nipple, his fingers gripping her panties as he pulled them down violently fast with one hand, making the silk rip with the force which she responded to with her fingernails digging into his neck, still the only available part of his body as he refused to take off anything.

"Gray", she breathes out. And he thinks this might be the first time she had ever actually used a nickname since they've met. He knows she's putty in his hands. Grayson didn’t wait, pushing a finger into her wet pussy immediately, listening carefully to the heavenly sound she let out, making his dick feel trapped in the constricting fabric of his dress pants.

"Oh, god!" She let the words roll on her tongue, making him hiss out. "Not god, me. You're mine now."

He curled his finger, pumping in and out with a speed even he couldn’t believe he chose, feeling her shiver in his arms as her head fell back in ecstasy. Grayson added a second finger because he knew despite her slickness, he needed to stretch her out more in order to fit. It made her eyes roll back in her head and he couldn’t help but smirk, knowing she can’t see he had softened for her already.

“P-ple-pleasee.” She managed to stutter, her pussy clenching around his fingers desperately, her pleas only fueling him.

“Promise you won’t lie to me.” He responded gruffly, curling his fingers in just the right place as she screamed out, making her tremble and her legs shake.

“N-never. Just fuck me already!” She groaned, shouting at him and Grayson finally saw the woman he met, the girl who wouldn’t take shit from anyone…the girl who dominated him their first time and he loved that girl. He wanted that girl.

"Who's begging for mercy now?" He was arrogant and she was on the verge of putting an end to it. But he had finally caved and done what she needed him to. So, he pulled his fingers out, pushing them into her open mouth to let her get a taste, only to lift her up as her eyes opened when she licked them clean. 

He felt her legs wrap around him, her hips moving against him as he walked to her bedroom, fully clothed. She would definitely leave a wet patch on his fancy pants, but he didn’t care. It only made him more impatient.

He dropped her on the bed, watching her bounce before he ripped the dress off her as well, having her naked before him. It left a few burn marks, reminding Grayson she’s a lot more sensitive than she shows, slowing down as a result. She propped herself up on her elbows, looking him up and down as he pulled the shirt over his head.

“You do know those panties and that dress were ridiculously expensive, right?” She remarked, watching him raise a brow as if he didn’t give a shit. And he didn’t. Instead, he unbuckled his belt, pushing his pants down, giving her a perfect view of the precum stained briefs before her. She couldn’t help but lick her lips as he fumbled with his wallet, taking out a condom.

She wanted to pull his briefs down herself, rip them with her teeth, but she felt his need for dominance. He was setting the pace and she decided to let him. At least for that night.

“I’ll buy you better lingerie and a dress of your choosing. And then I’ll fuck you in the changing rooms in them.” Grayson’s voice didn’t waver and he definitely had no sarcasm hiding in his tone. He was serious. Utterly serious. And she felt herself throbbing with just the sound of his voice.

The throbbing increased as he freed his big, veined dick, the condom wrapping it’s pretty pink tip…she nearly laughed when she realized the pink tip would go great with her pink lipstick. But he wasn’t interested in a blowjob tonight. 

He wanted something more.

As he crept up on her, she moved back on her bed, spreading her legs for him to see just how wet he makes her, letting him be the hunter as she becomes the prey.

Grayson wanted to ride her, he wanted her on all fours with her perky ass in the air and her face in the mattress, but he didn’t want her hand to bleed through the bandage, deciding missionary was a good start.

He settled himself between her legs, propping himself up because he’d crush her under his weight otherwise. His eyes found hers first, making sure he wasn't hurting her nor scaring her. He wanted this to be a memorable night, not something she'd look back on and regret. He wanted to rock her fucking world.

"You good?" Grayson decided to ask, just in case she changed her mind. However, the way she buckled her hips up against his, seeking his body to come closer, matching the nod she had given him, Grayson knew she was ready for him.

He pushed her legs further apart, hooking the left one around his waist, throwing the other over his shoulder as he pushed himself in a little slower than he wanted as he found her tight pussy clenching too hard to bottom out on the first thrust.

"You feel so good." He whispered, almost as if he's angry with the fact. A part of him hoped that first night and everything that followed were a result of a fantasy, a myth he kept building up in his head. But now, struggling to fit her warm pussy as her breathing synchronized with his and her eyes looked into his so intently he felt dizzy...now he knew he was truly a sucker for this woman who had already turned his life upside down.

The second thrust got him deeper, enough for her lips to fall open and her beautiful moans to sound again. The third one got him all in, his balls slapping against her ass as he moaned himself, feeling his forehead vein pop up with the sheer pleasure that ran through his body.

"Gr-Grayson." She mumbled, her fingernails digging into his back, just under his shoulder blade as he stilled, looking down on her as if he couldn't believe this was the reality and not a dream.

She was tight. Much tighter than the girls he used to fuck before. And she meant something. She meant more than any of them before.

"That's right, baby. Call my name." He smirked because she asked him to fuck her, not make love to her. So that’s what he did.

Grayson thrusted into her, going with full, deep strokes, quick and effective. She was a moaning mess under him, just as he wanted. His hand rubbed circles on her clit, making sure he drives her insane.

"Cum for me. C'mon." He guided her, wanting to get her to the finish line. 

Grayson went faster and faster, taking the breath from her lungs, readjusting her legs a few times as he pummeled into her until he felt her clenching, until she screamed loud enough he was sure it was a real, toe-curling orgasm. 

"That's a good girl. Such a good girl for me." 

Only then did his strokes get sloppier. Only then did he let himself go as he remained deep inside her, twitching as he came, his head buried in her neck as he moaned into her ear shamelessly, her fingers in his hair, guiding him through his high. 

He didn’t even realize when he put almost all his weight on her, but she didn’t bother saying anything. She could breathe, she wasn’t in pain. In fact, his weight had felt oddly comforting. She felt secure in his muscle cage. She felt home. Grayson remained on top for a few minutes, trying to catch a breath and calm his heart. 

He rolled off, tying the condom before discarding it in a bin close to her bed, Y/N whimpering as she lost the feeling he provided…both of fullness and comfort. 

She already missed him. 

All of him.

“Think it’s time to have that heart to heart.” Grayson turned on his side, his arm pulling her to her side as well, remaining on her warm skin…she was finally the same temperature as he is.

“I can’t say I love you, but I can say I like you. I enjoy spending time with you.” She started, not holding back on him. She placed her left hand on his strong arm, dancing along his bicep with her fingertips. “I enjoy kissing you.” She drawled out, her eyes following her fingers as a smirk crept up on her face. “I enjoy fucking you.” She stated as if she hadn’t just said that. “And being fucked by you.” She smiled, her eyes meeting his as he raised an eyebrow.

“So, we don’t have to end this tomorrow?” Grayson asked openly, feeling lifted and free. She made him feel lifted and free and alive like he hadn’t in a long while. She made him want to reach for the stars just so he could present them to her on a silver platter. She motivated him. She guided him and while she couldn’t say the L-word just yet, it was already dancing at the tip of his tongue, itching to come out. It took everything in him to keep it to himself for a while longer, a ding from her phone so suddenly interrupting his premature love confession.

“Ignore the phone.” She whispered, moving her lips to his jaw, the sharp bone she considered her second favorite bone in his body….her favorite was much lower, hidden between his legs and it wasn’t really a bone.

“And ignore the contract. I’m not letting you go just yet.” She trailed his jaw with feather-like kisses and Grayson honestly believed he’s in heaven. This was a perfect example of what heaven should feel like.

“You’re a difficult woman to resist.” Grayson chuckled, his heart jumping as her phone pinged once again.

“Sure you don’t wanna check that?” He asked, feeling her head shake without even seeing it for she seemed more interested in his neck than anything else.

“What if it’s important? Maybe they wanna let you know about my audition before they tell me?” Grayson insisted, but had he know what would happen, he never would have.

“Ugh, fine. Gimme.” She groaned, holding her hand open as she waited for Grayson to reach it. He didn’t mean to look at the screen, but it lit up as he took the phone, the name drawing his attention to it even more as his eyebrows pulled closer together and he couldn’t help but ask.

“Why the fuck is Henry texting you?” Grayson placed the phone on her palm, visibly tense as she scrolled through the messages so carelessly. She didn’t even look up as he continued talking…more like ranting.

“I mean, you two obviously weren’t a right match. Had it been right, had he made you happy, you never would have cheated. Why won’t he give up?” Now she looked up, her eyes wide before they narrowed significantly at him, her nostrils flaring and her mouth setting in a thin line.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I mean, he needs to let go. I get why it’s hard because you’re so….you, but dude needs to learn when to stop trying.” Grayson licked his lips, sucking on the bottom one as he felt her stare was actually a glare and she was definitely shooting daggers his way. 

The atmosphere changed, almost like in the movies when the screen changes color to a darker, deader tone and you know something bad will happen.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” He was scared of her answer. Just when he thinks he found some solid ground, she pulls the rug from under him. Except, he did it to himself now.

“I cheated?” She pipes up, her voice unusually high, but strong.

“It’s okay. I’m not judging. I’m just annoyed by his perseverance.” Grayson shrugged, making her sit up. She pulled the covers closer to her body, hiding herself from his view as if he hadn’t just been kissing her intently.

“Get out.” Her voice is airy and cold, her facade back on and her smile wiped away from her face just as the fire in her eyes is replaced by icy flames of a snowstorm.

“What did I say?” Grayson tried to come closer, making her take a few moves back, nearly falling off her bed.

“Get the fuck out and leave the keys. We will be breaking up tomorrow, during the dinner we have scheduled. You break up with me as per contract.” She didn’t even waver with the notion, unblinking as she stared ahead, not at him, through him.

“Y/N please.” Grayson breathes out, finding it impossible to pinpoint what he had done that was so wrong in such a short period of time. But she was beyond reason tonight. He could see that much.

“Break up with me or I will with you. This…all of it.” She pointed from him to herself. “It’s over. Now get the fuck out before I call security.” She exclaimed, walking into her bathroom before locking it behind her, starting her bath as she still felt his hands all over her, fighting tears. She doesn’t cry. Not over guys. Not anymore. She just wanted him gone.

And he went. He picked his things up, lost as never before. The lump in his throat couldn’t compare to the pain in his heart and the confusion in his mind, whispering to himself as he left her place.

“What have I done?”

Tags: @xalayx @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @anything-dolan @peacedolantwins @maybgrayson @nowheredolan @graydolan12 @beautorigin @justordinaryjen @starrydolan @pitreshawn @grays-laugh   @adventureswithmell

[spoileralertitsme]

Sneak Peak of Chapter 30

Blissful darkness. Then blinding light.

Barbara winced, burying her face in her arms to hide from the glaring fluorescents. Her eyes ached, and her muscles shivered as she pulled herself into an upright fetal position. Knees pressed to her forehead, she gasped shallow breaths into her lungs.

Three hours of sleep.

It was less than the night before, but definitely more than the night before that.

They loved keeping her on her toes—alternating between peaceful, uninterrupted nights, and flipping the lights on or blaring alarms every thirty minutes or so during others. Just one more way to keep her weak, make her vulnerable, get inside her head.

Barbara hunched her shoulders. A whimper leaked through her pursed lips.

Then, when she felt a little more ready to face the light, she tipped her head up and pressed the back of her skull against the cold concrete wall of her cell. The sensation was almost more painful than the glaring brightness behind her eyelids.

Don’t know how much longer…how long I can…

Barbara swallowed dryly, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.  

Okay…okay…focus…fine…my name is Barb—my name—Barbara—I am twenty-four years old and five-foot-eight-inches…I am the Batgi—no, I’m Ora—Batman? Batwoman…it…has been roughly three and a half weeks…that long…the date is…the date—

She stumbled over that step. In this place, in this little dungeon underneath Harbor House, time didn’t seem real. Without any hint of natural light, and without the slightest glimpse at a clockface, Barbara had no way of knowing what time or even day it was.

And yet…

There was a familiar ache in her chest. Her nerves sang with panic, and she could feel goosebumps pricking at her skin (though that might have been the work of the chilly temperature in her little stone box).  The wave of anxiety was drifting just below the surface—a riptide ready to tear her away from the safe shores of her own sanity if she chose to venture in too close.

So. Barbara knew the date; she could feel it in her bones.

But she steered her thoughts towards a more pressing concern.

She wet her lips with a papery tongue, and spoke with a rusty voice.

“Come to gloat?”

At first, there was no reply. The Talon crouched in the corner watched her through the honey-colored lenses and blinked lazily. He seemed settled—could be that he’d been watching her for hours, now. Waiting. And the fact that she’d only just now noticed him was another barb in Barbara’s already prickly predicament. Bruce would’ve had her head for being so blind. So unguarded. So…off her game.

Barbara’s fingers curled into fists, settled in her lap. No other part of her would move.

Eventually, the Talon decided that their little staring contest had gotten old, and said, “No. Quite the opposite, B-girl. I’m here to warn you.”

“Don’t you %*&$>^& call me that, Cal.” Her voice was drained of all its venom, so the warning fell flat. Barbara’s head lolled, sliding down the wall to land on her shoulder. The bare skin against her cheek offered a small scrap of grounding. “And—warn me ‘bout what? That a bird cult’s gonna stuff me in a box and make me run rat races every day until I die and die and die and die…”

A deranged giggle burst out of her, and she pressed the back of her fist to her lips.

Cal’s eyes twitched a little wider behind his mask. “I see the anesthetic is still lingering in your system.”

She only wished she could blame the outburst on the anesthetic. But she’d been dosed and drugged too many times before—enough to know that her rising hysteria had nothing to do with the amount of narcotics in her system.

“How long’ve you been sitting there, anyway?” Barbara demanded, letting her hand fall back down. She watched the Talon through lidded eyes. Clicked her tongue. “Watching people while they sleep. That’s a whole new level of creep, even for you.”

“I have been waiting for you to wake. The procedure went well, although Gordon accidentally overdosed you.” His clawed fingers drummed anxiously against his knee. “You lost two days. We feared you might not make it.”

“So?” she snorted. Smiled into her shoulder. “You know something, Cal…sometimes I wish I wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t…” His eyes narrowed. “I would not let that happen. You are far too valuable to our cause. You must live to fulfill your Grandmaster’s wishes.”

“%*&< you,” Barbara retorted, curling in on herself just a little tighter.

“I suppose I deserve that.”

One of her eyebrows quirked up as she dared a glance at the Talon. He reached up slowly, and slid the mask off his head with one fluid stroke. As he brushed his shaggy mane out of his eyes, Cal let out a shaky sigh.

“No matter,” he continued. He met her eyes and frowned deeply. “Onto more pressing concerns—you must abandon your delusion, Barbara.”

She huffed, digging her fingernails into her skin. “Oh, I’m the deluded one? Are you serious?”

“As the grave,” he retorted, sounded like he sincerely meant it. His glower darkened into something fierce. “You are holding onto the belief that someone will come for you. Your lover, siblings, butler, comrades—someone. But you are mistaken.”

Barbara looked up, letting her hand fall away from her face as she shot her former friend a death-glare. Deluded? To think that the best detectives and heroes the Earth had to offer would find a way to dig her out of this #$%%-hole? Please. The phrasing of the code message Slade had so cavalierly botched was the only proof she needed.

“I know my family, Cal. They’re already on their way.”

He watched her face carefully for a few seconds, and then, when he didn’t see a crack in her resolve, said, “Your faith in them is…admirable. But the Court has taken precautions. The Light has taken even more—”

“What the #$%% is the Light’s game, anyway? What do they want with—”

“Time is short, so shut your mouth,” Cal snarled. He leaned forward on his haunches, his already imposing posture heightened by the gargoyle-like slope of his shoulders, with the matching sneer to boot. “I know you think that our incorrect answer to the Gray Son’s coded message spells your salvation. But we are monitoring his activity, as well as the activity of your entire ‘family’—” He spat the word out like it was bitter on his tongue, and carried a regretful aftertaste. “—and by the time they pinpoint the location of our stronghold? By the time they muster the numbers to do battle with our forces? We will already have everything we need. We will have won, Barbara.”

Her eyes narrowed sharply as she growled, “Wanna bet?”

“You are hardly in a position to bet anything,” Calvin reminded her with an equally poisonous leer. “Which brings us back to my original business here—a warning.”

“A warning that I’d better kill you first when my family busts me out?” Tears pricked unexpectedly in her eyes as she spat, “Consider it done, old chum.”

The Talon continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Take a good look at your surroundings, Barbara. You are sitting right in the belly of an impenetrable fortress. And you have been for almost a full month, now.”

Barbara didn’t need to inspect her cell too closely. She’d practically memorized the cracks in the stone and the spots of mildew in the corners these last few weeks. But she could still see Calvin’s point—she’d been here long enough to know every Talon and Courtier by name. She knew the sweep schedule for patrolling security, she’d nearly put every twist and turn in the Maze to vivid memory…#$%%, Barbara even knew the &*#% rhyme by heart, now.

Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time…

But the watching had been mutual. She only wished that she had the strength to do anything about it.

“Did you know that the average Talon is only able to hold out for three to four days during the first stages of the conversion process, Barbara?” Calvin straightened his spine and fixed her with a cold glare. “You’ve lasted longer than any of us. Far longer than any member of the Court would have expected.”

“Do I smell a compliment?” she muttered dryly.

“Hardly. As I said, time is short.”

Barbara raised her chin and pulled herself a little further up the wall. She could look at the Talon full-on, now, and let him feel the full wrath of her scowl. “Meaning that all I have to do is wait you out. Sooner or later, Cal, they will come back. That’s what families do.”

At that, silence soaked into the room. Her words hung in the air, ringing in both their ears. She could see the effect it had on her old friend, though it was subtle. A sudden crack in the stiff mask of his expression. The slightest twitch of his jaw, the small flinch at her tone. Barbara could feel her own jaw slacken at the sight; seeing just a glimpse—a sign—that there was still some shred of Calvin Rose’s soul underneath the monstrous exterior.

For a moment, the glassy sheen in his eyes seemed to clear. His mouth fell open.

“B-girl,” he whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

But he stiffened, head cocking bird-like to the side as a small groan leaked past his lips. When he looked back up at her, the savage gleam in his gaze was back.

“Time is short,” he repeated meaningfully, “And so every day you hold onto this delusion—every day you drag your heels and continue to fight—is just another day they sink their claws deeper into you, Barbara. You stall nothing. The only thing you manage to do by fighting them is ensure that when you fall—and you will fall—you may not be able to pick up the broken pieces again.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been tortured, Cal.”

The Talon leaned forward, insistent. “You have to surrender, Barbara. Kneel at the Grandmaster’s feet and pledge your loyalty. Perhaps then, when they see that they’ve broken you, they can be persuaded to--”

Her fear ebbed a little bit, replaced by a growing twinge of distaste. Barbara could feel her lips curling into a grimace, the thought of bending to Vanaver a bracing reminder. She felt her spine straighten a little bit as her mind returned to her family.

They were coming.

She was sure of it.

“I want you to listen carefully, Rose,” Barbara said softly, slowly, iron lacing her words and bracing them up. As she leaned forward, her grimace turned to a sneer. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t even care how much of me goes down the drain. If my family finds me, and all that’s left is a brainless, catatonic zombie, so #*&!$^% be it. But I will never get down on my knees and beg like a dog for Vanaver, do you understand?”

His eyes flashed dangerously, the golden irises glowing for a moment before the surge subsided. He sighed heavily, and let his bangs fall back over his face as he bowed his head.

“I strongly suggest,” he growled, “That you learn to beg, sit, and roll over. That is my warning. I took the time out of my rounds, disrupted the security feed, and came to give it to you before your morning trials, because I…”

His throat bobbed, like he was trying to swallow a brick.

And when the Talon looked up, his gaze was mournful. That crack in composure was back, and it allowed a few trickles of the real Calvin Rose to stream through one last time.

“I care for you, little sister,” he growled, eyes squeezing shut as he clenched his jaw. The words seemed almost agonizing. His clawed fingers dug into the stone beneath him, seeking purchase. “I am…I…am…terrified for you.”

Barbara sat up straight as a pained wheeze leaked past Cal’s lips. A whimper followed quickly behind.

She reached out, fingers grasping at his wrist. “…Cal?”

Panting, he gasped, “I love you.”

Like a blade had pierced through his chest, he let out a sharp cry. His body slumped forward, hands slapping against the ground to steady himself, and one quick gasp seemed to re-inflate his lungs.

“Cal!”

His head shot up, hair flying away from his eyes, and Barbara could see them glowing a cold, quiet gold. The black veins swimming beneath his pale skin seemed darker, one bulging in his neck and forehead as he clenched his jaw impossibly tight and swallowed.

“Remove your hand or I will cut it off.”

The ice in his tone washed over her, and Barbara shrunk back, eyes wide. The ridges of her spine clicked against the wall as she pressed herself back, cowering away from the Talon as he rose to his feet, claws fully extended and his eyes threatening murder.

“I have given you your chance,” he said dully. “And you have chosen not to take it. But you may mark my words that by the end of this day, that choice will be taken from you along with everything else. Enjoy your trials, Barbara.”

He turned to leave her, and Barbara sat up, glowering. “Calvin—”

“You will address me as Talon Rose.” His head pivoted, metallic eyes flashing over his shoulder. “’Calvin’ is dead, and if you forget that fact again, I will tear out your tongue.”

Barbara’s mouth clamped shut.

“Farewell,” Talon Rose snapped as the door slid open for him. He stepped out deftly, and the stone panel rumbled and clicked back into place, leaving Barbara in solitude.

She let out a staggered breath. 

Then, a panel mounted on the opposite wall blinked to life, showing a flashing set of digits, counting down, down, down. One quick glance at the screen told her she had two minutes.

Barbara braced a hand against the wall as she dragged herself into an upright position. Straightened. Stretched. Rolled out her shoulders and her neck and glared at the grout between the stones on the floor. Every single movement made her nerves wail, but she knew better than to stay seated, by now.

So, with a weary sigh, she threw herself into the process of stretching. The familiar burn of her muscles as they slowly warmed was a steadying reminder—this was just another training exercise. Just another run. Just another spar set. Nothing to worry about.

She pulled one arm across her chest, holding it tight with her other elbow. The numbers on the screen ticked to ten, nine, eight…

Okay, guys, she thought, Whenever you’re ready to move, I’ll be…

Barbara’s eyes fixed on the screen as it hit zero, and the wall rumbled away, revealing a starkly white corridor beyond.

Her throat bobbed.

Here.

[thedorkwiththepen]

Here’s a short story that I wrote a while ago

Wreckage

Sometimes, I find it hard to breathe. My mind sinks to an abyss and refuses to let me see out of the cloak of darkness that hounds it. I claim this feeling to be the resultant of the few remaining shreds of my sanity trying to keep me bound to the woeful reality that I face, but I know the actual truth. It is the hunger.

The hunger festers inside of me, it drills itself into my bones, wrapping its icy cold hands around my neck and whispers into my ear a word I’ve grown all too familiar with: feed. The need to feed is as great as one’s need to exist, the longer you deny it, the more it reveals itself as an enemy determined to obliterate your existence. The hunger takes hold of my will and bends it towards its own needs. Regardless of how hard I try to fight against it, I am always defeated, and my mind turns into its property.

***

Today is no different from any other day, the heavy grey smoke floats over the broken city like empty sailboats after the crew has been massacred. Disfigured beings walk past, all lost in their own mysterious thoughts. We’re the walking nightmare that nobody thought would never exist.

I’m sitting upon the only patch of grass that remains in the city, it’s dry and black with soot, but I appreciate its presence. My black fingernails dig through the dirt subconsciously, making them dirtier than they already were. I sit in the empty silence of midday in the middle of what had once been a highway, all that remained now was rubble that crumbled under your feet.

My fingers brush against the grey dirt, feeling the grains of sand against my skin, appreciating the contrast of this feeling to that of my hunger. I stare heavily at the heavily dazed beings that walked past me, my hands subconsciously fisting the dried-up grass.

I was scouting. My eyes had become heavily adept at looking through the smoke from the fires, my nose at differentiating the rotten from the fresh, and my legs and mind at being nimble enough to catch my prey. The amount of prey had reduced severely since the last source of meat had been devoured by a crowd at the feeding halls a month ago, a measly sheep, but a sheep nonetheless. Ever since then, the hope of recovering our food source had died and the number of feeders has grown, thus reducing our prey.

My eyes widen as I finally spot one, a child, his hair an unhealthy shade of black, it was grey. My nose twitched, his flesh, it was rotting beneath. He’d die in a matter of days. He walked aimlessly, randomly kicking at objects around him, obviously aware of his inevitable fate. He was cattle awaiting its slaughter, I would be the bullet that took him by surprise. I slowly got up, my eyes stuck on him as if he would disappear if I moved them away. Steadily, like a snake through grass, l got up from the dirt, letting go of a fistful of sand and letting it swivel to the wind. My legs carried me over to him, and I stood behind him, watching him kick away at rocks. After a few seconds, he stopped, noticing my presence behind him and turned around to face me. I stared at his scarred face, his large doe eyes looked up at me helplessly and his tiny hands balled up into fists. “Hello,” he muttered.

“Hi,” I responded. He nodded at me, his grey hair falling into his eyes.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he cocked his tiny head to the side, revealing the burnt side of his small neck.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, taken aback but still focused.

He raised an eyebrow at me before shrugging his weak shoulders. “It’s what you do, isn’t it? You take us, and you eat us.” His gaze dropped to the floor and I swear I heard him sniff. I couldn’t think of anything to say, prey was prey, it shouldn’t talk. But this one did, and now I was conflicted and so I stupidly went with my empty gut.

“You’re not going to die,” I muttered. “Not by my hand at least.”

The child looked back up at me with a certain look of disbelief etched onto his broken features. “Wh-”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” I turned around and began walking away with my fist clenched at the loss of a perfectly good meal, but the former meal followed me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, halting and turning around to face him.

“Following you,” he said quite bluntly.

“I know that, but why?”

The child shrugged, a small groan escaped his lips as he did as if it pained him to do so. I looked at him, the ground then back at him, I’d let him follow me he was as good as dead out here anyway.

***

The child and I walked side by side in silence. The only sound between us being the crunching of rocks beneath the soles of our feet. When we became bored with walking around without aim, we sat down side by side on rotting logs. I swung my head back to look up at the grey, smoke-filled sky and let out a shaky breath before closing my eyes and enveloping myself with the darkness that followed.

The child sat beside my shuffling his feet, fingering blades of broken glass, he was bored. I could tell and couldn’t take much more of the scampering noises that he relentlessly made, so I broke the silence.

“How old are you?” I asked, opening my eyes and turning to face him.

He blinked and shook his head. “I don’t remember, nine. I think.”

I nodded my head and leaned back, he should be old enough to remember the final slaughter. “Where are your parents?”

He shrugged and fumbled with his toes. “My mama died a month ago, a hunter shot her near dead alley, and I don’t remember my dad.”

“Dead alley? How-“

He turned around to face me sharply. “Don’t ask, I don’t want to talk about it.” He nodded and his scarred face contorted itself into a small frown.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I just assumed the hunters were dead.”

“They’re not,” he shook his head, “saw one a few days ago, it didn’t do anything though, just stood around and didn’t move. I think he’s still there.”

Hunters were former humans. After the war when animals started going scarce, military officers were forced to take a mutation drug. The drug enabled them to hunt like true predators and find animals for other humans to feed on. Initially it worked, but soon after an additional drug was added to the original and it twisted the dna of these men, writhing them into another wretched species entirely. Instead of hunting for animals they hunted humans and fed on them, their sudden presence on earth stilled any thoughts of recovery. The more they fed, the more their hunger grew, they became the evil beasts that all of mankind feared. The world soon turned into nothing but a hunting ground where everyone was prey.

Camps were created for protection, restricted guns were supplied to the people and a strict five pm curfew was set. As food grew more scarce, and the number of humans decreased, people got angry and thus the war began.

Human against hunter. The loss of life was incredible. Hunters breeded to make feeders. To make people like me.

We aren’t as violent, but we feed just as they did. Or rather, as I’d just found, as they do.

“Take me to him.” I demanded suddenly, turning to face the child with snake like precision. He shook his head, his scars seemed to glisten in the sunlight, his blue veins pulsed on his forehead and red lines threatening to pierce his orbs.

“No.”

I got up from the hot ground and pointed a twisted finger at him. “Yes, you will.”

He frowned, tightening his eyes before attempting to push himself suddenly off the ground. His weak arms faltered beneath him and he collapsed onto the ground, letting out a loud shout at the impact. I took a few steps forward and stood over him. He lifted his head and and a stream of warm blood came steaming out of his nose. The stench of his rotting innards hit me once again and I fought the urge to gag.

“Can you get up?” I asked and he shook his head at me. I held out my hand to him and he took it with shaky fingers, I pulled him up and he winced at the force.

In my mind I recalculated the death date of this child, it was down to a day. I pitied him, yet I still wanted to see the Hunter, my curiosity won over the pity.

“Let’s go.” I muttered. He looked back at me with wide, defeated eyes and nodded solemnly.

***

We walked for an hour or so in silence, the heavy smoke clouds shielded us from the glare of the hot sun and the dry calluses on our feet helped to ignore the sharp sensation of sharp rocks that cracked as we stepped upon them. A heated breeze kept our bodies moist with sweat and the boy’s hair blew wildly around his head like grass in a storm, it covered the scars on his neck but did little to hide the rest.

Alas, we finally reached our destination. We stood in the center of an annihilated park and the boy pointed at something behind a sudden cloud of dust and ash. I craned my neck to see but had to wait for the cloud to pass.

“There he is.” The boy said with his finger still pointing. “The hunter.”

The cloud had passed now and I could see the figure the boy pointed at. It had on a moth beaten hat, it’s shoulders limp and its head bowed to hide its face; within its long limp hands was a rusted shotgun waiting to unload itself into the skulls of innocents. I stared in pure wonder. I was a descendant of its kind. I wouldn’t have realized that I had begun walking towards it if it weren’t for the boy’s suddenly strong grip on my hand pulling me back.

“No.” His fingernails dug ferociously into my wrist. “Please.”

His frightened body visibly shook resembling the frame of a haunted mouse. I nodded down at him and stepped back into my original place as I did so the child let out a blood curdling scream that caused me to stumble and fall onto my backside. I looked up and realised why the child screamed, so much so that I copied it with a scream of my own. The hunter stood before us with his gun aimed at the child, in the few seconds I had been unfocused he’d managed to run up on us with such agility I hadn’t noticed.

In my fear, my eyes remained on the creature and studied him intently. His breathing was as heavy as a broken creaking fan and his body heaved up and down to the tempo. His mouth was opened displaying a black broken array of teeth, and heavy drops of drool fell onto his bare feet creating a puddle on the cracked gravel.

The hunter suddenly jammed his gun onto the child’s chest and he fell to the ground with another scream. At this my senses managed to grab a hold of me once more. I kicked out my left leg and hit the hunter in the shins, his head snapped towards me along with his gun. I turned to the child, hoping that he would see this as a sign and run, but he lay helpless on the ground. His broken body finally caving into his exhaustion, blood pooled out of his nose and he blinked rapidly as if ito help him regain his strength. His fingers curled and uncurled by his side with soft snaps emitting from his knuckles every few seconds...

My attention snapped back to the hunter as he let out a long growl. He’d taken a step closer towards me and now I could smell his stench. I backed up and he took another step towards me, I kicked him once more and this time he reacted. He lunged at me, his heavy body collapsed upon mine and the fight began. His shotgun was pressed firmly across my chest, making suffocation a high possibility. His drool dripped onto my neck and his stench. Oh God the stench, it ripped at my nostrils and clawed its way down my throat into the pits of my stomach. I could feel bile shooting up my throat and when I could no longer hold it back it came out splattering onto the hunter’s face. The hunter screeched in pain as the vile liquid went into his eyes and rolled off of me. I shot up onto my feet, bile dripping down my shirt, and ripped the shotgun from his hands. The hunter continued screeching as I raised the gun above my head and brought it down upon his chest with a loud slam, and proceeded to pull the trigger. He emitted one last howling screech before resolving to eternal silence, I stared down at the body in disbelief, panting heavily as adrenaline shot through my veins.

I turned back to the child as he emitted a soft groan. I dropped the gun and rushed to his side, dropping to my knees, the blood from his nose had dyed his shirt red and his eyes were no longer blinking, his fingers continued in their motion of curling and uncurling. His tiny body seemed so fragile now, his chest heaved up and down his lungs desperate for air. He managed to turn his neck to stare at me with his sad brown orbs, I felt a heavy dropping in my chest as he did this. His body shivered in pain and as his delicate tears streamed down his cheeks, I felt my own tears drop onto my hand. I reached out for his tiny curled hand and wrapped my fingers around his own. I could feel the heat, human heat, fading from his body and watched in empathy as the life seeped out of him.

After he died I sat and stared at his empty eyes, unable to bear their empty glare I closed them gently and rose to my feet. Another day, another life, next it could be my own. The faded reality could collapse now and I wouldn’t even notice because the emptiness within me has eaten up the ability to see what is real. Even now, the child’s body begins to fade from view, but only because I cannot see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. His presence still lingers, claws into the pathways of my mind and becomes a demon of its own, to haunt me as I walk this empty path alone, forever.

[officialleehadan]

The Queen’s Hall

 “How did it come to this?”

Raeca was immeasurably sad as she looked up at Calliope. The queen was gowned in white silk that glittered with diamonds like stardust. Her sleeves trailed down on either side of the throne, and her crown shone with its’ own light where it rested in her ornately-styled hair.

The woman she taught to spin, and laughed with as they sat in the sun and did the mending together. The woman who delighted in fresh honey-cakes, and was exhausted by her court, but still tried so hard to rule them well.

The queen, who was as cold and cruel as a dagger made of ice.

“You dare question the queen?”

Calliope’s captain, the same man who dragged Raeca out of her house and burned it, raised his hand, ready to give her a new bruise to match the others that were his work. He enjoyed his work, and was completely devoted to his queen, and her Temple.

“Enough,” Calliope stopped him before the blow could land even as Raeca cowered away, aching and terrified. “Leave us.”

“My queen-“

“Now.”

If it was anyone else giving the order, he might have refused, but Calliope was the Immortal Queen. If she gave a command, it was to be followed.

Raeca tried to pull herself together, miserably aware of the deep bruise that colored her face, and the dirt that was ground into her torn dress. Here at Calliope’s feet, with the queen polished down to her perfect fingernails, Raeca felt downright tattered, inside and out.

“You wonder how it came to this,” Calliope said casually, and leaned forward on her throne, the carved gold lighting her dress as the late sun hit it. “How it came that I would have you brought here. How I would demand an explanation for your betrayal of me.”

“I never betrayed you,” Raeca protested, and struggled to her feet, chains around her wrists and ankles clanking heavily as she moved. “We were- we are friends.”

“A friend who consorts with my greatest and most ruthless enemy,” Calliope’s voice snapped like a whip, and she finally stood, haloed by rainbows from the diamonds sewn onto her gown. The white silk pooled around her feet and formed a cascading train behind her as she stepped down off her golden throne. “A friend who seeks to steal what is mine.”

“I don’t-“ Raeca started, and Calliope raised a hand. Magic burst forth like rays of the sun and blasted Raeca into a marble pillar so hard that she couldn’t breathe through the pain. “Calliope, please…”

“It is Your Majesty when you address me,” Calliope hissed poisonously, and flicked her hand again. Raeca screamed as magic threw her across the room and into another pillar. “Oh, but I see you do not understand, poor little country wretch. Very well. I will explain.”

She knelt beside Raeca like a falling feather, and buried her hand in Raeca’s loose dark hair until Raeca was forced to look up at her.

“You consort with Haroun,” she hissed, and threw Raeca aside like she was nothing more than a bit of trash. “Heal him after I do my best to end his evil. You even learn from him, knowing that he is the Dark Sword, and my enemy. But worst, worst of all, you dare to love Brendis.”

“I’m sorry,” Raeca whispered through tears of pain and fear as she tried ot get up. She didn’t think anything was broken, but everything hurt, and she was terribly dizzy. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with him.”

“You confess,” Calliope swept up onto her throne again and draped herself across it, perfect and controlled in everything she did. “You confess to stealing from me. To plotting against me. To the evil that the Dark Sword placed into your heart.”

“There is no evil in my heart,” Raeca tried to defend herself, and struggled to her feet. “But if my crime is giving sanctuary to a man when he came in need of help, and loving him for being good despite everything he has lived through, than yes, I confess.”

Anger helped her straighten, proud even though she might die whenever Calliope grew tired of her. At least she would not go to her grave without having defended herself as best she could.

“And if another man came to me,” she continued, glad to see Calliope’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly as she stepped forward, chains dragging behind her. “Beaten down under years of grief, and mourning the brother he lost long ago, and I gave him what peace I could, than I am guilty of that as well.”

“I’m so glad to have a confession from you. It makes this easier,” Calliope’s lips curled into a cruel, hard smile and she raised a hand. The air shivered as magic gathered around her fingers like smoke, and condensed into a bright point, so hot that Raeca could feel it on her skin, even paces away. “Do stay strong, Raeca. I want to tell Brendis how brave you were, when I arrived too late to save you from the Dark Sword’s assassins.”

“Haroun will never let him believe your lies,” Raeca said, and blinked back tears. One escaped her control, and fear made her shake, but she did her best not to let it show. “But I wish you happiness, Calliope. My dear friend. I hope that someday you know peace. I’m only sorry I couldn’t help you find it.”

“You dare to pity me?” Calliope shrieked, and raised her hand, lovely face twisted with hatred. “Burn!”

Fire roared towards Raeca, and she closed her eyes. If it was her fate to die like this, at least she could hold in her heart the knowledge that Haroun and Brendis had each other again. If there was one thing she could die proud of, it was that.

But, although fire burst all around her, so bright she could almost see it through her closed eyelids, it never touched her skin.

When she opened her eyes, confused, it was to a wall of hardened power, holding back the flames, sparking darkly.

“Not today,” Haroun said as he walked through the door, one hand outstretched and dark with his own magic, a match for Calliope’s and just as practiced. His robes whispered around him, and magical charms jingled from his belt.

“Not today,” Brendis echoed as he followed his friend, shield on his arm, and sword bare in his hand. It glowed with runes, and his face was set and serious.

Raeca couldn’t hold back tears of relief as they came to her, one on either side as Haroun forced Calliope’s flames back on her until she had to let them fade or burn herself.

“You came for me,” Raeca whispered, and smiled through her tears as Brendis cut the chains off her with casual ease, blade biting through the hardened steel like it was threads of silk. “How did you know?”

“It wasn’t a hard guess, and we would never leave you to her,” Haroun said, wary eyes on Calliope as the queen rose and tugged once on a long, hanging rope. Soldiers thundered into the hall from every entrance. “Get ready. This is far from over.”

+++

Never Free:

A warrior, a sorcerer, and a queen reincarnate each time  they die. Doomed to kill each other over and over until their prophesy  is fulfilled, each battles to keep their sanity as the centuries drag on  with no end in sight.

Their healer thinks all three of them are being just a little bit ridiculous.

Round and Round Again

Mistaken Step

Spinning Wheel

Stronger Together

Tea and History

Girl Talk

History Past

Dizzy Spell

Herbs and String

Burning Oil

Ancient Alliance

The Queen’s Hall

+++

More stories!

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[endlessly-searching-for-you]

Let’s Hurt Tonight (ES AU/Jake x F!MC)

Another one for @meeraaverywalker‘s November Challenge day 15:  Angst. With extra fluffy sprinkles at the top because you know me right?

Word Count: ~2,400 (I don’t know how it happened, I swear)

Warnings: swearing

A/N: The story takes place in my Endless Summer AU (masterlist, the gist is: everyone is fine, there is a little bundle of joy on the way, and then things kinda go downhill from there. That is, for a while). [It’s no good, feel free to scroll past]

Tell me all of the things that you couldn’t before Don’t walk away, don’t roll your eyes They say love is pain, well darling, let’s hurt tonight

Let’s Hurt Tonight - OneRepublic

Sixty miles. Seven minutes.

Taylor stared at the plane icon on the screen. She couldn't see anything through the rain-blurred windows, the sky was covered with thick, ominous clouds, and her hold on the phone tightened to a death grip. The little red marker was the only thing guarding her sanity right now. Please, let him land safely, she whispered and pleaded, pacing back and forth across the waiting area. As far as she was concerned, safe landings weren't Jake's strong suit, and today's weather wasn't working in his favor.

Thirty miles. Four minutes.

She wrapped an arm around her small bump and sighed. She definitely shouldn't be worrying right now. Not that there was a reason. Jake has been back on the job for a while now, and, surprisingly, there wasn't even a single complaint. He joked it must have been her presence distracting him and not his lack of skill, but she knew better.

Please, please, please, Taylor whispered, squinting at the growing gray speck. From a distance, it looked small and vulnerable. The fingernails dug inside of her palm, but she didn't even feel it, her eyes fixed on the plane. She held her breath and closed her eyes. When she dared to look again, it was already on the ground, and, as far as she could tell, still in one piece. She pressed her forehead to the cold window, letting the wave of relief wash over her.

The tourists started to climb out of the plane, some of them looking pretty pale. Poor folks, she smiled to herself. What a way to start their vacation! It wasn't enough that the rainy season started a little early—it was just the beginning of May, but the forecasts already predicted the rain would be a record-breaking one—they also had the questionable pleasure of flying with the most overconfident pilot ever, her own husband. As much as she loved the guy, she had to admit his skills were no match to his ego. Nothing was, probably.

Taylor glanced at her watch. Why was he taking so long? The first batch of tourists already collected their luggage and left, second was already lining up for the flight back home, and there still was no sign of Jake. She let out a loud sigh, and the older lady moping the hall looked at her with sympathy. Taylor chuckled, thinking how sad she must look right now—a pregnant woman waiting for someone who didn't come back to her. Well, the plane didn't just fly itself to the airport, so at least she knew he was here. The actual question was, what kind of trouble was he in? Did he break something? He wasn't exactly gentle with the equipment. Or maybe someone recognized him, and he's never coming back—

Stop it, she said to herself. You know Jake is fine. Have you seen any police? No. Nobody came in beside the cleaning team and next crew. Stop panicking now, just breathe, and oh, look, there he is!

The mess of sandy hair was unmistakable, but what was the deal with the big shades and oversized raincoat? Jake looked tense, and his usual smile was gone, replaced by worry. She felt a chill and flew right into his arms, closing the remaining distance with one big jump.

“What's wrong?”

“Not now,” he murmured into her hair, pulling her tight against his chest. “Let's go home.”

The road back home was unusually quiet. Taylor opened her mouth a few times to ask what's going on, but every time she looked at her husband, she closed it back. Something was obviously bothering him. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror, and she realized he was driving in circles. But why? Nobody followed them, not at the airport, and certainly not now, in the heavy rain. It must have been some kind of false alarm, she decided when he finally pulled up in front of their hut, and they ran fast inside, huddled under the big coat.

“Now, what's this all about?” Taylor turned to him. “You got me worried for a minute.”

“I saw someone.” Jake sighed and looked to the window. “A guy I met in the academy. I can't remember his name, but I'd know his face anywhere.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“I don't know!” He dropped to the chair and lowered his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I don't know. God, I hope he didn't. He looked right at me, didn't say anything, didn't even blink. But I don't know. What if he starts digging?”

Shit. No, this wasn't good news. No wonder Jake was nervous. She placed a hand on his arm and rubbed it absentmindedly. Just when she thought they were finally putting the nightmare of La Huerta behind them and moving on to a normal, well, some kind of normal life, the universe had to remind them they were not safe. It wasn't like they never talked about the danger, they even had a few escape plans ready. But after everything they've been through, it just didn't feel real. And it definitely wasn't fair.

“Do you think we should start packing?” She asked, fighting the tightness in her chest.

“I don't know.” He stood up to look out of the window again. “I'm sorry. I had no right to drag you into all this. I’m just bringing you down with me. It's all my fault—”

“Jake, stop. Look at me.” She touched his cheek. “I knew you were on the run. I chose you with my eyes wide open, and I would do it again and again and again, you understand? We're in this together. All three of us.”

“That's why it's so bad,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I could barely take care of myself when I was alone. How I'm going to take care of you two now? Fuck, Taylor, it won't work. I was an idiot to think this could ever work.”

“You can't be serious!”

“Just think about it. What kind of life are we going to have? Always on the run, always in danger? And it's all because of me. Fuck!” He kicked the chair and paced through the small room, pulling his hair. “How are we going to hide with a kid? What about school? Friends? What about your life, is this really what you want? I can't even keep you safe!” He stopped and turned to face her. “What if they hurt you? I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Or our baby.”

Taylor automatically wrapped her arms around her stomach. There was a haunted, urgent look in his ocean-blue eyes, and deep down she knew he had a point. She assumed they will clear his name and go back home, wherever it might be... but what if they won't? What if they really were forced to live a life on the run?

“There's only one thing we can do.” He reached for her hand. “You need to go back to the States. Stay with your friends. Get a degree. Take care of him, or her. Live that life you were supposed to have. I'll find a way—”

“No. Don't ask me to leave you, I won't.”

“But—”

“No. I'm not leaving. I didn’t come back just so you could send me away.”

Taylor raised her chin in defiance. The rain stopped, and the sunshine turned hair into a golden crown. She looked like the very statue of resistance, only her trembling hands betrayed her emotions. Once she set her mind onto something, arguing with her was like talking to a brick wall, and Jake was well aware of that. He was just the same. But as much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to keep her by his side forever, there was no other way.

“Don't be stubborn, Taylor. It's not about you anymore. Fuck! It would have been easier if it was just the two of us. We shouldn't have—”

“It's a little too late for that,” she noticed bitterly, crossing her arms. “How can you even suggest I should leave you! We talked about it. I thought that we were happy, that we had it all figured out, that you were actually for once a responsible adult.”

“Oh, so you think you're acting like an adult now?!” He snapped. “I'm really trying to do my best! Maybe I'm just... not ready.”

She drew a sharp breath. “Do you think I am?! Do you really think I'm ready enough, strong enough to raise our son on my own? Because no, I'm not!” Her voice broke off, and she brushed the tears off her cheek. “I don't even know who, or what I am anymore. The only thing I knew was that I could count on you. Thank you for proving me wrong.”

“This isn't what I—”

“I can't talk to you right now. I don't want to say something I might regret.” She grabbed her jacket and stormed off the door. “I need some air.”

He shouted something, but Taylor ignored it. Whatever he had to say could wait. She hated to admit it, but maybe he was right. Running off wasn't a very mature thing to do, but right now she just wanted to be as far as possible, take a step back, clear her mind. Every time they had a fight, it seemed to be getting worse, and the hormones weren't exactly helpful with keeping her temper in check.

A sudden, sharp, stabbing pain in her side stopped her in her tracks, and she leaned on a tree, biting her lip not to cry out. Don't panic. Breathe. Relax. It's just a cramp. What did the midwife say? “Try not to stress”? Ha, good one. Stress was her middle name by now.

“Easy there, little guy,” she whispered, rubbing her bump. “We're just halfway there. Hang on, okay?”

She looked at the ocean waves below. They always had a calming effect on her, and it worked this time. Her tense muscles relaxed, and the pain was slowly going away, but the questions at the back of her head remained unsolved. What should they do? What should she do?

The sun was slowly setting, but the answers didn't come. Taylor sighed. Time to go back—and talk this through. Maybe without yelling this time? The danger couldn't be that big. Maybe she could somehow get him to see her point of view—

—if he was there. She couldn't stop the pang of disappointment. Of course Jake wasn’t there. He was probably somewhere in a bar, talking to the bottle like he used to. So much for the talk, she thought, curling up on the bed. She closed her eyes, but her mind was too busy to allow her to sleep. Just when she finally managed to calm down, the door creaked, jolting her awake.

“There you are! I was looking for you.” There was a relief in Jake's voice, but she was too bitter to notice it.

“I'm still not talking to you.”

“Fine. I'll talk to my son then.” He sat on the floor next to the bed and gently placed a hand on her bump. “I'm sorry, little guy. You deserve a better father, your mom deserves a better man... but you got me. No, I'm not ready. All my life, I've never cared about anyone but myself, and now I have you two. It's hard, it's scary, I don't know how to do it, but God, I swear I'm trying. I love you, both of you, and nothing will ever change that. Maybe it's not enough—”

“It is.” She slipped out of bed and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest and soaking his shirt with tears. “I love you too. And I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for what?"

“For all that yelling. And running. And calling you irresponsible."

“Come on!” He kissed the top of her head. “We both know who's the responsible one here, and I'll give you a hint, it's not me.”

"Well, maybe you had your moment just this once. Because I didn't.” She chuckled, raising one finger. “But I'm still not leaving!”

“I know. That's why I packed us both.” Taylor looked up to him with surprise, and he smiled reassuringly. “We can't stay here forever anyway. I'm surprised the roof isn't leaking yet, you know how many times did I have to repair it? We need to find a better place.”

“I'll miss this one.”

“Yeah, me too. Made some good memories here. But it's about time we move on.” He sighed. “So you're saying it's a boy, eh?”

“The doctor was pretty sure. I have a photo somewhere—” She suddenly sat bolt upright and grabbed her belly.

“What happened? You alright?”

“Yes, I think so. Put your hand here.” She pulled up her shirt and guided his palm. “Can you feel it?”

Jake wasn't really sure what he was supposed to feel. The small twitch? He looked at her with knitted brows, but she only motioned for him to stay quiet. And there it was again, a tiny flutter, easy to miss if you didn't expect it.

“I think he finally moved!” She laughed happily. “I was getting worried it's taking so long.”

He kept staring at his hand. Up until now, the whole baby thing felt pretty abstract. He was getting used to the idea of being a father, but even with all of Taylor's mood swings and weird midnight cravings, it still wasn't substantial enough. There were the ultrasound photos, of course, but how could anyone see anything in the blurry blobs was beyond his imagination. He tried looking at them from different angles, rotating, squinting, to no avail. But these small kicks were there and were real. He leaned in to place a kiss there, thankful that his wife couldn't see his face from under his long hair. After all, he had the reputation of a tough, no-sentimental-nonsense kind of guy to maintain.

“What are we gonna name him?” He asked after a while.

“I thought that maybe... Mike? If you think it's a good idea,” she added quickly. “I know how important he was to you, and I thought—but if you don't—”

His whole face lightened up. “You have no idea what it means to me. I can't think of a better name. Well, maybe except mine, but that one's already taken,” he added with the smirk he knew was driving her crazy.

Taylor rolled her eyes. “You can't stay serious for long, can you?”

“That's part of my charm.”

“You're damn lucky I love you already,” she whispered against his lips.

“You're damn right, Princess. Damn right I am.”

[robbyrobinson]

Happy Sugar Life is a psychological horror manga series that had received an anime adaptation that had just recently concluded. Despite the innocuous sounding title, the anime is actually set in a Crapsack World. The series concerns a high schooler named Satou Matsuzaka who —after "mingling" around with several boys had apparently ceased this after finding her "true love." With that being said, Satou is very obsessed with preserving her "happy sugar life" even if it involves amoral conduct.

For starters...there's Satou herself. To get this out of the way...she doesn't count for a plethora of reasons. For a Freudian Excuse, well it is explained in flashbacks that she had lost her parents at a young age which caused her to live with her aunt who was clearly unfit to raise her. Her aunt was someone who loved everyone — well it's more that she was a raging sadomasochist who derived pleasure from being abused — and it was ultimately her aunt that was responsible for molding Satou's perception on love. With that excuse....I personally don't think it holds up much. Especially when Satou tries to use that backstory to justify viewing others as being below her. With mitigating factors, there is her relationship with Shio Kobe - a young girl she met in the streets one time. Okay, let's get this out of the way: there is nothing indicating that Satou felt that way about Shio. The one recurring element that constantly presents itself firmly establishes that at the end of the day, Satou's relationship with Shio is one of maternalistic nature. Shio met Satou when her mother abandoned her on the streets one evening (I'll get into the why later on), and she latches onto Satou as a mother figure. Initially, we are given the indication that Satou only viewed Shio as an outlet for her emotional needs, an accessory, in other words. However, this view is proven incorrect in episode 10 when Shio calls Satou out for always keeping secrets from her, and from there, Satou treats Shio more as an equal. In the final episode as the two were trying to escape the burning building, they both jump off the roof. In her final moments, Satou realizes the meaning behind love, and shields Shio, taking the brunt of the fall for her.

As for the heinous standard...I don't feel she meets it. In total, she had a body count of 4 people. The only issue with this is that three of the victims Satou had murdered were assholes; the first was the original owner of the apartment room she and Shio live in. He was an artist who tried to kill Shio because he was enraged that Satou was now "complete" him initially liking Satou because of her incompleteness. The next two were of some thugs that were trying to use Shio as bait to lure her older brother Asahi to the park. But the issue with those murders is largely that they're mentioned in passing. We do have somewhat of a Gory Discretion Shot with one of the perps, but the aftermath is only mentioned by one of Satou's coworkers. Now, Satou does Jump Off The Slippery Slope halfway in the run of the series with her murdering her best (and only) friend Shouko after she had taken a picture of her and Shio and texted it to Asahi. With this murder, what also adds onto Satou's mitigating factors: while she considers it a case of I Did What I Had to Do, it becomes apparent that Satou felt remorseful for killing Shouko. Her lower lip was also seen trembling as if she were about to have an emotional breakdown (which is different from the manga version where it's more an Ignored Epiphany).

So, lastly there is her get away plan. Said plan involves burning the upper room of the apartment and passing off Shouko's body as her own. Clearly, she would be putting the other inhabitants in the level in danger, and she obviously doesn't care either...but the problem with this? Largely, the news mentions that there were multiple casualties from the fire. But they only mention two: Shouko and Satou. As such, these massive casualties are in reference to those two bodies that were uncovered from the arson incident. What makes this even more problematic is that it also runs under Offscreen Villainy. As such, there is no approximate number of people who otherwise perished in the fire.

On another note, Satou has several moments where she could've done worse, but she chooses not to ala Pragmatic Villainy. For instance, when she realizes that Asahi had a connection to Shio, she contemplates bludgeoning him with a crowbar only to relent upon realizing that it would be hard to hide the evidence. Even when Asahi was proving to be more problematic, she instead chooses the least lethal option of deceiving him into thinking his sister had gone to a different district. There are other examples of instances where she could've been worse, but you get the idea.

As for other characters:

1) There was Satou's boss from a restaurant called the Princess Imperial who became envious of her when she learns that one of her employees — Mitsuboshi — had asked Satou out for a date only to be turned down. So, as her way of fixing that? She kidnaps Mitsuboshi, keeping him locked in a cabinet in her room and repeatedly raping him as a means of forcing him to love her. As for excuses...there are none, unless you consider her feeling bad for her age as one. I was contemplating on suggesting her on the grounds that no other antagonist (major or minor) had stooped to this level of depravity, and that she was obviously over the Moral Event Horizon at that point, having raped Mitsuboshi for a week. This was also seen as horrific by the setting with Mitsuboshi himself being deeply traumatized by his experience.

2) Auntie: Satou's Aunt is the one who starts the fire, but the same problems plaguing Satou's involvement also fall on her due to there being no approximate body count to draw from as well as her only being charged for arson and the murder of Shouko. Individually speaking, she isn't heinous enough with only having one count of rape and attempted rape. Beyond that, Auntie also has some forms of mitigating factors such as making it clear that she loves Satou in her own warped way as well as being truly Affably Evil. She could also be seen as being too insane to consider particularly for her happily taking credit for starting the fire.

3) Shio and Asahi's father: He was a posthumous character having died before the events of the anime. For the most part, he is your generic take on a Domestic Abuser with him yelling and hitting his wife. His one unique form of cruelty is shown in a flashback where he rips Asahi's fingernails off out of morbid curiosity at seeing how much pain he could take, and it is also stated that he had always done things like that to Asahi when he chose to live with him for five years after his mom and sister escaped his household. He was ultimately the reason as to why Shio's mom left her on the streets because she feared that she would become like her husband. She later poisons his sake, and he died. The father does commit more crimes in the manga that were Adapted Out when it received an anime adaptation, so I am kind of contemplating on whether that's worth mentioning.

4) There were a few other minor antagonists that I would list, but they ultimately have little merit on the plot of the series.

Overall, those are my thoughts on the series.

Now as for the one I think could count as PE...

                                 The Manager’s CM EP

Who is she?

The nameless manager of a restaurant named The Princess Imperial in which Satou becomes an employee of in order to make more money. At first, the manager was seemingly benevolent...but she was someone who was really self-serving and wanted all of her employees to love only her. However, when one of her employees — Taiyo Mitsuboshi — asks Satou out on a date and she overhears if from her other employees...that doesn't sit well with her. Not one bit.

What has she done?

As Satou was heading back to the apartment building after work, she notices the manager talking with Mitsuboshi about whatever, making Mitsuboshi follow her to her office. Afterward, Mitsuboshi disappears the next day which is attributed to him "quitting." As Satou continued to work for the restaurant, she received more and more work, oftentimes her co-workers would sabotage her efforts. Soon, Satou had to work longer hours, which gradually ate away at her sanity.

Eventually, paycheck day arrived, and the manager hands out the checks for the employees. Satou notices that her check didn't cover the hours she had to work, and she goes to talk to the manager to sort it out. The manager admits that she was punishing Satou with longer hours as revenge for her catching Mitsuboshi's eyes. She then goes onto explain how her restaurant was her castle, and that the employees would flock to her. When Mitsuboshi strayed away from that intended purpose, this unsettled the manager. Satou tells her that it was immoral of her to try to go after underaged employees, and reaffirms that she would get her full pay if she obliged. Satou then glances at the cabinet across the room, and correctly guesses that Mitsuboshi never quit; rather, the manager kidnapped him and repeatedly raped him as her way of forcing him to love her. The manager confesses to this...only to realize that Satou had filmed the entire thing on her cell phone. To this, Satou threatens to inform the authorities about her "discovery" lest the manager gave her the full amount for her hours. Satou then opens the cabinet door, revealing a bound ang gagged Mitsuboshi within it.

Mitigating factors? Freudian Excuse?

Nay for any excuses. The reason as to why she felt that her employees should love only her is partially because she is insecure about her age. Yeah. There isn't any tragic about it in the slightest: the employees were there to serve her only so that she could feel better about herself. When Mitsuboshi asked Satou out on a date, that bruised her ego to the point that she tried to rectify that by kidnapping and repeatedly raping Mitsuboshi to the point that he suffered trauma from the experience. As for the scenes regarding that, they are played seriously unlike with many other uses of the trope.

And I need to emphasize this: her feeling bad because of her age does NOT excuse her repeatedly raping a teenage boy and traumatizing him. The anime gives no sympathy towards her with Satou herself calling her out for going after underaged workers. In this case, any insecurity that she had is completely blown out of proportion because of her actions.

Heinous standard

Happy Sugar Life is a dark series with the Villain Protagonist herself being the least morally grey of the cast (that isn't to say that there aren't any morally upright characters; there are). Despite this, I feel that the manager does have some factors that could make her count. While she had raped one victim, what sets her apart is the fact that she repeatedly raped Mitsuboshi for a week, thus being way beyond the Moral Event Horizon at that point. The whole reason as to why she did this was especially disgusting; it is Evil Is Petty at its finest. She also has that personal tie with Mitsuboshi as because of her, Mitsuboshi developed a pathological fear of older women, an is very blatantly psychologically suffering because of her. No other antagonist in the series had stooped to this level of depravity before.

Conclusion

I feel that she does enough for a minor villain, but I otherwise feel indifferent towards her counting or not. I may go into discussing Shio and Asahi's father next since like I said he did commit more actions in the manga that were left out in the anime adaptation, but probably at some later point.

[bussanbaby]

the lifeboat

Hunter’s Moon seems to be particularly crowded on this evening - most of the tables further in are taken, werewolves, seelies, vampires and warlocks coexisting peacefully in a half-drunken atmosphere filled with the clinking of glass and toned down chatter. Groups of colorful folk mingle by the door and by the bar as well, Magnus has to subtly shoulder his way through, the gold detailing on his jacket catching the dimmed light as he moves.

It’s his first free evening off in a bit and he wants to celebrate, have a strong drink to the sound of good music, maybe meet someone along the way. As he passes through the throng of bodies, people greet him with polite nods, some faces more recognizable than others; he also catches shreds of conversations, background white noise, equally easy to tune out and listen into.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer,” Maia chimes as Magnus sits down on one of the stools by the bar. She looks as radiant as always, her smile wide as she swings a cloth onto her shoulder, then leans on the counter in front of him.

“If it isn’t my favorite bartender,” Magnus quips back and Maia winks with a chuckle before moving to pour a beer for a burly warlock to the left. There are years of experience in her movements, sure efficiency in the way she slides the pint across the top without spilling a drop; although this is nothing compared to the tricks Magnus has seen her do with a shot glass.

“What can I get for you, mister?”

Magnus leans his elbows on the bar, ringed fingers threaded together underneath his chin.

“I had to deal with a summoning gone buck wild, take from that what you will,” He sighs, scratching along the side of his goatee. It’s been a stubborn demon and while Magnus has mostly recovered from the extensive magic usage earlier, he’s in no mind to be doing anything productive, hence the visit.

“Sheesh,” Maia grimaces with sympathy, eyebrows knitting together. “Double martini coming right up.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

Maia turns around, busying herself with the drink; she’s got a light brown leather jacket on, the back embroidered with the words “WOLF GIRL” on top of a canine mouth full of jagged teeth. Magnus’ eyes wander further - over the collection of bottles neatly set on shelves lined with fairy lights that crawl onto the walls, over his own fingernails covered in burgundy polish, one of them chipped at the top. A glass crashes somewhere and raucous laughter erupts like a choir - Magnus has missed this place, where all cultures mix and everyone’s a pal if only until the bottom of the glass.

“It’s looking busy today,” He observes, absentmindedly scanning for familiar faces - there are some wolves from Luke’s pack playing cards, two young warlocks from Manchester, Raphael’s kids throwing back wine-red shots.

Maia hums in agreement and sets Magnus’ drink in front of him, then pulls two beer bottles from under the bar to hand them off to two seelie girls. “Simon’s bringing in quite the crowd after his last concert.”

“Is he playing tonight?” Magnus takes a sip, enjoying the slight burning sensation as the alcohol slides down his throat. He knows Simon, mostly through shared connections - he’s practically the son Luke never got to have and Raph’s protégé. He seems like a fun kid, the living embodiment of ‘winging it’ and quite the musician. Magnus heard him play a handful of songs before, so he’s looking forward to another concert.

“Yep, should be coming in soon,” She confirms, toying with an empty beer pint.

The stage is sitting snug in the corner of the space, just beside the giant jukebox and pool tables. What’s surprising is that there’s two high wooden stools and microphone stands instead of one, but before Magnus can ask about them, Maia juts her chin towards the entrance. “Speak of the devil.”

Magnus turns in his seat, expecting to see Simon on his own, but there’s another figure next to him. A shadowhunter with the deflect rune curling up the side of his neck, mussed-up brown hair, and a bomber jacket over broad shoulders. He and Simon seem to be friends, judging by the easy way the newcomer tilts his head down to listen to the vampire’s quick words as he carries a keyboard case.

“Who is that?” Magnus asks, prompting Maia to look up again, a knowing smile curling up her plum-colored lips.

“That is Alec. The Lightwood family’s oldest son, a soon-to-be Head of the NY Institute, or so I’ve heard,” She answers nonchalantly, putting down another polished glass with a clink. “He’s pretty cute, but no match for his gorgeous sister.”

Magnus’ eyes follow the duo all the way to the stage, people parting to let them through. Alec Lightwood, where has Magnus heard that before? He’s not exactly fond of Shadowhunters, but he does work with them sometimes, they might have saved the world together once or twice before. Then, it clicks - it’s the same guy that bravely came out a while back, currently the only proudly gay Nephilim, a vocal adversary against Clave’s treatment of Downworlders and general work ethic.

It’s actually strange that they haven’t met in person since Luke has mentioned working with him and Simon has talked about an ‘Alec’ in passing. What Magnus didn’t know is that the stoic and grumpy archer is the same person as this handsome fellow currently helping Lewis set up all of the equipment, eyes rolling at Simon’s nervous talking.

Magnus turns back, swivels his drink before taking another big sip. “Should I remind you that Simon is your boyfriend?”

This time it’s Maia who rolls her eyes, her smile widening at the mention of the b-word, as she dips her head to hide it. “He is. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Isabelle Lightwood is his friend and we hang out sometimes. I have eyes, Magnus, and she has a lot to look at.”

Magnus chuckles, about to answer, when a hand claps him on the shoulder and Luke slides into the seat next to him.

“Good to see you, Magnus,” Luke greets, face split into a grin, smelling like New York after dawn and teriyaki chicken from the Jade Wolf.

They shake hands and Magnus watches Luke order a beer, then lift the bottle to his mouth and down a couple of gulps with a relieved sigh. “God, there’s no parking anywhere close. You’d think being in the police force would get you some perks.”

Magnus hums with understanding, lifting his drink in a subtle toast to Luke’s words. “This is why I don’t own a car. Anyway, I thought you’d be at the precinct tonight?”

Luke shrugs off his jacket and folds it in his lap, his police badge twinkling at his belt. “I was supposed to, but Simon’s van broke down and I offered to give him and his equipment a lift.”

An unpleasant noise cuts through the bar’s bustle, a mix between a chair screeching against floorboards and microphone feedback. Everyone quiets down and turns to look at Simon smiling sheepishly from behind a mic.

The shadowhunter - Alec - elbows Simon somewhat gently, spurring him into action.

“Hi, hello everyone. I’m Simon Lewis and I’ll be providing you some quality entertainment for the next couple of hours. No comedy though, my jokes are pretty sucky.” Simon snaps his fingers, fangs visible as he smiles at the snickering crowd.

Alec groans from behind him, theatrically covering his face with large palms, one of them holding onto a mic too. He seems kind of uncomfortable being in the center of attention, his seat pushed back behind Simon’s, eyes roving over the crowd with concealed anxiety. He’s making the best of it, though, happy to support his friend. “I’m telling you, his humor is a giant pain in the neck.”

Laughter washes over the public again and Magnus can’t help but smile as well at the corny vampire puns. He wants to get to know Alec better, there’s something about him that Magnus can’t place, an air of mystery, a subtle pulling tide of curiosity.

“Anyway, my good buddy Alec here lost a bet, so now he will sing for you,” Simon says with a smug grin, clapping the shadowhunter on the shoulder and earning himself a grave stare.

“I am not your buddy, I just tolerate your antics,” Alec bites back in a flat tone, mic pressed near his mouth, one corner of his mouth turned up despite the knitted brows.

“Aw, love you too, best friend,” Simon coos, clearly enjoying himself, while Alec slowly runs out of sanity and/or patience.

Magnus sips his martini, making a mental note to get this shadowhunter’s number after this, maybe ask him out for drinks and see if they click when he feels a pair of eyes on him. He looks up and it’s nobody other than Alec.

As cliché as it sounds, time seems to pause for a moment. They hold each other’s gaze, Magnus’ heart trips over its own feet, a stutter step caused by the awfully charming lopsided smile blooming on Alec’s face. He looks intrigued, stunned into stillness before he blinks rapidly, lets his eyes appreciatively slide up and down Magnus’ body.

“Um, this is ‘The lifeboat’.”

People clap and cheer, Simon starts to strum the guitar settled in his lap. He shoots Alec an encouraging smile, who shifts on his feet, fingers gripping the mic tightly.

“Well, hello, what's your name? What's your sign? Mine's the same, I do feel you could use a change... “ Alec’s voice is pleasantly low, certain words losing form beneath his New York accent, some raspy in a way that sends a subtle shiver down Magnus’ spine.

With the first line, he steps off the stage, the thumb of his free hand hooked in a belt loop, then continues wandering around the crowd. Even despite small detours, his eyes keep drifting back to Magnus, who finds himself sitting up straighter, unconsciously gripping the stem of the martini glass tighter between his fingertips.

Out of the corner of his eye, Magnus can spot Maia leaning over to whisper into Luke’s ear, see him then turn to Magnus with an arched brow and laughter on his lips. Magnus is still focused on Alec though, on the way the fabric of his jeans clings to his thighs, on how he licks his lips with a smile, on the thin line of skin beneath the edge of his shirt. Magnus really wants to invite him out for drinks now.

“Oh, my love, I'm not the type, the one that floats your boat then leaves you capsized, capsized... “ Alec continues his song, voice louder on the chorus when he comes to stand in front of Magnus. He reaches out, palm up, the invitation clear.

His own quick heartbeat accompanying the song in Magnus’ ears, he downs the rest of his drink in one go, then takes Alec’s hand, lets himself get dragged off the stool and into the crowd.

Alec’s hand is warm, holding onto his not too tightly as he spins Magnus around. Letting the music guide him, Magnus starts to dance - it’s all languid, keeping the same flirty tone as he shifts, steps and turns. It feels as easy as breathing, he doesn’t even have to think about what comes next - the instrumental break ends, Alec’s voice picking up the words again, his tone joined by Simon’s next time the chorus rolls back around.

People are clapping, some falling into a simple rhythm along with Magnus; it feels euphoric to just let go, enjoy life if only for a bit before stepping back into the shoes of the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Yet, the song ends too quickly for Magnus’ taste and he stops with a flourish, eyes opening to the sight of Alec before him, the look on his face speaking of fascination and a curious kind of keenness.

Magnus runs a couple of fingers through the hair spiked tall on his head to fix the strands that moved astray, Alec’s gaze following the arch of his arm, hanging onto the sight of Magnus’ bicep moving against the velvet fabric. He grips the microphone tighter before snapping out of his daze, abruptly moving towards Simon, almost like he’s wanting to run away.

Alec all but throws the mic to him, then says maybe two sentences, barely giving Simon time to nod before he’s back, all giddy and smiling adorably, while Magnus is still trying to calm his own breathing.

“Hi, I’m Alec. I probably should’ve started with that instead of pulling you out of your seat,” He says in one breath, gesturing restlessly with his palms. “Also, you’re an amazing dancer.”

Magnus smiles, biting down on his lower lip to stop the grin from becoming too large; he doesn’t miss the way Alec’s eyes dip down to his mouth.

“It’s okay and thank you. I quite liked your little performance there as well.” At that Alec nods in silent thanks, looking up at Magnus from beneath a thick fringe of eyelashes; he almost stutters over his own name. “I’m Magnus Bane.”

It’s suave, it’s flirty, it’s definitely working. With a shimmy of his shoulders, this time it’s Magnus who extends his hand for a shake and when Alec grabs it, firmly and softly at the same time, it’s different from before. There’s no swelling music, no big movie moment where the narration kicks in, but it’s the something more of this evening.

They don’t let go, two stars in a constellation, the rest of the universe moving around them; people shift around with Simon’s next song, the free space between tables turning into a dance floor, but neither Magnus or Alec are paying attention.

“Would you like to go out with me?” Alec says, gently squeezing Magnus’ hand.

Magnus hasn’t expected the shadowhunter to be so outright or so quick to do anything. He’s known them mostly as these reserved, sour-faced people moving through life with as little joy as they can manage; Alec, he’s different, Magnus knows, how doesn’t matter.

“I’d love that. When?” Magnus switches the hand he’s holding Alec’s with to reach up and touch at the vine earcuff he’s wearing.

Alec glances down at their joined hands, Magnus’ fingers wrapped around Alec’s, rings against bare skin, then looks back up, mouth hanging open as he decides on his words. “How about now?”

“Now?” Magnus repeats, then pauses, thinking of all the places he could take this man to. “There is this Chinese restaurant a block away.”

For a blink, Alec’s brow furrow down as if he can’t believe Magnus actually agreed, but then his face smooths out, that lopsided smile back on his lips; Magnus already loves it, how free it is, how it hides nothing.

“I’m down for Chinese.”

“Let’s go, then.” Magnus spurs them into action, pulls on their joined hands towards the bar; Alec follows suit without complaint, only the first step unsure.

It almost seems too good to actually be true, too easy; everyone around them is having fun, not paying attention to them and what could be the romance of a century. Magnus quickly pulls out a hundred dollar bill and slaps it on the bar counter. “Keep the change, Maia.”

They exchange a smile as she slips the money into her pocket. “I sure will. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

He can’t even roll his eyes before Luke gives him a pair of enthusiastic thumbs up. Magnus shoves at his shoulder and says goodbye, before dragging Alec out into the cool New York evening air.

And the rest? That’s history.

[f-imaginings]

Can I see what you're writing now?

Sure, why not. Its still unfinished, complete draft stage, but I’ll post a little snippet of what I’m working on under the cut. Its the next chapter of Knowing Me Knowing You. I hope you enjoy the preview. 

He’d had so many nightmares lately that he couldn’t be sureif what he dreamt last night was real or not, but it felt real, and there wassomething in Ford’s gut telling himthat Bill was really there with him, in his dream. When he was awake, he ran thegamut of reasoning, chastising himself for even wanting Bill back here with himafter all he’d been responsible for, but his subconscious was determined to seeBill again, even if Ford’s conscious mind had its doubts.

He could have imagined it, but he woke up after the lastdream with a tingling feeling on his left pectoral, where the small blacktriangle was emblazoned into his skin, and he took that as a sign that his suspicionswere valid.

He hadn’t been abandoned by Bill. His muse returned, had answeredhis call for help. And perhaps, finally, Ford could get the answers he’d beenlooking for. If he could convince himself he was just looking for answers, andnot his potentially world-murdering partner back, he could con himself intothinking that his desire to see Bill was above board.

Ford had a special talent for lying to himself. Hissubconscious was much more honest. He just wanted Bill back.

However, just because Bill had been there last night in hisdream, there was no guarantee that he’d be here now. That Ford would be restingwith his god, and not another gauche nightmare.

Ford propped himself up on his elbow and tried to peer at thebody beside him.

“Hello?” Ford’s voice cut through the silence, and he wasignored by Bill.

Curving around Bill’s shape, Ford leaned over, draping hisarm across the muse, trying to look at Bill’s face, but Bill jammed his eyesshut avoidantly.

Ford rubbed Bill’s shoulder, trying to turn the muse to facehim.

“Bill?”

Ford could see Bill open his eyes, staring forward at thefabric of the pillow, looking somewhat annoyed.

“Bill, is it really –“ Ford asked, and saw his muse’s mouth wriggleinto a conflicted looking frown.

The expression was familiar, and so innately Bill that itanswered Ford’s question for him. It reminded him of the times he had Billcornered, or torn between desires, that wriggly frown. It was a side to the godthat Ford imagined not many people had the pleasure of seeing.

“Of course, it’s you. I’ve been waiting – but now that you’rehere, I –“ Ford rambled senselessly. “I have so many questions to ask you, I –“

“Shut up.” Bill scowled,and grabbed Ford’s hand, tucking it against his chest again, like they had donethe night before.

Ford let Bill capture his hand, but he propped himself to situp further, looking down at Bill’s withdrawn form, curled up around Ford’sclaimed hand.

“What? I don’t –“

“You don’t get to talk.” Bill shot Ford a venomous look overhis shoulder, before turning away from him more prominently. “I’m still mad at you.”

Ford was thrown by that. Why would Bill come back here if hehadn’t, in some way, forgiven Ford already? He was holding his hand, obviouslycraving closeness. Why was Bill here if it wasn’t to talk?

In his own roundabout way, Ford had partially forgiven Bill,or at least made excuses for most of his actions.

Ford wavered awkwardly, looking between Bill’s face, and theway his hands clenched Stanford’s fist possessively, like he was unwilling tolet him go.

It didn’t make sense, and while Ford puzzled on this dilemma,the guilt he’d been abating with the thought of being forgiven was welling uponce more, flooding his chest.

“You’re mad?” Ford reasoned, and laid back down in thepillows, spooning around Bill obligingly, even as his mind drifted. “Then –that’s why you sent the nightmares.”

“I didn’t send anything.” Bill huffed, lacing his fingerswith Ford’s, muttering bitterly. “It was probably just your own sickenedconscience, making your own nightmares. As punishment. I hear that happens toguilty humans.”

“But –“ Ford was hanging on the possibility that there wassome supernatural element to his dreams, something that would help him avoidaccountability for them. He felt like he was being punished with the dreams,but he’d hoped he wasn’t needlessly punishing himself, like he assumed.

He now knew that Bill wasn’t above lying to him, but somehowthis didn’t feel like a lie. “But they were –“

“Seriously fucked up. I know.” Bill remarked, idly tracinghis fingertip over each one of Ford’s knuckles as he spoke. “Very creative. Didn’tknow you had it in you. I had a flick through them once you hurtled back intoconsciousness. Did some digging. And here I thought you were Mr Well Adjusted.”

“You’ve been in my mind?” Ford asked, paranoia creeping backin, his shoulders tensing.

Bill scoffed, and shrugged his shoulder derisively. “Where doyou think we are now, genius? God, you’re dense.”

Ford’s mind was racing, taking in that information. Of coursethey were in his mind, he knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t know that Billcould flip through his thoughts like they were cards on a rolodex whenever hefelt like it. With his deepest subconscious thoughts bared like this, Ford feltexposed, sorely vulnerable, and awash with shame as he realised that Bill must havebeen able to do this all along.

Master of the mind.

Of course he had. He was so stupid.

“I can’t help but agree with you there Sixer.” Bill remarked,still tracing his finger along Ford’s knuckles. He paused, digging hisfingernail into the fleshy part of Ford’s palm for a moment, as his anger andbitterness crept to the surface, lashing out. “Clearly I was scraping at thebottom of the barrel when I picked you. You were a mistake I shouldn’t havemade.”

Ford frowned, and felt the pressure ease on his hand as Billlet go, though he was sure he’d have the crescents of Bill’s nails in his palmwhen he awoke.

“You sure have some interesting dreams though.” Billcommented, sounding fonder than he should have.

“How many have you seen?” Ford asked, his stomach flippingwith dread.

“All of them.” Bill replied honestly, noting the way Ford’shand twitched at that, the way his whole body seemed to twitch, recoiling fromBill now that he knew his darkest daydreams.

“How long –“ Ford took a deep breath, and pressed on with hisquestion. “How long have you been able to see them?”

“How long have humans known how to dream? I see everything, and this is my domain, as you’ve pointed outbefore.”

Ford frowned, and realised he caught Bill out on yet anotherlie, a long time ago. That night Ford first gave Bill a foot-rub, he’d saidthat he didn’t have access to the mindscape, to his dreams, but he’d beendeceiving Ford, even then.

He wasn’t sure if things were different now that Bill wasreunited with the mindscape, but in the past Ford thought he had caught theflaw in Bill’s all seeing routine. He certainly had the potential to see all,but the inclination, not so much. However, hearing that Bill had taken the timeto look through his nightmares…

“Then even my dreams were –“ The word ‘fabricated’ hungsilent in the air, but as Ford was thinking it, Bill heard it. He didn’t needto say it out loud.

Bill seemed to pause, taking that in, before he turned aroundin the bed, facing Ford now, his yellow eyes glaring up at him.

“How desperate are you to blame me for all of this? To makeme this grand mastermind, lording over your every thought and subconscious shitshow? How bloated is your ego, to believe you’re that important? That I havenothing better to do than to fuck around with your thoughts?”

“Then why did I –“ Ford had to ask, he had to.

“Why did you what, Brainiac?” Bill sneered up at Ford venomously.

“Why did I - love you?” Ford asked, his voice croaking in thedelivery.

Bill’s brows bunched up, as if hearing Stanford say it painedhim, and his yellow slitted pupils darted all over Ford’s face, as if takinghim in for sincerity, uncertain and hurt.

“I don’t know … why you would.” Bill eventually responded,and the hurt was evident in his tone.

Ford blinked at Bill, taken aback by the vulnerability thatwas written all over his face, the vulnerability that felt genuine, too raw tobe faked.

“Not that I’m not the best thing that’s happened to you.”Bill fumbled with his save, trying to look un-phased instead of heartbroken. “ClearlyI am, if you look at your circumstances. And humans latch onto anything andbecome dependant, it’s an archetype of your species. I mean, let’s face itSixer, you’re pretty pathetic without me here. I could count on one hand howfrequently you’ve bathed in the past six weeks, one of my hands, not yours.”

Ford wrinkled his nose, noting Bill’s censure of his hygiene,taking it on board.

“But if you were desperately looking for some manipulation orreason you’d have to think that about me, that I - you’re looking in the wrongdirection.” Bill admitted. “That was all you.”

Bill looked down and began twining his fingers through Ford’schest hair. “I don’t exactly have a point of reference to make something likethat happen, and besides – it’s not like it matters now.”

“What do you mean?” Ford asked, tilting his chin down.

“Casting me out of that body said it all Sixer.” Billcontinued to loop Ford’s chest hair around his fingers, pulling at it slightlyas he spoke. “Your overinflated sense of guilt doesn’t change how it went down.Your banishing circle made things more than clear.”

Ford sucked in a sharp breath, and exhaled, trying to staycalm. Bill was right though, as hasty as his plan had been, it spoke withfinality. A finality Ford was coming to question.

“How long have you been planning to turn on me?” Bill asked,resting his palm over Sixer’s heart, feeling his pulse for sincerity, trying tokeep his tone light and inconsequential, when really he was hanging on Sixer’sanswer like it was a lifeline to his sanity.

“It wasn’t pla-“

“DON’T lie to me.” Bill fumed, and for a moment his formseemed to extend beyond the shape of the vessel on the bed beside Ford, lightningstriking outside of Ford’s bedroom window, casting a larger, triangular shadowagainst the wall. “Don’t you dare.”

“How long have you been lying to me?” Ford had to ask, hisgaze darting between Bill’s shadow, and the muse laying beside him, lockingeyes with Bill’s slitted, angry stare.

“Is that your answer?”

“It’s a legitimate question.” Ford frowned, and Bill’s left handgripped tight onto Ford’s right hand, squeezing painfully.

“Then you’ve been planning this from the start?”

“I wasn’t planning to be duped by you.” Ford snarled, andtried to yank his hand away, but Bill just held on tighter, baring his teeth atFord.

“But what else were you planning? Huh? All of it? Did you plan all of it?”

“All of wh-“

“Using me! Trapping me here! Cutting me off from my magic. Manipulating me!” Bill hissed hisaccusations at Ford, his toes curling up against Ford’s leg to tangle with thehuman’s leg hair.

“You did – that’s what you did to me!” Ford’s tone wasoffended, defensive. Bill was squeezing his hand, twisting it, and Ford, notwanting to be bested, twisted back, the two of them pulling, hurting eachother. “You did –“

“So that makes it right, huh? Tit for tat. What I want toknow is, who struck first?” Bill jutted his chin out, and leaned forward intoFord’s space, a mere centimetre away from Ford’s face. “How long has this beenyour goal?”

“This was never my goal, this was –“ Ford made a frustratedsounding noise in the back of his throat, before he reached out with his freehand and grasped Bill’s hair, tugging on it, but not pushing Bill away. “I’velost everything because of you, andthis isn’t –“

“That’s rich Sixer, it really is.” Ford could feel Bill’sbreath puff against his lip as he laughed derisively. “You don’t even know whatloss is. You aren’t even capable –“

“You don’t know how capable –“ Ford hissed, as Bill reachedforward to dig his nails into Ford’s shoulder, retaliating. “You wouldn’t know,you lied. You’re a liar –“

“I’m the liar!” Bill’s eyes glinted with violent mirth as he leanedfurther into Ford’s space, relishing the pain in his scalp as Sixer pulled hishair. “You’re lying to yourself even now.”

“I don’t want you here. I don’t want this.” Ford lookeddesperately down at Bill, taking in all the details of his muse’s monstrosity,lurking. The brewing red in his eyes, the way his shadow crept up the wall likea growing, bubbling, many armed morass of deception, the way he was grippingonto Ford’s hand, his nails growing sharper, like claws. “I don’t want you.”

Bill curved his nails in painfully to Ford’s skin and pulledhim close, bumping their foreheads together. He hissed up into Ford’s face,maliciously, passionately.

“Liar.”

Ford closed the scant gap between them and mashed his lips toBill’s, breathing in the ozone that was encapsulated in his breath once more,feeling alive.

There’s a little snippet. There’s about 32 pages of the chapter done so far, and a lot more to do before it’s ready, but I hope you enjoy.