#act like I’m less than the dirt on their shoe

[polyacrylamidepensieve]

Ignore your body long enough and it’s like it’s not even there

[sscieloz]

Live your life

band!aespa x groupie!reader

Synopsis: It’s been less than a year since the band Aespa was created. Karina, Minjeong, Giselle and Ningning travel all over the country with nothing but a few gigs, little money and much love for the music. They’re far from superstars, and still don’t have a lot to offer. Besides, there’s something they can’t quite grasp: why you, the band’s most faithful fan, follows them without even questioning.

Warnings: lots of plot w a little bit of smut in the end, as alwayss.

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: I tried following the MV in chronological order (except for that little deck scene bc I forgot abt it and when I went back to rewatch the MV I didn’t know where to squeeze it in so wtvr) and I’m kinda proud w the way it turned out ˆˆ I had lots of fun writing it so I hope you have fun reading it too!! Also I ❤️ you band!aespa let me be your fucktoy I can take the four of you. and not in a fight (probably in a fight too).

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4

—

“Is this legal?” Ningning asks, hugging the straps of her backpack. She tilts her head up to grasp at the place that would make their stay for this week of competition, its grand walls of concrete leaving her in awe.

You’ve been wiser this time: the cache of the band’s last performance made it possible for them to buy a roof rack for your brother’s— now basically theirs— van, which provided much more space for equipment and luggage. 

“Not really.” The four of you say, in unison. With a deep sigh, you grab your belongings and walk towards the huge stairs that precede the nearly-abandoned place. 

“It used to be a bathhouse,” Karina tells the maknae, holding her by the shoulders as they walk forward in hopes of making her less uneasy. “But now they use it as a vintage, low-cost hostel, or whatever. It’s always cramped during these times of the year, so we’re safe Ningnie. Don’t worry.” 

The bathhouse is huge, although its dirty façade announces it’s been long since the place served its initial purpose. Grass grows around their feet, nearly disappearing into the wild, and there’s a great amount of dirt clinging to their shoes in the parking lot. Three floors are presented in front of them in all of their grandness, in a structure so massive the place could be misguided as a shopping mall. 

Ningning gulps, although she doesn’t look relaxed in the slightest. Going up so many flights of stairs leaves you breathless, resting your hands on your knees as soon as you reach the entry lounge. The inside of the building is much different from what you expected: it’s filled with warm lights, and most importantly, it’s packed. Young people storm from side to side, hanging out in the corners or walking in rushed paces. The mixed voices bring a lively vibe to the open area, and you smile as you watch comforting chaos unravel. Such noise is enough proof that you're here: the girls are actually going to perform in the most important music competition in the country. 

A hand on your shoulder grabs your attention as you reach for your camera, itching to record every second of the journey. Ningning’s voice makes you look up amidst getting lost searching for it in the middle of your stuff.

“Y/n.” She calls for you, staring at the ground to avoid making eye contact. Her shoulders are pressed downwards, announcing a hesitant posture much unlike herself. You hum in response, acknowledging her while still looking through your backpack. “Is it ok if we room together, this time?” 

You watch as Ning brushes her hands repetitively, aware something’s wrong. Ningning might be the youngest of the band, but she’s usually mature, serious, and confident; It’s concerning to have her acting like that.

“Sure, unnie.” You smile at her, looking around as you squeeze her arm in hopes of offering her some reassurance. After making sure the other girls were busy with the check-in, and that there weren’t any eavesdroppers, you ask, “Are they back again? Have you been getting any sleep?”

Ningning’s nod, followed by a tired sigh, is enough of an answer. You know being so dependent on her friends bothers her deeply, even though you’ve told her countless times none of you mind. 

It’s well-known among the girls that Ning struggles with night terrors. Being an independent and strong-willed child made her extremely talented, but also very lonely. Ningning’s parents invested in her and sent her away from her hometown, Harbin before the age of 10. From then on, the maknae found herself all alone in Korea, pushing through an excruciating routine at a shitty entertainment company where people barely knew her name. She never spoke, at first because she didn’t know Korean at all— but also because people rarely talked to her; only urging her through events and evaluations like a doll.

Or better, more like a ghost. The loneliness clung to her bones, making its way through her soul until she wasn’t even sure who she was without it. 

Ever since then, her nightmares have kept her awake at night, trapped in a tangled mess of absurd dreams that deprive her of getting any rest. The hallucinations are so real she’s frequently urged out of sleep with a trembling body and heavy nausea, rushing to the nearest bathroom in complete panic.

Thankfully, not sleeping by herself is something Ningning found to be of much help, even if just a bit. So the girls take turns holding the youngest member close in their arms until her body gives up to exhaustion, still trembling. 

That was before Ning had gotten it under control. With the help of a professional and her friends’ endless support, she eventually learned how to suppress her troubled thoughts. As months went by, her nightmares somehow did not scare her as much as they did when she was a little girl. 

Or so she thought. Asking for help meant things were not looking good at all, which set up an alarm in the back of your mind. 

You had to talk to Karina about it and let the leader know. Out of the three girls, she was the most protective of Ningning: the duo acted like sisters most of the time and had a tight bond. 

“We’ll get rid of those nasty monsters, Ningie.” You tell her, resting your arm on her shoulders as you walk side by side to the elevator. “Fuck them. I’ll personally beat their asses for disturbing our little princess’s sleep.” 

Ningning’s laugh fills up the small corridor, and as she clings to your body, you’re reminded of how small she is. The maknae trusts you; it’s something you feel in the way she reaches out for your embrace, allowing herself to be vulnerable even if not for long. 

“So,” Karina says, staring at the four of you with a serious face. “I know we all want to enjoy the festival too, and we absolutely should. But it’s late, and it’s a week-long competition, so I say we take it easy and rest today.” 

The leader's words reverberate through the elevator, her assertive tone leaving it clear that it was a rather strong-willed suggestion as you all nod. 

“We’ve worked hard for this opportunity.” Minjeong agrees, leaning onto the big mirror that gave the impression that the elevator was much bigger than its actual size. “Let’s not fuck it up. We can have fun later anyway.” 

“Our first performance is tomorrow, but we have a bunch of interviews scheduled before that. We must be well prepared and rested.” Giselle adds, while they get onto their floor and start walking toward their assigned rooms. 

Somehow, the girls always manage to get caught up with something just minutes before getting in the car for their road trip, which meant you arrived later than expected. At nearly 4 AM, everyone was tired, even though the adrenaline of being part of something as big as The Box was enough for them to be a bit jumpy, eyes darting around to capture everything dimmed possible. 

The rooms were better, this time: there wasn’t any dust and the place looked fairly comforting, compared to the last place you stayed at. You drop your backpack and your small suitcase onto the ground without much care.

“Goodnight, cuties. See you in the morning.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes as you throw yourself on the bed, extra tired from being the designated driver for the entire journey. Giselle, Winter, and Karina wave faintly, too, making their way to their room at a quick pace. 

Ningning smiles and watches as you stretch yourself, exhausted. She’s quick to drop her stuff and pull her single bed, although it doesn’t move further than an inch. “Y/n… help me join the beds, please?” 

“Right, right. Of course.” With some effort, the two of you manage to move the two beds together into the center of the room, and you relax for a bit while Ningning occupies the bathroom. The soft sheets that welcome your face are much different from the leather seats of your car, and the change is well welcomed— so much you let out a deep sigh, relieved now that you’re finally able to relax. 

After changing into your pajamas, you stare at the ceiling and you wait for Ningning to hop out of the shower and join you in bed before falling asleep yourself. However, the last thing your mind registers are the soft sounds of Yizhuo’s shower before sleep takes over your body and you lose a short-lived battle to unconsciousness. 

—

Life is anything but peaceful when you give up a normal, ordinary life to live off of music. Not that it’s a bad thing: if anything, the thrill of not having a routine grants to the girls a type of freedom that only comes with art. 

That’s all Karina can think about as the five of you hang out at a big, open field. There’s a fence where you and Ningning sit, and the cool breeze messes up her long, pitch-black hair. More than freedom, the leader’s chest also burns with a deep sense of accomplishment. 

Within a blink, she’s at the bathhouse’s rooftop and this time her bandmates chat lively by the place’s enormous sign. It’s late, and a different kind of unsettlement takes place inside her rebel heart this time, one Karina feels deep in her bones.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to dwell much: her senses prove to be right almost immediately when they’re struck by a sea of shooting stars. They fly by so fast Karina barely sees them, making their way through with such strength she’s pushed onto the ground. There’s only enough time for her to grab a single star, grasping the small light within her hands as strongly as she can. 

But just as fast as it happened, the storm is gone. Karina looks up to talk to you and the girls about it, but you’re nowhere to be seen. She frowns, realizing she’s left all alone, under the darkness of a starless sky. 

That’s when she wakes up: breathless, trembling badly as she grabs her neck in hopes of making more air run through her lungs. Despite the cool night, her body is drenched in sweat. Yet, the oldest member can’t help but sigh in relief once she looks up beside her and finds Minjeong peacefully asleep. The leader looks to the other bed, where Giselle’s faint snores can be heard, her mouth hanging slightly open as saliva drools onto the bassist’s pillow.

Karina’s safe. She’s with her girls, in the comfort of their room. 

Yet the loneliness she felt still echoes through her body, hurting enough to draw small tears from her eyes before she acknowledges it. It had been such an empty moment… to look up and not see any of the people she loved and cherished deeply. 

It’s something Karina decides she never wants to feel again. 

“Mhm…” Minjeong stirs, her eyes half open as she stretches her arms out. Karina’s noises probably woke her up— the girl has never been a deep sleeper anyway. “What are you doing awake?” 

A few seconds go by, and Karina stays silent. The answer comes when the blonde is almost falling asleep again, so low Minjeong thinks she’s imagining it. “You left me there, all alone. All of you.” 

“We… who?” Minjeong’s voice is scrappy with confusion. She looks at the leader, scratching her head as she watches Karina get up. “Why would we do that? We’re literally right here, unnie.”

Minjeong’s attempts to understand her friend fail. If anything, she’s bluntly ignored by Karina, who shakes Giselle gently until she manages to get the Japanese girl up, although clearly in a zombie-like state, still barely conscious. 

The weather was still a bit hot by the time they arrived, so the girls agreed to leave the old, arched windows open for the night. Now, the wind had messed up the leader’s wavy hair, and there were little eye-bags under her eyes from waking up so abruptly. As a result of such an intense dream, Karina’s lips trembled and her body lacked its usual strength, which was noticeable by her limp arms. She looks fragile, clearly disturbed by a train of thoughts echoing inside her mind. 

And the way the leader stares at Minjeong so helplessly… It’s the reason why she doesn’t question when Karina offers her hand to help the blonde out of bed, in complete silence. One that remains until the leader unlocks your and Ningning’s room with her spare card, walking onto the bed with light steps— as if she was taken by the wind itself. 

Your bedroom is not as big as theirs, and the improvised bed is still rather small, but Karina makes it fit. Her hand is keen on Giselle’s back, urging the girl back to bed as the leader lies her down once again. Like in a puzzle, Minjeong squeezes herself between your arched back and Ning’s body, careful to not wake up either of you. 

“Feeling better?” She asks Karina, who watches the scene with a small smile. Minejong’s heart is filled with warmth at the girl’s pretty face, as she closes her eyes once again. 

“Much better.” The vocalist murmurs, calm and collected. Being tangled with her girls at one of the country’s most successful music events is enough to dissipate her previous loneliness. There’s nothing else she needed but the four of you. “I’m no longer alone, now.” 

She’s safe.

—

The Box is an event created for Companies from all over the country to show off their assets and make as much profit as possible—and they make sure to capitalize on every second of it, which is as much of a burden as it is an opportunity for its participants. The girls had interviews, outfit changes, and makeup booths provided by sponsors, guaranteed as long as they shot commercials and launched a few good words about their brands. 

Held in a big, open area, the place brings goosebumps to Karina’s stomach, reminiscing too much of her dream as the same clouds wind on the sky, blocking the sun’s path. Just as she had done moments prior, you look up too, frowning. The lack of light makes the day seem gloomier than usual, and a single droplet of rain would result in an atrocious, muddy day. 

And that would be a disaster, for sure.

“So,” After recording the stage they’d perform at in just a few hours, you turn around and nearly shove your camera on Giselle’s face. “Enlighten us, Gigi: why is the festival named The Box if the main stage is actually a big fucking losangle?” 

Giselle’s tone is condescending as she adjusts her perfectly arranged bangs, giving you a dirty look before answering. “Y/n, my love.” She redirects the camera to capture both of your faces, smearing your cheek with her lip gloss. “You just have to accept some things: like the weather, time… and The Box’s setup. It’s how it’s always been, so let’s not dwell on that matter, okay? Thanks.” 

“Very well, then. You heard her.” You nod back at the camera, capturing the massive stage for a few more seconds before pausing the recording. 

Giselle’s passive-aggressiveness was one of her hottest traits, and you loved to watch her boss people around. Which she always made sure of doing, whenever she had the chance to.

The Japanese girl giggles at your words, nudging you gently. Not much further from you, Karina and Ningning stand in a big line to try some popular dish. You wave to them, and Giselle straightens her posture, following your stare with a grunt. 

“So, you and Jimin, huh.” She asks, plucking at the grass with her shoes. It’s obvious she’s trying her best to sound nonchalant and not make a big deal out of it.

It was no secret that you were devoted to Karina, surrendering yourself with as much as a whisper from her. Still, it was amusing to you how shy Giselle seemed with her question. Her hesitation was sweet, so cute it draws a smile from your face. 

“Oh… well, yeah.” You shrug, not at all ashamed. “She needs someone to warm up her bed.” You eye Giselle attentively, studying the older girl’s body language before adding, “I can help you with that too if you’d like. I know Jimin unnie wouldn’t mind.”

Your answer catches her off guard, her eyes wide from your straightforwardness. You’re nearly teasing her for being so shocked when she laughs, shaking her head. It’s Giselle, after all: the girl has such a flirty nature you’d be surprised if she didn’t give you a run for your money. 

“We’ll see... You’re sure one of a kind, Y/n. That you are.” She answers, with a sultry tone before gently squeezing your arm and vanishing from your sight. 

That is enough for you. The Japanese girl’s gorgeous looks and confident nature make her so desirable and hot— truly an it girl, often leading the group to try out new music styles and different types of choreographies. Giselle is always pushing herself outside her comfort zone. 

It’s good that she knows you’re also willing to try anything she’d like, too. 

Brushing that subject off your mind, you take some time to dive into the festival, just as curious as the girls were: the place is still beautiful, despite the weather. Its lively atmosphere is enchanting, and there is so much happening: from bands singing on minor stages to dance performances not much further from where you stand. Everyone seems eager to participate, and you’re just as excited to watch everything at once.  

This event is also a great opportunity for you, considering you’re still attending university— hoping to major in Media Arts in two years or so. Even though you spend most of the time following the girls around, your passion for filmmaking and photography is also one of the reasons you’re so committed to recording everything your eyes meet. You plan on making this documentary into your final presentation of the year and submitting it to one of your main classes. 

So you record everything: making a full turn to capture your entire experience. You’re so committed to your task that you don’t even notice Minjeong’s frame behind you, the blonde girl not making an effort to move such thing as an inch from out of your way. 

The two of you collide with each other so roughly you have to hold onto the girl’s tiny frame with your free hand to prevent her from a having dirty fall.  Minjeong gives you an ugly look, impatiently wiping the dirt from her plaid skirt. She’s judgy, as always— not a day goes by where the blonde doesn’t give you a hard time.

Although you weren’t exactly peaceful to her, either. 

“Do you ever wear a bra?” She mumbles, annoyed. Minjeong’s fingers press the tip of her nose bridge and she closes her eyes as if dealing with you was enough to drain all of her energy. 

“Why are you looking anyway?” You’re quick to snap back, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Choosing comfort over fashion was something you’d always do, and today was no different. Your look for the day was rather basic, but perfect for someone who’d be walking around the entire time: a pair of jeans and a plain white tank top that made your Aespa badge visible to anyone who took a quick look at you. However, that little show of Winter has made the dirt that clung onto the fabric attract attention to your breasts, highlighting the way your pierced nipples peeked through. It had only been a few weeks since you and Giselle got them done, so you were still a bit hypersensitive.

Not that you minded, anyway. Minjeong would be a jerk regardless of that: the blonde made her life’s purpose to annoy the shit out of you, and she’s very committed on doing so.

Proving your point, Winter scoffs, all annoyed.

“You always make this shit on purpose, don’t you?” You stare at her, confused, and it seems like she’s had enough. Rolling her eyes, Minjeong brushes past you, nearly dragging you by the shoulders as she stomps away. “Whatever. Whore.”

Minjeong is so rude. Undeniably so, with an insanely stubborn temper. Her mood changes quickly, and it is hard to tell if she genuinely hates you or if it is just some kind of playful banter.

Not that you cared much, honestly. There were many important things for you to worry about, like the amazing festival happening at the moment. You’d deal with that nightmare of a girl some other time. 

Instead of allowing the petite blonde to disturb your mind, you decide to walk around by yourself too— despite preferring to be surrounded by the girls at all times, it felt good to be on your own.

You were deeply committed to making a masterpiece out of your clips. If the work you handed in was good enough, then perhaps your professor would overlook the number of absences on your attendance sheet and give you a nice grade. 

After walking around for a few minutes, a certain stage catches your attention: the structure is small and curiously held like a boxing ring, where nine girls sing and dance in beautiful harmony. The space is so far from the center of the festival its last rounds of chairs nearly drag onto the woods that surround the place. 

The girls performing are all dressed in dark pants, white crop tops, and black ties, and they’re incredibly in synch while still making complicated moves. Their voices are sweet, and so is the music that flows to your ears: it’s a cover of one of your favorite songs, KARA’s Mr.

Your eyes go straight to the sign that hangs in front of the stage, looking for said group’s name. Thankfully, it’s easy to find, both in Hangul and Romanized.

Fromis9.

The nine girls’ bright stage presence fills up the area, and it amazes you how coordinated they are, not one outshining the other despite being so many. No lines are stolen in the song; instead, they add to each other beautifully, reminding you of your girls. The contrast is fascinating, from Aespa’s four-member band to those strangers, who sing cheerful songs like this will be the last happy summer of their lives. 

You’re enchanted by them, truthfully. Not only talented, the girls seem genuinely sweet, as they spin and jump around to hype up the dead crowd. And oh, they’re stunning: each one with striking features, ones that surely seem like they’ve been taken straight out of a fairytale. 

You make sure to record their entire performance, as well as the little playful moments reserved for interacting with their fans and supporters. Soon enough, the song ends, leaving the group breathless but happy. You watch as the girls bow and take turns passing small water bottles around, tired from giving their all on stage. 

A few of them start a small discourse, although you don’t pay enough attention to grasp the meaning of their words. You’re too busy staring at one of them instead, hiding behind your camera so she doesn’t see how enamored you are. 

The girl is small, but her slim waist and toned muscles announce she must spend most of her free time at the gym. An energetic pink-haired girl clings to one of her arms, providing a clear contrast to her long, pitch-black hair, but she doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest: if anything, she hugs the energetic girl back, laughing and she twirls her friend around.

Luckily for you, there’s a big paper clasped in front of her shirt, just like every artist who is currently performing and competing at The Box. You search for her name with expectation, just like you’ve done with her group’s name.

Hers say, Saerom. 

A beautiful name for an enchanting girl. 

However, it’s her face that surprises you the most. She’s beautiful, of course— stunningly so, but so is everyone at this festival: something expected for a place with such a high concentration of artists, models, and people in the entertainment industry in general. But as you look into her high cheekbones and sharp jawline, you’re surprised to find such kind eyes staring back at you. Saerom’s eyes provide her soft, almost ethereal look as she nods to you. It’s a faint action, one a distracted eye would barely notice once she moved back to the middle of the stage with her bandmates, yet you’d never miss it. There’s no way she wouldn’t stand out, despite her plain outfit. 

You could stare at her for hours. 

Although you’re incapable of doing so: in a blink, steady hands grab your camera, and your arms are urged down so fast you nearly let it fall on the ground. Nothing disastrous happens, thanks to your steady grip and good reflex, but your vision is blocked by a serious Karina, fuming as she stares angrily at you. 

“What are you doing, Y/n?” The leader’s cocky, angry voice is something you only hear when she’s feeling intimidated or when she wants to be petty, which is unusual for the occasion. Why would she be so defensive towards you?

Karina usually yaps her heart out until your ears hurt from her complaints. It’s a normal thing for her to do, whenever she’s pissed. However, she doesn’t say anything this time, clearly waiting— demanding an explanation. 

So you lift your camera, playfully poking her in a failed attempt of easing the tension hanging in the air. “I’m making The Box’s documentary as my final presentation.” You stay on your tiptoes, trying to get a hold of the view Karina is blocking so confidently, but it’s useless by now: the performance is over, and the Fromis9 members have already retreated backstage. “For that class I told you about, remember?”

Karina rolls her eyes, ignoring your explanation as she directs you in the opposite direction. With a resolute tone, she brushes off the matter. “Whatever. Listen, Y/n: you should only focus on us, your band. There’s no need for you to look at anyone else.”

Oh, Karina’s fuming. It’s easy to tell, from the way she refuses to meet your face to the red that paints her cheeks. You giggle, enjoying her subtle possessiveness. 

Truth be told, you thrived on being reassured just as much as the girls did. The only difference was that you made an immense effort to hide how much it aroused you, well aware they’d use it as an advantage. 

Besides, there was a bit of truth behind her words: the girls were the only ones you truly felt connected to; they were yours just as much as you were theirs, and you didn’t feel like you needed to meet new people.

“Of course, Jimin unnie.” You nod, walking next to her as you turn your camera off and place it back in your backpack. “Aespa is the only band worth looking at, anyway.” 

Karina blossoms under your praise, smiling brightly as she kisses you gently, her irritation gone. “Good girl. Now let’s go to the main stage. There are only two hours until our performance, and the girls are starting to get ready.” 

You’d like to tease her back a bit, but now wasn’t the time. Not when the band’s nerves were all over the place, nervous they’d fuck up the opportunity of their lives. No, you wouldn’t do such a thing. You’d be their anchor, peace, and most faithful supporter as you always were, ready to remind the girls of their true potential. 

With that, you and Karina walk back to the main stage with synchronized steps, and the moment with Saerom is brushed off to the back of your mind.

You've probably imagined the entire thing, anyway. There was nothing to wonder. 

—

“Hello, girls. Are you Aespa?” The staff asks, entering the room with his eyes glued to the list in his hands. After the five of you nod, he adds, with a comforting smile, “You’re on in 30. Come after you finish your makeup and clothes so we can start the soundcheck and set up your microphones.”

With another nod, you fall into a nervous silence once again. The girls have waited for this opportunity for so long; the crowd’s heated screams could be heard from where you stood, only adding to the girl’s expectations. It was the first time they performed in front of so many people, let alone at such a big and renowned festival. 

“I think I’m going to throw up.” Giselle mumbles, softening her necklace as if it were suffocating her. Her breaths were uneven, and her eyes were fixated on the ground. 

Karina smiles softly at the girl. As the leader, she knows it’s her duty to look composed and relaxed, to tranquilize her bandmates. “You’re not going to throw up, Gigi. You just need some air. Come on, let’s get out of here.” 

The leader grabs Giselle by the arm, urging her up. As they go through the door, Ningning rushes to follow their steps. 

“I need to breathe too.” She gulps, not even sparing you a glance as she runs to catch up with her friends. 

The nerves were striking, and they needed to look composed so they’d give their all on stage, as always.

You and Minjeong were the only ones left backstage, which allows you to take some time to study her better. The blonde sits perfectly still on the couch, with a rigid posture and hands clasped tightly on her lap. She looks composed, almost bored, as she always does— but you know her better. 

Minjeong’s muscles are visibly tense, and her left leg bounces so much you’re afraid it’s going to be chopped off from her body. She’s usually so composed, rarely giving a fuck about anything in her life. Whatever it was, the most Minjeong would do was roll her eyes at it or give it a nasty, rude response. Nothing else.

Seeing her bottle up her feelings like that is something that leaves you deeply uncomfortable. The way she deals with her emotions is none of your business of course, and it’s not like she ever talks about how she’s feeling with anyone anyway. 

Minjeong rarely talks about herself; not to you or her bandmates. She’s simply someone very private when it comes to that matter. It’s something the blonde struggles with— understanding and acknowledging her emotions are not things that come to her naturally, so Minjeong would often carry her burdens alone until the feelings get so heavy she explodes, taking it off on someone who has nothing to do with whatever it is she’s going through. 

Although it surprises you to see how deeply caring the girl can be. Minjeong, who knows Karina loves apple-flavored candy and sorts them out for her leader, even though they all think it’s gross. Minjeong, whose personal space is sacred, allows Ningning to be as clingy as she wants, aware the maknae longs for physical contact after being deprived of it so much as a child. Minjeong, who is the most competitive person you’ve ever met, but lets Giselle beat her at deck games whenever they notice the Japanese girl is feeling down. 

Minjeong, who despises you thoroughly, but snuck a new SD card into your purse after seeing you struggle with your camera for a few days. 

You didn’t want her to make her big debut feeling like a nervous wreck. She needs to relax, and not be so tense otherwise she won’t do good in her performance. 

And you know just what to do. 

With a sigh, you drop your hand from the doorknob and turn to her, leaning on the wall to take a better look at Winter. 

“You’re nervous.” You state, smirking at the sight of her face growing red—the blonde girl, usually so collected… oh, how she hates to be caught. 

Most importantly, Minjeong hates you can always see right through her. 

“Well no shit, Sherlock.” 

Walking towards her with small, unhurried steps, you sit right next to her, crossing your legs as you lean onto her.

“I can help you with that.” You whisper to her, staring at her mouth. “Do you trust me?”

Minjeong scrunches her nose but doesn’t move away. Her answer, however, comes immediately— not an ounce of hesitation coming from her mouth. “Not at all.”

“Good.” You cup her face. “Wise girl.”

Leaning in, you capture Minjeong’s lips in a messy kiss. Despite her fiery personality, she tastes sweet, and you savor the strawberry essence of her lip gloss. Kissing Minjeong is addictive, yet you can’t seem to get enough of her. You lick her lips and devour her until your lungs scream for air, and the two of you get off each other when there’s no air and you’re both left desperate and breathless. 

Minjeong’s blonde hair flows freely, her scrutinizing stare forgotten the moment the two of you got so close your breaths entwined. For a moment, you don’t do anything but stare at each other, as you look for any signs of what she’d like to do next. You’re nearly sure she’d tell you to get lost until she grabs your neck and pulls you close, kissing you for the second time. 

“You’re completely insufferable, Y/n.” She murmurs in between the kiss as her thumb brushes down your neck. Even though there’s a faint pressure, her touch is almost soothing, urging you down to your knees. “Now, do more.”

You’re more than eager to follow her wishes, urging her pants and underwear down in a swift motion. Minjeong’s pussy is so pretty, all pink, swollen, and glistening, and you lick your lips with anticipation. The blonde girl lies comfortably on the couch as she spreads her folds with two of her fingers— showing herself to your hungry gaze.

“How do I look right now, Y/n?” Her tone is drenched with mockery as you squeeze her thighs, drawing a shiver from her. Your hands trace tiny circles on her milky skin, and you choose to ignore her; too focused on her beautiful body on display for you. 

Minjeong’s free hand goes to grip your hair, annoyed by your lack of response. “Fine, then. Do you want to know how you look?” 

Her malicious smile, much different from her delicate features, is what makes you shiver at her concentration. Giving her thighs faint bites, you ask, “Enlighten me, Minjeong.” 

“Like a whore.” Her grip tightens and you can’t help but bite harder this time. “Hey! See, I’ve always said you’re just a cheap who—“

Minjeong is silenced by your warm tongue on her pussy, licking a big stripe of her sex, as you go all the way up to suck on her clit as well. Her high-pitched moans are like music to your ears, and you take turns sucking her sensitive bud and letting out some lewd, loud sounds as you nearly make out with her pussy. 

“Do you want my fingers, pretty girl?” You mumble, staring at her through your lashes. 

Minjeong looks like a painting, beautiful with her mouth half-opened and a thin cover of sweat covering her brows. She nods frantically, urging you even closer.

Greedy, that’s what she is.

“Yes, please.” It’s the first time you’ve ever seen use her manners, so you’re quick to comply. “Fuck, Y/n…” 

Two of your fingers enter her cunt without any resistance as you thrust hard and fast. She bucks her hips to add to the stimulation, and you’re graced with the glorious view of her abs, thankful she chose a tiny crop top for the day. You want to see her tits, too, but it’s not like you’re in any position to demand anything— not while Minjeong uses you as a toy, rocking onto your mouth as her moans grow louder and louder. 

You feel her walls tensing up, and her toes curl as she tells you, “Y/n, I’m going t—“

“Cum for me, Minjeongie.” You give her clit one last, harsh suck, as her breathing becomes even quicker. “That’s it, let go.”

Minjeong follows your commands, reaching her orgasm with a high-pitched moan as she squeezes your head in between her thighs. Her body trembles from the stimulation, and you keep your fingers inside her walls until she’s calmed down enough that her screams are reduced to heavy breaths. You lick her clean, then, careful to not touch her clit as you eat her out for a few other moments. 

What’s most surprising to you, though, is the delicacy in her touch as she urges you up, tasting herself on your lips. 

“Sweet.” She giggles, before grabbing your tank top and pushing you off her. Minjeong’s obsessed with oversized jeans, and her current ones look huge on her tiny waist as she takes her time with buttoning up. “I really needed that, Y/n. Thanks.”

You don’t bother to hide a cocky smile as you nod, shrugging. 

“You’re going own that fucking stage today, Minjeong. All of you.” It’s what they were born to do. There isn’t a slight possibility of them not doing their absolute best on stage.

“I know.” Minjeong looks around, bouncing back and forth with her hands on her jeans’ back pocket. After a pause, she adds, with a quiet tone, “You’re going to be there, right? At the front row. Recording and all. It’s one of the only things you’re useful for.” 

You smile, understanding the hidden meaning behind her bored tone. “Of course, I will, dumbass. I’ll be there with you, as always.”

You’d always be there for your girls: cheering, supporting, or helping the band with anything they needed. 

Karina, Ningning, Giselle, and Minjeong were not sure of when you had become such an important figure in their lives, but there was something they all agreed on: they’ve grown too fond of you now. It was impossible to let you go. 

Not that you had any intentions of leaving their side, anyway. 

[ilovejoostklein]

Sweet Vodka

Joost performs at the club you bartend at and thinks you’re pretty // joost x fem!reader

part 1/2

nsfw: smut

-

It would be a miracle if you’d walk out tonight with your sanity, much less your hearing. You were on the other side of the club, hugged by the neon pink and purple lights that reminded you of the sunsets outside that you always missed. Ever since you moved to the Netherlands for university, you have been working like a dog to pay your way and enjoy life in a new country. It was tempting not to sneak a drink or take a shot with the customers, the ones that were friendly enough to ask an extremely drunken man or tourist, now and then to drink away your loneliness.

You dressed nicely today as your manager warned you it would be a lot busier than usual. You ironed your black work blouse for once, you wore the clean waist apron and slacks that hugged your figure rather than the stained, comfortable ones. Your legs were hidden by the counter, you figured it was pointless to be uncomfortable through your eight-hour shift just for the sake of vanity. Your hair was pulled back neatly, and a few strands fell out against your flushed face as you had a full bar and were trying your best to manage with your coworker. You did your makeup just enough so that it wouldn’t melt off, but still accentuated your features even in the dim club. 

“It’s crazy tonight.” You shouted to one of the four other bartenders tonight, Laura, as you passed each other, a drink in each hand. 

She shook her head, “Not as crazy as the performer.”

You glanced over your shoulder towards where the source of the beaming lights and densely crowded stage was. You were quite far away, you couldn’t make out the tall blonde man who somehow had the crowd mesmerized. You smiled to yourself, it was cute how he was jumping around the stage and was so carefree, it was a nice change from the performers singing ballads or DJs who took themselves too seriously. 

“It’s cute.” You said, earning an eye roll, causing you to protest with a laugh “ What .” 

“This is his last song and he and his friends are about to give us hell when they get over here.” She warned. “It always happens with these younger performers.”

Laura was like your work mom, and you hated it when she was right. The set ended, the crowd was louder than ever with their goodbye and dispersed out the door, towards the bar, or stayed on the dance floor for the DJ’s set. It made the night run smoother that your shift was over in only an hour. The rush rolled off your back, people weren’t ordering fancy cocktails, opting for shots, and just wanted to get wasted. 

“Bring these to the back.” Laura suddenly tapped your shoulder and nodded towards a tray with a bottle of vodka and five shot glasses. “For the performers.”

You took the tray without a second thought and made your way to where the performers stayed. it was behind where the stage was, protected by a bodyguard and a key that you had clipped to your keychain inside one of your apron pockets. 

Tonight, one of the bouncers was there and luckily let you in, saving you from performing a balancing act. You thanked him breathlessly, walking into the fluorescent halls and squinting immediately. It was strangely desolate, the club was an older building and the bright white lights against the intricate architecture gave you a cold feeling. The lowly feeling of servitude and marching up drinks for a performer and his friends, who would either treat you sweetly or like the dirt on their shoe didn’t help your nerves. 

You followed the commotion of men laughing and talking in a mix of Dutch and English. As you suspected, your ears were ringing quite intensely , your head and eyes ached from the brightness and loudness of his hour-long set. Upon reaching the weathered door, you took a deep breath and knocked.

The door practically flew open and you felt yourself die from the embarrassment of how the room went silent, even if you couldn’t see inside. “I’m here with the bottle you ordered.” You announced tensely. 

“Thank you.” The man who opened the door said, taking it from your hands with a warm smile. You noticed his eyes scanned you from top to bottom before coming back to meet your gaze. “Why don’t you come inside?” He offered. 

He only had the door open, just enough to take the tray from your hands. It wasn’t the first time a performer had invited you back. Nothing ever came of it besides someone from his team thought you were cute and wanted to take you to wherever they were staying, but you always politely declined, never even stepping foot inside. How many people were in there, five, ten? Did they bring back women from the crowd and just want to add you to the bunch? The possibilities made you withdraw from the door, making your timidness painfully obvious from the way you stepped back and your eyes darted to the floor. 

“Just come in for a quick drink.” He pressed gently. “So we have an excuse to get another bottle.” 

You were dying for a drink and to get away from the commotion, a quick shot wouldn’t hurt you. In all honesty, your curiosity got the better of you as well. You never saw the inside of that room and the performers themselves had never spoken to you besides for their drink order. 

To your surprise, only five men were sitting on the couches watching something on the TV. Two of them were smoking, making the room smell heavily of cigarettes which made you grow even dizzier. It was common here, but you never could get used to the pungent smell of tobacco.

What overwhelmed your senses more was the performer himself, Joost. You knew his face and his name from the promotional posters plastered around the club. You couldn’t help the blush that engulfed your cheeks and the coldness that spread across your chest. He had the sweetest smile you’d ever seen, it lit up his whole face and radiated warmth. You felt yourself burn completely in his presence alone. 

“Please, sit.” Joost made space for you on the couch right beside him. “I don’t think it’s good to drink standing.” 

You watched one of the men pour the shots, and you realized they were of course a glass short as they couldn’t have possibly accounted for you. You watched awkwardly, folding into yourself as they slammed the glasses down and the other men turned their attention towards each other. 

Joost reached over for the bottle and turned to you. “Your turn.” He began to take the cap off and your eyes slightly widened as you realized what he was doing. “Open.”

You nervously opened your mouth and closed your eyes, praying internally that you wouldn’t spit it out all over the table, or worse his clothes. He poured a little over a shot in your mouth and you swallowed quickly, the bitterness killing whatever appetite you worked up and blanketing you with the warming goosebumps that hard liquor brought over your skin. 

The men chuckled at the grimace on your face as you quickly wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. It was sticky with your lip gloss and the remnants of vodka, but you desperately wanted another shot to soothe your nerves. You felt too many eyes on you, and the mood of the room had completely shifted from your presence. 

They announced that they wanted to go sit by the bar, it was too quiet in the dressing room for their liking, and they were hungry, grabbing their coats, and taking a few more shots before leaving. You had a suspicion from their sudden shift in demeanor and fleeting glances that they wanted to leave the two of you alone. 

“I’m Joost.” The man stuck out his hand, you took it for a firm handshake before bringing your hand towards his lips and pressing a kiss against it.

You introduced yourself, watching as he looked up from your hand, soft lips still pressed against your skin and his eyes fixed on yours. It was like it was morning again, looking up at the blue sky but the darkness of his pupils reminded you it was just his eyes, bringing you back to the reality of the room. 

“Can I have another drink?” You couldn’t believe you had the nerve to ask, but he smiled that adorable smile again and nodded. 

“Of course.” He opened the bottle and poured another shot and a half into your mouth. “Another one?” He questioned, watching as you struggled to swallow the disgusting vodka. 

“No, thanks.” You said, feeling the warmth again that you loved so much. 

“Good, because I wasn’t going to give it to you.” He said, you felt yourself smile. “One shot was enough.”

“You’re right.” You watched as he poured a shot for himself. “We have great beer, you know.” 

He hummed as he took the shot as if it was water. “Are you trying to get away from me already?” He asked playfully. 

You wondered how worried your expression was before you spoke because he quickly tried to assure you, “Unless you have to get back to work.” He reiterated. “I don’t want to hold you captive.”

“No, it’s not that.” You laughed, “My shift is over soon anyway.” 

A smile spread across his face, it was so charming you felt an overwhelming need to kiss him, but you blamed that on the alcohol. “Oh.” He said, “I’m lucky.” 

“You’re lucky?” You questioned, the two shots taking full effect especially because you had them on an empty stomach. 

“I wanted to invite you to my apartment.” He said. “I saw you on the way inside, you’re very pretty.”

You were taken aback by his boldness. In the few months that you were here, you’d be so unsuccessful with dates. You were so lonely in your apartment, beautiful as it was you made it into your cozy haven to return to after a long day at school or work. It slowly ate you up inside that you had no one to share it with, and you returned every night to a cold, empty bed. You felt the breaking point right within the room, you couldn’t bear to return to a desolate apartment again. 

“Come to mine.” You said it without a second thought, the burning brush on your cheek returning to your face. 

It seemed that Joost couldn’t believe you either. His head turned to the side and his eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to inspect your unsure expression. It seemed that both of you were tipsy, with flushed cheeks, and staring at each other in an eerily quiet room. 

“Really?” He questioned. “Do you take people back to your apartment often?”

“No.” You retorted, still not able to get over how direct he was. “I haven’t had anyone over, yet.”

He let out a dry laugh, “I can take you on a date then.” He offered. “Or, I can come to your apartment and take you on the date after. Your choice.”

You could tell he was genuine, and self-assured in he didn’t have to misguide and press you for anything. Charisma exuded out of him, you couldn’t get enough. You were never one to hook up with a stranger but for whatever reason this time was the one, and likely last exception. You couldn’t stop staring at your reflection in his eyes, or taking in all his features when he smiled. You felt yourself lean closer to him, smelling the cologne on his skin and clothing that was dull, crisp fresh scent. 

It was like a string was woven in between your bodies, and kept bringing you closer. Joost’s hands cupped your face and brought you closer so that your chests were pressed up against each other. You felt your eyes flutter shut as his lips pressed against yours. They were soft and bitter from vodka and sweet tobacco. This was all purely lustful, shameless physical attraction. You thought he was the hottest man you’d seen since you arrived, and to him, you were too pretty to pass up. 

The kiss deepened, and you heard him moan softly every time he pulled away and it drove you wild. You felt yourself growing bolder and more confident as you grabbed his shoulders tightly, bunching up the smooth cotton of his shirt so that he’d be on top of you. He sighed deeply, pulling away to pepper kisses against your cheeks, moving down to your neck to lick and suck against the sensitive skin. 

You gasped loud enough that it made him put his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. He pressed his knee between your legs, drawing out a muffled cry as you writhed against his knee and took what little bit of pleasure he was giving you. 

He kept kissing and sucking on your neck, alternating sides, making sure to kiss your cheeks to cool the tension between you so that you didn’t up just fucking on the couch at your job. He could tell how much you liked it, you were already such a mess beneath him. It gave him the suspicion it was a while since anyone had touched you like this. The thought of it only excited him more, that you let him, a man you didn’t know at all, be the one to have you this way. 

Joost felt himself growing impatient, and he could see from the way you were holding onto him and rubbing over the bulge in his pants that you were too. He didn’t want to fuck you on the old, worn-down couch at the club, he knew that you’d both want to shower, and the thought of a sloppy fuck turned him off. 

He pulled away from you to grab his phone frantically from the table to text his friends, asking them to bring the car around to the back. His face was wet, his shirt was unbuttoned, hair disheveled, your legs in his lap. His heart pounded against his chest and the excitement filling his body was unbearable. He prayed that you didn’t live far away. 

“What’s your address?” He asked, not looking at the glowing screen of the phone. The light reflected against his sharp features making you lose focus. 

“I just live up the street.” You said, desperation seeping from your tone. “We could walk there.” 

Joost thought about it briefly, before deciding he’d save himself from the added torture of having to walk with you. He imagined how you’d look under the warm street lights, how the wind would blow through your hair that he’d let down, the way the cold air would pinch your already flushed cheeks. He knew your eyes would sparkle so much it would make the stars envious. He’d chosen to be selfish. 

“We have a car.” He said, “Just tell the driver where you live.”

You wondered why he would opt for a car ride that lasted no more than a few seconds, but it didn’t matter much. You arrived at your apartment, a small two-level building where you lived on the upper level over a newly vacant property. It was charming, an old, brick building with white trimming on the windows and flower boxes with pale pink peonies. You led him upstairs, not before fumbling with the key so much it made him laugh and smack your ass to hurry up. 

The two went up the stairs like teenage lovers, the lightness and excitement of it all brought you so much comforting relief that it wasn’t a dirty affair. He didn’t walk up with you in silence, his mind only on one thing. Even if you both were acting on purely physical intentions, there was a sense of playfulness rather than secrecy.

Joost brought a duffle bag with him, from the car, presumably a change of clothes and things he needed to spend the night. He asked to use your shower. 

“I’ll be quick.” He called out as he shut the door. 

It was strange having another man in your apartment. You sat on the couch, listening to the echo of him humming in the shower and the water hitting the porcelain. Your mind began to wonder, if you should open the bottle of red wine you got as a housewarming gift that was collecting dust in your cupboard, whether your coworkers were annoyed that you disappeared and would interrogate you on your next shift, if you should run to your room and grab a nice underwear set or if you should just come out in a towel. 

You heard the water stop and felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You began to wonder if this was the best idea if you should get the wine in the cupboard or tell him you were too tired. When he stepped out with your towel wrapped around his waist, nothing else, the inhibitions seemed to melt away and were replaced with nothing but desire. 

“I left hot water for you, don’t worry.” He said, the smile on his face almost felt mocking. He felt the burn of your eyes against him, even watching as the water beads rolled against his soft skin that now smelled of your body wash. “Be quick.”

You realized in the shower that he didn’t leave much hot water, you should’ve known from all the steam in the room and that was leaving his skin. You had time to shave and scrub your body down with a floral scrub and the same body wash he used, but you had to wash your hair with cold water which made it miserable to come out with freezing skin and hair. You wrapped yourself in a towel and blow-dried your hair just enough to warm you up a bit.

Opening the door let in a gust of cold air and caused you to come out shivering immediately folding your arms over your chest. The silence was heavy, and only broken by Joost’s soft laughter. 

“Let me warm you.” He offered, standing up from the couch with the towel loosening around his waist and bringing you into his arms. “Where’s your bedroom?”

You felt yourself blossom in the warmth of his arms, holding his hand you led him anxiously to your room. You were glad you’d left your lamp on and everything neat, he’d probably look at you more favorably and it helped to set the mood. The warm orange light glowed against his lightly defined muscles, his skin was supple and almost malleable in your hand as he hovered above you, letting the towel fall on the floor and taking yours off. 

His fingers were still clad in silver rings, the cold metal made you flinch as his hand ran against your breasts and squeezed down. He kissed you on the lips, long and languid before kissing down your chest and taking a nipple into his mouth. 

You moaned softly under your breath, and through your half-lidded eyes, you watched as he removed his rings and reached over a bit aimlessly to set them on your nightstand. Your mind couldn’t keep up with the fluidity of his movements, unable to register the pleasure from his mouth and now feeling his fingers rub circles around your clit. 

You were so wet for him, Joost felt himself grow weaker in impatience. He felt he’d break, lose himself in desire, and take you all at once instead of the slow burn of foreplay. As his fingers rubbed against your pussy, he felt his hand grow slick, he teased one of his fingers at your entrance and your body reacted strongly, begging him without the need for any words to fuck you. He wanted to be selfish, he wanted to eat your pussy until you begged for him to stop and finish deep inside of you. 

Just finger fucking you was more perfect than he could’ve anticipated. The sound of the room was obscene, the way you two moaned and panted, and how wet you were as his two fingers pumped inside of you, you felt more than relieved you didn’t have the downstairs neighbor to worry about anymore. You cried praises as your head rested in the crook of his neck, biting and kissing. 

He kissed down your chest and left your breast with a string of saliva, his eyes meeting yours as he began to kiss down your stomach until his head rested between your thighs. You couldn’t fathom how someone could touch you so perfectly, how someone’s lips could be so soft and his kiss send electric bolts through your body. He kissed the insides of your legs softly, his touch was almost feather-like and you wanted to scream from the frustration his incessant teasing brought you. 

“Please, Joost.” You finally said in a drawn-out sigh. “Stop teasing.”

You felt yourself grow hot with intensity, a mix of emotions brewing inside of you from the way he laughed in response. He rested his cheek against your thigh, you looked down at his smiling face before he pressed a wet kiss against your clit, and before you could force out another word. You looked at the smug expression, the way his eyes met yours he knew that he had you wrapped around his finger. 

He propped your legs up on his shoulders and you felt all your senses muddle in the overwhelming pleasure that engulfed your body. Your jaw grew slack, murmuring incoherent praises as he ate you out. Your free hand tangled in his hair, being careful not to pull too hard. It was like actual strands of silk, pulled strings of thread that glistened against the soft light this man was nothing less of angelic. 

Yet there he was, face between your thighs and worshipping you. You felt the wetness drip from your thighs, his warm tongue teasing your clit as he continued to pump two of his fingers inside of you. When your legs began to grow weaker, the coil inside of your stomach becoming tighter, and begging for release he withdrew his hand and pushed your thighs apart to maintain his control of you. 

He knew you were close, you realized that you didn’t have to speak much with him. He focused on your clit and sucked down gently, drawing out the most beautiful, pathetic sounds from you as the tension grew unbearable. You had never come so hard, your eyes became wet with tears and the release was never so intense with anyone. Not when you were with past partners, and not when you were alone. It seemed to last for minutes, your entire body washed over with the most incredible feeling, tossing and turning you into bliss. 

Joost didn’t let you have a moment of rest, seeing you in this state, like hot metal in his hands he wanted to strike you when you were at your most vulnerable. He kissed you deeply, his tongue pushing into your mouth he wanted you to taste yourself. You kissed him back with the little strength you could muster up, biting his lip and pushing your tongue into his mouth. You stayed like that for a while, kissing passionately with almost no rhythm, just for the sake of touching each other. 

He pulled away, still keeping his nose pressed against yours. “I have to get my condoms.” He said a bit begrudgingly. 

You didn’t know what was coming over you, as you grabbed his arm and kept him on the bed so he wouldn’t leave. 

“I’m on birth control.” You assured him, desperately wanting to deprive yourself of nothing. You had already anticipated and accepted this would likely be the last time you’d get to fuck him. 

Joost realized how much of a mess he’d made on your bed, from how wet you were from taking his fingers and mouth to his pre cum dripping down his shaft and onto your sheets. He frowned a bit, maybe this was a dirty affair and he was kidding himself. He was so desperate for you he was certain he’d grow embarrassed at his lack of constraint, he wished he could’ve been a less needy lover. 

He pumped himself in his hand, and the wishes he had for more constraint again seemed to be nonsensical and burrowed into his mind. He watched you spread your legs for him, sleepy eyes looking up at him as your chest and cheeks were flushed with a deep blush. He lined himself up with your soaking pussy, pressing the tip inside he felt that he could die tonight and be happy. 

He fucked you softly until he could push himself inside of you completely. You were so tight, so perfect for him he let you wrap your legs around his waist so that he could fuck you slow and deep. He didn’t want to be rough, he loved how you embraced him fully. Your pussy squeezed against him, your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms held his face against you as you peppered desperate kisses against his face.

Both your skin and his were now tacky with sweat. He fucked you perfectly, his cock nudging against the spot that made you squirm beneath him and numb your lower half with pleasure. You wondered if it was possible he could make you finish this way, from how he hugged you, kissed down your neck, and how he filled you up so well you wouldn’t be surprised. 

He was growing tired, fucking you sloppier with less coordination. He smoothed down your hair away from your face and whispered into your ear, 

“Can you get on top of me, baby?” He asked so sweetly you couldn’t live with yourself if you said no.

He pulled out slowly, taking your place on the bed. The apples of his cheeks were a deep red, his hair a bit disheveled as he made himself comfortable on the mountain of pillows you kept on your bed. 

“You’re so pretty.” He mumbled, his hands rubbing up and down your waist. 

His touch was so tender, the way he held you in place and helped you lower yourself onto him. You winced a bit at the stretch and gave him a weak smile, trying to keep your nerves from wondering if you could take it. 

It hurt so good, that you pressed your hands against his chest and moved up and down on his length. The room filled with the sounds of your pants, the sound of your pussy taking him and the way he groaned your name and warned you he was getting close. 

Joost felt himself lose his composure, it dwindled slowly as he was watching you ride him, your perfect tits in his face and the way your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure. It gave him such a rush knowing that it was because of him. He held you in a place as he bucked his hips up, fucking you from beneath and taking back the control he had relinquished. 

He had sat up, still keeping you on his lap to bring you into another smoldering kiss. He helped you to keep riding him, you were bounding up and down, holding onto his shoulders for support anticipating for him to finish inside of you. His head fell back as he bucked his hips up as much as you could manage, both of your movements grew harder, more desperate, and messy.

“I’m close.” He groaned, one arm hugging around your waist to press your body closer to his. “Oh, fuck baby.” He cried out in drawn-out whisper. 

He wouldn’t admit it, just like you, he’d never finished so intensely. It was perfect, drawn out like honey dripping down a spoon, the sweetness of the feeling and stickiness of both of your arousal against his thighs. He came with a pathetic string of moans, whimpering against your shoulder as he emptied himself inside of you. 

You’d never let a man do that before, but it felt like the first hit of a drug. You were hooked on the feeling. The intimacy was so intense, you felt perfectly intertwined with him and you felt the urge to tell him that you loved him it was so good. You two stayed like that for a minute, holding each other in a gentle embrace as your chests rose and dropped in deep breaths, calming down and weathering the storm of your shared passion.

“Can I sleep here?” He asked, breaking the silence. “Please.”

“Of course.” You answered breathlessly. “I just need another shower.” 

“Can I come with you?” He leaned over to kiss your cheek. “I’m tired, I promise.”

-

this is a cross post from my ao3 :) send in requests for one shots if you’d like

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

Takes one to know one

A dad!Vander fic (with my og character, Luna, Vander's fifth adopted child)

Set before Act 1.1.

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

Powder was best friends with Ekko.

The two of them were inseparable, always whispering secrets, inventing games, or daring each other to do something ridiculous. When Powder wasn’t with Vi, she was with Ekko, and everyone knew it.

Vi had Mylo—though they bickered like they were sworn enemies half the time—and Claggor, who balanced them both out with his quiet, steady presence. Even Vander had Benzo, someone he could talk to over drinks at the bar, a friend he trusted like a brother.

It seemed like everyone had someone.

Except Luna.

She didn’t mind most of the time. She loved to spend time with her siblings and her father, and when they were busy, she was good at keeping herself busy, filling pages with her drawings and wandering the streets of the Lanes on her own little adventures. But sometimes, when she watched Powder and Ekko disappear into a corner giggling, or Vi and Mylo roaring with laughter over some game, it stung a little. Like a quiet ache she didn’t know how to fix.

Until one day.

It was one of those days where the border between the Undercity and Piltover seemed thin—where the factories weren’t quite so loud, and the smog didn’t hang so heavy in the air. Luna had wandered farther than usual, past the familiar alleys and rickety bridges, until she found herself in a place that didn’t quite feel like the Undercity anymore.

The ground was cleaner, less cluttered with broken glass or bits of scrap metal, and the faint hum of Piltover’s machines could be heard in the distance. A cluster of trees grew stubbornly nearby, roots twisting up through cracks in the pavement. Luna crouched beneath one, scribbling furiously in her notebook, when she heard it—soft footsteps approaching.

She froze, gripping her pencil tightly. Someone was there.

“Hey.”

The voice made her jump. Luna’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the boy standing a few feet away. He looked to be a little older than her, maybe by a year or two, with messy dark hair and bright blue eyes that seemed too clear and clean to belong to anyone from the Undercity.

He wasn’t like her. She knew it right away.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Luna said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

The boy tilted his head, frowning slightly. “Neither are you.”

“I live here,” she shot back, even though it wasn’t exactly true—here wasn’t quite the Undercity, but it wasn’t Piltover either. It was somewhere in between, like a forgotten pocket of space.

The boy shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I go where I want.”

Luna stared at him, still wary. He didn’t look dangerous, but he didn’t look like anyone she’d ever met before, either. His clothes weren’t fancy like the Pilties who wandered too far down, but they were clean, and his shoes didn’t have holes in them.

“You’re from up there,” she said, pointing vaguely toward Piltover.

“Is that a problem?” the boy shot back, though there was no bite in his voice. “What’s your name?”

Luna hesitated. Vander had always told her not to talk to strangers—especially anyone from Piltover. But this boy didn’t seem like he was looking for trouble… Right?

“Lu,” she said finally, deciding that her nickname would be a good choice in between. “What’s yours?”

“Seb,” he replied, rocking back on his heels.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Seb glanced at the notebook in her hands, his curiosity obvious. “What’re you drawing?”

“Nothing,” Luna said quickly, clutching the book to her chest. She didn’t trust him—not yet.

Seb raised his hands defensively, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, alright. No need to get mad about it.”

“I’m not mad,” Luna mumbled, but her cheeks flushed slightly. She stood up, brushing dirt from her knees. “Why are you even here?”

Seb looked away, his gaze drifting toward the edge of the trees. “I like to explore. It’s… quieter down here, I guess.”

Luna blinked at him. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

“You don’t get scared?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Everyone says Piltover kids are scared of the Undercity.”

Seb met her gaze, his blue eyes sharp but honest. “I’m not scared.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, like two stray cats sizing each other up. Luna wasn’t sure why she didn’t just turn and leave. Maybe it was the way Seb looked at her—not with pity, not with disdain, but with curiosity.

Finally, Luna broke the silence. “Well… you should be careful. The Lanes aren’t nice to strangers.”

Seb grinned, just a little. “I can take care of myself.”

Luna wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she stepped back toward the edge of the trees, her notebook still clutched tightly in her arms. “I’m going home,” she said.

Seb tilted his head again. “Already? We just met!”

“My family is waiting for me,” that was most probably true. She had developed a habit of coming back a bit later than she was used to, not too much to scare anyone, but enough to have Vander waiting by the door for her.

Seb’s smile lingered. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

Luna paused, glancing back at him. She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and disappeared into the shadows, her footsteps quiet and careful.

That night, as she sat cross-legged on her bed, Luna couldn’t stop thinking about the boy with the bright blue eyes and messy brown hair. She told herself it didn’t matter—that she didn’t need a friend like everyone else seemed to have.

But for the first time in a long time, the ache she carried didn’t feel quite so heavy.

And in the days that followed, Luna found herself wandering back to that same spot, just in case.

And for days, Seb wasn’t there.

It made her strangely restless—more restless than she thought was possible. Luna wandered farther than usual on those days, poking her head around corners and climbing up onto ledges she’d never climbed before. Always searching. And when she didn’t find him, she scuffed her shoes on the ground and muttered under her breath about stupid Piltover kids who thought they could just disappear.

Little did she know, Seb had been doing the same thing.

The day they finally crossed paths again, the air felt warmer than it had in weeks, as though the smog had thinned just a little, letting the sunlight trickle through. Luna had returned to her spot by the twisted cluster of trees, notebook in hand and a new charcoal pencil tucked behind her ear. She wasn’t drawing today, though. She was slumped against the roots with her knees pulled up, idly tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick.

The sound of footsteps made her ears prick. She froze, gripping the stick like a weapon as her heart thumped against her ribs.

“Hey!”

She knew that voice. Her head snapped up, and there he was—Seb—standing a few feet away, breathless and red-cheeked, like he’d been running. His hair looked messier than usual, and there was a faint scrape on one of his palms where he’d clearly fallen at some point.

“You,” Luna said, blinking at him, her voice somewhere between surprised and accusing.

Seb let out a breathless laugh, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “Me,” he replied, grinning. “Where’ve you been?”

“Where have you been?” Luna shot back, though there wasn’t much heat to it. She was too pleasantly surprised to see him, though she’d never admit it.

“I’ve been looking for you!” Seb stood up straight, brushing dirt off his pants. “I kept coming back here, and you were never around. I thought you left.”

“I did leave,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “After sitting around here for hours.”

Seb rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you could’ve left a note or something.”

“A note?” Luna scoffed, crossing her arms.

Seb looked a little sheepish at that, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, yeah,” he muttered, but the smile on his face hadn’t faded. “Anyway, I’m here now.”

Luna stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to forgive him for being gone so long—though, truthfully, she wasn’t really mad. They had only met once, after all. But there had been something in their first encounter… Something obvious, that had brought the both of them back to the same place, that neither of them could deny. They had clicked.

Finally, she sighed and scooted over to make room on the roots of the tree. “Well, sit down, then.”

Seb hesitated only for a second before plopping down next to her, his elbows resting on his knees. For a moment, they sat in silence, the sounds of the distant factories humming faintly in the background. Luna watched him out of the corner of her eye, taking in the dirt smudges on his face and the loose thread on his collar. He looked more worn-in than the last time she’d seen him—more like a kid who’d been exploring, not a Piltover boy who belonged in spotless clothes.

“You look like you fell in a gutter,” Luna said finally, breaking the silence.

Seb laughed, a genuine sound that made Luna’s lips twitch. “I did fall,” he admitted, holding up his scraped palm like proof. “Some idiot put a hole in the fence, and I tripped on it.”

“Sounds like you’re the idiot,” Luna teased, though there was no real bite in her voice.

Seb grinned. “Hey, I still made it here, didn’t I?”

Luna didn’t reply right away, her gaze drifting back to the patterns she’d been tracing in the dirt. “Why’d you come back?” she asked quietly.

Seb blinked at her, as if the answer was obvious. “Because I thought you could be here.”

Luna’s hand stilled against the dirt. She didn’t look at him, but her heart thudded a little louder in her chest. She fiddled with the stick in her fingers, fighting the warmth that crept up her neck.

“You’re weird,” she mumbled.

Seb only laughed again. “Takes one to know one.”

Luna smirked, despite herself. She still didn’t look at him, but the corners of her mouth twitched. They sat like that for a little while, not saying much. The quiet between them wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable, though; it was the kind of quiet that felt like being on the edge of something new—like the moment before a storm rolled in or the air just before you took off running.

Seb finally spoke up, breaking the silence. “What do you do with that notebook all the time?”

Luna stiffened, instinctively holding it tighter to her chest. “It’s mine.”

Seb put his hands up again in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just asking. Not like it’s a treasure, or something.”

“It is treasure,” Luna said stubbornly, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. She turned the stick over in her fingers, her gaze fixed on the dirt. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Seb tilted his head, his curiosity unrelenting. “Try me.”

Luna hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him. Her drawings, her ideas, the little worlds she filled those pages with—they were hers. They were the one place where nobody could make fun of her or tell her she was too small, too young, too much in the way.

But Seb’s blue eyes were steady, waiting—not demanding, just patient.

“… I draw stuff,” she admitted finally, mumbling the words like she was afraid to say them too loud. “And I write things, sometimes.”

Seb’s brows lifted. “What kind of stuff?”

“Just… stuff,” Luna said vaguely. “People, places. Stories.”

“Stories?” Seb repeated, as though the word fascinated him. “Like made-up ones?”

“Yeah,” she said defensively, hugging the notebook closer. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing!” Seb said quickly. He seemed thoughtful, though, his gaze drifting to the trees around them as he spoke. “I think that’s cool. My sister does something like that, too. She always says stories are a way to make the world bigger.”

Luna blinked, startled. “You have a sister?”

Seb nodded. “Yeah. She’s older than me—smarter, too, probably. She reads a lot of books.”

Luna didn’t know what to say to that. Nobody talked to her about siblings like this—not unless they were teasing her about how much time she spent around Vi and Powder. It felt strange, hearing about Seb’s family like it was normal, like he trusted her enough to share it.

After a moment, she looked down at her notebook and muttered, “You’re the first person who’s ever said it’s cool.”

Seb glanced at her, his expression softening a little. “Well, it is.”

Luna didn’t reply, but the quiet warmth she felt earlier returned. She didn’t let herself smile, but she didn’t tell him he was wrong, either.

Seb stretched his legs out in front of him, tilting his face up to the smog-thinned sunlight. “You wanna show me something sometime? One of your stories?”

Luna’s immediate instinct was to say no—to tell him that her stories weren’t for sharing, that they were hers alone. But Seb had a way of asking that didn’t feel like prying. Like he really wanted to see, not just because he was curious, but because he thought it mattered.

“… Maybe,” she said at last, the word escaping before she could change her mind. “Not today, though.”

“Fair enough.” Seb grinned again. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Luna rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smallest of smiles from slipping through. “You talk too much.”

“Somebody’s gotta keep the conversation going,” Seb teased. “You’re terrible at it.”

Luna scoffed, but the sound turned into a laugh before she could stop it. She clamped her hand over her mouth, glaring at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but you’re laughing, aren’t you?” Seb shot back, his grin widening.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she shoved him lightly on the shoulder, just hard enough to make him stumble to the side with a laugh. He shoved her back—not too hard, just enough to make it a game—and for a little while, they forgot about the smog and the factories and the line that separated Piltover from the Undercity.

They were just two kids sitting under a stubborn tree, in a forgotten pocket of space where the world felt a little bigger than it had before.

Taglist: @keira7664@starryhiraeth@eternallyvenus@gremlinartstudio

[cheynovak]

Family business

Characters: Jack Durfy x F/Reader Y/N  (wife)   

Summary:  After a long day at work, Jack Durfy comes home stressed from the weight of running the family construction business and dealing with his irresponsible brother. His wife, Y/N, tries to soothe him, offering to help with the business and take some of the burden off his shoulders

Warnings: 18+ ish, Build up to spice, anger, nothing too explicit

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own fanfiction, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

* Published September 15th 2024 *

Jack pushed open the backdoor, the cool evening air following him into the house. His boots, caked in dust and mud from the construction site, hit the floor with a heavy thud. Y/N was in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled like heaven, swaying to the music, when she heard the unmistakable sound of Jack’s boots dragging across the tile.

“Babe, how many times have I told you?” she said, glancing over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Work shoes off before you get inside.”

Jack, his face set in a tight scowl, barely glanced at her. “Yeah, I know, I know.” he muttered gruffly, his voice clipped. He stalked toward the backdoor again, leaving a faint trail of dirt behind him. Y/N sighed softly, watching him toss his boots aside carelessly, frustration rolling off him in waves.

She wasn’t one to back down. Wiping her hands on the towel, she followed him. “What’s wrong, Jack?” she asked softly, but there was an edge of determination in her voice. She could see it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched. Something was eating at him.

“Nothing,” he grunted, brushing past her without a kiss, as he made his way toward the bedroom. But she wasn’t about to let him go that easily.

“Jack…” she called after him, and he stopped, finally turning to face her. His eyes were dark, tired, but there was more than just exhaustion in them. There was frustration, the kind that didn’t just come from a long day of work.

He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping just a little as the words started tumbling out. “It’s my brother,” he admitted, his voice low, as if the very admission was pulling something out of him.

“He called me, again. Wants more money, as usual. I can't believe he is still chasing that acting dream… I could really use his help with the business. Keeps saying he’ll make it big soon, but in the meantime, I’m stuck here running things. I'm done with his shit.”

Y/N’s expression softened. She stepped forward, her hands resting gently on his chest as she looked up at him. “Hey…” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth. “The business will be fine. You’ll be fine. Don't let this get to you, you know how he is."

He looked down at her, some of the tension in his face beginning to ease as she spoke. “I can help, you know,” she continued, her fingers tracing soft circles over his chest. “I can take over the books, maybe even take a shift or two if you need help on site. You don’t have to do this alone, Jack. Tell me how I can help.”

Jack let out a breath, one that sounded like he’d been holding it in all day. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. “You shouldn’t have to,” he said, his voice gruff but filled with gratitude. “If my brother would just show up and take some responsibility…”

She smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his lips and then his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Baby, I married into your, sometimes crazy, family, remember? I knew what I was getting into. Let me help with the books and paper work. It’s one less thing for you to worry about.”

He looked down at her, his expression softening as he cupped her face in his large, calloused hands. “You really want to do this?”

She smiled up at him. “Of course. We’re a team, right?”

Jack leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Okay,” he murmured against her mouth. “But you shouldn’t be doing all this.”

“I want to,” she whispered back, kissing him again. “Now, go shower. You smell like sweat and dirt. Dinner’s in the oven and will be ready in twenty minutes.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, but before she could pull away, his arms tightened around her, drawing her back into him for another kiss. This one was deeper, filled with the pent-up tension of the day, but softened by the relief that only she could bring him.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “That gives us enough time to shower, together, then.”

Before she could protest, Jack scooped her up, carrying her into the bathroom as she laughed, her protests lost to the sound of the water turning on and the door closing behind them.

Steam rose around them from the hot spray of water, curling into the air as Y/N gently ran her hands across Jack’s tired, sore muscles, massaging the tension out of his broad back. The hot water cascaded over them, but it wasn’t just the heat of the shower that was relaxing him. Her touch was slow, deliberate, filled with care and love. She could feel the tight knots in his shoulders, the strain beneath his skin from long days spent working at the construction site.

“You’ve earned some time off,” she whispered, her lips grazing his damp skin between kisses she left along his shoulders. Her hands slid down to his stomach, and she felt him tense slightly before his hand came to rest on top of hers, his rough, calloused fingers intertwining with hers in a silent thank you.

Jack sighed, leaning back into her, his head falling slightly as her warmth and presence soothed him in ways words couldn’t. "Soon, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and a hint of guilt. "I'll take you anywhere you want. I promised you that honeymoon, and I’ll make good on it. I’ll give it to ya."

Y/N pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her lips brushing his ear. She knew how much that promise weighed on him, how much it pained him to push it aside for the sake of keeping the business going.

He was a man of his word, and she never doubted he’d follow through. But she also knew how hard it was for him to step back, even for a moment, from the responsibility he’d taken on.

“I know,” she whispered, finishing the sentence for him as if she’d heard him say it a hundred times already. “The business.”

He turned slightly, enough to look over his shoulder at her, his brow furrowed in concern. “I can’t leave it… not right now. There’s so much to do.”

She rested her forehead against his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his waist, holding him close. "I get it, Jack."

He let out a heavy breath, leaning into her more fully, the warmth of her body grounding him in the moment. "I don’t want you to worry about it, Y/N. You’ve already got enough on your plate."

“I’m not worried,” she replied softly. “I just want to see you take a breath. Even if it’s for a weekend. You deserve it. We both do. I just... I want some alone time with my husband, not worrying about the business for a day or two."

Jack turned fully now, his hands coming up to cup her face as he looked into her eyes, his own filled with a mixture of gratitude and longing. “I want that too,” he admitted, his voice low and hoarse. “More than anything. But I gotta get this right, Y/N. I can’t let things fall apart. Not after everything we’ve worked for.”

She reached up, brushing a wet strand of hair from his face, her fingers lingering on his cheek feeling the days stubble of his beard coming through. “You’re not letting anything fall apart, Jack. You’ve done more than anyone could ask for. Just don’t forget to live a little, okay?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned down to press a slow, lingering kiss to her lips, the heat between them not just from the water but from the shared understanding that words couldn’t quite capture. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered. “You’ll never have to find out,” she replied, smiling against his lips before giving him a playful push. “Now finish showering. Dinner’s still waiting, and so am I.”

Jack’s chuckle was low and full of mischief as he backed her against the cool tiles of the shower. The contrast between the heat of the water and the cold tile made Y/N gasp softly, but before she could say a word, he was already kneeling before her. His strong hands gripped her hips as he slowly lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, his gaze dark and full of intent.

"I think I’m in for dessert first," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His lips found their way to her inner thighs, leaving a trail of hot, teasing kisses that made her breath hitch. His stubble grazed her skin, adding a rough edge to the tenderness of his touch.

“Dinner can wait,” he smirked against her skin, his voice vibrating through her as his kisses moved higher, closer. "My wifey is priority."

Y/N’s head fell back against the tiles, her fingers threading through his wet hair as the water cascaded over them both. The heat from the shower was nothing compared to the fire building between them. Jack took his time, savoring every moment, every reaction he pulled from her, his touch firm but adoring.

She let out a soft moan as his lips moved closer to where she needed him most, her body arching toward him in silent plea. Jack’s smirk widened, feeling her respond, knowing exactly what he was doing to her.

He was always so good at making her feel like she was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed in his world in moments like these.

"You’re always my priority," he whispered, his voice a promise as he began to give her everything she'd been craving.

The stress of the day, the weight of responsibilities, the business—they all melted away under the heat of the moment, replaced by the undeniable pull they had toward each other.

For now, in the steamy haze of the shower, nothing else mattered. It was just them, lost in each other.

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

@kr804573 @nancymcl@suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27

@call-me-mrs-winchester @winchesterwild78 @deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @ladysparkles78 @livingdeadblondequeen @yvonneeeee

[an0nfr0mth3d3n]

QSMP Zombie AU: Indoor Recess

(For as much work as I put in to make dialogue sound accurate to streamers, it’s gonna be hard for me to do that for everyone, especially some of the eggs. Chayanne here is technically ooc because he wouldn’t be as scared but more protective, but for the sake of this AU I’m gonna make the kids act more like kids in a real zombie apocalypse. So my apologies if some of them seem a little less irony poisoned or brave. Later on I’ll try to make the personalities shine.)

Phil scrolled mindlessly down the page of his unread emails. Bratty parents, board meetings, apologies for burning dinner from his husband, the occasional spam, none of it motivated him enough to actually get any work done.

His eyes drifted lazily to the digital clock mounted on the wall. 3:35 PM. Around 25 minutes more and he could pack up early, maybe go home to some nice warm hard-to-mess-up dinner and some sweet family time. Thank fuck it was Friday, he wasn’t sure if he could stare at one more random complaint without going batshit crazy.

The pounding of running feet in the hallway broke through the silence of the room. Phil groaned and stood up from his chair, getting ready to berate some trouble making kid.

He never got the chance as his door crashed open wide, a breathless Chayanne on the other side.

“Dad. There’s. There’s someone.” Chayanne gasped out in between puffs for air.

Phil walked forward, squatting down to the boy’s height. “Easy mate, take some breaths for fucks sake, you’re gonna fuckin’ pass out in here if you don’t breathe!” Phil laughed at the situation, secretly relieved at the break from his monotonous work.

Chayanne didn’t seem to find it funny, and actually seemed to be…

…genuinely scared?

His laugh petered out as his expression grew more worried. “Chayanne. Is everything okay?”

“Dad there’s a sick man stuck on the playground on the climbing bars and he looks hurt but also really scary and dangerous and I don’t know what to do can you please help please there’s blood and and-“

Firm hands settled on Chayanne’s shoulders, and steely blue eyes filled with seriousness met the teary gaze of the terrified child.

“Show me.”

A shaking hand pointed out the window, and Philza followed it, grabbing the rod that controlled the blinds as well.

Phil scanned the playground, searching for the man that Chayanne had described. The colorful structures were completely absent of movement, and even the climbing bars that Chayanne had mentioned were completely vacant.

No, not completely.

A single, muddied shoe lay sideways on the ground. It was large, too large to have belonged to one of the students, and was covered in mud and….hopefully not blood.

His heart began to beat faster, and he could feel his pulse hammer in his ears. Looking closer at the climbing bars, it was clear that something had happened there. The woodchips were scattered around and upturned, even dirt was shown in some places where the scuff marks got too deep. That also could not have been one of the students, because it was a school rule that kids were not allowed to drag their feet through the woodchips for whatever reason.

Other than that however, the coast seemed to be rather clear-

A bloodied hand slapped against the window.

Phil reared back, clutching his mouth to silence the scream that threatened to tear through his chest. Chayanne wasn’t as cautious though, and a startled yelp came from the child.

The hand twisted around on the smooth glass, dirty fingernails scrabbling on the smooth surface, clambering for purchase on the glass, slowly the ready of the body raised up, the…man must have fallen near the window just out of sight.

Phil lunged for the window, snapping the plastic lock into place and twisting the blinds, immediately darkening the room. He could hear Chayanne whimpering from behind him as he stumbled back.

“Fuck. Shit. What the fuck. Okay. Chayanne run back to Fit and tell him to get you guys into the gymnasium right the fuck now. I’ll get the rest of the teachers here and call the police. It’s gonna be okay, it’s just some…drunk, okay? Okay go go go.”

Chayanne bolted out the door, and Phil reached for the intercom.

//ATTENTION EVERYONE IN THE BUILDING, PLEASE HEAD TO THE GYMNASIUM RIGHT NOW, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. MR. HALO PLEASE COME TO MY OFFICE, AND BRING YOUR FIREARM, I KNOW YOU FUCKING HAVE ONE. THANK YOU.\\

The scrabbling at the window stopped.

Phil cursed under his breath, lifting the intercom one more time.

//MS. MOUSE AND MR. UNDERSCORE PLEASE LOCK UP THE BUILDING AS FAST AS YOU CAN AND PUT THE BOOTS IN.\\

Phil clicked off the intercom, and reached for the landline, eyes glued to the blinded window. There was a dark silhouette blocking out the little light from the cloud obscured sun, but it was moving away from the window, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

The landline rang in his hand. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Five-

“Heyyy you’ve reached the Quesadilla Island Police Department, this is Sheriff Foolish speakin’, guess we’re busy so too bad for you I guess. Better luck next time bucko!”

Phil cursed again, running a hand through his hair, sweat starting to form under his striped hat. This didn’t leave them with much options but to wait it out and hope the man sobered up….if that was really all there was to it. He had no idea what drugs or substances that man was on, but it was best to be safe than sorry, and something…didn’t feel right here.

He could hear the heavy footsteps of Mr. Halo approaching as he snuck a look at the blinds again, the dim light now unmarred by any mysterious figure behind them.

Call it intuition, instinct, or just a hunch, but Philza Minecraft had a sneaking suspicion that this strange man wouldn’t be the end of his troubles today…

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Talking to Ghosts

A postgame Omori epilogue exploring the way each member of the gang would cope after learning the truth. This time, Kel takes the wheel.

After Sunny gets into his mom’s car and leaves Faraway for good, Kel sits on his porch and Doesn’t Think About Anything. 

It isn’t easy. Kel just had one of the craziest nights of his life. Everything Sunny said in that hospital room is bouncing around in his brain like one of those DVD screensavers. Except instead of a tacky color-changing logo, it's the worst thing he ever heard. 

Luckily, Kel is very good at this game. He kicks off his shoes and digs his toes into the dirt. He plucks blades of grass and shreds them into spindly little threads. The bloody wreckage of Sunny's eye keeps surfacing in his mind, but it's way more fun to think about what he could IM Sunny about, now that Sunny has AIM. It’s even nicer to remember how tight Sunny hugged him before he left. 

…Man. It's dumb, ‘cause it’s not like he didn’t already, but. Kel is really gonna miss that guy. 

The sun climbs higher in the sky. The clouds scud by in no particular hurry. By the time the cool of morning heats to day, Kel is feeling sort of normal, actually. 

So, of course, that’s when Aubrey shows up. 

“Sunny,” she spits. 

Kel does a double-take. “Wh— Huh?? Where???”

“No, you fucking moron, I’m asking. Where the fuck is Sunny.”

Right. Classic Aubrey. Skipping straight to ‘physical violence’ is an insane first resort, but it’s par for the course, for Aubrey. When Aubrey feels bad, she can’t just hide it, like Hero, or swallow it, like Basil, or—freaking—think about literally anything else, like Kel. Aubrey would rather forge her hurt into a warhammer and swing it at anyone dumb enough to get close. 

They’ve had this fight a million times already. At this point, Kel could do it in his sleep. 

Even after all this time, he can’t help letting Aubrey piss him off. But he does manage to bail out before she can break all his bones with her nail bat, so. That’s probably personal growth. 

Kel gets all pissed off and stomps off and then stops being pissed off, because he hates being pissed off. He’s always hated feeling angry. It feels like poison in his blood. He doesn’t get how so many people can do it so much of the time. Why would you choose to feel bad when instead you could just… look at something else?

###

On his way inside, Kel blunders right into Hero.

“O-Oh! Sorry, bro!” 

“All good,” Hero says automatically. Reflexive. His eyes are rimmed with red, but he obviously doesn’t plan on talking about it. “You okay?”

Kel has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Clearly, Hero is taking the news way, way, way worse than anyone. (Including Aubrey, who is currently, actively committing property damage about it). But of course he’d rather die than say so. 

“Totally,” Kel reassures him. “All good.”

###

It was the same when they were kids. 

Oh, Hero acts like he never gets mad. He acts like he’s too grown-up for that kind of thing. He’s even pretty good at it. He’s got Aubrey fooled, and Sunny. And obviously their parents (not that that one was much of a challenge. Mamá and Dad would believe anything if Hero was the one who said it). 

But Hero could never fool Mari. Mari was sharp, like Sunny. Perceptive enough to smell the lies on your breath. If you were hiding something, she could always draw it out of you. She’d soften Hero up with teasing and flattery and then hit him in his weak spot at the exact right moment, the perfect jab at the perfect angle to split him open like a fish. The good cop and the bad cop, all in one. 

Kel used to hear them sometimes. Once in a blue moon, when Hero and Mari were sure that no one was listening, they would even let their hair down a little. Take off their disguises and let themselves be less-than-perfect for a change. Sometimes it was Hero who was crying, and sometimes it was Mari. Sometimes both of them at once! 

But most of the time, they weren’t crying. They were pissed. 

Like in fourth grade, after Kel’s practice got rained out. Kel was soaking wet and past exhausted. All he wanted was to lie down and close his eyes and not even think about the stupid math test that he definitely flunked this morning. 

He was already reaching for the door when he heard the voices: pitched low and stretched taut, like a rubber band about to break. 

“—even matter!!” Hero was whispering. “If I’m too busy, it’s my fault for not helping; but if I do tutor him—instead of studying for my own finals!! By the way!! Which I really need to be doing!!!”

“I’m familiar with the concept,” Mari said drily.

“—then it’s still my fault for—what? Not helping well enough? I mean, what??? What do they expect me to do? Freaking… crawl inside his head and make him smarter?” 

Mari snickered. “You could hide a walkie-talkie in his hat. Like that Spongebob episode where he goes to driver’s ed.”

Hero huffed a tired laugh. “I just don’t get what they expect me to do. I’m not the one who still can’t do long division in fourth grade.” 

Kel froze with his hand on the doorknob. Okay. Yeah. He wasn’t sure for a second, but—yeah. They were definitely talking about him. 

Some people would probably pick a fight about it. Some people (cough, cough, Aubrey) would storm in guns a-blazing. And where would that get her? All the mean stuff she heard would still be in her head. Nothing would change, except that everyone would know that everyone knew that everything was worse than it looked. Kel didn’t want any part in it.

He backed away from the door. He backed all the way down the hall, and halfway down the stairs. Then—louder this time—he stomped up the steps and burst through the door to their room.

“Oh!” Hero looked very briefly panicked. “H-Hey, little bro! Short practice today?” 

“Uh huh! We got rained out! But look!!!” Kel bared his teeth, showing off the ragged hole where his canine used to be. 

Hero turned faintly green. 

“Grooossss!” Mari giggled. “Did you twist it out yourself?”

“Uh huh!”

She ruffled his hair. “You’re so cool, Kel. Don’t ever change, okay?”

Kel grinned up at her, gap-toothed and beaming. “You got it!!”

###

But everyone changes.

###

Kel opens his eyes in Basil’s room. 

It’s not how he remembers. Basil’s room used to be wall-to-wall leaves and vines and memories. Now it’s vacant. No photos. No sticky note reminders. None of Sunny's sketches on the walls. Just white paint and beige carpet and a pool of inky dark, slowly swallowing the floor. 

In real life, Kel wasn’t here for this part. He had to hear about it from Aubrey while they huddled outside the ICU, clutching each other’s hands hard enough to cut off the circulation and taking turns telling each other that it was going to be okay. But Kel’s brain must not know that. Because this time, he can see everything.

Basil kneels over Sunny’s chest. Sunny’s face is eyeless mush. A mangle of ground meat. 

There’s a blur of motion as Hero tackles Basil against the wall.

“Kel!” he bellows. He kicks the shears across the floor. “Kelsey! Now!!”

Oh. This is where he comes in. 

Kel jerks around to stare at Hero, who’s got Basil pinned by the throat. “Wh–What?”

“Hold him!!”

“Huh???” Basil isn’t even struggling. He's just dangling there. Bleeding.

“NOW!!”

On his way across the room, Kel almost trips over something on the floor. A body. Sunny’s. But Sunny was sleeping in the living room. Why would Sunny be on Basil’s floor? 

Kel looks closer. 

Sunny’s face is red. Sunny’s hair is slicked flat and his face is all red, only red without any eyes at all. His face is torn red and he’s—moving. He’s moving. He’s awake. He’s bleeding out and he can feel it happen because he’s still awake. 

Sunny looks at Kel without any eyes. Red sputters through his teeth. “Khrrrh—”

###

Kel wakes up gasping. Scrambles for his phone before he remembers that he doesn’t have Sunny's number. Does Sunny even have a phone? Would Kel even know if he did?

He stumbles downstairs to the family desktop. Sunny’s online. Big surprise. Sunny is always online, and never answers. 

Kel is so freaked out, he almost types, ‘Hey, are you okay?’

‘Hey, Sunny! Sorry, I don’t want to stress you out, but I’m really scared. I’m really scared for you Sunny. I can’t stop feeling like something bad is going to happen. I can’t stop dreaming that something bad is going to happen. But they don’t feel like nightmares. They feel like visions. Premonitions.’

‘Hi Sunny. Long time no see, haha. Hey, weird question: are you okay? Are you hurt? Please tell me if you’re hurting but please please PLEASE don’t lie. Sometimes I get so scared you’re going to die. Are you going to die? You have to tell me if you’re—’

Kel doesn’t type any of that stuff. 

He types, snnyyyy! u up? lol

He types, cant sleep haha

He types, wanna sneak out 2 hobbeez? ;) ;) ;)

Sunny doesn’t answer. Because he lives three hours away, and because he never answers. Whatever it is that Sunny wants, it’s obviously not to go to fucking Hobbeez.

Kel types, misss u bro. gna try 2 sleep. wishme luck :/

###

When he pads downstairs, he’s met with the hissing crackle of frying eggs.

“Mo~rning!” his mom sings out. “Thought I’d make breakfast, since it’s your brother’s last day!”

Right. Hero heads back to college tomorrow. Kel knew that. “Heck yeah! Can I help?”

“Vaya, vaya! I don’t need any more mess! Oh, and your friend got home from the hospital. You should go say hi! I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

“My—” Kel sputters, before he remembers that she couldn’t possibly be talking about Sunny. Sunny lives three hours away. “Who??”

“The little blanquito. Que siempre parece como conejito mojado.”

Well, that’s definitely not Sunny. Which means that, by ‘hospital,’ Mamá meant ‘psych ward.’ Specifically, the wing for kids who tried to murder their best friend.

Kel’s eyes unfocus a little. The last time he saw Basil, it was—

(—pinned to the wall with Hero's elbow pressed into his throat. Beads of red dripping from his fingers. Even later, blanched and bloodless on the gurney, Kel could still see the blood crusted under his—

Basil wasn’t even very badly hurt, after. It looked a lot worse than it was, but that’s just ‘cause all his wounds were on his face. It’s not like Sunny’d had any way to defend himself. Just his own two hands. At worst, the marks might have got infected from all the grime under Sunny’s unwashed nails.)

“You should go see him!” Mamá says encouragingly. “I’m sure he’d be glad to see a friend.”

…Right. That’s what Kel is. A friend.

###

Basil really is back. He’s coming to school and everything. It’s—weird.

Not bad. It’s not bad. It’s just that talking to Basil is— Um. It’s sort of like playing a videogame about talking to Basil. Like Kel is watching himself from outside-in.

It was the same after Mari. Kel couldn’t wrap his head around why she did it. He couldn’t even stand to think about why she did it. So, he didn’t. He spent months on autopilot. Controlling his body remotely, like a mech pilot or something. ‘Press A to get out of bed.’ ‘Press B to put on your clothes.’ ‘Press X to bring your brother another meal that you both know he isn’t going to eat.’

“K-Kel?” Basil says again.

“Haha, sorry! Guess I spaced out for a second. I just wanted to say that it’s, uh. You know. It’s good to have you back! And if you ever need anything—someone to talk to, or to back you up if someone’s messing with you, or whatever—just, like, let me know.”

Basil doesn’t look up. He just keeps fidgeting with his fingernails, chewing a scab on his lip that’s already started to bleed. He obviously isn’t convinced.

“Hey, c’mon!” Kel whacks him on the arm, making Basil flinch. “You know we’ve got your back. If anyone gives you a hard time, you tell them to talk to me.”

If anything, Basil looks even less convinced. “...R-Right. Um. Thank you. I’ll… do that.”

Kel has to stop himself from scowling. He’s aware that he’s fucking this up. He just doesn’t understand why.

For a few years there, Kel was pretty sure that he was a good friend, at least. If nothing else. Now it turns out he couldn’t even get that right. In the end, it’s like everything else. No matter how hard he tries, it never seems to be enough.

What is it about friendship that he isn’t getting? Isn’t being friends just, like… hanging out, and going on adventures, and having a good time and stuff? Why is everyone so determined to make it into this big exhausting thing?

###

Kel is hanging out on Sunny’s porch again. Though technically it isn’t Sunny’s porch anymore. The For Sale sign is gone, so the sale must have gone through. But no one’s actually moved in yet, so. Not like there’s anyone to kick him out.

Kel isn’t moping, if that’s what you think. Being here is just a habit. Somewhere he goes to be alone. If anyone saw him here, they’d feel too awkward to approach.

…With one obvious exception.

Aubrey stalks across the lawn with her bat slung over one shoulder. The storm brewing in the air frizzes her hair to angry spikes. As usual, she doesn’t mince words.

“Are you seriously still doing this?”

Kel buries his face in his hands. “Why are you still so mad at me?”

“Why do you think?”

Thunder rolls. Lightning rends the sky, a violent gash in the dark.

“I don’t know!!” Kel shouts, too-loud in the ensuing quiet. “That’s why I’m asking!!”

Just for a second, Aubrey’s bat lowers. “...Are you actually fucking stupid? You totally iced me out. For years. In the worst time of my life.”

“I already apologized for that!!”

“I don’t care,” Aubrey snarls. Her goodwill has officially run out. “That doesn’t do anything! I’m not gonna get any less mad until you make it make sense!!”

Kel grimaces. “It’s— It was just…”

…It’s just that she was being so awful. At home, Kel was swallowed up by the black hole of Hero’s grief. And the second he clawed his way out into the light, there was Aubrey, choking, totally coming apart. Kel just wanted to feel okay for two seconds. Was that really so much to ask?

Wasn’t it bad enough that Mari was gone? Wasn’t it enough that Sunny left with her? There were plenty of times when Kel couldn’t get away from it. When he had to lock himself in the shower to keep from breaking down. But did it really have to be all the time? Always? For every second of every day?

Kel couldn’t even laugh at a joke without feeling like a jerk. Like feeling okay for a second was an insult. (Not to Mari, obviously. Mari was like Kel: she found the fun in every moment. Mari would be thrilled to see him whoop after landing a free throw, or laugh because a butterfly landed on his juice-stained shirt. And she’d hate how Hero and Aubrey were acting. So why was Kel the only one who was wrong?)

“I gotta go,” he mutters, jerking to his feet.

Aubrey barks a cold laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You can read Kel's chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43929270/chapters/123048562

Or start from the beginning: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43929270/chapters/110454879

[eggcompany]

Enamel Veins Part 1

What is Steve to do? He's just a man living in the middle of nowhere with a horny werewolf during his mating season and a vampire that's more jumpy than a busted spring. Billy just wants to be taken care of, knotted, and knot his mates. Eddie wants to be cuddled. And Steve? Steve just wants his freaks to be happy and healthy.

Plus he loves seeing Billy calm and quiet, mind silenced by a good fucking.

Steve didn’t expect it. Though what did he expect these days. 

He’d pulled his boyfriend and the hottest thing to ever come to Hawkins out of hell itself, uprooted all their lives, and fled to Alaska. ‘Expected’ wasn’t something he anticipated. 

Especially not when he lived with a werewolf who had mood swings worse than a hypoglycemic pregnant insomniac and a vampire who’d developed an anxiety disorder so bad they had to soundproof the house. 

Expected was not a word in Steve’s vocabulary anymore. 

Not when he walked in and was hit with ear shattering screeching coming from Eddie. 

Steve ran toward the sound, toward the living room, the vaulted ceilings making the screaming that much louder. 

“Steve! Help me! Fuck off, you slobbery fucker! Steve!” Eddie creamed as Steve cleared the threshold to the room. Eddie was clinging to the ceiling, naked and marked lighty from what looked like bites. Steve caught the way the vampire’s nails and toe nails dug into the ceiling, trying to keep away from the swipes of Billy’s claws each time the werewolf jumped. Billy was growling, teeth bared, cock hard and red between his thighs, he reached for Eddie, claws inches from his milky back. 

“What’s going on?” Steve asked and Billy whipped around, eyes glowing aqua. It was kinda hot. Especially since he stopped shaving and let the blonde curls cover his chest down to his waistband. His canines were large, menacing, and piercing eyes were glowing blue, something less than human shifting and bright under his skin. Billy’s chest heaved up and down with each of his panting breaths. 

“Make him fuck me again” Billy demanded, pointing up at Eddie, who crawled over the ceiling, long limbs holding onto the drywall by his nails. He didn’t weigh much so the pin pricks were minimal. 

The vampire dropped down behind Steve, hiding himself behind Steve’s body, unashamed of his nudity but nervous. 

“He fucking knotted me without telling me! I was stuck to him for an hour! He bit me!” Eddie squawked and pulled Steve’s shoulders to show the bloodless mark on his neck, clear tooth marks slow to heal. He could bite Eddie and leave a mark but it would last a minute. Billy broke skin and left marks for hours. And Eddie was covered . 

A growl rocked through the room. Billy was standing there, hair standing up on his arms and teeth bared. A rabid dog, out of its own head, in need. 

“Mating season. I’m mating him.” Billy growled low and rolling, like he was trying to intimidate Steve. It didn’t work. Steve just looked tired, raising an eyebrow as his hands found his hips. A ‘mom’ stance as his friends back home called it. 

“Now tell him to let me do it again.” Billy said, voice breaking as he pulled back from under Steve’s gaze. It was a whiney, bratty voice. Once that was often bouncing through the house. 

Steve had gotten used to that voice. Billy was a brat. He wanted steaks so he stomped his feet when Steve said they were having burgers for dinner. He wanted to roll in the dirt and he pouted and acted out when Steve said they needed to keep clean. Billy wanted to chew on shoes and Steve gave him chew toys that he threw across the room. He was a bratty spoiled dog. Steve was used to it, letting it roll off his back. 

Eddie however wasn’t so patient. 

“No! You stupid slobbery fuckstick!” Eddie screeched over Steve’s shoulder. 

Eddie was all edgy and squeaky. Jumpy. With his pointy ears and pointer teeth. He got scared of light until he figured out that sunscreen kept him safe but his eyes were sensitive. His eyes were pitch red brown now and his feet moved quicker than regular people and his strength was impressive. Stronger than Billy sure but not by much. Billy could lift a car but Eddie could pick one up. Billy could get to the liquor store in two minutes Eddie could be there and back in two and a half. He was quieter now, letting his voice be heard in other ways.

He was beautiful and perfect but he was spun up. He was hissing mad, pointing one sharp nailed finger at the werewolf. 

“Okay, okay, okay. You go put on some underwear.” Steve said and pointed at Eddie, having noticed his soft cock was just out . Eddie huffed, calming down as he looked into Steve’s eyes, grounding himself. Swallowing once before nodding, calming down, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze before he slipped down the hall toward the bedroom and then the bathroom. 

Steve then pointed at Billy, who looked down guilty. 

“And you, you better go sit on my bed and get ready. Chasing Eddie around like he’s a mouse. Bad dog Billy. Bad dog.” Steve said, anger rolling in his chest. Billy huffed and stomped his food down. 

“No! I need it! Steve, it’s my mating season I-I need it, I really do.” Billy said as tears welled up in his eyes. He felt all itchy inside and his cock ached to be buried in the soft warmth of Eddie's ass and his own hole was damp with need. It was agony and Steve wasn’t getting it. 

Steve marched up to him, roughly taking his chin between his fingers. The skin there freshly shaved and smooth. He squeezed hard, making sure Billy felt the line he was about to cross. “Go get on the bed or I’ll put you in your kennel and leave you there.” Steve said and Billy stomped again. He let out a while and shoved Steve’s hands away, looking at the floor as he heard Eddy come back into the room. Steve thought it would be okay but then Billy was jumping forward, lunging toward the vampire.

“That’s it!” Steve yelled and grabbed the back of Billy’s neck, making the blonde go limp where he was inches away from Eddie. Eddie huffed and went back to the bathroom, hiding behind a locked door. 

Billy whimpered and looked at Steve with big eyes. Steve started shoving him toward their bedroom. 

It was something they had learned out of desperation. Pinching the nerves at the back of Billy’s neck. It was like an off switch for everything except those puppy eyes and his whining. But Steve had more willpower, not crumbling under those sparkling ocean eyes. 

“You think you can throw a tantrum and try to hurt Eddie? No. You’re just a spoiled dog. Dumb puppy. Stupid bitchy puppy. Stay down.” Steve finished and threw Billy onto the bed, shoving extra roughly. The blonde stumbled and crawled onto the bed, sitting in the center. Steve went to the drawers beside their closet, pulling out a pair of thick leather cuffs, with a heavy chain between them, and a solid spreader bar. 

He turned back to face Billy, tears rolling down the wolf’s face already as guilt cut through his foggy mind. Steve’s anger melted away with those tears, he was… disappointed , in the wolf, but not so angry. 

He grabbed Billy’s wrists, setting the bar and cuffs on the bed, and pulled until Billy was belly down on the bed, head at the foot of the bed and his wrists were pulled out in front of him. He took the cuffs, wrapping the leather around each wrist before threading the chain through the bars of the footboard. 

Steve climbed onto the bed, kicking his shoes off to the floor. He looked over Billy’s body, enjoying the view of his muscular back and arms down to his waist and thick hips, thick thighs and hairy legs. Steve shook his head, such a pretty thing but so naughty. 

“If I can’t trust you to behave anymore, I'll have to lock you in your kennel while I’m not home.” Steve said as he locked the straps of the spreader around Billy’s knees, securing the bar between them. It left nothing hidden, exposing Billy’s soft parts. Steve loved it when the wolf couldn’t close his legs or pull away. But the way his body was stretched forward… Steve reached over the side of the bed, dragging the heavy wedge pillow from under the bed. 

"Hate the kennel." Billy grumbled, slightly muffled from where his face was shoved into the bed. 

The kennel was actually almost a third of the basement, with its own bathroom and it was covered in plush rugs and mats, had a tv, bean bags, blankets and a couch. There was a big basket of chew toys and stuffed animals that Billy liked to cuddle with and hump. The only thing that made it special was the bulletproof glass windows, reinforced door, and locked from the outside with a heavy sliding lock. 

It was for Billy’s own safety as well as everyone else’s. Sometimes Billy needed to be… isolated. Kept from the world as he raged, as he ran from the horrors he’d seen, when he wanted revenge. A soft, cushiony, cuddly landing pad for when he crashed out. 

Steve shook his head. Spoiled. 

"Ass up Billy" Steve said and watched the wolf wiggle around to be on his knees, the bar making it more difficult but Steve didn’t offer any assistance. Steve shoved the pillow under Billy, pulling his swollen red cock to lie on the flat side of the pillow, pointing down to the bed. He noticed the swollen base, a slight roundness. Steve knew it was his knot still desperate to catch in a nice tight hole. 

Billy whined, desperate, and looked at Steve over his shoulder. 

"Please Steve" Billy begged, hips bucking forward for a little friction. Steve hummed and stripped out of his work clothes. His hostess shirt and slacks getting shoved away along with his socks. His underwear got pulled off and stuffed in front of Billy. He knew Billy was a panty raider, hungry for the smell that rolled off Steve after a day at work. 

"Yeah, you like that don’t you, nasty mutt." Steve said darkly as he watched Billy's cock twitch and leak as the wolf pulled the briefs into his mouth, spit dampening them. Billy let out a long moan, low and growling. His body trying to fuck into the pillow but unable to. 

Steve's own cock was ready, hard as soon as he saw Billy all revved up. It was easy to fuck the blonde. He was always up for a shag, up to be bent over and fucked. But now, freshly fucked only to have his desperation doubled, he was irresistible. Dumb and desperate, pearly canines piercing holes into the dirty fabric of Steve’s underwear, he was an image . 

And that only got more intoxicating when Steve looked down at the darker blonde hair that covered Billy’s hold, realizing why Billy was just so needy. 

"Are you wet for me baby? You're really in heat huh? My little bitch in heat?" Steve taunted, fingers easily slipping into the wet channel of Billy's body. It wasn't a frequent thing, Billy being wet. 

He'd only seen it twice, once when they had been working Billy over with a flesh light and a vibrator while him and Eddie fucked, and once when Eddie had been feeding off him. 

Steve wasn't a fan of letting Eddie bite him. Sure he let him, of course he did, there were a few small scars on his thigh from letting Eddie have a treat for sucking him off, but Billy? Billy loved it. He wouldn't pass out like Steve if Eddie took too much. Eddie could get a fill of tangy blood from Billy and the werewolf would just be hard and ready for Eddie to sit on his prick. 

But it got the werewolf all colors of hot and heavy. 

The one time Eddie was sick, the blood bank bags and raw meat wasn't helping, he took more than too much from Billy and the werewolf was left whimpering and wet. It was perfect. 

Billy moaned and tried to push back on Steve's fingers, his nerves on high alert, sparking with each shift. Steve smiled and pulled himself out of his own memories and eased his fingers in and out of Billy, enjoying the slick easy slide. 

"Please Steve! I need it, I need it!" Billy sobbed out, body shivering as he was given enough to make his ache worsen, body craving what was being teased. His hole clenched up and a drool of precum dripped to the bed, swell of his knot thickening by the second. Steve hummed and pulled his fingers away, watching the slick stretch between his fingers. 

"I guess I can fuck you, if you behave." Steve said teasingly as he knelt up, getting his knees over the spreader bar so he could press close to Billy’s body. He smiled as he lined up, easily slipping into the slick channel his fingers had just been in. He couldn’t hold back the moan that slipped from his lips as he bottomed out. Billy’s own groan was long and low, almost relieved as his body accepted Steve’s cock. But there was a twisting ache where his knot was, left without any pressure. 

Steve grabbed his hips, enjoying the dip of Billy's back, the little dimples there, before pulling back and slamming back into him roughly. It struck a muffled cry from the wolf, his claws carving into the bed’s edge as he struggled for something to hold onto. 

There wasn't any mercy, Steve fucked Billy roughly, quick and sharp, groaning as the blonde screamed into the bed. He felt the stress of the day, the worry, the last threads of anger and frustration, melt away with each ruthless thrust. The sound was loud, bodies hitting each other loudly. 

Eddie came into the bedroom, dressed in his thick socks and a pair of boxer briefs. He watched, eyes finding Steve's, as he leaned against the door frame. He licked his fangs, just watching until he cleared his throat.

"He scared me. Didn't hurt me. Just... got freaked when there was a knot in me and I couldn't move. He's a good boy." Eddie explained to Steve, voice even and calm as he walked up to scratch at Billy's head. Sharp nails on the wolf’s scalp causing him to moan louder, especially when Eddie pulled his hair, grabbing a fistful of golden curls and pulling so Billy’s face was up from the bed. Eddie smiled and squatted down to see Billy's wrecked face, tears and snot running down it with  drool leaking from his mouth. 

"Pretty thing." Eddie whispered and kissed Billy's forehead, inciting a loud moan, hands jerking where they were secured down. The vampire stood, watching their bodies move violently back and forth, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing in the room, Billy's whines and Steve's groans like music to Eddie's ears. 

"I'm gonna cum, fuck, ready to have it Billy?" Steve asked as his rhythm lost and he fucked deeply into Billy. The blonde shook head, body clenching up, shaking as he struggled. 

"My knot, please, need something on it, it hurts " Billy begged, voice broken and used. Steve huffed and looked at Eddie where he was leaning against the dresser, eyes stuck to Billy's face. Steve groaned and bit the inside of his mouth to stave off his orgasm for a few more seconds. 

"Eddie, the fleshlight, don't slick it up" Steve gritted out, hips grinding into Billy. He watched Eddie hum and dig through the toys for the neutral clear silicone hole. He handed it over to Steve, going back to watching the show. The human leaned over Billy's back, digging the blonde's face into the bed, teeth catching the shell of his ear. 

"You don't fucking deserve this." Steve bit out, shoving the cold silicone over the werewolf's hot cock, all the way down over his knot. Steve bucked a few more times as Billy screamed out, cumming deep within him. 

Steve shoved himself up, keeping his cock deep in the blonde, catching his breath. Billy hummed and was limp, sweat cooling on his skin as his hole tightened up, trying to catch the knot that would never be given to him. 

"Don't pull out. Please Steve, I need it in me. Everything hurts." Billy whimpered over his shoulder, eyes blown and unfocused, hands shaking. Steve petted over his side, trying to calm him down. 

Eddie dug through the drawers once again, humming lowly, offering something to break the silence. 

"You want us to plug you up puppy?" Eddie said as he got back down on Billy's level, combing through his hair. Billy sniffled and nodded, a tiny jerk of his head. Eddie leaned forward and kissed him, open mouthed and tongue filled. Steve couldn't see but by the way Billy whimpered and then moaned, Eddie had bit his lip, suckled on it.

“Apology accepted” Eddie said as he pulled away handing Steve one of their larger plugs, a big black silicone bulb. Steve looked over it, giving Eddie a glance. The vampire just nodded and kept a hand petting through Billy’s sweaty hair. 

Steve pulled out, his cum dripping along with him. Billy screamed, a ripped noise, pulling at his restraints, thrashing around. 

Steve shushed him, one hand holding his hip tightly, and worked the plug in till the base sat against his rim, bulb hidden inside of the puppy. Billy calmed, body only giving the occasional twitch or jerk when Steve twisted the plug. Eddie pulled the blonde into more kisses, humming as he sucked a few drops of blood from the cut on his lip that was healing quickly. 

Steve watched, coming down from his own orgasm. He loved them. Freaks. He watched as Billy melted into the kisses, eyes lazily closed, mouth barley attempting to keep up with Eddie’s. 

"Feel better?" Steve asked, hand petting up and down Billy’s back, the muscles there defined and bulking. He liked digging his thumb into those muscles, feeling them give way. The blonde nodded and Eddie let go of his face, pulling away. 

“A little" Billy said quietly as Eddie climbed onto the big bed, shoving himself into Steve’s lap. Eddie kissed Steve, careful not to nick him with his fangs. Snuggling into his hairy chest and ignoring his wet cock that was limp now. 

“He really didn’t hurt me. Just freaked me out. He’s not right, I can smell it on him." Eddie said, voice echoing in Steve’s head rather than flowing into his ears. Steve hummed and nodded. Eddie did that alot, talking to them separately with his power, saying what needed to be said without causing a commotion.

"Baby what’s wrong, how do we help you?" Steve asked, kneading the tense muscles in the back of Billy’s legs. The wolf just huffed as his hips swiveled, thrusting into the flesh light and clenching onto the plug.

"Everything h-hurts, I don’t know what to do. Feel like I’m getting ripped apart again… Hungry. So fucking hungry." Billy bit out, voice watery like he was on the verge of crying once again. He was twisting up, his emotions getting tangled and mixing till all he felt was hurt and starvation. Steve thought about it for a second, thinking how to be gentle. 

"Are you going to attack Eddie if we undo the cuffs and the bar?" Steve asked, quiet and calm, even as Eddie was already pushing himself up and over Billy’s back, reaching for the cuffs while covering the wolf’s back. Billy shook his head and looked over his shoulder at Eddie. They were so close, chest to back, legs touching where Eddie’s underwear ended. 

"I’m sorry Eddie, ‘m really sorry" He said and tears pricked his eyes once again. Eddie leaned down and kissed him, kissed at his neck and shoulders too as the cuffs were loosened but kept on the bars. Eddie pulled at his wrists, easing them out of the leather. 

"I know, honey. I know you didn’t mean to scare me. Just a dumb dog aren’t you?" Eddie asked as Billy was being eased onto his back. The plug jostled inside of him, making him whimper as he nodded, arms reaching out to pull Eddie down for a hug. 

"I’m sorry Eddie, ’m sorry, ‘m ‘rry" Billy said as he turned into a crying mess, words getting more and more garbled as he cried harder into Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie shushed him, petting at his side, pressing soft kisses to his face. He pulled away, sitting up beside the dog, holding Billy’s hands kissing across his knuckles.

"Do you want to make it up to me? For spooking me?" Eddie offered quietly, breath dancing across the rough pads of the wolf’s hands. Billy nodded his head, eyes stuck on the vampire’s. 

"Eat dinner with that nice plug in, and then after, while Steve hooks you up to the machine, you suck me off. Nice and slow, get your tummy full and have my cum for dessert. Deal?" Eddie said, voice low and rough, dipping down into something that sent shivers down Billy’s back. The blonde’s eyes went wide as he nodded, letting out a breath that almost sounded like a ‘ please’ . 

“Yeah, that's our good dog." Eddie praised, combing through Billy’s hair, enjoying the silky strands before shooting Steve a look over his shoulder.  

Steve swallowed at the look on Eddie’s face. Radiant red in his eyes, something so inhuman with him smiling, teeth poking out over his bottom lip. It was a look that always brought on a long night. 

Steve nodded and stepped off the bed to pull on a pair of sleep pants and make dinner. They would need the carbs, the fuel to satisfy whatever was wrong with Billy. He heard the praises and apologizes get swapped between them, soft and gentle. They were okay. 

So Steve left to the kitchen, to pull out the meat from their fridge and get a pot of water to boil potatoes. 

Billy loved nothing more than red centered steaks and mashed potatoes with lots of butter. And Eddie liked cold raw steaks cut into small cubes. And Steve liked regular food and making his boyfreaks happy.

[rowanaelinn]

Right Where You Left Me - Chapter Two

Warnings: lots of bad words | Word Count: 5,000

Aelin threw the brown file on Ansel’s desk, startling her from whatever she was doing on the multiple computer screens she was staring at. She had long ago given up on trying to understand the miracles Ansel did thanks to the internet. It was too complicated for Aelin, too out of her range. Just like Ansel would be lost if she had to step in Aelin’s shoes for a moment.  

“Find me everything you can about this woman, all the dirt you can find, I want it.”

“For when?” The red-haired woman asked, opening the file and her brows furrowing. “We have a new client?”

“Just me,” Aelin answered. “Private matter. And I want the results for tomorrow.”

Aelin’s friend nodded and turned to her computer, “You’ll get everything on your desk in an hour.”

A smile pulled up Aelin’s lips as she left Ansel’s office. People often thought—rightfully—that Aelin was cocky. And yet sometimes, she was crushed under the realization that some people were cockier than she was. Ansel being the prime example of that. Aelin’s mind often wished to turn it into a competition. But she had to remind herself that she was an adult now. Living in the adult world, with a fucking husband and fucking kids that depended on her.

“Where were you?” Elide asked, cocking her head to the side as she entered Aelin’s office less than two seconds after Aelin did.

“Lunch break.”

The brunette snorted, “I have never seen you take a lunch break before, and somehow, you’re starting now? And you left a meeting for what, a salad?”

Aelin sat deeper in her very comfortable chair. That was a good investment she made, truly. She cocked her head to the side, “Have I missed the memo about you becoming my boss?”

Elide’s eyes darkened, and she sat in front of Aelin with only the wooden desk separating them. “Keep the bullshit for the others who didn’t grow up with you. You didn’t leave for lunch, you had that look in your eyes when you left. Tell me what’s up.”

Irritated, Aelin looked to the side. Elide had known her for years, that was true. Ever since they were five, actually. And maybe it did make her legitimate to know when something’s up. “I have a private client.”

“Who?”

“The Glass House.”

There was a silence for a few seconds, and then Elide asked, “Are you dumping us? To go back to work for Whitethorn?”

“No,” Aelin snapped. “I don’t work for anyone. I’m simply doing my uncle a favor.”

Her friend eyed her for a few seconds, and then deemed her explanation good enough. “Alright. Good, your talents were wasted there. You’re better making a name of yourself.”

Aelin knew that, even if that wasn’t the reason she left. But people believed her so shallow, thought they knew her when they had no idea who she truly was, that they all believed her when she gave them that excuse. Only one hadn’t bought it.

---

“Why I am here already?” Fenrys asked, trailing beside her as they walked through the park. They were moving too quickly to seem like tourists, and she was sure that the sound of Aelin’s stilettos was enough to tell people this wasn’t a leisure walk. She should have changed shoes, walking on the little path designed for runners and walkers wasn’t comfortable in her shoes, especially because of the hundreds of tiny little stones all over the goddamn floor. If she didn’t trip, it was a miracle.

“I need someone to testify for me in case this little thing gets further than I wish it to,” she sighed. She didn’t think it would, but she had to be cautious. Even if she was good, excellent even, at anticipating how people would react, it wasn’t a science. She could never be sure.

Her friend was grinning beside her. Sometimes, he scared her. She’d never asked too many questions about what he saw when he served in the military, how war had affected him. Sometimes, his… tendencies came in handy. She never asked him to act on those, sometimes she rather he didn’t. But sometimes he broke his… abstinence and acted in a way that always worked in her favor.

She shook her head away from that train of thought. He’d ask her to turn her head away when we’d have to use his… talents to help her in her work. She did, even knowing how illegal these things were. Because, if she had to be honest, Aelin wasn’t a sticker for the rules. And the thought of seeing her friend in prison… She couldn’t. So, she turned a blind eye.

Aelin caught sight of her target then, and she prepared herself. She wasn’t fond of what she’d have to do, but if it was her one option to save him and his reputation, she wasn’t going to hesitate. She threw a look at Fenrys, and he nodded in understanding.

He pulled back a little but stayed close enough to listen as Aelin sat on the bench, beside Remelle Rosin. She was head buried in her phone, checking something Aelin couldn’t see. She was beautiful, and there was something ethereal about her. And yet, something felt off. Cold.

“I love these shoes,” Aelin started the conversation, slightly leaning closer to the blonde. “They’re from Feyre Archeron’s latest collection, aren’t they?”

Remelle turned an appreciative eye on Aelin, and she cocked her head to the side. “You know your thing.”

Aelin nodded, “I’m so jealous. I wanted a pair, but they were sold out the moment the shop’s doors opened.” That was a lie. Actually, Aelin had secured more than four pairs. Three in different colors, and then one lavender pair for Hayley’s birthday. But Aelin wanted Remelle to feel valued.

It was hard to keep her eyes from rolling as the pale woman said, “Oh, don’t be too sad! They wouldn’t suit your figure.”

Alright. Yes, on paper, she was President Whitethorn’s type. But after this… Aelin’s trust in his claim that nothing had ever happened strengthened. “I think you’re right,” she smiled. “But if you want a piece of my opinion as well, they wouldn’t look good on TV, either.”

Remelle’s shoulders straightened, and she threw a look of mistrust to both Aelin and Fenrys. “What do you want?”

“Why, simply giving each other friendly pieces of advice,” Aelin cocked her head to the side, her smile turning sweeter.

Aelin could see the woman’s guard built up. But the truth was, even with all the flattery in the world, Aelin couldn’t be the good guy there. She’d only used it as a way to build connection.

“Has he sent you?”

“Nobody sent me,” she lied. “I’m only looking out for you, Remelle. Things out there are dangerous, they really are. Whatever you think going public will achieve, you are wrong.”

Remelle huffed a laugh. “You know nothing.”

Aelin didn’t care about the jab. “It’s my job to know this. At worse, the media will call you a liar. They’ll use the three years you’ve worked in a private club against you. At best? You’ll get called a whore who was stupid enough to open her legs for a married man. You’ll never be the people’s friend, the one they’ll look up to. You will be the woman who is a distraction to their problem. Because if the Glass House is busy denying these claims you make, it’s needed resources that aren’t actively working for the welfare of the people. You think they will love that?”

Remelle’s hands were shaking as she told Aelin, “I’m promised a book deal.”

“Alright,” Aelin shrugged. “You’ll get some money, then what? You settle in, and your kids become the joke of the school because of what you did?” Aelin shook her head. “No, you’re not stupid, Mrs. Rosin. You can get your money in a much quieter, safer way.”

“I thought you weren’t working for him.”

“I’m not. I’m merely making sure you know all of your options. You can… retire somewhere in another state. I’ve heard Terrasen is terribly beautiful in the summer. You can have a stable, nice and enjoyable life. Or you take the risk. You become the media’s pet, their slut. You become the enemy of the Glass House and believe me when I say that nobody will have the courage to back you up and put themselves against the executive power, especially when you have no proof.”

No, because if she did, she would have already gone public, or the President would already have been asked for money. No, what Remelle had been doing these past few weeks was merely building herself a support system. People who would back her claims up. But that wasn’t enough.

“They won’t love you, Remelle. Seek this love with someone else, because you’ll be nothing for the audience. You’ll be more of a Camilla than a Diana, because you weren’t the wronged woman. You’re the one in the wrong.”

Her bottle lip was trembling as she looked at Aelin, silver lining in her eyes. “When have you sold your soul to the devil?”

Aelin’s smile was small as she responded, “A long time ago.”

“I want to see him.”

“You won’t,” Aelin answered, her voice firm. No, of course she wouldn’t. If anyone saw her, if she recorded the conversation… That would only give power to her claims. But, Aelin had to point out the effort. The woman truly wasn’t stupid.

She also knew her own candidate wouldn’t back her up. Not when Dorian Havillard had been selected Vice-President, even with his differences of opinions with the current president. It was a privilege for him to be where he was, and Aelin knew him enough to know he wouldn’t ruin that for an assistant.

“I want seven million,” Remelle said, tears clouding her voice.

“You’ll get three,” Aelin said, and at Remelle’s offended eyes, she added, “Which is more than generous for claims made with nothing to back them up.”

“Five.”

If she lowered so much, it only proved that she had nothing.

“Four, it is,” Aelin said, not in the mood to go lower. Her uncle had given her the permission to go as high as ten million, but the woman didn’t need to know that. Not when she claimed to have touched him, to have tasted him.

It wasn’t something she was proud of, but maybe the personal aspect of it all made it easier to sit beside this woman and throw these threats and insults at her.

“I’ll see you in Hell, Aelin Westfall.”

Aelin stood, grabbing her bag at the same time. She smiled at Remelle, “It’s Galathynius, actually. And it’ll be my pleasure.” She handed a card to Remelle. “We’ll stay in touch, for further… advice.”

She left, Fenrys on her heels. He blew up some air, “That was something, Aelin.”

She shrugged, “That was just my job.”

--

           Aelin rushed through the two wooden doors of her house, slamming them close in a hurry. She took her shoes off, throwing her back to the floor. She was late. Goddamn her. Couldn’t she have found an excuse to not go to this stupid gala? If it was only her, she would have cancelled last minute. But… It was already bad etiquette that Chaol hadn’t been invited before yesterday. He couldn’t miss this. It would only hurt his image.

           “Mom!” Hayley, Aelin’s teenage daughter, called from the kitchen. Aelin rushed to that room, finding her three kids gathered there. Hayley was dressed, as usual, in her dark clothes. It was that moment of her teenage years when she was obsessed with black. Black clothes, black make-up, black bedsheets. Aelin had stopped her before she painted her bedroom walls black. Asper was in his pyjama, sitting around the kitchen island and nose buried into his phone. He only looked up to grin at her.

           She didn’t take it personally. Instead, she had fun ruffling his hair before leaning in to kiss Helia’s forehead. At two years old, she changed every day, and got prettier day by day. Aelin went to embrace Hayley, but the teenager made a very sweet and loving gagging noise. Instead, she told her what she was in such a hurry to say. “Asper put coffee in his hot chocolate.”

Aelin’s nose wrinkled. She was usually supportive of her kids’ strange meals, but she had to admit. That one sounded… not good. “You do realize that defies the whole purpose of hot chocolate, right?”

“Which is?” He asked with sass.

“It’s to be the to-go drink for people who don’t drink coffee!” Hayley nearly screamed. She could get passionate sometimes.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I just need my caffeine.”

Hayley made another disgusted noise, and threw at his face a banana peel. Aelin said nothing, that one was quite deserved. “Don’t speak about my panties!”

“Just drink coffee then,” Aelin said.

“I don’t like coffee,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“Then just take fucking vitamins,” Hayley supplied. Next to her sitting in her highchair, Helia was babbling something. She knew how to speak well, at least as well as a two-years-old could speak. But when her siblings argued, it was like the little girl wanted to participate as well.

Aelin nearly told off her daughter about her swearing, but… It’d be hypocritical. Aelin’s mouth was foul.

“Coffee is healthier,” Asper said, his eyes rolling and then looked back at his phone. Aelin cringed, and Hayley made a noise of anger.

“Please, mom. Tell me he isn’t really my twin, tell me you found him in the trash.”

“You’re the trash,” he supplied.

Aelin cringe. As distracting as watching two teenagers fight was, she knew it was her moment to deescalate the thing. “You two have your father nose and my eyes, sorry but being trash isn’t part of our family motto.”

Hayley rolled her eyes.

“Speaking of your father, where is he?” She prayed he wasn’t home yet, or she’d never hear the end of it. He hated when she was late.

“Upstairs,” Hayley answered. “Complaining because you’re late.”

“Shit,” she swore, grabbing a glass of water. Tough luck for her. “Will you be okay on your own tonight? And for Helia too? I can stay home if you don’t feel like it.”

Hayley, again, rolled her eyes. “No. We’ll be fine. But, can I come? Please, please, please. I haven’t seen Willow in so long, and—”

“I’m not even sure Willow will be there, Hayley, and we only got two invitations.”

She sighed. “As if Rowan would say anything if you brought me over.”

Aelin cringed. He’d told her kids to use his first name when he met them a couple of years ago, and they had no shame to brag about being on a first name basis with the President.

“No, Hayley. Text Willow, and if she wants to come over one day, it’s alright. But I’m not taking you to a playdate at a work event.”

As Aelin got upstairs she was sure her daughter was using colorful names to describe her, but it was okay.

When they met during the campaign, Willow and Hayley got along immediately. And suddenly, Hayley visited Aelin more and more at work, asked to go on campaign related trips. It’d always been complicated for Hayley to make friends, so much that Aelin and Hayley’s father yielded to their daughter’s insistence to homeschool her a few years ago. She struggled to make friends, but it seemed easy for her to be friend with Willow.

Aelin couldn’t even complain. Willow Whitethorn was an amazing friend to her daughter, but for personal reasons, Aelin disliked everything that linked her family to the Whitethorn’s.

Again, she was very hypocritical, but at the very least she was self-aware.

The two teenage girls didn’t see each other often, and last Aelin had heard from Hayley, Willow got her phone taken as a punition for sneaking out. Hence Hayley’s insistence to join her parents to the gala.

She rushed upstairs, already unbuttoning her shirt. “I know, I know,” she said, entering the master bedroom. “I’m late.”

“Where were you?” Chaol’s voice came from the bathroom, and he came out with his hands trying to knot his tie around his neck.

“Work,” she answered, though she believed it was pretty obvious. Where else would she have been?

           She didn’t ask him questions, only got herself ready in the silence of their room.

---

The place was… beautiful. Stars shone in her eyes as she looked around, waiting in line with Chaol’s hand on her back to greet the President and the first lady. The entire place’s decoration perfectly fit the theme White & Gold. Golden chandeliers hoovered over them; the waiters dressed in entirely full white suits. Only these two colors were showing in the room, except for the men. It was dull, really, how they were always dressed in black and white. But she had to admit, it suited some of them more than she cared to admit.

And as usual, Aelin attracted attention. She hadn’t thought about it too much when she picked the golden, ankle-length silk gown. She had to admit, the deep, naked back was rather audacious. But as everything, Aelin pulled it off. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, reaching her midback. But, she had let free two strands of her hair in the front, framing her face.

She hadn’t realized that… no other woman had decided on a fully golden gown. Some women wore dresses that perfectly married both colors, and sometimes one of the colors was only one part of their garment.

“See? We’re not that late,” Aelin said. Sure, the party had started but the presential couple were still greeting people, and Aelin and Chaol weren’t the last in line.

Chaol grunted, and she huffed a laugh. That was all the laughing she did in this marriage these past few years, ever since she found out. But she didn’t wish to think of that. She was over it.

“Senator Westfall, Aelin,” Lyria greeted them with a smile. “You look radiant tonight.”

“Thank you, Lyria,” Aelin smiled, hugging the woman. The gesture made her sick, but wasn’t it required between two friends. On the side, Chaol shook President Whitethorn’s hand. “You look very beautiful yourself.” Indeed, Lyria’s white dress with golden flowers embroiled on it was beautiful. And much more modest than Aelin’s. What a way to make her feel uncomfortable. Maybe she should have chosen another gown.

In turn, Chaol greeted Lyria as Aelin stood in front of him. His eyes were untelling, and she hopes hers were as well. “Mr. President.”

“Aelin,” he greeted her, grabbing her hand. She felt electricity run through her spine at the way his fingers felt against hers, and she nearly shuddered at the heat of the contact as he kissed the back of her hand. She mastered the rise and fall of her chest, even with the way her heart turned wild. “You do look beautiful.”

She blushed, though if anyone asked, she’d blame that physical reaction on the heat. “Thank you, Sir. You cleaned up nicely as well.”

He chuckled, his hand lingering against her a few more seconds before her hand fell to her side, purposeless without him near her.

“Enjoy your evening,” Lyria smiled at them, before Chaol’s hand made its way back to her back and led her into the room.

There were a lot of people. Nearly all senators were present, as well as a lot of journalists. Members of the President’s party, as well as the Vice president and his own circle there. Aelin noted the absence of Remelle Rosin. Good girl. She was better away from the president.

“I need champagne,” she breathed, and Chaol heard her. He made a sign with his hand, raising his fainter finger, and a waiter walked toward them. Her husband grabbed them two glasses of champagne, handing one to Aelin. “Stay right here,” she told the young waiter. He mustn’t be more than seventeen. She wondered how anxious and impressed he was. She drank her first glass of champagne in one go, ending up a tiny bit breathless. They did call it liquid courage. She winked at the boy and placed the empty glass on his plate and grabbed a full glass. “Thank you.”

He blushed and left, and she could feel Chaol’s burning glare on her skin. “Yes?”

“Do you wish to humiliate me?”

She cocked her head to the side, taking a sip of her drink. “I do wonder how my own chosen actions could affect someone else.” At his lack of answer, she clicked her tongue. “Breathe, your dear wife was just thirsty.”

He rolled his eyes but made no comment. He’d often made remarks about her consumption of alcohol which was too high for him. But he believed it was improper for everyone to drink, so she ignored all jabs.

“Is there anyone here you have to woo?” She asked. At the end of the day, that was what politics was. And she knew that as a newly elected senator, her husband still had to build his own little army. He was intelligent, and she was sure he’d do so easily. But everything played at even such as this one.

“Mostly Dorian Havillard Senior and Antoine Perrington.”

She cocked her head to the side, eyebrow furrowed in confusion. “Republicans.”

“Which I am as well.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “But you’re a republican, and they’re republicans.”

“They wish to see change in the party, and I’m ready to hear them out.”

“What kind of change? They have a running president from their own party, whose are not bad.”

He shrugged. “As you said, they’re republicans. He’s not.”

She shook her head. “It is madness to think either of them would be elected. They have been in this game for far too long, have made far too many mistakes. They’re too known as what a majority of Doranelle doesn’t wish to see.”

“Especially the reason why they wish for a new face.”

“You,” she breathed. “You cannot mean that. The President is your friend.”

He threw her an amused look. “Aelin, you’re a genius, and you know enough about this world to know friendship doesn’t matter.”

Of course, she knew enough. She had taught him everything, she had gotten him elected.

He leaned in, placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “And I’m hoping for my wife’s aid in this new project. We all know you’re the reason behind the latest election.”

Was he truly asking her such thing? To get him elected?

“I do not share these men’s values.”

He huffed a laugh. “You’re apolitical at best. You do not share Whitethorn’s values either, and yet you backed him up.”

“Because Rowan’s values do not mean he wishes for me and my daughters to have no importance other than being a wife,” she snapped, though not loudly.

“There is nothing wrong with wishing for a traditional family, and I agree with you. Their ideas aren’t the best. But it’s my chance, Aelin. My chance to be more than Senator.”

Was senator not enough? Was he truly wishing for the Glass House? This is a fight that you will not fight at my side, Chaol.”

He shook his head, “We’ll talk about it more at home, alright? Here is not the place.”

“Senator Westfall,” Lyria, on the arm of the president smiled. “How good to see you, we didn’t have to chance to meet since your election. Again, congratulation.”

He smiled brightly at her, “Thank you, Lyria. We must dine one evening.”

“Oh, for sure! We’ll have Elain set up a day that fits you.”

“How does Adarlan fares?” The president asks.

“Good, Sir, thank you for asking.”

A song started playing in the background, and Lyria’s smile brightened. “Oh! I do love this song. Would you do me the honor, Senator Westfall?” She asked, holding her hand to him.

He grabbed it, smiling at the woman. “It’d be my pleasure.” He kissed Aelin’s cheek and left, dancing with the first lady onto the slow song.

Rowan was still in front of her, and she tried her best to ignore him. Those glasses were very pretty, though Aelin’s was too empty. Maybe she needed a third one. She had three kids after all, third was her own magic number.

“Aelin,” he breathed.

And even if there was no power in his voice, she still felt compelled to look at him. His eyes were hopeful, and he held his hand to her. “May I have this dance?”

And she couldn’t refuse. She slid her palm into his, and he led her onto the dancefloor.

Her breath hitched as his hand found her naked back, his other hand still holding hers. And the way his hold felt on her, it was as if he would never let go. They started swinging slowing onto the beat of the dance. “You look magnificent tonight,” he breathed, barely loud enough for her to hear. “I cannot take my eyes away from you.”

And as she looked up, she was nearly chocked by the heat in his eyes. “Don’t look at me that way.”

He smiled, her heartbeat quickening.

“Stop,” she breathed. “Your wife is seven feet from us.”

He threw a look to the side, where she knew they were. “She looks busy laughing with your husband.”

Aelin tried to look away, but it was as if he was a magnet. She couldn’t. “Stop, somebody is going to see you.”

“Nobody is paying attention.”

“Someone always pays attention to you,” she answered. “You’re the President.”

“Do you pay attention to me? When you’re in that office, at the other side of town?”

A smile pulled at her lips. “You have hundreds of people working for you. You have no need for my attention.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

He made her twirl, nota allowing her to process what he’d just say. She needed to find something, anything, that would distract her from the way his hand felt on her back. She yearned to feel his fingers on every inch of her skin, eliciting the most private of noises of her.

“Be careful,” she said, a little breathless. “Not your whole party is on your side.”

His eyebrow furrowed, but his steps didn’t falter. “What do you mean?”

She swallowed, hating herself for it. She was betraying her husband. Differences or not, he should have her loyalty. But in truth, she wanted Rowan to know. Not only because she worked her ass off to have him elected, but because… Because she couldn’t keep such a thing from him.

“Havillard Senior and Perrington are talking to… potential candidates for the primaries in two years.”

Something in his jaw twitched, and he asked, “Do you think Dorian knows of this?”

Dorian, Havillard Senior’s son, was Rowan’s vice president. The fact that Rowan asked for her advice… It made her feel valuable. “We can never know. But he’s made a point to stay away from his father’s politics and ideas. I’d say, don’t think of him as an enemy too quickly.”

“If they don’t pick Dorian as a candidate, then who?”

Aelin adverted her eyes away from him, and they were close enough that she felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled. “That husband of yours is getting rather annoying,” he said, his voice dropping an octave lower. “Though I suppose backstabbing me isn’t the worst thing he’s done.”

“Stop it,” she breathed.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“And I don’t like it.”

She snorted, “Tough luck, big guy.”

He laughed, and the noise warmed her all over. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“Yes, well,” she sighed. “I didn’t work that hard for you to only complete one term. I expect a reelection in three years, Mr. President.”

He chuckled, “If it’s all I can do for the lady.”

“Well,” she sighed. “You could give your daughter her phone back, so my own daughter stops harassing me to take her to the glass house.”

His eyes shone in amusement. She lost herself in the green of those irises. “Well, why should I? It’ll just give you a reason to visit to me more.”

She was going to answer something snarky when her uncle arrived by their side, kissing her cheek and leaning in to speak into Rowan’s ear. She saw his brow furrowed, and she knew he’d leave the party right away. Those were the duties of a leader, she supposed.

“Sorry for cutting in,” her uncle apologized again, and she waved him off.

“I need to leave,” Rowan warned her, regret showing in his eyes. She wondered what troubled him so much. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she answered, mourning his touch as his hand felt her back and let go of her palm. But he leaned in to kiss her cheek and whispered into her ear, “Come visit me in my office before this party ends, I’ll be waiting for you.”

And he felt, leaving her on the dancefloor. She shook her head and left, grabbing another glass of champagne on her way. She had no idea of what to do, and regretted that everything in her told her to leave and join him, to see what he wished to tell her about.

••••••

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @elentiyawhitethorn // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy // @danibutterr // @endlessdaydream // @thegreyj // @gracie-rosee // @acreativelydifferentlove // @cretaceous-therapod // @louphantomdragon // @mis-lil-red // @backtobl4ck // @whoever-you-choose-to-love // @lemonade-coolattas // @mad-madeline-ace // @the-introverted-bibliophile // @leiawritesstories // @emilyoftheshadows s // @anniesbookshelf // @rainbowcheetah512 // @astra-ad-mare // @story-scribbler // @superspiritfestival // @wordsafterhours // @rowaelinrambling // @black-daisy-water // @fireheart-violet // @livsdriverslicense // @charlizeed // @ladykreads // @mariamuses // @autumnbabylon // @justreadertings // @highqueenofelfhame // @earthtolinds // @bowdawn // @psychopath-at-heart // @ginnyweasley06 // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

[archvillain-fandom]

response to barry lyga’s un/edited

Not sure what this is. A book review, maybe. A creative writing exercise. The ramblings of a madwoman. Whatever it is, it had to be written.

We’re sitting in the backyard of my childhood home, on our butts, on the grass, on top of the hill. It’s not the backyard as it is now, years after we sold the house and the new owners remodeled it, but it’s not the backyard from my first memories. The treehouse that my dad built for me at age 10 is in the avocado tree, and the giant eucalyptus has been cut down. I stare at the stump, big enough for a little girl to use as a table for her dolls.

“Who am I?” my indefinite companion asks.

“You’re Kyle Camden,” I reply.

“Oh.” Kyle looks at his body, which is suddenly a lot clearer. “From Archvillain?”

“Sort of,” I say. “You’re a version of Kyle that I extrapolated from Archvillain. You’re close to the character that was written, but not exactly the same. You’re a subversion of the real thing.”

“There is no ‘real’ Kyle Camden,” Kyle says.

“Touché.”

“So what’s different about me?” he asks.

I sigh. “Who knows? Maybe you’re less snarky. Maybe you have more empathy. Maybe you’re really me, when I was twelve. Who knows?”

“You said ‘who knows’ twice in the last paragraph,” he points out.

“I’ll get it when I edit,” I shrug. “Or maybe I won’t edit this. His book is called ‘Unedited,’ after all.”

“It’s called ‘Edited,’ too,” Kyle says. “Doesn’t that mean you should edit?”

I sigh. “Don’t be a smartass.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, we can curse in this?”

“Sure,” I say. “This isn’t a Scholastic book. This is a blog post on a blog with fewer than fifty followers. Nobody’s going to care.”

He laughs, long and loud. “FUCK!” he yells. And then, not as loud, but just as exuberant, “Fuck, that felt good! I’ve been wanting to fucking swear since I was fucking created.”

I laugh too. “I’m glad I can offer you that much, at least.”

“After all I’ve given you?” he says dryly.

“Well, fuck, Kyle, don’t act all self-important now.”

“That’s the character,” he says. “That’s the original character.”

“I guess,” I say.

He furrows his brow. “If what you say is true, though… I’m not the original character. I’m an approximation, based on your interpretation. Which means that I clearly mean a lot to you. Which means that I’m not being self-important. So there!”

“You’re being a smartass again,” I say.

He shrugs wordlessly. We both stare at the eucalyptus stump.

“You know,” I say, finally breaking the silence, “I don’t think I ever used that stump as a table for my dolls. I think I just said that in the first paragraph to evoke memories of a rosy childhood, playing in the backyard without a care in the world. In real life, I think I was too anxious about getting my dolls dirty to take them outside.”

Kyle turns to look at me, but doesn’t say anything.

“Or maybe,” I continue, “I didn’t make that up. My sister convinced me to bring our dolls outside, and I went along with it to make her happy. I don’t remember.”

“You have a sister?” Kyle says.

“Younger,” I say. “Three and a half years apart.” I nod in the direction of the stump, at the bottom of the hill. “When that was a tree… the lowest branch was level with the second story of the house. It looked like a hundred feet up– maybe it was. My dad hung a rope swing from that branch. No fucking clue how he got it up there. But he hung a rope swing with a hundred feet of rope– well, there were two ropes holding up the swing, so I guess it was two hundred… hmm…”

“Focus,” Kyle snaps.

“Anyway,” I say. “My sister was a climber. Climbed everything vertical. And so she decided to climb the rope swing. There were no knots or anything, just straight rope. But she took her shoes off, rubbed dirt on her hands, and started climbing. She was seven or eight. And she climbed up, almost to the top. And she made eye contact with my mom, through the second-story window.”

“And then your mom screamed, and your sister panicked, and lost her grip, and fell to her death,” said Kyle.

“No,” I say. “My mom kept her cool, and ordered her to come down. My sister made her way back down the rope, endured a lecture, and is now a student at the same college that I went to.”

“That’s a bad ending,” Kyle tells me. “There’s no payoff. We learn nothing.”

“I have a fear of heights,” I tell him, although that seems kind of redundant. “Now you’ve learned that.”

“I don’t have that fear,” he grins. “I can fly.”

“I know.”

“It’s kind of weird that you have a fear of heights, but love a story about falling,” he says.

“Falling?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Archvillain is about falling.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, but he only shrugs.

I wait a moment, before I say, “You don’t sound like the real Kyle.”

“I told you, there is no real Kyle.”

“Original Kyle, then. The non-bastardized Kyle.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re writing me,” he says.

“Probably,” I agree.

He says nothing, and so I add, “The tree story is my running-in-front-of-a-car-to-get-an-action-figure story.”

He throws his hands up. “Oh, now we’re talking about the book!”

I shrug. “If you want, we can.”

“If I’m Kyle Camden, then I must be, in some way, partly Barry Lyga. And if I’m partly Barry Lyga, then I must want to know what you thought of his– my– book.”

“I think the part of you that’s me is placing much more weight on my opinion than the part of you that’s Barry Lyga really would.”

“Fuck, that’s confusing,” says Kyle.

“I got confused writing that sentence,” I say.

“But seriously, what did you think of the book?”

“It was…” I try to think of some adjective, and fail. “It was. It existed.”

“Seriously?” Kyle says in disbelief. “That’s all you’ve got? Aren’t you supposed to be a writer?”

“I’m a writer,” I say. “I never said I was a good writer.”

“‘It existed,’” Kyle mocks. “Wow. Put that on the cover of the second edition. ‘It existed,’ signed Amanda P———, owner of one of the most obsessive Tumblr blogs in existence. That’ll sell more copies.”

“It–“ I sigh. “Isn’t that a compliment? In a work of metafiction, where the characters are grappling with their existence, under an author-god grappling with his own creations, under the real author grappling with his publisher, isn’t it enough to say it existed?”

“No,” says Kyle.

“You’re infuriating,” I say.

“It’s why you like me,” he replies.

I exhale. “The truth is that I don’t get this book. But this book gets me. You follow?”

“No,” he says again.

“It’s just–“ I take a breath, and try again. “It’s just that when I read it, something clicked. Details lined up. It was like it was written for only me.”

“It wasn’t, though,” he says.

“No, you’re not getting it. I had like, a God moment. It was the same feeling that I had when I first read your book.”

“Didn’t you read my section in Unedited?” Kyle says. “God isn’t real. It’s a coherent 13-dimensional waveform–“

“Alright, I don’t feel like typing the whole rant out,” I say. “I get it. I’m not special.”

“Whatever details you thought ‘lined up’ were just coincidences. Common human experiences.”

“You’re starting to sound like Lyga’s Kyle again,”

I say.

“If you’re to be believed, that’s who I really am,” he says. “Or maybe your bastardization has stuck. Maybe, in his mind, a part of you has embedded itself in his conception of me.”

“Or maybe that’s just my ego talking,” I say.

“Maybe,” he says. “I think you have a bigger ego than he does. Which is saying something, considering he wrote a book where he’s both God and the Devil.”

I put my head in my hands. “Fuck this shit. Can’t we just go back to sitting in the backyard?”

“Sure,” says Kyle. “It’s nice here.”

We both sit.

We both sit.

We both sit.

I say, finally, “I did like the book.”

“You only read it to see me,” he says.

“Well, yeah, at first,” I say. “But then I couldn’t stop. Screwed up my whole day at work because I couldn’t get my mind off of it.”

“You work?” Kyle says.

“I’m twenty-two,” I say. “A college graduate. Of course I work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a government drone,” I deadpan. Kyle chuckles. “I work for my city. For now, possibly forever.”

“It’s funny,” he says. “I never pictured you working.”

“You’re a fictional character,” I tell him. “You can’t picture anything.”

“I can picture as much as he can picture,” he says. “Or, well, as much as you can picture that he can picture.”

“Well, I was fourteen when I first read Archvillain,” I say. “I wasn’t even a babysitter back then. And now–“

“Now it’s been, like, eight years,” Kyle says.

“Nine, nearly.”

“Jesus. That’s a lot of time to be devoted to one book series.”

“I have other interests,” I say. “I have stories that are really mine.”

“But they’re not Archvillain,” says Kyle.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess it ties back into that ‘first love’ theme.”

“A book series is not a first love,” Kyle says. “Enough of me is you that I know Archvillain was not your first love.”

“I had Archvillain before I had her,” I say.

“Her?” Kyle says. “You’re gay?”

“Bi,” I say. “Maybe. Or ace. Or gay. Or straight. Does it matter? I loved her the way Mike loved Phil. The way you love Mairi.”

“That’s not healthy,” he says.

“No,” I agree. “That’s why it ended.”

“Do you regret it?” Kyle asks.

“I hate her some days,” I say. “Most days. I hate myself for blowing it up, too. It was really my fault that it ended. If I hadn’t freaked out when she set a boundary, we’d still be friends.”

“You weren’t together?” he asks.

“Nah.”

“Damn.”

We sit, until Kyle says, “I’m gay too. I think.”

I laugh. “I was never sure whether Barry Lyga always intended you to be gay, or whether he just did that to make my teenage self happy.”

“Guess you’ll never know,” says Kyle.

“Guess I’ll never know,” I say. “Although, you and the Mad Mask…”

He groans. “It doesn’t matter. When the series ends, the young Mad Mask is hell-bent on revenge, and the old Mad Mask is lost to time. It’s not happening.”

“Then, you and Mike…”

“It’s not happening,” he says again.

“If I were writing the series…” I start.

“But you’re not!” he interrupts. “It’s not your series. It’ll never be yours.”

“And yet you’re partly me,” I say.

He looks down at his blue-gloved hands. “Yeah, well. Sometimes stuff sticks.”

“Yeah.” I pause, and then I say what’s been on my mind since I read Edited. “Do you think the email is based on me?”

“Email?” He furrows his brow. “What email?”

“In his book. George writes an email to Gayl Rybar, or maybe Barry Lyga, telling him how important his work is. That he kept him from killing himself, because of his writing.”

“I liked George,” mused Kyle. “When I met him.”

“When I was sixteen, I emailed Barry Lyga. I told him how important his work was. I didn’t say it kept me from killing myself, but that was what I was thinking. Do you think that part was based on me?”

Kyle frowns. “I doubt it. He probably gets a lot of teenage emails.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“I think it’s stupid to think that anything in that book is related to you. Maybe Barry Lyga put an Archvillain section in knowing that you’d enjoy it– maybe. But I think you’re just desperate for connection, as a new adult in a remote job, and are leaning back on your old favorite series for comfort.”

“Maybe,” I say again. “You sound like his Kyle.”

“I only sound like Lyga’s Kyle when I’m making you uncomfortable,” he says.

“Maybe,” I say, for the third time.

“You thought that email was written by George?” Kyle asks.

“When I read Edited, I did,” I say. “George is a fan of Gayl Rybar. It makes sense.”

“But he isn’t a fan in Unedited,” says Kyle. “So he can’t have written it, since Lyga wrote that book first.”

“Yeah, I guess I can’t really know,” I say. “It’s all fictional, anyway.”

“Never stopped you from wondering before.”

“You’re very aggravating,” I tell him.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, you’re the one writing me.”

I pick my legs up off the grass and hug my knees. “I can’t believe I’m twenty-two.”

“You’re young. Don’t complain about it,” Kyle says.

“You’re younger than me. You’re twelve.”

“I’ve been twelve since 2010. Technically, I’m older than you.”

“In Barry Lyga’s original outline of Archvillain–“

“Oh, shut up!” Kyle exclaims. “Nobody cares about that but you. There’s not going to be any more Archvillain– no books, no short stories, no cartoon. You need to get over it, and grow up.”

I glare at him. “Can I finish my fucking sentence?” He rolls his eyes, and I continue, “In the original outline, Kyle gets visited by his future self in Tomorrow Today. I was fifteen or sixteen when I learned that, and I thought, okay, how old is future Kyle? And I settled on twenty-two.”

“And now you’re twenty-two,” he finishes.

“Exactly. And I keep thinking of going back in time, of talking to my younger self. Of what I would say.”

“What would you say?”

“I don’t know. That it gets better? That I shouldn’t feel so guilty all the time? That I should keep writing? I doubt I’d listen. I doubt you’d listen to your older self, if that book had ever been written.”

“I think you’re thinking about this a little too much,” says Kyle.

“Okay, that definitely was the Lyga part of you.”

“You’re still writing me,” he says. “And I’m sure Barry Lyga, the real one, doesn’t see me as half him, half you. I’m all his, in his mind, and you’re a deranged fan who needs to find a hobby.”

I accept this. “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m a genius,” he says.

I smile. “I did kind of kidnap your series.”

“That’s a good way of putting it,” he says.

“I’m writing a book about that now,” I say. “Kidnapping. Murder. Real dark shit.”

“That’s a departure from the middle grade stuff.”

“Yeah, well,” I shrug. “You gotta write what you gotta write.”

“Like this piece?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, for a book review, we didn’t talk about the book that much,” Kyle says.

“Yeah, well, if he wants an actual review, he can look on Goodreads. Anyway, I’m going to call this a response, not a review.”

“Very English major of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

“If I was a real English major, I would know how to end this,” I say.

“There we are, tying back into the book!” Kyle exclaims.

“It wasn’t intentional. I think that endings are hard for everyone.”

“Oh,” says Kyle. “But it has to end sometime.”

“I guess it does,” I say. “How would you end it?”

“I’m guessing that people hailing me as a true hero isn’t an option?” he says. I shake my head. “I don’t know. Sitting here is nice. We could just keep doing that.”

“That’s a bad ending,” I say. “There’s no payoff. We learn nothing.”

He shrugs, for the final time. And we sit.

[karuvapatta]

Here you have a tiny Stede/Izzy ficlet, inspired by @favouritefi ‘s Pirate Hunter AU :D

***

Stupid fucking Stede Bonnet was making him wait again.

Izzy kept himself as still as possible for an unreasonable amount of time before he started fuming. That damn man with his damn lack of respect for rules and morals. God, but Izzy hated him – from the stupidly perfect blonde curls, the blithe smile, past his ridiculously colourful outfits, and all the way down to the polished buckled shoes. He hated this room in particular, with its overabundance of fabric, two fucking chandeliers, and a—what was it, a toy ship? Was Bonnet a child? He certainly acted like one.

Izzy paced the length of the plush carpet and then, on a whim, walked up to Bonnet’s desk. There were official documents, right there in plain view – had Izzy been a stronger reader, he might be able to find out all of Bonnet’s business. Alas. But he recognized a familiar book, noticing a conspicuous bookmark right as he picked it up – ah.

Dread Pyrate Blackbeard, right beneath a picture of a man with flames in his eyes and smoke in his beard and no less than nine guns strapped to his person. Nine guns! Fucking nonsense.

He set down the book with disgust, and picked up another. More bookmarks – a folded piece of fabric marked a different picture, this one a bit more reminiscent of the man himself.

Edward “Blackbeard” Teach. One sword, one gun. He was still shrouded in flames and smoke, with a pretty decent rendering of Queen Anne in the background. On the next page, there was a familiar flag – skeleton warrior wielding a spear. Blackbeard’s flag.

Despite himself, despite the fact that he was on dry land, Izzy felt a twinge of unease. Well. Every sailor worth a damn feared and respected that flag. Blackbeard’s legend saw to that.

“Ah! Mister Hands.” Stede Bonnet marched inside with a blinding smile and a ridiculous flourish of his ornate sleeves. “How kind of you to wait.”

As if he hadn’t set the meeting himself, to half an hour ago. The nerve of him.

Izzy grit his teeth and slammed the book shut.

“You asked to see me,” he said. After a pause, he forced himself to add: “Sir.”

“Indeed I have,” Stede said. “But I see you kept yourself busy.”

There was something behind his charming smile that kept Izzy from answering. He barely supressed a flinch when Stede took the book from him, brushing the skin of Izzy’s ungloved hand with his fingers – not a speck of dirt on them, not a single callous to mark a day’s worth of honest labour. Just the unbearable, ridiculous warmth and softness of them, that felt like a red-hot brand on Izzy’s palm.

“Shall I? Oh, indeed. Blackbeard. The worst of all pirates.” Stede’s smile sharpened. “The man you had sworn to apprehend years ago. And yet he continues to terrorize our waters.”

Izzy looked down – at his own worn leather boots, and then at Stede’s, brand new and polished to a high gleam. He just couldn’t stomach the sight of Stede’s infuriating smile.

“It’s not that easy,” Izzy said. “Blackbeard’s a brilliant sailor. He can outmanoeuvre any of our ships—”

“Oh, you don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Stede said genially, patting Izzy’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’re doing your best.”

Izzy trembled with rage. Stede continued to smile for an uncomfortable length of time.

“Well. This isn’t why I asked to see you. Do you happen to remember our duel?”

Fuck. Fucking—fuck.

“Sir—”

“The duel, Mr. Hands. Which I have won.”

“On a fucking technicality—”

“But it was still a victory,” Stede chirped. “A rather spectacular one, I would say.”

It was not. It was a fucking farce, a parody of a real battle, nothing more than a circus performance – because it was Stede fucking Bonnet, and the world bent itself in circles to accommodate him. He made a mockery of Izzy’s hard-earned skill – the same skill that had kept him alive for years – and turned it into a, a nothing. A fucking joke. Like he would with Izzy’s entire life—

“Oh, do relax, will you?” Stede said. “You did very well. Now! Onto the terms of our bet—”

He retrieved an ornate box from a drawer and opened it with a theatrical flair. Once he saw what was inside of it, Izzy took an involuntary step back.

“You cannot be serious,” he said, with growing horror.

But the absolute madman was still grinning.

“You are a man of your word, aren’t you, Israel?” he said. “This is what you agreed to. You will not disappoint me now.”

It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t even a proper order, really. Just a blunt statement of fact, from a man who was so used to getting his own way, it didn’t even occur to him that “no” was a viable option.

“Have you ever done this before?” Izzy asked.

“I have not. But I’m confident in my skills! Besides. Lucius agreed to help.”

The Spriggs boy? Over Izzy’s cold, bloated corpse.

He took another careful step back. There was nothing blocking his way and he was, even at his age, faster than Stede Bonnet could ever be.

“No,” he said.

“Why are you so shy, all of a sudden?” Stede asked, stepping right into Izzy’s personal space. Fuck, but he was tall – Izzy had to twist his head back, baring his throat, just to look him in the eyes again. And he fucking hated that – hated it even more when Stede put his hand at the nape of his neck, bold as ever, and caught the collar of Izzy’s shirt. His fingers were unbearably warm where they pressed against skin. For a short while he rubbed the fabric with a discerning look on his face, his mouth curving slightly – parting, then, as he exhaled a quick breath that heated the air between them, his tongue darting out just long enough to lick his lower lip.

“There it is,” he said softly.

Izzy couldn’t move. Not when Stede peeled away the collar, exposing the rest of his neck, and the swallow tattoo that resided there. Not even when he felt the soft pad of Stede’s thumb tracing the shape of the bird, exerting just enough pressure for Izzy’s breath to catch painfully in his chest.

“It’s for nautical miles,” Izzy said hoarsely. “And it wasn’t done by a fucking amateur.”

“Now, now, Israel,” Stede chided him. “Please mind your tone. Remember, you are speaking to your governor.”

Just how fucked would he be if he stabbed the governor now? His hand twitched next to the handle of his sword. Surely if he played his cards right, he might be able to make it out of the mansion, maybe even all the way to the port…

He could become a pirate, Izzy thought wildly. It wouldn’t save him from the gallows, but it might postpone them. He could—if he hadn’t already made a mortal enemy of Blackbeard himself. No man worth a damn would agree to have him on his crew.

He was fucking trapped. Right here in this room, with the madman holding a bottle of ink and a sharp needle he didn’t know how to use…

“I think it would be easier if you sat down,” Stede said. “Let’s see… oh, yes. Right—” the very tip of his index finger rested on Izzy’s cheek – on the sharp bone just beneath his eye; he pressed down, as if  to test its rigidity, and Izzy felt a faint prickling of his eye. He held himself very still—“—here.”

“Bonnet—”

“No need for that, dear boy,” Stede said. “Everything will be just fine.”

His smile was brilliant, like the midday sun; Izzy couldn’t suppress a full-body shudder.

He was so fucked.

[neeoooon]

FFXIV Write 2024, Prompt 4 "Reticent"

One Hour of One Night in the Black Shroud 882 words ARR, Mild swearing

“Pmph!” 

Holiday’s ass hit the damp, rocky, worm-filled ground with a sound between a “puff” and a “plop.”

She landed first on the left asscheek, followed immediately by the right elbow. The elbow, in an act of vengeance against the body, slipped on a patch of wet moss, rocketing her head into the dirt. A momentary return to the bliss of thoughtless oblivion. 

The void faded, and with eyes open and ears ringing, Holiday attempted to center herself. It was nighttime. She was no longer in a basement casino. A tiny tree slug crawled gently across her knee, welcoming her to the forest with a wiggle of its eyestalks. The slug’s slime trail glistened and sparkled, reflecting moonlight in repugnant beauty. A wet leaf tickled the back of her neck. Through the dim light and a concussed brain, the Black Shroud appeared a majestic and ethereal place of untold wonder. 

“Don’t come back, asshole. I memorized your face.” 

The slug had spoken, or so she believed, and it was a rude little bastard. How could she “come back” when she just arrived? Why was it being so mean? She turned inward to reflect on what could have offended the slug.

Two towering Viera men, who had chucked her on her backside, impatiently waited for a response. Viera A, the one who had spoken, shook his head wearily. Viera B, who had slightly shorter hair than A, turned away.

“It’s late, shouldn’t we head back?” He was already leaving. “I saw her move. She’s fine.”

“Oh, is the little baby scared of the forest? Might get a spider in your hair?”

Viera A bellowed a mocking laugh at his buddy, the sound cracking through the eerily silent evening.

Startled out of her stupor by the onset of an argument, she sat up and turned toward the two men. The dark world around her swam and warped; through blurry eyes the men and forest merged. Hybrid rabbit-tree creatures loomed in the darkness, waving their branch-like arms. Creature B turned and swung at Creature A, connecting with nothing but fog and spores. The two traded sloppy punches until one doubled over. 

“Stop. I’m sorry, okay? Enough.” Viera B crumpled into a pathetic, defeated ball.  “My shift is almost over. Go back on your own.”

Viera A lingered, covertly trying to catch his breath. “I will, uh,” he inhaled through his nose, “I will see you tomorrow.” 

Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking the local animals from their nests. A bat or bird screeched as it flew out of the inky, verdant abyss, landing on a branch just behind the trio. Holiday craned her neck, chin to the sky, trying to see the animal: It was a bird. Locking eyes with a great brown owl, she felt the power of the forest rise within her. She was very drunk.

“Hey, you sons of bitches!” Staggering to her feet, Holiday tried to square up. She looked around and found one Viera missing, and the other walking off slowly. “Hey! Hey you! Hey! Turn around!” He wanted to ignore her, but sped up. “Heeeeey!” She screamed after him, having shaken off the concussion-induced reticence. The brewing storm threatened to unload a torrent of rain any moment now. Viera B disappeared behind a tree, leaving her alone in the woods. 

Holiday held her dress shoes in one hand and walked gingerly through the wet grass. She kept her thoughts about the situation to herself (Disgusting. Wet. Stupid Shroud. Hate it. Someone should install lamps or something).  Elementals had a reputation that waffled between “story for children” and “real being who will smite you for no reason.” Anyone stuck in the woods at night would err toward appeasing the latter. Gridania had nightmare fuel to spare: In addition to Elementals, you had to worry about less mythical but equally volatile enemies like swarms of bees, angry trees, and Ixal. On the more mythical side, you had Odin, as well as the various hunt marks who patrolled certain areas.

The silhouette of a large man materialized ahead of Holiday. She had finally caught up to Viera A or B. “Which way is the city?” She shouted at the figure, assuming he was headed to either Gridania or back to the Lavender Beds ferry dock. The man neither responded nor moved at all. She trotted forward, repeating herself: “Which way?”

The sky unloaded its cargo. Rain fell in heavy, angry drops. A streak of purple lighting forked down from the clouds, striking the top of a tree. BOOM. Another bolt lit up the forest, and Holiday could see the man before her clearly: He was taller than both Viera and ten times as hairy. The fuzzy man-shaped being wore a full suit of brown fur, covering him from neck to oversized toes, which were attached to oversized feet. He didn’t speak, but his big brown eyes bored deep into her soul. The two stood in the darkness and rain, both equally confused by the unexpected meeting. 

Slowly, and carefully, Holiday raised one hand to signal harmlessness, while the other dug into a dress pocket. She pulled out a couple pieces of wrapped candy and offered them. “Food. For you.” 

He took the candy and darted off into the night, never to be seen again.

[thekinkyleopard]

The Festival: How bout them apples?

A Remi x Levi SnzFic

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

🍋

Lemons, SnzFet, Fluff

Author’s Note: Hello my wonderful Snow Puppies! It is I, Kez! Back with more snzfet for y’all! This time Remi is our target! You asked! You shall receive! Let’s get into it! PS: I love feedback 🫣👉🏻👈🏻 And of course, credits to @aller-geez for the art, title, and characters Remi and Drae (mentioned later)

DESCRIPTION: Levi drags Remi to the local apple festival. Said wolf is acting like a Grade A beast on such a lovely day, Levi decides to teach him a lesson, will it prove fruitful? Or backfire?

“Baaaaaaaabbbbbyyyyy~~~~” the bubbly Leopard sang into the open space and bounced his way into the now rocking bus. “I have something for us to do!!” Excited as ever he wrapped his arms around the back of a sitting Remi to dangle in front of him. Kissing the side of the wolf’s temple, said man paused his guitar playing and looked to the side, his face apprehensive to these, plans.

“And what might that include?” Asking cautiously, green orbs narrowed, thin brow raised.

“Apple picking! Apple ice cream! Apple croissants and pancakes and and ….” Cut off suddenly, Remi sighed and threw his head back into the leopard’s chest, looking up at him now.

“But that means…other people will be around,” grumbling from between his lips.

“Hush! We are making core memories! Get your shoes and let’s go!” Giggling before kissing the other’s now wrinkled forehead.

“But…” suddenly cut off by his overtly exuberant boyfriend.

“No buts! Apple festival!” Patting Remi on his shoulders to indicate he would like to get up from this position. Leaning forward to free his mate and setting his guitar down with a deep sigh, they both gathered themselves and came to their feet. Begrudgingly, the wolf walked over and shoveled his feet into his boots, grabbing the keys to Ethel and standing by the door.

“I’m ready…” he mumbled grumpily looking down at the ground unenthused. Levi giggled rolling his sky blue eyes before grabbing his wallet and phone. He practically skipped over to Remi in just a few short feet, stood on his tip toes and kissed him on the cheek, nodding swiftly.

“Off we go then!” Smiling his famous bright smile that could get Remi to do anything he’d ever desired. They made their way into the vehicle, buckled and hit the road. Being passenger princess, Levi was in charge of the music, normally he would play whatever obnoxious artist he had discovered that week, but he was trying to have mercy on his beloved mate. So he decided to put on his favorite, Guardin. As they listened to the music, both of them began to sing along, every now and then catching a side glimpse of the other to admire their cuteness, it was easy to get lost in the happiness of it. Remi, finally finding himself coming out of that distasteful mood, reached over, and slapped an open hand down onto the leopard’s thigh, gripping it lovingly as they drove together. Levi placed a gentle palm down on top of the hand and carried on singing to “Luminary” as he gazed out the window. They sat like this the whole drive there, singing and enjoying the presence of one another on a beautiful scenic drive, before they finally pulled up to the festival. “Eek! We’re here!” Bouncing in his seat now. The leopard simply LOVED doing things, exploring the world and everything humans had to offer in it. More importantly, experiencing those things with his person. He quickly flung his seat belt off as Remi used both his hands now to park and get himself collected enough to leave as he slowly unbuckled.

Levi already throwing himself out of the van, feet hitting the dusty dirt parting lot with a thud. “I’m so excited~” he wiggled his butt back and forth skipping over to the driver’s side, awaiting his less than pumped boyfriend. Before the large man got out of the vehicle, he swiped a cigarette from the pack on his dash. Putting the stick to his lips now, he lit it, then swung his legs out of the van to join his boyfriend in the world. Slamming the door shut behind him, else it wouldn’t shut, he took a long drag and blew it out to the side, away from his mate’s face.

“Alright…let’s do this…” taking yet another drag, Levi folded his arms and rolled his eyes.

“Well I have to wait til you’re done smoking now! You can’t bring that in there!” Furrowing his adorable face into that of inpatient agitation. Letting out an airy chuckle to the reaction he was getting from the younger leopard, he took another drag and exhaled before scraping the cigarette out and tucking it behind his ear. Wondering how long he could act like a stick in the mud in order to get Levi to give in and take them home.

“Fine, I got my fix a bit at least, I’ll save the rest for later,” though he was slightly miffed he couldn’t finish his peaceful stick of cancer, he was still smiling. Despite the smaller’s attitude, it always made Remi feel slightly giddy to see he could so easily ruffle the man’s excited feathers. It was but a simple reminder of how attached they were to each other. With one quick swoop, the wolf snagged onto his boyfriend’s hand and nudged his head toward the festival gates. “Come on cutie,” the once frowning face turned up into a quick and bright smile again.

“Yay!!! I really want to go Apple picking first! Get as many of the good ones we can, Drae told me the west section of trees usually has no one cause it’s the furthest out…so we should go that way!” Just the sound of that twit’s name brought chills to Remi’s body, and an insufferable feeling of rage.

“This was DRAE’S idea?!” He snapped his head to the side with a scowl. Levi sucked in his lips, and shrunk, feeling very small under his boyfriend’s rage.

“Yes…BUT… Me and Drae share a lot of similar qualities so he knew I’d love the festival, gawsh, you need to stop hating him so much, he’s done nothing to you!” His eyebrows fell now with irritation before looking over at his grumbling mate.

“Not directly…but mentally…he is the human embodiment of nails on a chalkboard,” he looked away from the judging leopard now who scoffed at him.

“You’re so dramatic, let’s go Sir Gumpy pants,” tugging the hand of his slightly annoyed boyfriend and dragging him to the entrance booth. An older lady greeted them with a sincere smile before she asked,

“Two tickets, gentlemen?” To which Levi rapidly nodded his head, cheesin like he was a kid at Disneyland, messy mullet flowing about. Remi pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his ripped black jeans with one swift movement. “That’ll be $40!” The lady responded cheerfully to them both. The wolf scoffed and judged the price in his head. Gently, subtly, Levi nudged his mate with his elbow, still smiling brightly at the attendant assisting them. Her once genuine smile turned to that of a nervous one when Remi’s unamused, green eyes made contact with hers. He slid the money to her on the counter and opened his palm face up awaiting the tickets he just paid for. Whilst slightly shaking, the woman places them in his open hand and nods. “E-Enjoy…” as they walked away towards the rest of the festival, Levi sighed exasperated. “Remington…must you exude such a dark aura that you scare an innocent old lady?” he was talking to the man beside him, but his eyes were scanning all the booths around them. His internal excitement bubbling up once again in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey, you know pleasant people make me uncomfortable, I can’t help myself..” he muttered sheepishly as he held tighter to his boyfriend’s hand.

“You really gotta work on that,” they both cracked a genuine smile as they playfully nudged into each other. Eventually, making their way over to the orchard half of the festival, Levi’s main target of the evening. Approaching a bald headed farmer who looked at the two men holding hands, and tried to reserve his judgements, he nodded at them. “You folks here to pick some apples?” Remi couldn’t help but scoff once again.

“No, actually, came to chop em down,” it was a joke, but clearly it went over the man’s head.

“Excuse me?” He said with a raised eyebrow. Both of the boys could hardly contain their snickers and chuckles. Giving off a nervous, but breathy chuckle Levi spoke this time.

“He’s just messin’ with you, sir, yes we would love to pick some apples!” Pulling on Remi’s arm as he bounced on his toes excitedly looking about at all the trees. His eyes zeroed in on the furthest orchard to the west. He could tell there were still fruitfuls of trees out that way.

“Ah! I see,” the farmer cracked a smile now, pleasantly surprised to find he was just being goofed with. The man took it in stride before telling them “it’ll be $10 a bucket, alright boys?” Remi looked down at his bouncing giddy boyfriend and sighed obviously unable to turn it down. ‘Jesus Christ what was the ticket fee for then?’ He wondered to himself before fishing out another $20 from his wallet, handing it to the man. “Alrighty, grab yourself a bucket and go to town, whatever you can fit you can take with ya,” the shiny headed man said as he stashed the bills in his til. The boys each took a bucket and once that bucket was in his hands, Levi took off. “Hey!” Remi grinned before sprinting after him.

“Come on! We gotta get to the west! That’s where the best apples are!” He looked behind him with the widest grin the wolf had probably ever seen him wear. Besides the time he first said the L word. Unable to stop his heart from melting at the sight of his favorite person so delighted, he quickly caught the leopard’s pace as they dashed to the furthest corner of the orchard. They arrived and as they caught their breath they looked in amazement by how many apples were on these trees compared to the ones up by the front.

“This is awesome!” Levi shimmied his body holding his bucket close to his chest. Remi looked about and then set his bucket on the ground.

“Alright Kitten, go to town,” he yawned, leaning up against one of the many fruit-filled trees. Levi sharply turned around and looked at his mate with utter shock and disappointment.

“No! Not just me, you gotta pick em too that’s the point! If I wanted to pick apples by myself I wouldn’t have bothered to bring you, silly!” Picking up Remi’s bucket now and handing it to him. He was starting to get slightly annoyed with just how grumpy the wolf was being today. Did he not have his coffee? Was it cause he only had a few puffs of cigarette? He wasn’t sure but Levi was quickly  concocting a way to get back at the man for being such a debbie downer on such a fine festival afternoon. Grabbing it with lose hands, Remi furrowed his brows at his boyfriend.

“Fine…but I’m gonna complain the whole time,” he smirked playfully, he could tell he was getting under the smaller’s skin just by the look in his eyes. Truthfully, they loved to test each other now that they’re this far into their relationship. Turning around dramatically, with the sass of a thousand bratty teenagers, Remi began yanking and pulling at the apples letting them fall into the bucket with a *thump* Levi stood there, arms crossed, hip cocked as he carefully studied the other man. ‘Look at him being such a butthead about this…you know…that’s it, I’m teaching him a lesson…’ and while the wolf was obviously distracted in his own pity, the leopard concentrated really hard, narrowing his eyes as he centered his thoughts. Out popped two black and white teddy bear shaped ears, and a long, fluffy, elegant spotted grey tail. Wiggling it back and forth beside him, he slowly approached Remi from behind with the stealth of a cat. With one fell swoop, allowed his tail to gently swish past Remi’s fragile nose. The man froze, feeling the tickle, his throat already starting to get a hint of that itching feeling.

“Levi…” he muttered slowly before turning around. “What did you just…hah…Hhh…” it built up in him faster now, his heart racing a million miles per minute. Eyes squinting without control “N-No—…HaAaAa…” trying his best to stifle what was to come but like an abrupt punch to the gut, it hit him. “Hh’itSCHUU!” He sneezed once into his arm. “HhHhh-Haah…L-Lee…v..hah…HAH’TSCHU!” The leopard felt immensely satisfied wiggling his tail back and forth in a quick flutter. He giggled and he quickly offered the sleeve of his hoodie to him.

“Need a tissue, honey?” He asked playfully, but also genuinely. Remi grabbed the smaller’s arm, but quickly spun him around to wrap his arms around his waist and bury his face into the side of the leopard’s neck. Not realizing his ears and tail still very much out, so this would only make the problem, much worse. He felt flushed, flustered, and most importantly, stuffed. “Babdy…snf..why?” Whimpering into his mate now as he sniffled and stifled. “H-heh…” feeling it coming on once again. Levi giggled and wrapped his arms around the arms that were enveloping his waist.

“You were such a stinky grumpy man today, I thought I’d teach you a lesson,” his tone was more than satisfied, and proud.

“H-hh..you..on purpude??” He lifted his head now, shocked by the betrayal, though his gaze was straight ahead the man below him could almost feel the consequences of his actions coming to fruition soon. “Heh…HH’TSCHU!” Unable to control the feeling of an insatiable itch within him that must be scratched. His face was hot, in fact his whole body felt hot. He couldn’t escape it, no matter how many times he rubbed, and sniffled against the cat’s hoodie.He whimpered gently against the other. All anything he did was make it infinitely worse.

Levi was starting to have some reserves about what he had just done..‘Oh no…he’s really struggling…’ he bit his lower lip, brows turned up with worry. He unlatched the man’s arms from him in order to turn himself around to face the mess of man. “Baby?” He asked softly, scanning over the other’s face. Remi’s bright green eyes were glistening as the tears welled within them, cheeks flushed with a light rose color and his nose was raw from rubbing against the leopard’s light blue hoodie. The wolf pouted, he looked down at Levi with a heartbroken expression.

“You dibd dids to meb?!” Lower lip fully jutted as he spoke with tear stained cheeks. Now Levi was pouting, his heart felt like it had been kicked around and he no longer liked this game, he concentrated again, his cat features quickly vanishing as he tried to soothe his suffering partner.

“I did, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would come out this badly…” Levi scooped his sleeve past the tips of his fingers, gripping the material tightly so it would stay over his hand. He then brought it up to Remi’s poor sore nosey, and began to gently dab at it.

“Heh…snf…HH..oh god…” he mumbled between stifles, lifting his head up towards the sky, mouth gapped open as he let out another force full sneeze. “HIH’ITTSCHUU!” Groaning immediately afterwards as he looked back down to his guilty mate.

“Oh honey…I’m so sorry…what have I done?” Levi’s tone of voice was that of worry as he continued to dab and rub at the wolf’s nose for him. The care his boyfriend was showing towards him, despite being the source of his pain, caused Remi’s heart to flutter a bit with excitement. He continued to observe the leopard as he was cleaning up after each blow, sometimes spraying past himself, causing his lips to moisten. “Is it getting any better?” The smaller asked looking up with those bright blue orbs of anxiousness.

“Nobe…heh…Hh~” he stifled once more, Levi held his sleeve up to the other’s nose.

“Go on, let it out Daddy, I won’t be upset,” voice tender and loving as he braced himself for impact. Something about that absolutely sent chills down Remi’s spine, did he just? Is he? ‘God…he’s so cute right now…’ he thought to himself before he could feel the build up once again. He huffed through his nose “H-heh…” but the second he did that, the cool breeze reactivated that ever so stubborn tickle. “HH’TSCHU!” Another medium decibel sneeze rocked through the core of his system, letting loose on the cat’s sleeve, grabbing it from behind with his hand to steady it closer to his face.

“There you go, handsome, that’s right,” smiling gently up at him. He couldn’t take it, between the fragile state of being that was his current fit, and the sight of his mate being so doting after causing this whole thing, he moved his hand now to snake around the other’s small thin waist.

“Woulbd it be toob ribdiculus to fuck right bow?” Face flushing harder than it originally was as he pulled the male closer, sticking their foreheads together, the wolf’s slightly clammy from his current condition. Levi could only giggle as he brushed some of the loose strands of black hair from Remi’s eyes.

“I’ve seen you perform under worse circumstances…but are you sure?” he whispered seductively at first but then, quickly turned into worry again.

“Stob beibg so carinbg, it’s going straibht to mby dick,” mustering up a charismatic smirk, his nostrils still bright red. They both looked at each other with a heated gaze before each male took the time to check their surroundings first. The coast was completely clear, no one was walking out this far. Grabbing his mate by the front of his hoodie, Remi dragged him through the orchard now, making sure they had enough coverage for what he was about to do to him. Once the spot was secured, letting go of the hoodie his hand quickly snatched Levi by the base of his throat within the V of his hand. Pushing his back up against the front of him, he drove the leopard straight into a tree trunk until he was pinned there. Hand squeezing just slightly.

“Yoube really donbe it now, kitteb,” his voice still blocked up from his post sneezing stuffy nose. “Youbb be luckby to wablk out of hereb wibhout my helb,” Levi’s breath hitched underneath the hand that held his neck, hands braced up against the tree as he teasingly rubbed his ass against the front of Remi’s already too tight jeans. The feeling of having his throbbing length pushed up against, caused a low growl to escape the depths of the wolf’s chest. “Whob do youb thigk youb are, hubh?” Questioning his boyfriend, his lips at the other’s pierced ear, licking the shell of it.

Levi received full body shudders from the way the taller was speaking into his canal, teasing it so seductively. “I’ve been terribly bad, daddy I’m so sorry~” he whimpered against him, still desperately rubbing his rear end along the stiff shaft that begged for exposure.

“Well dow I have to pudish you,” despite the inflections of his voice, the deepness, the sincerity of it, Levi’s own length started struggling against the fabric of his pants. Desperate to be touched, needing the other so bad he could feel his body starting to tremor. Remi’s free hand worked quick on the leopard’s jeans, flicking open the button and quickly drawing down his zipper. He shoved the pieces of fabric downward, just barely enough to expose Levi’s pale awaiting ass.

“Please…hurry..I need it, Daddy,” he struggled to gasp behind the hand that tightened ever so slightly around his throat again. Blue orbs floating back behind his skull, freckled cheeks dusted pink. He continued to uncomfortably shift his hips to receive more friction between them.

“Daddy’s goigg to bake a bess out of you,” his whisper drenched in a much more sinister aura, despite being stuffed. He gripped the base of his wet length, and started pushing it against Levi’s tight, wanting entrance. The leopard let out a slightly muffled moan. “Are you ready, Kitted? Here I cobe,” despite his face still being mildly irritated, and his nose being completely plugged, Remi’s whole body was lit with passion, being driven by pure instinct and lust as he drove his craving length deeply inside of the other’s waiting hole. Both of the men groaned and gasped with complete bliss, wasting no time, the wolf began to animalistic-ally thrust himself in and back out, rapidly tearing through Levi’s tight ass. One hand on his throat and the other assertively on his left ass cheek. His grip was so hard it was sure to leave behind finger shaped bruising. However, the cat didn’t care as he started to drool slightly out the side of his mouth.

“You feel so fucking good, please don’t stop,” Levi gasped again, his own hand coming up to push at the one on his neck. Forcing the grip to get tighter, more aggressive.

“Youb like that? Tell daddy how buch you lobe his dick, baby,” hot breath against his ear, the slurry of words swirling inside the folds of his brain, Levi couldn’t help but continue to moan helplessly.

“It..s….soOoo..goOo.d…da…ddy,” struggling to get the syllables out as his hole was relentlessly pounded into.

“That’s right, that’s daddy’s home isd’t it?“ slowly his nose was starting to clear up, but not completely, as the adrenaline, started to rush through him. Sweat forming at his hair line from the consistent thrusting, though hidden underneath all the length of mop, you could see a bead fall behind from his forehead every now and then if you tried.

“Yes….Sir….”uttering what he could as the grip only managed to get tighter, his once pale face a very light shade of lilac as he struggled to breath. The wolf only lessened his grip every 30-60 seconds, just to ensure his mate wouldn’t go passing out on him. With controlled breathing, and the thick length pumping inside him, Levi could no longer take it. “Please…let…me touch?” He managed to squeeze the words out with a pleading whimper.

“Go ahead, Kitted, you cad touch,” giving the cat full permission to ravish himself. Levi didn’t even take a second to consider it, or hesitate, he swiftly grabbed hold of his leaking, anguished length, and started to vigorously stroke between thrusts. Remi’s head falling forward to rest against that of his boyfriend’s, he positioned his legs further apart so he could scoop his hips in the upward position. Hitting the small male right in his prostate. “Shit..” Levi hissed with pure ecstasy, seeing stars floating about the center of his vision, feeling the pressure building and threatening to boil over.

“Are you goigg to cub for daddy? Go od, spill that hot load for be, I wadt to see you cobe uddode,” his hot voice still murmuring silkened stuffy words through his ear. This caused Levi’s whole body to tremble and shake, his vision starting to blur and blacken.

“Go-..d…I’m gonna…” and just like that, Levi blew his long awaited load hard, painting the tree he was pinned up against. Remi growled with animalistic lust, craving his own sweet release.

“Just a secodd…albost there…” hesitating on the last half of that sentence, he plunged himself deeper, pulling back out only to dive right back in. The pressure of Levi’s constricting walls was proving too much as his own orgasm threatened to burst through. “Oh fuck I’b cobiggggg…” elongated as he moaned the last word before the climax hit him as if he’d been snapped like a glow stick, he bent at the waist, hips stuttering as his body convulsed. “Fuck….” He hissed again, groaning inwardly as his seed spilled inside the other and dripped downward into the leopard’s jeans. Remi collapsing behind Levi, letting go of his neck as they caught their breath. They gasped and panted for a while before scrambling to fix their pants.

“Jesus…” Levi said in a breathy fashion. The wolf managed to take his weight off his boyfriend long enough for the male to turn around and face him. “That was so good,” he smiled a full toothy grin.

“Yeah? How ‘bout them apples?” He chuckled now feeling much more cleared up and comfortable after reaching his climax. The leopard’s eyes widened in panic.

“Oh no, the apples! We gotta hurry and collect those before that guy comes looking for us..” looking behind him, feeling a tad paranoid, to see that their buckets were indeed still over where they’d abandoned them for their quickie.

“Is there a time limit to apple picking?” The wolf asked curiously as they started to walk towards the spot they’d originally came from.

“Honestly…not entirely sure but I’d like to finish this up, and maybe go in for round two in the van…?” Biting his lower lip and looking the other up and down as if he were already mentally undressing him.

“I won’t argue with that,” the wolf said with a cheeky smile before they hurriedly gathered the fresh fruits.

The end

Author’s Note: I know I said look out for the next /3/ days but …I cracked this out in one just for my snzfuckr Snow Puppies 😚🤌🏻 Hope you enjoyed! 🫶🏻

[roosterbruiser]

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE SPRING MILLIE????????????

You got me like

https://youtube.com/shorts/oyteDl2icYY?feature=share

well....I'll tell you what happened at the spring.......

I'm highly about to NOURISH all of you!! but a few things o note before I post this!!

this is from a draft where I was writing in Jake's perspective

the prologue hadn't happened yet

Filly = Sookie

Eliza = Ruth

I stopped writing in his perspective bc I felt like a creeper!!

 Silver Spring is the only place in Silverkeep that could be considered nice objectively. It’s uncharacteristically pretty for Silverkeep--the kind of pretty that almost makes me feel guilty, like if I touched the Mona Lisa or sneezed on The Thinker. Maybe because it is so beautiful--that sticky, guilt-inducing kind of beautiful--that no one ventures down this way. We are almost always alone here, save for a few reckless middle schoolers that are easy to scare away and some drifters who mind their own.

The black cherry trees and American sycamores are thick here, sprawling across the hills and thinning only when the St. Augustine grass rolls to a sudden stop at the edge of the spring. There are patches of thistles and black-eyed Susan’s spanning across all this fertile land--it always smells sweet here. 

Jagged, brown rocks climb out of the green water and up the hillside--there’s a lip where we sometimes jump off. There’s a pipe, a big ugly and dirty thing, that acts as some sort of man made waterfall. Rock rose plants are starting to cover the pipe now--it’s been here for a long time. 

The water never gets very warm--there’s too much shade. But on days like today, days when the only solace is being neck-deep in a bath of ice, that’s mighty fine. The spring is not very deep, either--only nine feet at the very center. Hyde was the one that figured it out, diving into the murky water with a measly stick as his measurement gauge. 

Our caps and gowns are sitting in a sweaty, crumpled heap on a patch of blue sage. Bees are bumbling around the polyester, probably swarming around Sookie’s because of that sticky orange scent. None of our nice dress clothes are folded, shoes and socks and dresses and pants strewn about haphazardly. Crushed cans of Pabst are gathering in a small aluminum pile on the embankment. 

I’m getting drunk--not out-of-my-mind drunk, not ditzy drunk. But I’m more than tipsy and less than shitfaced. Everything feels quieter now, my body submerged in the cool water, my feet squishing in the dirt and moss at the bottom of the spring. The beer is sitting at the bottom of my belly the way I like it to--makes me feel warm and full. 

We’re soaked to the bone, every one of us. And everyone’s getting drunk, dipping under the surface and holding their beer can just above their heads. 

Sookie is close to me, just a few feet, just a few moments worth of wading away. She’s floating on her back beside me, face tipped towards the canopy of trees, eyes slacked. She’s grazing the rippling surface of the water with her nailless finger gingerly. She’s just in that pair of cotton underwear and a measly yellow bra now. I’ve seen her like this more times than I can count, I think. None of us ever bring our swimsuits so we’re always in our underwear, which is why I know that Hyde still wears tighty-whitey’s and Eliza wears underwear with the days of the week on them.

“Gonna see Emma this summer?” Avery asks from beside me, taking a final swig from his beer can before lazily tossing it aside. 

He means: are you gonna fuck Emmaline Odette anymore this summer?

“Nah,” I tell him, “she got a boyfriend now.”

I’m being honest: Emmaline Odette does have a boyfriend now, some college boy from Austin that can get her into bars. If she didn’t, we would probably not have sex again, though. She’s a prissy little thing--her nails are always clean and her hair is always combed. Having sex with her felt like taking a shower; I was cleaner after. When I was around her, breathing in that expensive hand lotion and kissing her lacy underwear, my chest ached. I always felt like what we had was fragile--like she’d come to, look down, and realize some mutt was eating her out. 

“Heard she was pretty heartbroken over the likes of your sorry ass,” Eliza calls from her spot on the muddy banks, lying on her belly and kicking dirty feet up behind her. 

I tried to end things nicely with Emma--but she’d started crying and kissing on me and pulling my zipper down. We almost had sex again right there on her front porch. But then I looked around at the pillows that were bought solely to keep outside and the wicker furniture and the TV mounted on the wall and caught a whiff of whatever perfume she had on and felt that burn in my throat. I’d had to shrug her off, buckling my jeans, wiping my fingers on my shirt. 

“Look,” I’d told her as she stared up at me red-cheeked and wide-eyed, “I just don’t like you like that, okay?”

I wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings when I said it--but I knew she’d keep trying if I didn’t say what I did. I figured she’d get pissed--push me off her porch or slap me across the face. Instead she just turned her cheek and bit her lip hard. I rode home adjusting myself in my pants that night, little white streaks hardening on my shirt that smelled like her clean arousal. 

“You are our resident heartbreaker, Jake,” Ruth sighs, climbing to sit beside Eliza on the banks, “someone’s gotta be.”

There’s that feeling now--sitting on my chest heavy as a mahogany tree. 

“I do what I can.” 

I don’t even know why I say it, but I do. It falls from my mouth, into the spring, then swims away like a water strider.

Sookie is gone--the water she was occupying vacant. There isn’t even a ripple; it’s just still and quiet. Hyde is rough-housing with Avery now, splashing each other. Eliza and Ruth are leaning back on their elbows and talking about something that’s making them blush. 

I almost call out for her--but then I feel the energy around me shift like it always does when she’s near. It’s like turning an old television on and basking in that staticky silence before the picture blinks on--knowing that it is on but having to strain for proof, a weird sort of blind faith. There’s a great settling that spreads all across my body, starting at my submerged chest and ending at my toes buried in the mud, when I feel her wet breaths on the back of my neck. 

“Freeze,” she whispers behind me, pressing her fingers into my back like they’re a loaded pistol, “this is a stand-up.”

I can hear her smiling--know that she’s biting her lips and that lipstick is probably on her teeth again. She sounds tipsy--but not drunk. 

Raising my hands in surrender, I turn so she can see my cheek. I can’t see her very well; she is just a blurry image of blue and yellow and olive and black. But there it is, there’s that smile and that gap between her teeth. 

“Please,” I whisper pitifully, “I have a family.”

She digs her fingers deeper into my back, those pink nails cutting my skin. 

“Get me a beer and no one gets hurt,” she says. She nudges me again, pushing me towards the dwindling case of beer on the embankment. “G’on now, boy.”

I take a step, bobbing in the water, but then whip around and lunge with utter abandon. She hardly has time to think, move, gasp before I’m pulling her under the water with me, wrapping my arms around her. She wraps her arms around me, too, pushing all the air out of her lungs so it races to the surface in fat bubbles.

We stay under there and I blink, trying to get a glimpse of her through the murk and curly tendrils of her hair--but I can only catch fragments of her body: her missing pink nail, the precious column of her throat, her belly button. But then I see it: her yellow bra, the flimsy thing, has been accidentally nudged aside and her left breast is exposed here beneath the surface of Silver Spring. 

Her breast is supple, the nipple pert, and her skin is goosed.

I think I can imagine what it would feel like on my tongue--her skin wet with the muddy spring water, metallic and dirty. Her nipple would be cold from the water when I wrapped my lips around it, when I let my palm fall on the skin of her right breast, the ditzy yellow fabric sopping and sticking to my flexed fingers. Maybe she would make a pretty noise--

All the blood in my body is rushing down, down, down before I can help it, before I can even think to close my eyes. 

Lorde help me. 

She seems to notice at the same time as me, thrashing herself to the surface while tugging the strap of her bra back up over her dainty shoulder. I come up just a moment after her, panting, running my hands over my face.

Baseball. Peanuts. Sweaty helmets. Wooden baseball bats. Cleats. Chewing tobacco.   

She’s already looking at me. All that makeup is melting off her face--black and blue and pink staining her skin like pretend bruises. Her eyes are wide, mouth parted just slightly. She’s trying to see if I saw, I know that she is.

I don’t lie to Sookie--I can’t lie to Sookie. So instead of saying anything, I grin. It seems to disarm her slightly because her lips twitch into a smile, too. 

“You look like a banshee,” I tell her.

She exhales. She was holding her breath before. 

“I am a banshee,” she tells me. 

She comes closer to me, so close that I can smell her yeasty breath. 

Shin guards. Home-plate. Dirt. Jock-straps. Catcher’s glove. Hotdogs. Mustard.

Before she can say another word to me, I catch her jaw in my left hand, holding it in place gently. She’s completely subdued, just blinking up at me with all that goopy mascara streaming down her face. And I know we aren’t alone right now, but I know that no one is watching us, too. I know we’re just drunk enough to kiss and then say that we were out of our mind’s the night before. But I won’t kiss her right now--not even now that all that Barbie-clit lipstick is smeared across her chin and cheeks. 

I wipe her face with a wet, flat palm. She lets me, bracing when I press down hard, letting her eyes slip shut when I wet my hand again. But then the banshee is gone and it’s just Sookie staring up at me. I like her exactly like this--with a naked face and wet hair and warm breath. 

“Someone oughta teach you how to put makeup on, Sookie-girl,” I whisper to her even though I don’t mean it at all.  

She grins. 

“You first, pretty boy,” she whispers. The cicadas are starting to sing their song.

I swallow hard--I can feel it on my palm every time she swallows.  

Baseballs. Mascots. Urinals. Nets. Curveballs. 

[kafkaonthegore]

i’m a disappearing darling. i sail with an anchorless boat, bolting from the dockyard as soon as someone gets too close.

i’m a magician with my departures. they look for my footprints through the timeline of their lives but they find none except for at the door of their entryway, one print on each side of the door, like i was always preparing to leave.

i always run back to my little cage. and they were mistaken thinking that they could pick the locks and make me see that it is okay to retire the life at sea and return to the shore. but they were forging keys out of unconditional love for locks that did not even exist. i live in a hollow metal box. i have never known a love like this, a love that is not a paradox.

i have always been a performer, never just a person. what a circus! the tightrope is my podium, one act further and more venturesome: i spin and spin and spin and- until my toes break in my pointy shoes.

spin but it is alright, the gore is covered with flashy clothes. i will be brand new once i catch some rest. i cannot be sick; i’m the ringmaster of my own show and the heartbeat of my own well of death. and each day, a fresh coat of paint comes on.

i’m a mimic at my very best. every shiny quality that i have comes from another human being. but i have one original trick; my feet flat on the barbed wiring, marvelous show of utter submittance while i carry a suitcase in my other hand.

at the break of dawn, here is their love with the paint scrubbed off my traitorous skin. clowns are outdated, but becoming a laughingstock, not so much. town’s number one entertainer cries himself to sleep because he is lonely even when he dreams. always waking up screaming, “i cannot be loved!”, but when someone tries, cautions them, “dead dove: do not eat!”

i’m an expert at reading faces. one hint of resentment and i’m sprinting for the carriages. clutching the reins and dashing to the cages. because leaving gives me a sense of safety, i sit in my jail and that is my security. the familiarization of each injury makes the blow hurt less. the steps to first aid have become a muscle memory.

i am, the knife jugular, shaking hands with all my knives, so i’m well acquainted with every way a blade can puncture or cut when it drives through the dermis. there are no surprises in my circus. it is a routine. to wake up and please. to exhibit qualities of a daring lover and disguise the filth i breed.

still walking on that tightrope. “look at me, i'm shiny and colorful, not distasteful at all. brighter than the skies. i can bend backwards just to make you smile. and even if i trip and tumble, being seen is worth the pitfall.”

i’m addicted to the concern, but i would not let anyone break my fall. because what would i be if not someone who so desperately wants to be seen and liked but runs off as someone does? i think i harbour dirt between my teeth, so as we speak they know, no amount of trying will get me to cease.

i will eventually leave. because that is all i have ever known ever since i have known anyone. running when things get rough, and fleeing as soon as i feel some kind of love.

i am the disappearing darling, top shelved, the shiniest doll at the market. with a price tag too heavy to pay, i’m never going home with anybody.

(i keep forgetting that apart from the hefty payment, top shelves are the dustiest, no one ever really looks there.)

[anagramtransitory]

6. It’s having so much to prove that’s gotten me here. I’ve got to act confident and be confident, it’s got to be part of an idea. I’ve got to think about functioning the way I think about living in all other ways- with the faith I have in those arenas, about my ability to do normal things in a way that says “let me show you about the good that exists in the world and cares about you personally because you’re worth it/deserve it, if not because I like you, in which case, let me show you how I’ll give you everything I’ve ever got forever for free with nothing except kindness asked in return, if that”. And I’ve got to do it alone in the house with myself, all my life. I behave that way around people with the faith someone will notice, will be heartwarmed in a genuine way, will believe me about that being who I actually am with no tricks attached. At home, I’m gonna have to pretend like the universe is watching, that the universe and all its inhabitants are one, or something like that. I’m going to have to wrangle myself into a belief held with some kind of forced genuineness that the universe will see me functioning and think to itself “now that’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, impressive and worth rewarding at some point in this person’s life”. When of course it doesn’t and won’t. When nobody cares about the struggle and only want to clap for images of beauty and understood things that fit their unquestioned ready-held templates for both. Maybe it’s one of those things where I have to tell people what you believe and can’t wait or coax them into eventual belief. To do the idea-version of going to their house, ringing their doorbell, and presenting them with a complete science fair fold out poster presentation board explaining simple obvious things one tiny tiny piece at a time, as small of pieces as I can get things into, and make them not only look right and science-article-backed, but feel right, according to what kinds of things tend to feel right to whoever they are I’m on the front porch of the house/apartment of. To do this without being asked or invited and even after being gently warned off. I think. To show them: look, my “putting it into practice” needs practice in terms of not looking rough-draft-like or cheap or easy, but my method is solid, my underlying ideas are absolutely there, they’re all there. I’m gonna have to have “look, your way sucks, my way is better” type of confidence. The way I have in other arenas of my life. My way is the anti-waste, nerdiness-loving, proud (or at least unashamed, and unstoppable in being one even if I was ashamed) intellectual (academic, primary resources hoarder, passionate idea-hoarder, idea memorizer, idea stress-tester (stress-tested out of respect for their creators and not disrespect towards them), idea lover), value in the free or almost free, gold from the worst plant-root-resistant, mineral-less, dry, powdery, unsaveable waste dirt you find anywhere at all, or in the badlands of South Dakota, or in the dirt bike track meet sites, or on cursed land. That is, material anywhere, being worth gold. In the right hands. My way is the built to last and built to not harm the planet way. The non-brand-name, dumpster diving, Craigslist free section plus an old pickup truck equaling almost everything I need, gardening food and tea and medicine and herbs in small apartments, way. DIY, shopped locally, real-artist-bought art directly from the artists, wearing shoes and clothes until I can’t anymore, way. Why is that the best way? I just know it is, I lack the confidence I need to live as a functional adult that way though. That way looks so dysfunctional and holier-than-thou and “for show”, even. Or compensating for emotional problems with do-gooder-living. Or like I’m a weak person, in body and spirit, generic in my weakness and limpness. This is a consumerist shallow setting I will always live inside of, period, and I must work with it to communicate with it. I have to trust that people will see past the ethos and differences in living styles and see me instead. To see…