#and I was doing this while my brain was drifting doing something else and whenever I open Wookieepedia when I'm like this

[hurricanek8art]

I'm really excited for Ahsoka Ep5 tonight, but my brain keeps drifting back to those ruins from the premiere and I gotta get it out in a post before the new episode probably takes over my every thought.

I love the ancient tech in this show. I mean, yes, the map is like straight out of Treasure Planet so I will always love it for that, but the tech just looks so Zeffo! I wonder if it was intentional. Like I think a lot of the design for Force-related stuff we see now is influenced by Rebels and TCW and stuff like the compass from The Last Jedi (which Filoni designed, so it basically all goes back to him) but the potential in-universe explanation for why this ancient Dathomirian site and technology seems so reminiscent of the Zeffo (to me at least) fascinates me.

We know there's a Zeffo sage tomb on Dathomir, so the cultures had contact at one point. Did Dathomir intentionally take design influence from Zeffo culture, like how ancient Roman architecture took heavy design inspiration from Greek architecture for their building facades and then it evolved into its own thing? Or was there like a whole cultural exchange there? Were there Dathomirians that studied the Life Wind and Zeffo that dabbled with magick?! I feel like Eno Cordova. I WANNA KNOW MORE ABOUT THE ZEFFO DANGIT. WERE THEY LIKE RAKATA/KWA CONTEMPORARIES OR DID THEY COME BEFORE? AFTER? DID ONE'S STUDY OF THE FORCE INFLUENCE THE OTHER? I WANNA KNOOOOOOOW.

(I could write an entirely different essay post about how much I love Fallen Order/Survivor, but the hyperfixation gremlin is focusing on Ahsoka right now so I can't articulate at this moment beyond I LOVE JEDI FALLEN ORDER/JEDI SURVIVOR)

[systlin]

So, to explain my little adventure I just got back from, it is necessary to set the scene by explaining a few things.

My dog is a Great Pyraneese. She weighs 90 Pounds. It is mostly muscle.

My neighbors a quarter mile down the road have chickens. They like to let them free range.

Now, this is not a problem at all, EXCEPT for the fact that whenever Tyr sees them something deep in her little livestock guardian breed brain goes "Oh, I am supposed to be Responsible for this Livestock." She will attempt to plonk her 90 pound furry ass down as far towards their yard as her leash will permit and want to sit there and simply stare at the chickens. She is not aggressive towards them, she simply wants to lie down and Keep An Eye On Things, the way a good livestock guardian dog is supposed to. It is the same reason she would love to fight the foxes that live under the falling down farmhouse down the street to the death and is very upset that I will not let her.

The PROBLEM is, well

3. My neighbors also have a miniature poodle. She is convinced, in every cell of her 15 pound body, that No Other Dogs Should Come Anywhere Near Her Fucking Yard. She has no concept that Tyr outweighs her by 75 pounds and is absolutely convinced that she could win this fight.

Normally if she's outside she is out in the fenced backyard and this isn't a problem. I also don't let Tyr wander into other yards, because it's rude to let your dog pee on the neighbor's grass unless they've said they're fine with it and also I live in Fuckass Nowhere. There's plenty of county owned grass on the roadside for Tyr to pee on. Still, even if I'm coaxing her along past the chickens, she will want to slow down and drift over to that side of the road to look at them.

TODAY, however, the mini poodle was NOT in the backyard. She was in the unfenced front yard, and as soon as we walked past she saw another dog not ON her yard, but heading TOWARDS her yard, and she hurled herself into battle with no thought for her own safety.

Now, Tyr is not aggressive towards other dogs. There is an exception to this, though, and it is 'unless an off leash dog comes running full speed in the general direction of one of Her People while snarling and barking'. If this happens, I suddenly have 90 pounds of Great Pyr ready for mortal combat on the end of the leash.

This brings us to item 4

4. I broke my left arm in April and while it is healing and good for light use now, 'Light Use' does not include 'restraining 90 pounds of furious livestock guardian dog convinced her person is about to be attacked by a reactive dog'

This means that I looped up the leash short and controlled her one armed. I did not think about this twice particularly. I know I can do it and just. Did it. I wouldn't walk her if I couldn't control her, after all. Once she figured out that no, the poodle was NOT going to attack me, she calmed down, but was still growling.

But I did this as a panicked neighbor dude came running out to try and get his dog, convinced that his kids were about to watch their beloved pet get turned into Great Pyr chow.

Oh and

5. I did this while wearing a Wonder Woman tshirt

So, long story short, his 4 year old daughter is convinced now that I actually AM Wonder Woman, because "She's Strong Like Wonder Woman!" and my neighbor learned that his poodle dug out from under the fence, how's everyone else's days going.

(All dogs unhurt)

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK men act when you have insomnia (can't sleep)

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader; Toge x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader (special thanks to @belovedvamp for that jaw-dropping gorgeous Megumi requests, like wow)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: nightmares, angst to comfort in everyone, I would like to point out that Megumi is my favorite part and that I'm thinking about doing a Part 2, so if you're invested definetely let me know 😭not 100% proofread yet

Gojo Satoru

„Huh, why are you still awake babe? Aren’t you tired?”

Satoru takes in your gorgeous sight, how you lay curled up in your shared bed with your sleepy eyes darted towards him. God, why do you have to be so stunning, why does the selfish urge to keep you awake a little longer become almost unbearable for him when he knows exactly why you’re unable to sleep?

The mattress gives in under your boyfriend’s weight next to you, his hand gently caressing your head. You feel drunk, as if your body doesn’t function properly anymore. No wonder, after all you were awake for more than 30 hours by now, fighting and fighting to finally exorcise a bunch of special grade curses while Satoru was busy somewhere else.

But you’re scared to close your eyes again, to get confronted with the horrible things you’ve saw today. After each and every mission, your brain haunts you with awful nightmares, reminds you of all the death, all the injured, all the things you’ve lost.

No, you just can’t take it. You’d rather stay up a little longer in desperate hopes to be spared than risking to have another bad dream.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it”, you mumble into your heavy blanket, eyes drifting to the window.

It began to rain, heavy droplets pounding against the glass violently, thunder erupting in the dark sky. Carefully, Satoru lays down beside you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist.

“I know you’re lying”, he mutters against your sensitive neck.

“Is it because of your nightmares?”

You turn around to face him in utter surprise. When did you ever told him about those nightmares? You always kept them to yourself, suffered through them on your own. After all, Satoru is a very busy man who shouldn’t have to worry about something like a bad dream. Yes, it seems pretty ridiculous to whine about your nightmares when the strongest of them all is the one you’re talking to.

“Don’t worry about that, I’m fine”, you lie into his face, gifting him a small smile to convince him.

But your eyes don’t lie. They show nothing but terror and dread, nothing but fatigue and alertness at the same time. Suddenly Satoru’s heart feels heavy. He should have realized it sooner, the way you always go to sleep after him when you were out on a mission. Why did it never cross his mind that all of this might be too much for you? Maybe because you’re so damn strong, maybe because you make it look so damn easy every time, carrying the weight of all those missions so that his students don’t suffer.

“It makes no sense to lie to me. Why didn’t you tell me about it, babe? I’m sure Shoko might be able to help you-“

“There’s nothing anyone could do about this”, you interrupt him immediately.

“Trust me, I tried everything out there. I guess this is just how my brain tries to cope with all those things, the people dying and stuff…”

“But you don’t have to go through this alone. We’re a team, remember? Why don’t you wake me up whenever you feel upset? Why do you go to sleep after I’m already passed out? (y/n), don’t do this to yourself.”

Gently, he cups your cheek with his hand, forcing you to look up at him. Oh, how much you hate that familiar feeling. That feeling of being useless, of being weak. Are you really too frail to even sleep after a mission? Why aren’t you able to handle the things you see like the others, like Kento and Satoru? All that training, all that power just to cry in your sleep over the things that happened hours ago.

Truly pathetic.

“Do you really think you’re alone? Especially in the beginning, Kento was plagued by nightmares each and every night so much that he couldn’t even fall asleep. Suguru and I…it is always rough, remembering the faces of those you weren’t able to save. But don’t let them keep you awake, don’t think you have to simply endure this. I’m here each and every night to hold you, okay? I’m here, you’re not alone (y/n).”

Oh Satoru.

Without thinking twice, you turn around and intertwine your body with his, desperately trying to keep your composure. How do you even deserve a man like him? A man who seems goofy most of the time but hast the softest side, a man who cares more about everyone around him than himself.

Your boyfriend, the strongest with a heart of pure gold.

“I hate when they haunt me in my sleep”, you finally give in, hiding your face against his warm chest.

“I know, babe. Trust me, we all do.”

Ever so gently, he strokes your hair and back, embraces you in his very own warmth. Satoru feels like home, like the perfection you are chasing each and every day. What would you even do without his loving arms as your home? Where would you be without his constant support? All those nights he stood by your side, watched a awful romantic movie so you’d feel good again. The countless times he cooked your favourite meal for you, only to throw it away and order food afterwards. All those times he rushed to your side when you got injured, how he always manages to be right by your side when you wake up. And oh, how tender is touch feels against your skin, how his warmth embraces you with every inch of his body. He feels so good, so comforting…

Satoru watches with a small smile as your lids grow heavy and finally close, your breath leaving your mouth evenly.

“As long as I’m the one holding you, no nightmare in the world will dare to wake you up, babe”, he breathes against your ear, holding you tightly in his arms throughout the whole night.

Inumaki Toge

You stare at the full moon blankly, mind racing. How are you supposed to get out of this alive? Are you even strong enough to lead your very own mission without someone by your side? This will be the first time you’ll be completely on your own. Without Maki, without Panda, without Toge…You trained hard these last months, you know what you’re capable of. But still…

Is it enough?

“Kelp.”

His tender voice rips you out of your poisonous thoughts immediately, glossy eyes shooting up to take in his sight. Why does he have to look so delicate with the moonlight highlighting his features? Why does his mouth have to be so damn captivating?

Why is it so easy to fall hopelessly in love with Toge Inumaki?

“Sorry, I thought y’all were asleep”, you explain visibly uncomfortably.

How embarrassing, getting caught by your crush while silently crying into the night about a damn mission. A silent yawning escapes your lips before you can stop it, tired eyes covered by a curtain of tears. God, you are so tired.

“Salmon roe.”

Before you even comprehend what’s happening, the white-haired boy takes his hand into yours gently, staring at you so intensely that you forget how to breathe for a moment. It’s like he wants to tell you that everything will be alright, that you have nothing to worry about.

“I don’t think I can do this alone, Toge. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this…”, you finally give in.

“Bonito flakes”, he immediately replies.

Without thinking twice, he takes out a small notepad and begins to write frantically. You know he always carries a writing block with him for time that require more than a few words, more than gestures are able to say.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, you worked hard these last weeks. And you’re great! Just do as good as you always do, I’m counting on you, (y/n)! Please try to get some sleep now :)”

With every word you read your heart beats a little faster, with every word your grin grows a little wider. If he only knew how much his words truly mean to you…

“So you really think I can do it on my own?”, you question.

“Salmon!”

“Thank you, Toge”, you mutter touched.

You don’t know why, but suddenly your eyes start to burn in tears. Toge holds nothing but affection in his gaze, hand still resting on yours while squeezing it ever so slightly. He truly believes in you and your abilities, shows no doubt in your save return. Maybe…maybe you’re actually able to do this. Maybe you are indeed ready for your first solo mission.

Toge stands up again, signalling you with a gentle squeeze to stand up as well. You follow him through the dark hallways of Jujutsu High, right into the dorm you know so well.

“Tuna”, he whispers into the night before pressing you against his warm chest.

You feel as light as a feather, too stunned to speak by the way his arms feel wrapped around your body. He smells intoxicating, so good that you can’t help but sniff in and out. Is this really the first time Toge Inumaki hugged you for more than 10 seconds? It definitely is hard to let him go again.

“I believe in you, (y/n).”

Did he…Did he just speak?

“Toge…”, you breathe out, watching as his smile grows even wider.

With a last wave, he is gone in the darkness of the night, leaving you standing in the middle of your room on your own with your feelings scattered all over the place. Toge Inumaki just hugged you. No, Toge INumaki just spoke. He told you that he believes in you.

“How am I supposed to sleep now?”, you mumble to yourself.

Fushiguro Megumi

Your eyes snap open in an instant, ice cold sweat running down your face. Where are you? Is it over? You…

You breathe out. It was a nightmare. Again.

“Fuck”, you hiss to yourself while rubbing your aching head.

Why do you have to get haunted by these horrible nightmares, when will it finally stop? Even Gojo-sensei seems to be clueless about your condition, about what keeps you up each and every night.

But you know something that will help you to get through this night. Or rather someone.

Your bare feet stick to the wooden floor ever so slightly while you wander through the dark hallways on your way to his doorstep. Is he even awake? Maybe he won’t open the door at all.

Little do you know that Megumi sits in his bed with his eyes wide open, staring at the door knob in sheer excitement for your return into his arms. He knows it doesn’t mean much to you and at the beginning, it didn’t mean anything to him either. You just came into his room from time to time, searching for comfort in his hug to chase your nightmares away. And since you were friends, Megumi had nothing against stroking your head gently and wrapping his arms around you.

But something seems different now. Something about the sensation of you visiting him late at night sends shivers down his spine, your moonlit features let his heart hammer against his ribcage. It’s like he wants to hold you even closer, wants your breath to brush against his face. Why does it dawn to him how delicate your curves look and how soft your hair feels? There is no use in denying it, no sense in fighting against the obvious.

Megumi Fushiguro has fallen hopelessly in love with you.

The knocks against his wooden floor send him to his door straight away, opening it before you’re able to think twice.

“Oh, I didn’t knew you were still awake, Fushiguro”, you mutter into the darkness.

God, how much he hates the fact that you always call him by his last name. What would he give to hear his name out of your mouth once?

“What do you want here, (y/n)?”

His voice sounds harsher than anticipated while it takes all his strength to not swallow you in his arms immediately.

“I had a bad dream again…”

The vulnerable tone of your voice kills him from the inside. Without saying another word, he steps aside, allows you to enter his dorm without hesitation. You position yourself on the left side of his bed like you always do, hiding yourself in his already warm sheets. Without hesitation, he crawls back into his bed, inviting you into his arms with a long breath.

You smell as good as you always do. Why did it take him so long to realize that you smell absolutely intoxicating, that the mixture of your shampoo, body scent and perfume is addictive? Maybe he should tell you about the way he feels, finally confess how you make his heart beat out of his chest. But how would you react?

Would you…reject him? For all these years of knowing each other, you were never more than friends. Good buddies, pals, but not more than that. None of you ever crossed the line of plain cuddling each other to sleep. Not once did your lips brush over his, not once did your hands move further than his chest. Would you even love him back?

“Come on, you have to have a crush (y/n)! Is it Chris Pine, Tom Holland? Are you more into Korean guys?”, Nobara inquired over and over.

You just rolled your eyes with a playful grin, almost making Megumi fall out of his chair next to Yuji.

“I don’t have a crush on anyone. I’m perfectly fine by myself”, you insisted.

“I like tall woman with a big ass”, Yuji interrupted out of nowhere, gaining a punch in his face by Nobara.

That was it, the first time he noticed something strange. The way his heart suddenly grew heavier than metal, sunk into his chest, took his breath away. He was hurt by your words. Megumi Fushiguro was hurt by the stinging fact that you didn’t say his name like he secretly hoped for, that your eyes didn’t even flinch towards him for the split of a second.

“Hey, are you alright? Why did you tense up like that?”, you mutter against his chest while drawing circles onto his t-shirt with your delicate fingertip.

“Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about”, he lies into this tender night.

He presses you against his own body a little tighter, watches how your eyes grow heavy with every passing minute that you listen to his steady heartbeat. This shouldn’t mean more to him than comforting an old friend, it shouldn’t make his heart flutter and palms sweaty. But the soft snores leaving your mouth sound oh so lovely, the way your eyes move behind closed lids makes his heart skip a beat. You have to be the most precious creature on this earth, so valuable that he never wants to let you go again.

Until he has in the morning. Until you return back into his arms when nightmares keep you up another night.

Thank you so much for reading! Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul@chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly   @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @aeliusbbg

[rapturously]

I haven’t seen any billy loomis content on your blog ,,, would love to see some smut of him! nothing specific, I know you’ll write something good!

devil in disguise.

➾ pairing ; billy loomis x fem!reader.

in which billy decides to visit you once your father leaves for his shift — but there’s an additional element.

FORMAT: one-shot — requested.

WORD COUNT: 6.7K.

WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), loss of virginity, rough sex, unprotected sex, p in v sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, sex during a storm, dirty talk, fingering (f!receiving), cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), heavy knifeplay, billy is a little deranged in this, begging, creampie, cumplay, bloodplay, tiddy sucking, mild body worship, biting, hickeys/marking, choking, hair-pulling, finger sucking

AUTHOR’S NOTE: not gonna lie, I was suffering from billy brainrot and this emerged from my brain. I love him so much !!! I do want to write some more mickey & ethan landry content too, but I do need to tell y’all about my new influx of blorbos lately LOL! love you all so much and thanks for your continued support! Means the world to me!

Whenever it rained in California, you considered it to be a once-in-a-lifetime occasion — wisps of black clouds fluttered overhead, accompanied by the haze of an overcast sky. Even for the evening, the skies were unnaturally dark, making it seem like nighttime altogether. The scent of encroaching dewdrops drifted through your bedroom.

“Honey?” Your father gently tapped his knuckles against the white pane of your door, dressed in his police uniform. “Mind if we talk?” He asked, clearing his throat. The badge of the Woodsboro Sheriff’s Department glistened on his ironed shirt.

With the recent killings of Casey Becker and Steven Orth plaguing your school, your father had reason to be concerned. He was the Chief, after all — he was cleaning up mess after mess, investigating these murders without any leads. Stress shimmered upon his features, showing up as heavy bags underneath his eyes.

You swiveled around within your seat, busying yourself with homework for the evening. Books were strewn across your desk, accompanied by a computer that barely ran nowadays anyway.

“Sure,” You cleared your throat, awkwardly shuffling away from your chair to the edge of your bed. “What’s up?” The relationship with your father was somewhat tenuous — being the daughter of a police chief came with unwanted attention and his constant overprotective nature.

“You know about the murders,” He began, looming in the doorway of your bedroom. His countenance glistened with a thinly-veiled anxiousness, but also a bit of fear. You rarely saw your father show anything remotely close to terror, but here he was. “About your classmates.”

“Yeah,” Your brows furrowed together — where was he going with this? “You don’t want me to leave the house anymore, do you?” An exasperated sigh escaped you, but he immediately shook his head.

“No, no. I just think …” He clicked his tongue. “No visitors for a while, not until we clear everyone at the school as a suspect.” A sinking feeling pooled within the pit of your stomach, accompanied by disappointment. It meant that your boyfriend couldn’t come over — indefinitely.

Billy Loomis was a mysterious boy, cunning and charming with a silver tongue — he constantly wrapped you up in it, time and time again. He’d broken up with Sidney Prescott last year, not long after her mother had passed away. He was more than good to you, but your father wasn’t convinced.

His suspicion of Billy wasn’t subtle whatsoever, and it irked you at times. You’d gotten into several arguments about the morality and character of your paramour, and your father had inevitably relented, letting you date him — but there was always protest involved.

“I think you want to say Billy, Dad.” You uttered, lips curling into a sour frown as you stomped back to your chair with an indignant huff. “You’ve always disliked him. This isn’t about anyone else I hang out with — it’s about him.” Your tone became clipped and volatile, prompting you to return to studying.

Chief Burke let out a deep sigh, knowing he’d upset you with this news. “We’ll talk about that later,” He murmured, checking his watch with a thin-lipped expression. “I have to get going to the station.” Your father stepped forward, attempting to press a kiss against the top of your head — but you’d flinched away.

Gritting your teeth together, you attempted to maintain a shred of kindness towards your father. You wanted to explode, but it wasn’t a good time. He was under a lot of stress. “Love you.” You sighed, grabbing your pencil as you returned to writing something down in your notebook.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

From behind the curve of your shoulder, you watched as your father retreated from your bedroom, shutting the door behind him in the process. A twinge of guilt flickered through you, and you couldn’t help but feel like the villain. Your mother was out on work-related business, and your father was drowning away in work.

Oftentimes, you were left to your own devices, absorbed in school, hanging out with your friends, or spending time with Billy — but that was all on an eternal hiatus, it seemed. You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek, stepping toward your door. The house was eerily silent, just you and the encroaching thunderstorm.

A clap of thunder rattled the skies, causing you to nearly jump out of your own skin. Goosebumps formed along the column of your spine as you crept down the stairs, traipsing towards your kitchen. Being home alone had a plethora of perks — the alcohol being one of them. If your father knew about all of the underage drinking, he’d likely have a heart attack.

There were so many things that he didn’t know about.

A brief flash of lightning illuminated your surroundings, casting the kitchen in a quick burst of white. You opened up the refrigerator, carefully removing one of your dad’s Abita’s from the side door. After rattling around in the cupboards, you found the bottle opener, popping open the amber lager as a stream of vapor emerged from the top.

You were swift to retreat back upstairs, latching your bedroom door in the process. You placed the beverage along the edge of your desk, listening to the atmospheric deluge of rain pattering outside, falling against the rooftops. You left your window open, lulled into a sense of comfort from the stormy evening.

A sharp thump reverberated against the side paneling of your house, prompting you to rock forward. Normally, you wouldn’t have given it much thought, but considering that someone was killing your classmates, it filled you with a pang of dread.

Hesitant, you crept toward the window, and through the haze of rain and darkness, you noticed a figure moving against the tall wall of lattice that climbed around the back of your home. You squinted, head canting to one side as you realized who was sneaking around.

Billy’s soaked frame appeared before you within an instant, still scaring you as a strangled gasp escaped your lips. “Billy!” You squeaked, lips parted as you noticed his hair, slick and plastered to his skull. The blue-and-white flannel he wore atop a white t-shirt remained stuck to him like a second skin.

“Hey,” He greeted cooly, flashing you one of those little smiles that made butterflies erupt within your stomach. Those warm, earthen-colored hues shamelessly flickered across your attire, finding some sort of attraction in the long-sleeved nightgown you wore. “Cold?”

“Not really,” You mused, nibbling along your lower lip as he ogled the still-icy beer sitting atop your desk. A bemused chuckle left him as he sauntered forward, head cocked to one side. “You’re soaked. Did you walk all the way here?”

“Thought I’d walk, but I wasn’t expecting the rain,” Billy murmured, taking a hold of your drink. “A little brazen, don’t you think? Aren’t you worried that your father might arrest you for underage drinking?” He teased, mouth curling into a playful grin as he took a swig of lager.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” You chimed, nose wrinkling in amusement as he passed the bottle to you. With a brief exhale, you took a drink of lager, feeling the bitter twang of alcohol swarm your mouth as you swallowed. “Do you need me to throw anything in the dryer?” For someone soaked to the bone, Billy remained unphased.

He shook his head in dismissal, clicking his tongue soon afterwards. “No,” Billy’s brows furrowed together for a moment, and then he peered toward the door. “Your old man not around tonight?” Normally, he was always quiet for your sake — and you were often a ball of nerves, but you seemed so carefree tonight.

“He’s gone until the morning.” It was a declaration and a not-so-subtle hint — you could stay. Your relationship with Billy was still somewhat new and flourishing, but you were hoping that it would only continue to intensify. You hadn’t really done much of anything outside of making out and touching. He was patient with you, too.

Billy hummed, gaze surveying your bedroom with a sheen of curiosity. He often searched for new details or anything he found intriguing. His fingertips grazed across your quilted bedspread, and then toward the open window. “Do you like thunderstorms?” He asked. “Or do you keep the window open for me?”

“Would it make you feel better if I said both?” A bubbly burst of laughter escaped you as you tidied up your desk, putting your studying aside for the time being. You enjoyed the lightheartedness of it all despite the dour weather and less-than-savory conversation you’d had with your father twenty minutes prior.

His footsteps were light across the carpeted floor until he approached you, palm cupping your jaw with a certain level of care. At the very beginning, he asked you for everything — for a touch, for a kiss. You didn’t want him to ask nowadays, careening into the warmth of his hand as he brought you in for a kiss.

This bout of shyness always rippled through you whenever he was near — his presence was so enigmatic and overwhelming in the best of ways. He smelled like a smoky cologne, accompanied by the scent of dewdrops. You shivered when his arm crept to your hips, lightly massaging at your waist over the cotton of your nightgown.

Billy was an incredible kisser — always walking a fine line of soft and voracious. You wondered what it would be like for him to really give in. It was a fantasy that had crossed your mind more than you could count. His head tilted slightly, thumb tracing over your chin before he withdrew, stare bleeding with a thinly-veiled desire.

“You’re beautiful,” He uttered reverently, idly dragging the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Billy’s voice was husky, an alluring drawl that was barely above a whisper. It sent a shudder of delight cascading down your spine, anticipation pooling within the pit of your stomach.

A brief sigh left you, trapped within your throat as you tilted inward, hands pressed against his chest. The material was damp underneath your palms, not that you cared. He had snuck through your bedroom window countless times — but it felt so much heavier this time around, given your father’s stark statement of not wanting you to see him.

You ducked your head, heat crawling across your body as you chewed at your lower lip. Billy knew that you were smitten, and he devoured every scrap that he could, but something felt off, as if you had something to tell him, dancing upon the tip of your tongue. “Hey,” He murmured, titling your chin up to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just …” You couldn’t lie to him. Billy had this radar for bullshit, able to see right through you, pierce your armor with ease. “It’s my dad, that’s all.” Admittedly, you were hesitant to reveal the truth, considering that Billy sometimes had a strong reaction to things.

Billy had a feeling that your father had it out for him — an intelligent man, to be certain. Of course, such suspicions were true, but he wasn’t about to make that known. A huff of laughter escaped him, followed by another debonair grin. “What, does he want to arrest me?” He mused, pressing a string of soft kisses along your jaw.

“Something like that,” You mumbled, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled incredible, like a dusky night, drawing you in with his magnetizing pull. “He doesn’t want me to see you right now because of all of the killings and stuff.” The confession felt like a weight within your chest, but oddly enough, Billy didn’t seem too angered by this.

“Does he think I’m a suspect?” Billy questioned, point-blank. His tone became rather blunt, but still held that little shred of amusement. In the grand scheme of things, he was on the right track — unbeknownst to you, of course. It would stay that way.

“I don’t think so. He’s just skeptical, I guess. It’s his job.” You hesitated, drawing away just enough to get a look at your boyfriend’s handsome visage. “I just don’t want you to feel threatened or feel like you can’t come around. I don’t care what he says — I want to be with you.” You murmured, brows furrowing together.

His jaw tensed, gaze incendiary and oozing with a lasciviousness as he pressed a lingering kiss to your mouth, fingers idly stroking aside some of your hair. Billy had grown very fond of you, but with that, there was always some twisted desire to corrupt — the obsession that blossomed with it all.

“You have me,” Billy exhaled, body pressed against yours, hands pinning you close. “This all feels a little defiant, doesn’t it?” His tone had dropped an octave, akin to a delicate purr as he brushed his mouth against yours. You leaned in this time, pressing your lips against his as you chased after that sensation with a fervor.

“Yeah,” You whispered, feeling a newfound thrill churn within your stomach, coupled with exhilaration. “Can you stay tonight?” You asked, fingers gently weaving themselves into his mousy tresses, tugging at the hair around the nape of his neck.

His head cocked to one side as he arched an eyebrow. “I thought I couldn’t,” Staying implied one thing — sex. You had never propositioned it until now, let alone entertained the thought. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.” He didn’t want to rush anything or pressure you into something that you weren’t prepared for.

The constant feeling of doom hung over you — religion and saving yourself had always been a point of contention in your family. You were worried that Billy would leave you if he had you, but you knew that wouldn’t be the case. You were ready to have your first time and have it be with him.

Your head began to bob in a little nod, heat creeping across your body as it blossomed within your cheeks with a burning sensation. “I want you,” You whispered, breath hitching within your throat. “I — I need you, really. I don’t want you to go, Billy.” You mumbled, nearly gasping when his hand began to caress along the curve of your thigh.

“Are you sure?” Billy asked, brows knitting together in a moment of concern. “We don’t have to do anything intense,” He reassured, pressing another kiss against your jaw, and then to your neck. “I don’t want you to feel rushed.” Admittedly, he wanted nothing more than to touch you, to take your virginity, make you feel good, but it needed to be on your terms.

It felt good — the spark of retaliation and rebellion against your father, seeing Billy again in such a secretive fashion. You knew that if anyone found out, namely your parents, you’d be in a world of trouble. Fortunately, it was just the two of you and an empty house.

“You’ve been really patient with me,” You murmured, a soft sigh drifting from your lips as you sank forward into his embrace. “I want this.” Billy’s constant chase for consent and ensuring your comfort was beyond attractive, and you were thankful for it, but this was long overdue.

A soft laugh burst forth from his chest as Billy stroked at your cheek, calloused fingertips traveling across the delicate plane of your visage. “I would wait for as long as you wanted me to.” He uttered, gaze shifting from affectionate to incendiary, simmering with an unmistakable sensuality.

He was so good to you — your ex-boyfriend paled in comparison to Billy Loomis in more ways than one. “I know,” You sighed, lips twitching into a smitten smile as your digits plucked at the damp fabric of his shirt. You pressed another chaste kiss against his mouth. “Should I shut the window?”

Billy clicked his tongue, mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “No,” He swept strands of hair behind your ear, cradling your cheek within his warm palm. “You’ll have to be quiet. You think you can handle that?” The little evocation of a challenge was prevalent — your insides turned to metaphorical mush as you shivered.

“I can’t promise anything.” Your voice was wrought with excitement, barely above a whisper. The blood was rushing to your head and heart, hot and fervent as Billy gently guided you toward your bed. His smirk morphed into a wolfish grin, unable to tear his eyes away from you.

As he placed you down against the mattress, atop your quilted bedspread, he crawled in between your legs, lips hungrily returning to kiss you. He tasted like a lick of amber lager, intertwined with breath mints and the hint of cigarettes. Your heart began to beat faster as Billy’s hand rubbed along your thigh, digits flicking at the hem of your panties.

The ambiance of the thunderstorm outside provided a rather atmospheric setting, on top of the dim lighting throughout your bedroom. Rain noisily pounded against rooftops and the surrounding neighborhood, as if masking the salaciousness of your actions. Your hands pushed at his flannel, and he took it off, along with his white t-shirt.

“May I?” You whispered, eyes wide and mesmerized as Billy let out a brief chuckle. He was so painfully handsome, especially when he smiled — it only served to make you squirm, goosebumps erupting underneath his wandering touch.

“You’re sweet,” Billy murmured, voice deliciously husky as he pressed a kiss against your mouth, teeth playfully snagging your lower lip. The sheepish, stupefied reaction you had was well worth it, prompting him to grab one of your wrists, steering your hand to wherever you wanted it to go. “I want to see you.”

His composure was beginning to crumble, foundation being chipped away at. You were so infectious, like a fever, and Billy only wanted more. He had to restrain himself from being rough, watching with lustful eyes as you sat up a little bit.

You shivered when his hands slipped underneath your nightgown, curling into the hem as he helped you take off the lengthy, frilled garment. Billy licked at his lower lip, hooded stare eating you alive once you were stripped of that coverage. The pastel brassiere and panties you wore were just in the way.

“Lay down.” Billy husked, presence exuding a domineering edge without even trying. You silently obeyed, breath hitching within your throat as he covered your body with his, all sinewy muscle and tan skin. His mouth clashed with yours, voracious and all-consuming as he kept himself propped up with one arm.

Curious, needy digits found their way to your chest, groping and kneading at your chest over the material of your bra. “Billy.” You sighed, moaning into his mouth when he bit at your lip again. It was sharp and somewhat painful, but admittedly, you found that minuscule prick of discomfort to be exciting.

With a brusque tug, Billy’s palm circled around your bare breast, massaging at the sensitive flesh as he tugged at your nipple. Your hands flew to the nape of his neck, dragging through his hair as his mouth tore away from yours, only to find their purchase against the slender column of your throat.

Your flesh was velveteen underneath him, warm to the touch as he began to suckle against the sensitive flesh of your jugular. Teeth and lips created a series of marks — some were more obvious than others. A clap of thunder caused you to jump, a soft gasp escaping you as your body clashed with Billy’s.

His grin was tangible, like an imprint seared into your collarbone as he peered at you with those shimmering brown hues. “Scared?” He murmured, flashing those pearlescent teeth in a brief grin. Billy felt your skin erupt with goosebumps, creeping like a wildfire across your body.

“No,” You protested, tongue absentmindedly swiping across your lower lip. You gently tugged on his hair, hands wandering about until you were cupping his narrow face within your palms. “You’re so perfect.” A soft, enthralled sigh escaped you as he stared down at you.

That calculating, searing gaze would have burned right through you if it were possible — you could feel the desire that oozed from eyes alone. Billy turned his head, planting a kiss against your palm as he grabbed your wrist, fingers tangling with yours.

“You’re beautiful,” His voice dipped into a low, lascivious purr, a delicious octave that made you shudder. “You’re mine.” Billy uttered, and for a moment, there was something dark and innately possessive within his voice, something that you hadn’t heard before. While some might’ve found it strange and obsessive, you were hooked.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, feeling his lips press against yours again with a vigor and urgency. Silence drifted between the two of you, but the intensity and desire only seemed to amplify. His kisses were ravenous and passionate, accompanied by teeth and tongue.

“Take this off,” Billy murmured in between kisses, tugging on your brassiere for emphasis. His digits deftly felt along your body, ending up between your legs as he began to touch you. You were barely able to unclasp your bra without squirming and wriggling, hips jolting forward. “Hold still for me, baby.”

Inclined to obey, you ceased your movements, breath hitching within the back of your throat as his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your panties. You felt absolutely pathetic, already wet from just the tension and kissing alone. With this discovery, Billy grinned, letting out a soft laugh as his digits ghosted along your cunt.

“You’re wet for me and I haven’t even touched you yet,” Billy crooned, pressing a heated, sloppy kiss against your collarbone. His other hand torturously tugged and caressed at your breast. “So sweet.” He uttered, nipping at the soft flesh of your chest.

You moaned, body set ablaze as he dragged two digits along your cunt, allowing them to sink inward as he briefly touched your clit with his thumb. “Billy,” You whimpered, legs parting for him as he settled between them, reveling in your pleasured expression. “Please, please don’t stop.” You wanted to cry.

A low hum emerged from his chest, mouth pressing gentle, lasting kisses around your breast. “You’re so pretty.” He mumbled, taking your hardened peak into his maw as he sucked at your nipple. Those experienced, quick fingers developed a rhythm as he stroked along your slit, thumb lazily circling your clit.

Billy could only imagine what you’d be like if he were rough with you — if he had a knife in his hand, licking the blood from your swollen mouth. The thought alone made his cock throb within his jeans, but he would save it for another time.

As he bent you to his will, making you submit with his fingers alone, your body viscerally reacted to his ministrations, back beginning to arch. “B—Billy,” You sighed with passion, goosebumps beginning to coalesce along your spine. “God, feels so good.”

Innocent — that’s what you were. Vulnerable and pious, something to covet. Billy wanted to possess you, breathe you in, control you.

Akin to a canary trapped within the talons of a predator, you squirmed with delight, desperate for his embrace. His digits dipped toward your warm entrance, teasing you with gentle prod. “I’ll try to be gentle,” He crooned. “You make it so hard for me. Just relax.” Billy mumbled, teeth grazing your nipple as he licked at your sternum.

You nodded, stomach churning with molten heat as you felt some pressure. Your fingers dug into the nape of his neck, leaving behind crimson crescents as he kissed along your stomach. His digits sunk into you with some resistance, pushing into your tight cunt. A wanton moan escaped you, mouth agape.

It was a foreign sensation, but you savored every second, cunt clenching pathetically around his fingers as he began to find a sluggish rhythm. Billy kissed his way toward the heat between your thighs, tongue raking liquid heat over your aching core.

A spasm ran through you as a choked whine escaped your mouth, countenance rippling with surprise. “O—Oh,” You croaked, awash with delight as his mouth carefully roamed over your slick cunt. He began to lick and lap at your core — slower, at first — more exploratory. “Billy!” You squeaked.

The myriad of sensations you were experiencing were excruciatingly pleasant. It was pure bliss, feeling his lips caress your slit, digits steadily pumping their way in and out of you as he toyed with your clit. Every mewl and moan only spurred him on.

Something dark and alluring danced within his eyes, and when you lazily rolled your head to look down, his stare could’ve burned right through you. A flash of lightning only contributed to his sinister countenance, lips twitching into a smirk as he lapped at your cunt.

Billy ate you out like a man starved, touching you in places that you’d only dreamed of. His tongue was hot, raking hot embers over your slit as he showered you in endless attention. A strangled gasp escaped you as his fingers stilled, nose bumping against your clit.

His palm splayed out along the meat of your thigh, nails digging in, fingers pressing down hard enough to leave behind bruises. You clawed at his hair, hips lurching forward, but he pinned you down without hesitation, shivering at the sound of your sweet, innocuous moans.

Part of you wanted him to be rough, to really show you how much he desired you. Every fiber of your being ached for him in a way that made you itch, heat crawling across your supple flesh. “You can be rough,” You whispered, feeling the subtle hitch in his throat, tongue stilling atop your clit. “Billy.”

Billy’s jaw tensed, gaze dancing with a subtle malevolence, intermingled with obsession. His darker side often festered under the skin, but when you asked him to be rough, he knew he needed to be careful. He didn’t want to hurt you or scare you away with his potential antics.

“You want me to be rough?” His tone emerged as a low purr, murmured into the pliant meat of your inner thigh. Billy’s teeth suddenly nicked flesh before he licked at your cunt again, grazing your clit in an effort to tease you. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” It was more of a warning than anything else.

Maybe he was right — you hadn’t the slightest clue of where this could lead.

Whatever darkness you saw, part of you viewed it as an act, as a facade for the sake of intimacy. Nonetheless, you still wanted him to be a little more forceful with you. As much as you savored his gentle streak, you wanted the intensity and the heat of the moment.

He wanted to let you stew on it for a little while, lips greedily pursing around your clit as he began to suck a the sensitive clutch of nerves. Billy’s fingers pushed themselves inside of you again, evoking a barrage of pleasured whines and moans from you. It very nearly derailed your train of thought.

With quivering digits, you reached for his hair again, raking through his tresses with a fervor. Billy felt you tug and pull, which only served to spur him on as he finger-fucked you into a blissful oblivion. It was intermingled with delicate licks to your clit, causing you to writhe in-place.

“I’m close,” You whined, hoping that he would keep going or be rough. Part of you wondered why he was so hesitant, but you didn’t want to push the matter. “Billy, please don’t stop!” With a shrill cry, his ministrations only intensified, fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt.

Billy gazed at you with eyes that almost appeared black, simmering with an unrestrained desire. “Yeah?” He purred, lips dutifully returning to suck and lap at your clit. The sensations were mind-numbing, nearly overwhelming as your stomach surged with a churning heat.

He curled his digits inside of you, letting you simmer on that sensation alone before he stopped. Billy finger-fucked you, accompanied by the tantalizing movements of his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of you, delighted to lap at your sweet cunt.

You nodded several times over, bucking toward his mouth as he continued to kiss and suck at your clit. Billy led you into the white-hot abyss of your orgasm, digits drenched in your slick as he withdrew, licking at his lower lip.

The pleasure was almost blinding, body hot and borderline feverish as you attempted to regain your composure. Your chest rose and fell with quick pants, mouth dry as Billy crawled up, covering your body with his as he placed two fingers against your lower lip.

“Open,” It wasn’t a question — it was a demand. Billy’s countenance had become shadowed, jaw tense as he watched you sheepishly open your mouth. You felt filthy for doing something like this, visibly flustered as his digits landed upon your tongue. “Only right if you have a taste.”

You shivered, a noise stirring within your throat as you began to suck, able to taste yourself in the process. He seemed delighted, lips twitching into a subtle smirk as he made you continue to his satisfaction.

“You sure you want this?”

His question was sharp and succinct, annunciated with something penetrating. Billy knew that if he went to his roots, to become something close to who he really was, he ran the risk of scaring you away. Brown eyes bored into you, hawkish and calculating as you withdrew his fingers from your mouth.

“Yes,” You replied, wondering what exactly he had in-mind in terms of being rough. “I trust you.”

A big mistake — your naïveté was laid bare, stretched out along your sleeve. Billy was untrustworthy, a sinister force with the means for destruction, but you were none the wiser. He liked your innocuous nature, the sweetness that oozed from every pore.

“Stay here.” Billy murmured, slipping off of your bed as he made for your bedroom door. You very nearly questioned him, wanting to know where he was going, but a rancorous clap of thunder effectively silenced you as you sank down into your mattress.

You counted — Billy was only gone for three minutes.

When he emerged through your bedroom door, it almost didn’t feel like the same person — not your charming, debonair brown-eyed boyfriend. He seemed possessed, as if something else had grabbed ahold of him. The glint of silver sparkled within his right hand, and that’s when you saw the large kitchen knife.

Something heavy swirled within the pit of your stomach — exhilaration intermingled with fear and uncertainty. You knew that he wouldn’t hurt you, but being rough was a different matter entirely. You gulped, throat thick as Billy moved toward the edge of your bed, available hand grabbing your thigh.

He dragged you close, looming over you with a shimmer in his eyes that told you he was still mostly himself. Even then, that pang of terror gripped you as he prodded the tip of the knife into your thigh.

“Billy,” You exhaled, goosebumps forming underneath the knife’s sharp blade. He continued to trace it across your supple flesh, moving it along your hip bone until he let it ghost above your stomach. “Want you t—to fuck me.” You stammered.

“You want me to fuck you?” Billy murmured, leaning inward, knife in-hand. You felt the blade jut into the swell of your breast, causing you to shudder from the icy chill of the steel. “Maybe I’ll gut you with this, instead.” He stated, though his voice held some modicum of playfulness to it, just enough to ease your nerves.

The doe-eyed look you wore made him frenzied — he wanted nothing more than to see you like this all the time. Billy hastily reached down, unbuckling his jeans with a sudden haste as he crawled on top of you, sticking the tip of the knife into your ribcage.

You gasped, and when you attempted to lean away from the knife, he simply pinned you there. The tip of his cock was oozing with precum, erection desperately grinding along your slit. “Billy!” You whimpered, afraid that he would accidentally dig the knife a little too far.

“Gotta stay still, pretty girl. You don’t want my hand to slip.” He warned, pressing a hot, incendiary kiss to your lips. You reciprocated, cunt throbbing from the added thrill of the blade as he began to ease himself inside of you.

The sudden intrusion made you cry out — you hadn’t done this before or gone this far, and Billy knew that. A myriad of breathy moans escaped you as you attempted to adjust, feeling his leg nudge you apart, spreading you open for him.

He pressed a series of kisses against your face in an effort to soothe you, teeth nicking the soft flesh of your jawline. Billy hesitated, waiting for you to have some time to adjust, heart pounding erratically, akin to the beating of a drum. You reached for his neck, hands tangling together at the nape.

“Still want it rough?” Billy murmured into your ear, hot breath fanning out across the side of your cheek. The blade of the knife prodded into your abdomen, as if it were issuing a stark warning — to turn back, or to proceed. You wanted him more than anything else — rough or not.

You couldn’t deny the excitement and sick thrill you gained from this, as if it had suddenly unlocked unfamiliar territory for you. Billy’s gaze danced with a lustful fire, tongue swiping across his lower lip.

After enough deliberation, you nodded, nearly shying away underneath his shadowed stare. “Yeah, I do.” You whispered, throat becoming thick as he thrust his hips forward, cock burying itself deep into your tight cunt. The feeling was intense, but his eyes were worse.

Billy grinned, throat erupting with a sardonic chuckle as he clicked his tongue. “That’s my girl.” He kept the knife against your stomach, threatening to dig into skin as he began to fuck you. The friction was delicious, breathing heavy, chest to chest, silvery blade prodding at your belly.

“Billy,” You moaned, back arching into the brutality of his thrusts, legs rattling like leaves. His hand grabbed at your leg, hitching it around his waist for better leverage, hips rutting forward in a series of sharp thrusts. “A—Ah! Please don’t stop!”

His teeth brazenly snagged across your lower lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood. He kissed you then — vitriolic copper intermingling between mouths, breath hot and labored as he fucked you in some frenzied state. Your poor cunt clenched around him, drawing him right in.

With a brief adjustment, he moved onto his knees, cock still pounding away at you as he used the grip on your leg as a crutch. Billy dragged the knife along your body, digging the tip into your sternum, letting it ghost above your breasts. He wanted to lick the fear in your eyes — drink it right from the source.

“Look so pretty like this,” He purred, using the cold flat of the knife to press into your chest. It caused you to moan, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as he continued to fuck you at a rather brutal pace. “You like this, don’t you?” Billy huffed, noticing the way your flesh prickled with a barrage of goosebumps.

You nodded, somewhat reluctant to admit to enjoying the roughness of it all. You felt the tip of the knife press just underneath your jaw, causing you to shudder, hips pushing forward as he met you halfway.

Every fiber of your being felt feverishly hot, like a live wire, coursing with raw electricity. The fire that burned bright within your belly demanded to be extinguished, cunt clenching around his cock as Billy continued to fuck you. He very nearly pulled out before ramming himself right back into your tight heat.

Billy momentarily abandoned the knife, grabbing at your hips as he turned you over, manhandling you onto your stomach. You gasped, letting out a series of moans and whimpers as his fingers roamed through your hair, tugging fistfuls of it as he rutted into you.

It was hot and quick, as if he didn’t have any time left at all. “Billy!” You cried out, feeling somewhat abashed as his cock slapped into your cunt, body pressed to yours. Once he’d gotten himself going, you felt the intrusive chill of the knife again, scraping back and forth along your spine.

“I—I’m close,” You panted, hands clawing at the quilt beneath you, nails threatening to pluck the strings and fabric away. Billy didn’t stop for anything, fucking you at a very erratic, feral speed, yanking on your hair. The knife added an element of danger, liquid heat coalescing between your thighs. “Don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He purred, gritting his teeth together as his cock throbbed with an urgency. Billy groaned — a deep, unrestrained noise, and you yelped when the blade had cut too deep. He didn’t intend to cut you — it was a shallow, superficial wound, but it only drove him crazy. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

The cut on your back oozed with rivulets of blood, not nearly enough to warrant any concern. You moaned, huffing and writhing atop the quilt as Billy pushed into you once more, cumming inside of you without a second thought.

He pulled out midway through, leaving behind a sticky mess of his seed along your cunt and inner thighs, intermingled with your arousal. Your body twitched and spasmed, awash with a sense of relief.

“Shit,” Billy murmured, clamoring away to find you a towel. He pressed it against your back, hoping to wash away some of the blood, even if it wasn’t very much at all. “I’m sorry, baby. I got carried away — I didn’t even think.” He sighed, watching as you attempted to clean yourself up.

“It’s fine, Billy. I know you didn’t mean to,” A soft exhale escaped you as you attempted to regain your composure, hoping to seize another towel as you sheepishly wiped his cum off of your body. You were sensitive and hot to the touch in the aftermath of it all. “I did enjoy it.”

Billy appeared perplexed, neglecting to comment for now. He wanted to take care of you as any dutiful boyfriend would do, retrieving your panties and nightgown as he helped you get dressed again. Outside, the thunderstorm continued to rage on.

“You did?” You shouldn’t have said anything — Billy’s thoughts went somewhere dark and salacious. Now, he wanted to fuck you with the knife all the time. If he were lucky, you’d bear more than one scar. It was a possessive mark, a reminder that you belonged to him.

“Yeah,” You confessed, laying down on your bed. Billy hastily zipped his jeans up, declining to put his shirt back on, given that it was still soaking-wet from the rain. “That was amazing. I’m glad I got to do it with you.”

As he laid down beside you, his gaze became dark and shadowed once again. His finger idly traced across the newly-formed cut on your back, lips pressing themselves all over your neck. “Maybe we could try something different next time.” He proposed.

“Like what?” You asked, admittedly curious as you snuggled against him. His digits idly roamed throughout your hair, mouth briefly pressing against yours before he withdrew altogether.

There was a sly, indiscernible look within his eyes — you didn’t know if you should’ve been worried or not.

“Maybe a costume next time.” Billy murmured, and despite the bemused grin on your face and his subtle smirk, you were entirely oblivious to the multifaceted meaning of his words.

Fortunately for you, you were safe — for now.

[drabbles-mc]

Missed It

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Written for @narcosfandomdiscord 's Book of Abduction: "Somebody has to be paying attention."

Warnings: 18+, language, established relationship, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: despite the name of the prompt, no one is getting abducted in this fic 😂 idk what it is about Bradley Bradshaw but whenever i want to write a fluffy fic with that man i put him in the kitchen alongside his partner. don't ask me why my brain always goes there because i just Don't Know lmao

When the two of you had gotten everything set out on the counter to make dinner, you had been asking yourself why you didn’t cook together more often. Most day-to-day things you tackled together, things like grocery shopping and laundry. Even so, whenever one of you was cooking, it was always just one of you. You could try to chalk it up to work schedules or one of you not bothering to ask the other for help because it was just part of the routine now, but there was no actual reason for it.

Things had been going fine for the first fifteen minutes while you were prepping everything. You couldn’t help but to rag on him a little bit about his knife skills, remarking that it was pretty impressive that he managed to do all of that without chopping the tip of his fingers off like you’d thought he would.

He’d laughed and shaken his head at you, but it didn’t pry his focus away from what he was doing. If anything, now he was even more determined to stay dialed in and not mess up in front of you—he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of getting exactly what you were waiting for. His competitive streak followed him home form the base, but he was fortunate in that most times you found it to be a little endearing or at least amusing.

The two of you playing chef was going fine until you’d started to sauté everything together in the pan on the stove. For the first two minutes you were perfectly focused on that while Bradley busied himself getting the bowls and silverware. The two of you were moving around each other without any issues, each in your own lane, until you felt him stop and linger behind you.

Turning your head, you saw him looking over your shoulder, watching as you deftly moved the noodles and vegetables around in the pan. You laughed, raising your eyebrows at him. “Can I help you with something, Bradshaw?”

His eyes drifted from the pan on the stove to your face, and once he was looking at you, a smirk immediately pulled at the end of his mouth. “No, but looks like I could help you with something.”

You rolled your eyes, but still smiled. “And what’s that?”

He nodded towards the pan. “You missed one.”

The laugh you let out was equal parts humor and sarcasm. “I missed one?”

“Yeah,” he replied as plain as ever.

You made a brief gesture towards the pan that was sizzling nicely on the stove. “Where? I would love if you could point it out.”

“If you can’t see it,” he shook his head admonishingly as he placed his hand on your hip, “then I don’t think I can help you.”

You turned the rest of your body to follow your head and Bradley made sure his hand didn’t stray from your hip as you did so. Once you were facing him, your back to the stove, you held out the chopsticks that were in your hand. Pushing them towards him, you lifted your eyebrows in a way to wordlessly communicate that he was more than welcome to take care of it himself.

He held his hands up, palms facing you. “No, no. You said that I could help with the prep and then you’d handle this part. Your words. I wouldn’t wanna take that away from you.”

The false sincerity that he said it with got you to break your silence with another laugh. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure that’s what it is. Chivalry, or whatever your approximation of that is.”

“I’m very chivalrous.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Is that your final answer?”

He mirrored your expression. “What else would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you dragged the word out for all it was worth before pointing at him aggressively with your chopsticks. “Maybe you don’t want to admit that you still haven’t learned how to cook using chopsticks.”

He waved you off as though you’d said something ridiculous, but he didn’t reach for them to prove you wrong. That’s how you knew you had him, because if there was one thing that Bradley Bradshaw was always going to do, it was take advantage of an opportunity to be right in any debate that the two of you got into a home.

“Go ahead,” you held your hand out, palm-up with the chopsticks resting across it like a peace offering. “Prove me wrong.”

Bradley looked at your hand, and then at you. He saw the smirk that was on your face, and even though he was shaking his head at you, the warm smile that was crossing his face was giving you a different message entirely. While Bradley might’ve been the one out of the two of you known for being stubborn, especially outside the four walls of your shared apartment, you knew how to give him a run for his money on that. More often than not you were happy to go with the flow, but when you decided that you were going to pick a point and stand on it, Bradley hardly ever stood a chance. Lucky for him you usually only used those powers in small, silly debates like the one you were currently in.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he finally said, grin splitting a little wider.

You barked out a laugh, head dropping back as you did so. “Really?” Instead of giving you a verbal response, he just kept the smile on his face as he shrugged at you, like he was daring you to try something else. As tempting as it was to take the bait, you shook your head at him. “You know, I tried to be so nice and invite you to cook with me. And this is what I get!”

“Invite me?” he parroted back incredulously, trying not to laugh. “Invite me to cook with you, my own girlfriend? In our own kitchen? In our own apartment?” Taking his hand off of your hip, he pressed it against his own chest with the type of dramatics he saved just for you. “How did I get so lucky?”

You were both breaking down into fits of laughter as you said, “Keep asking your—”

The rest of your sentence was drowned out by the sound of the smoke detector in your apartment going off. Both of you looked around, and while it wasn’t bad at all, the alarm in your apartment had always been on the sensitive side—luckily your neighbors had yet to complain.

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

You both cursed at the same time, still laughing as you each made yourselves busy trying to get the alarm to shut off again. You turned off the stove, moving the stir-fry pan to the cool burner at the back of the stove. Bradley swiped the dish towel off the counter and went over to stand underneath the smoke detector. Unfolding the towel all the way, he flapped it in an attempt to get the smoke to dissipate enough for the incessant beeping to stop. It only took about thirty seconds for it to stop, but it felt like so much longer when the noise wouldn’t abate.

Once it did, Bradley tossed the towel so that it was draped over one shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

You laughed as you checked to see if any real damage had been done to what the two of you had been planning to eat for dinner. A few noodles on the bottom of the pan caught the worst of it, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“This is why I cook alone,” you said as you tentatively turned the stove back on, using your chopsticks to pick out the few pieces that were just a little too crispy to keep and tossing them in the trash with expert precision.

He chuckled as he walked up behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he loomed over your shoulder again. “What’s that supposed to mean? Like this happens to you all the time.”

You shook your head at him. “Well somebody has to be paying attention, and clearly we can’t—”

“If I remember correctly,” he interjected, and you could feel the tickle of his breath against your skin as he spoke, “this all got started because I was paying attention.”

You hummed in amusement. “That’s how you remember it, huh?”

He nodded before pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head. “Yep.” Another kiss. “You’re welcome.”

You could feel the way he was leaning in for another kiss, and before he could you reached behind you with the hand that wasn’t holding your chopsticks and playfully pressed your palm to his forehead, lightly pushing him back away from you.

“No more distracting me—we’ll set off the smoke alarm again.”

He laughed as he took a step back, leaving a small gap between you. “Worth it.”

Top Gun Maverick Taglist: @garbinge @justreblogginfics @proceduralpassion (If you'd like to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

[verdemoun]

I'm still thinking. Hosea is a grandfather. A grandpa, if you will. There's Isaac, the boy he barely saw before timewarp, the boy he actually *watched* grow up. And Jack. Oh, Jack. (I am so normal about him.) The bright boy running around camp, turned into this. Just as emotionally fucked up as John and Arthur were at his age. And then there's timewarp kids, and then he figures out Jack had a younger sister. How does he handle THAT???

yes. y es i thought abt jack and hosea. because yes i fuckinf think jack would happily put up with hoseas bs. that is his grandpa and grandpa loves him.

oh fuck you you can't attack me in the feels like that and not expect an immediate reply covid has your brain cOOKING. sorry john + abigail jack is actually my son my baby my blorbo

If dad Hosea is intense, papa Hosea is willing to resort to the lowest honor tactics to protect his grandbabies. Like mama grizzly bear to the extreme: he might look the part of sweet old man but he will murder someone with his bare hands if they even LOOK at his grandbabies wrong.

He actually prefers being called Uncle Hosea because he loathes reminders of how old he is (even though growing old is something he is very, very grateful for). Isaac looked him dead in the eye when Hosea tried to correct him and said 'no I am calling you Pa and that's that'. He also calls Bessie Meemaw. Everyone else calls him Uncle Hosea but Isaac has that Morgan stubbornness.

Also Isaac is finally old enough for the 'yeah your dad was an outlaw and all those strange timewarp people are fellow gang members' and is immediately eyes sparkling. Knows outlaw bad but also how cool is that?? He will excitedly sit at Hosea's feet to hear stories about the old days and of course Hosea loves telling very true and not exaggerated tales of their adventures.

Between having no understanding of modern currency and economics and also the excitement of having a grandchild he gets to see whenever he wants because not running for lives anymore, Hosea is the worst when it comes to spoiling his grandbabies second only to Bessie.

Isaac, going from being raised by a 90% of the time solo parent to having such a massive family in the gang, loves all of them so much. Suddenly having grandparents for school events and those dumb family tree assignments. Isaac also inherited the theatrics genes. He's doing a video interview about Hosea's career and of course Hosea is just telling stories about scams and cons he ran but Isaac's in full old timey interviewer garb newsie cap on microphone and clipboard.

Isaac slamming the door at Arthur's fuck you I'm going to Pa's house when he's grounded. Arthur calling to say he's grounded do not spoil him send him home asap and Hosea merrily agreeing only to cut to Isaac getting cake and coffee while they play dominos. Hosea blindly agrees that Arthur is taking him getting suspended a second time far too seriously.

Old man bawling getting to hold baby Maeve. Sean trying to tell him to stop because he's going to wake her up but Hosea is the softest bastard when it comes to babies.

Emotionally ruined to find out Jack has a younger sister but also she was the first Marston to die and so young. He is always the first to offer to babysit and it was a very common occurrence to find her sitting on his lap drifting off as he reads to her. Practices her reading with her and plays tea parties with actual tea and does voices for different characters obsessed with playing with his smaller grandkids.

BUT HOSEA AND JACK. Hosea has been through the emotionally fucked teen outlaw gig so many times he is an expert. He knows when Jack needs space or to talk or company before Jack does.

As easy as it is to focus on that damage all that trauma and emotions and just darkness Jack carries with him, Hosea still sees their little prince.

The sheer emotion of knowing how much reading came to mean to Jack. The hurt but comfort of knowing that Jack, even if he didn't remember Hosea as clearly as Hosea remembers him, held onto something Hosea helped him with and gave him so tightly. How he read so much Abigail teased him despite how proud she was of the life he was going to have before everything turned to shit.

When Jack is still adjusting and understandably awkward and also mentally not coping, Hosea showed him their expansive private collection of books and saw the way Jack's eyes lit up. They both finally have someone to talk to books about.

Not only Jack lighting up a little like a candle being exposed to oxygen again but actually laughing as Hosea starts stacking books he recommends in his arms. Hosea being excited to talk about books without spoiling them also also just so excited to see that bright little boy is still in there.

Catching Jack curled up on what is usually his reading chair, book still in hand but fast asleep. Remembering the first times Arthur, and John, and Tilly and all those troubled young outlaws they picked up along the way felt comfortable enough to sleep around him, and knowing deep down Jack is going to be okay.

[atlas-library]

Giggling and kicking my feet and twirling my hair and going "oh my gawd" every time I re-read the nsfw alphabet that you did of toge your brain is so huge💞 gigantic even. You said you don't think he talks during those times (understandable), but do you think he doesn't even like...say tuna? If he has to say something (best dirty talk ever)? Actually, do you think he ever has to fight off the urge to actually speak and say something during sex, and then gets like. Upset at himself inside?

Okay so first of all, I'm gonna cry, this is the sweetest comment ever omg 🥹🥹 I haven't given up on this blog btw, I haven't posted in a while but I just got sick + I have a new job starting soon + somehow the creative juice got sucked out of me, BUT I'M STILL HERE AND THIS COMMENT!!! IT GIVES ME MORE REASONS TO KEEP PESTERING Y'ALL!!! 😭😭😭 so yeah tysm for your comment it just made my night 🥹🥹💗💗

Okay, regarding your questions (nsfw, so find it under the cut!!)

I actually think he would use some rice-ingredient words!

In-between the moans and whimpers, the pants and grunts coming from you both, he would probably ask how you're doing— A small "Mustard leaf?", or even some "Tuna tuna!" when he feels you drift away. And if you ask him how he's holding up, he'd try to give you a shaky "S-salmon..!" so you keep going.

I just think overall he tries to keep quiet, mostly because of how insatiable he is and thus how long sessions can be— If it's his first or second orgasm, he's not necessarily going to slip out. He has enough control to remember he can't fully let go. The more you go on, though... well, you both remember the time when he screamed of pleasure— That was wild, even for him. Sometimes you leave him a crying mess, and all you can do is watch as he pants and lets out unintelligible whimpers.

I also definitely think he would try to say your name. I headcanon Toge with a speech impediment, mainly him stuttering and stammering because he doesn't often get to pronounce new words; he knows his commands by heart, as well as Yuuta's name (and even then, he would pronounce it "Yuuda" at first). However, I think he'd try very hard to pronounce everyone else's names correctly, especially if he got caught doing it and basically got the equivalent of a pat on the head. For his significant other, it's clear he'd try his hardest: he can't tell you how important you are to him, so he'll try to do something simple yet very meaningful for the both of you. He'll try to pronounce your name, without stuttering— And it might slip out during sex.

Whenever he uses it, even though it doesn't seem to affect him, it does affect you: you can't say if it's actual cursed energy or simply your feelings for him, but you find yourself staring at him, admiring his features and drinking any sound leaking from his lips.

🍵 Okay, let's take a breather now. 🍵

...

🍵 Breathe in.. breathe out. 🍵

About your last question— Toge's curse is being a passionate soul forced to silence. He hides it well, but he feels a lot; he's a control freak, similar to Maki (even though they'd never admit it), because that's how he hurts the least amount of people. Before the school, before Gojo, before Panda (his first friend)— Toge was alone. He wouldn't say a word, hands would be shoved against his mouth if he dared breathe too loud. The only person who never shushed him nor feared him ended up being cursed by him— Clearly, everyone's better off far away from him.

The problem is, Toge is a lover. I'm an Inuokko shipper first and foremost so this might be where this idea comes from, but, even platonically, I think Toge would be the one to relate most to Rika. They're like two sides of the same coin when it comes to love. @gelatosushix made a wonderful post about it, so I won't dive too deep into this, but basically: Rika kills when she loves, but Toge dies when he loves.

A common mistake would be comparing Toge to a moth, drawn to fire and getting burnt by it. Toge isn't the moth; he's the flame. You're the moth. He's captivating, he has this mysterious aura yet somehow seems like an open book, but only if you ask the right questions— Only if you learn his language (and I'm not talking about rice ingredients). He intoxicates you, draws you in with his gaze (whether a purple wine with violet droplets, or a fiery brown with amber lights).

Then, he pulls his collar down: tattoos, or maybe burn scars, marking his cheeks and tongue as death takes the form of a baby-faced man. He's a weapon, one even Maki can't wield. He's feared. And yet— The raspiness of his voice, the deep accents scratching his throat— They get to you. Stupid moth flying to its death. At least it'll be sweet, you think.

Toge kills for people, because killing goes hand-in-hand with dying in his case. Toge loves by pushing away; that's how it's always been, that's what he's been taught. Yet you're here— You're holding him, stroking his cheek, singing his name, giving yourself to him. It feels right, it feels like everything he's ever wanted, it feels like so little yet so much to him— And he hates it.

You deserve it all and he deserves nothing. You deserve words. Not silly ones, actual words— But he can't say it. He can't stutter that he loves you, because what if? He could curse you. He could ruin your life, and Toge's already ruined so many lives in the past— It weighs on his soul, yet he can endure it; as long as you're not the next accursed.

So he bites down. On your skin, on his hand, on the pillow— Anything, anywhere. He bites down to keep the sounds from coming out. And if you reassure him, tell him that you know, he doesn't need to say it— He starts crying. He hates himself, he hates his curse, he hates the fucking marks on his face.

His hips slam against yours, he grabs at your skin; you're near, he knows it. He knows you by heart, that's the least he can do.

Deeper, deeper, deeper— You reach the stars first, but he follows soon after. And he keeps crying. He cries the rest of the night, even with you holding him and whispering against his lips. He has to grab onto you so he doesn't run to the bathroom to desperatly try and wash his markings off.

Toge is a lover, a passionate soul forbidden from opening his heart; he hates emotional sex because of how much his heart bleeds from it. It ignites his flame, lures you in even more; and when his cries fill the room, when he hugs you tight— It's like you're a butterfly, pinned by the thorns of a rose you were drinking from.

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 5

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (v) - Finnick

[17 & 18] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick sits at his desk, the end of his pencil tapping a song into the wood as he thinks. The two of you have been exchanging letters for almost a year now, but he still gets excited whenever you send a new one. Excited and nervous. Getting them mailed between districts is a slow progression involving lying to a few mayors and he's sure Snow reads each one. Still, Finnick thinks, it's worth it. In your latest letter, you explained to him how a bear snuck in from the woods, and the peacekeepers were forced to gun it down. Luckily, no one was hurt, but the mayor was "generous" enough to divide the meat among the citizens who were working. You finish with a closing of 'With love', your signature, and a shitty little drawing of a bear at the bottom with X's over its eyes. He traces it with his finger and pictures you hunched over your desk, nose scrunching in concentration as you draw it. "With love, huh?" He whispers to himself and smiles. Along with your letter, you sent a parcel full of bundled brown sticks tied together with yarn. Licorice root, you had said. Only available in the Capitol and District Eleven, best used in tea with berries. He brings it to his nose and it smells sweet, like caramelized sugar. It smells like you, but it's missing that undercurrent of earthly petrichor. He looks up when he sees Mags approaching with a knowing look in her eyes. She looks at the letter in his hands and he folds it before she can read the contents. Not that it matters. All she needed to see was the signature. It's not like she doesn't know who you are. She was so ecstatic to hear your stories, insisting he got more from you. And you gave them freely, even after Finnick ran out of ones to trade. It’s odd. You wanted nothing in return. Sometimes, he gets a little ahead of himself and wonders if it’s because you like him.

It isn’t too far-fetched to assume that, right?

Right. "What's that face for?" He laughs. She takes a loose piece of paper and a pencil to write: "When's the wedding?" He opens and closes his mouth, words escaping him. "It's not like that. We're just—” Just what? You are friends, right? Finnick has friends, but none that he likes as much as you. And the way he feels with you? He doesn't feel like that around them, not by a long shot. To just call you a friend feels like calling an ocean a pond. It's almost disrespectful to condense it into something so lacking. He can’t force you, and everything you make him feel—into such a small box, it would only overflow and drown him. You are much, much more than a pond. 

Best friend, then? While true, it feels too juvenile. He considers it and he doesn't particularly like the idea of just being your friend anyway. He imagines you introducing him as such.

“Oh, and this is Finnick. My friend. Only my friend.”

No. No, he doesn’t like that at all. 

If he can't be honest with you, he can at least be honest with Mags. "—I guess it is something like that." She hums excitedly and pinches his warm cheeks. "She says she hopes you're doing well." Mags perks up at that, gesturing between herself and the blank paper. He grins at her enthusiasm, "I'll tell her you said hi. Promise." She nods and pats his hand with a smile. As she walks to sit on the couch behind him, he thinks about what to send you. He can't just send a letter. Especially after you went out of your way to send licorice roots after he offhandedly mentioned he'd like to try some. He wracks his brain but comes up empty. Other than rope, hooks, and seashells, there's nothing else he can give you. His eyes drift around the room, landing on his bare wrist.

There is something he can make you. 

Mags sits amused as he jumps up and rushes around the house to collect supplies. Technically, he doesn’t live here—she does. But this place has been more of a home to him than any other, past and present.

He grabs a spool of thin purple and blue rope, along with a few cowrie shells and little charms Mags has lying around. He sets up shop on the desk, cutting the blue rope to the length he wants it and folding it in half. He puts a shell in the middle, tying a knot on either side of it. He slides two little, silver charms on the left and right of the shell, a starfish and a turtle. He makes three basic Macrame knots with separate pieces of string. The two longest ones are slid on beside the charms and the smallest one is used as a closure.

Mags comes to stand beside him as he leans back to admire his work. 

"Do you think she'll like it?" He asks her. He wants to bite at his nails as she looks over what he made, but refrains. 

'She'll love it. :)". She writes and he hopes she’s right.

He repeats the process with the purple rope but uses a fish charm instead of a turtle and writes his letter.

Dear Star, Earlier today, I sat in the sand watching the sun rise over the ocean, and I imagined you were beside me. If I were a painter, I would capture the image for you. For now, I hope my words will suffice. The clouds shift from a dark blue to a ghostly white, parting and making way for the rising sun. The sky is a canvas of assorted colors. Navy blue, baby blue, and burnt orange chase each other in a swirl reflected across the water. As the sun climbs higher in the sky, a clear blue takes over the backdrop. Words can only take us so far. I really want to show you. Snow will only let us do so much, but maybe one day he'll let you come to Four and we can watch it together. Side by side, me and you in the sand. There's something else. I'm sure you noticed I sent you more than just the letter. There should be an intricate rope bracelet with a shell in the middle. I made us matching pairs, yours blue and mine purple—I remember you saying it's your favorite color. In hindsight, it would've made more sense to give you the bracelet with your favorite color instead of mine, but, it's kind of like having a piece of each other, you know?  The jewelry has a bit of significance, too. The starfish is obvious, but the turtle is from Mags’s story. I even found a little fish charm to put on mine. You don't have to wear it, of course. It's kind of childish in retrospect. I just hope you don't laugh at me too much. Regardless, I'll be wearing mine. I know you didn't make it, but, somehow, it makes me feel closer to you. When I glance down at it, I'm reminded that I'm not alone. That there's someone out there whose life was made at least a little bit better by my being in it. I hope it'll give you that same comfort. -Fondly yours, Finnick O. P.S. Mags says hi. She's quite taken with you. You've somehow managed to charm her without ever meeting. Not that I'm surprised. :) P.P.S. I can't wait to see you again. 

Present (V) - Finnick 

[23 & 24] - TRAINING CENTER; FOURTH FLOOR

Finnick rewinds the video and pauses. His eyes absorb your features greedily, taking you in like a man starved. And, honestly, he is. It's the first time he's seen you, outside of your picture, in two years, but it's felt like a lifetime. Initially, he watched your reaping in hopes of you proving him wrong. 

You didn't.

He can't help but find joy in the fact that he still knows you well enough to predict what you'll do. And he'll get to see you again. Really see you. He shouldn't be happy about that under these circumstances, but Finnick is under no illusion of being a good person. The camera focuses on you right as you're about to raise your hand to volunteer. He can see the conviction in your eyes and wonders why. Why did he ever think he could survive being away from you? "God, it feels like I've been watching you rewind for hours." Finnick freezes. There are five other people here, all women, and only four of them can talk. This voice is distinctly male. He looks over his shoulder and sighs. He should've guessed. "Haymitch. How did you—” He cuts himself off when he spots Mags standing a little behind him. That solves how he got in. He didn't hear him knock or notice him approaching, too focused on you to use his other senses. "Kid, I don't wanna say this is sad, but it's not, not sad." Finnick rolls his eyes at Haymitch's unwelcome opinion. Should he be embarrassed to be caught in this position? Maybe. Probably. Yeah, he definitely should be. But he gave up his shame a long time ago. He's honestly just annoyed at being interrupted.

"What do you want?" He turns back around to face you. "Why do I have to want something, huh?" Haymitch walks around the couch, Mags close behind him. "Can't I just show up to check in on you guys?" Finnick levels him with a deadpan stare. Haymitch purses his lips. "Alright, I'll cut to the chase," he starts before pausing, "is your prep team still here?" "No. They're off doing," he gestures vaguely towards the door, "whatever the hell it is they do." Something he considers a blessing. He already sees them more than he sees his own reflection. The less he's around them, the better. "Why?" "Because they're the last people we need to hear this conversation," he sits on the chair to the left of the couch. "Allies. Have you thought of any besides Mags?" "Can't say I have." He lies. Of course, he has. He's going into the arena with people he's known for a decade. Johanna comes to mind, but it's unlikely she'd team up with anyone. And you. He doubts you'd want him as an ally, but he'll help you regardless. And if it came down to him and you, well.

He’ll make sure you make it home. "You sure?" He leans his head on the hand that's propped up on the arm of the chair. "Not even a certain someone from Eleven? What was that nickname you gave her—Star, right?" He asks with that same tone he always used to take on when teasing Finnick about you. He bites down on the defensive response bubbling up, the snide comment on the tip of his tongue. He thumbs at the shell in the middle of his bracelet. He doesn't know, Finnick reminds himself, he doesn't know what I had to do to you. He isn't making fun of me. It's not like he told anyone other than Mags and Annie what happened between you and him—what Snow made him do. It's not like he ever could. Though he’s sure he, correctly, assumes that it’s Finnick’s fault. He takes a breath. "What is this about, Haymitch?" The older man sits for a moment, deliberating, before speaking. "When you get in the arena, I need you to protect Katniss and Peeta." 

"...Are you drunk?" Finnick looks him over top to bottom. Maybe he’s gotten better at acting like he’s sober. "Not yet, sadly. I'm serious, Finnick." "And why the hell would I do that?" Haymitch goes on to explain the impending revolution. How District Thirteen didn't become a nuclear wasteland, and, instead, was forced into hiding. And how, with the help of Plutarch Heavensbee, the rebels started planning a coup as soon as the Quarter Quell was announced. "You don't seem surprised." "I'm not. People talk. Especially when they feel guilty." When he started turning away his clients' money, they were desperate to pay him atonement so their consciences wouldn't be weighed down by their sins. You came up with the idea. Money wasn't worth its salt to a victor. But secrets? Secrets were cashed in gold. With everything he was told, it wasn't hard to connect the dots. What he is surprised by is Heavensbee's hand in all of this. He's in a position of power, one directly under the president. What did he stand to gain from throwing all that away? He's wary and he tells Haymitch as much. "I know this is hard to believe, for you in particular, but there are good Capitols." He tries to cross his ankle over his knee but fails—clearly not sober. "Or, at least people who wanna do the right thing who just so happen to be Capitol." He tacks on at Finnick's unconvinced scoff. 

"Alright, say I believe he's genuine, which I don’t. If this has been brewing for so long, why hasn't anyone acted until now?" "Every good revolution needs a spark and a flame." "And that's…Katniss?" "It's the romance! What it represents to Snow, but, more importantly, to the districts. The first act of public rebellion in over seventy-five years. But, the face of it is, more or less, Katniss." The Girl on Fire igniting a wildfire in the districts. He chuckles. "And where does Peeta fall in this metaphor?" "You can't have fire without air, right?" He asks rhetorically. "Well, we won't have Katniss without Peeta. She won't help us without him." Finnick rolls his eyes and sets the remote down beside him. The farce the two of them are pushing forward with this whole 'tragic romance' act will definitely keep them in the public's favor, but to let that get in the way of something this important is the kind of selfishness that can only be associated with a child. "She can't possibly care about him that much." "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised. Regardless, I need you—both of you to be a part of this. The Movement needs you. You're clever and a capable fighter. And you're one of the few who's experienced Snow's special brand of torture." He shouldn't flinch, but he does. It's an open secret among the victors, but to talk about it with anyone other than you is disquieting. He knows his face closes off and he's thankful for the fact that Haymitch knows when to stop while he’s ahead. Finnick looks to Mags. Her brows are furrowed resolutely, nowhere near as stricken as he is. She was alive during the first rebellion, but only a child. She must've been dreaming about this for years. 

Haymitch goes to talk, but Finnick raises his hand to stop him before he can speak. “No need.”

Nothing Haymitch can say now will sway him to the cause, he’s almost certain of it. Better to save his breath while Finnick thinks. Because, rest assured, there is plenty for him to think about.

"God, you too are so alike it's eerie—down to the mannerisms. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it still throws me." Haymitch shakes his head in disbelief. "Who?" "Your better half. It took me a minute to convince her to join the Movement too, but only because she's so stubborn. You both are." And just like that, whatever illusion of choice Finnick thought he had is stripped away with the mention of you. Every path he takes leads back to you. What a heartening thought. "Alright. I'll be their ally. I'll," he takes a steadying breath. "I'll join the rebellion." "That's all it took? I would have brought her up earlier if I knew that, save myself some time." He sighs. "As a plus, the guys in charge agreed to rescue any rebels from the arena as long as you get Katniss and Peeta to the pickup point." Rescue? They'll make it out? Mags. Johanna. You. Abruptly, he gets a faint whiff of your scent caught in his head like a flashback. Hovering in his nostrils as faint as a memory. It is a memory. But if he goes through with this, maybe it doesn't have to stay one. "The pickup point?" "Is something you don't have to worry about right now. Everyone will be getting different parts of the plan that’ll need their full attention." If there really are as many people a part of this rebellion as Haymitch says there are, then, realistically, there's no way they'll all be making it out. Finnick's sure a decent amount of them will be trapped there in the arena after all hell breaks loose. And that's if they don't die beforehand. "Finnick, if we do this, and we do it right, that's it." "That's it?" "That's it. We're free. What does freedom look like to you, Finnick? I mean, I know what it looks like to me," Haymitch leans forward, elbows on his knees. He speaks about this with so much confidence, that Finnick is finding it hard to be pessimistic. "It looks like the citizens living without the weight of oppression and Snow losing any power he has over Panem. It looks like the Hunger Games ending permanently." Freedom. Now, that's an idea he's never even flirted with before. Something so completely out of his reach, he never dared to dream of it because it would hurt too much to wake up. He contemplates it. What does freedom look like to him? It looks like the generations following them never feeling the hopelessness they do now. It looks like the Hunger Games only being experienced through textbooks and the name Coriolanus Snow becoming a ghost story. Freedom looks like being by your side, loving you fearlessly. Finnick's never felt true freedom before—the closest he's ever gotten to it was when you touched him. He doubts it can feel much better than that. 

Even without knowing the full plan, Finnick can tell there are a lot of moving pieces involved. All it'll take is one misstep, one fuck up, and it all collapses. The cards are stacked against them higher than he'd like to think about. Finnick's not a gambling man, but this? This is something he's willing to bet on. 

Either they succeed or die trying.

Finnick runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots for a second. "Alright. What do I have to do?" 

Haymitch smiles, more genuine than it usually is. "Just get them there. We'll handle the rest."

[louscartridge]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ closer

haku shota x gn reader.

angst / comfort.

cw- reader is scared soul is cheating on them, insicurities, mentions of drifing appart, reader and soul saying ‘ily’, established relashionship, both the reader and soul wear cologne bc lets be honest cologne is better anyway, mentions of his real name like once, bpd iyk for the reader.

brought to you by- closer by waterparks and my first real relashionship 😻😹💀

your relationship with soul was amazing. it was everything you could ever want. but yet, you wanted more.

you both loved eachother so much, no matter what. both of you had your difficulties with expressing your feelings, sure, but you tried to show it in other ways. giving or making eachother a piece of jewellery or clothes, borrowing outfits, trading colognes, helping eachother with work. however, you could only go so long before you started to get scared and insecure.

you’ve both said ‘i love you’ to eachother a few times. you don’t say it a lot anymore.

you felt as if the two of you had drifted.

the beginning of your relashionship was everything and more. non-stop texting and calling no matter what, endless ‘i love yous’, and hell, arguing over who loves the other more. but as always, the honeymoon phase always ends eventually.

whenever you would text him ‘i love you’ or anything along those lines, he just replies with a simple emoji or an ‘ilyt’. he was showing something, but it wasn’t the same. you stopped saying it in person, ‘cause honestly? you were scared.  

you felt as if you guys flirted more and were more affectionate when you weren’t even dating. so what happened? so now he finally has you he thinks it doesn’t even matter? did he find someone else? replace you? that didn’t seem like shota at all, but yet again, it doesnt sound like most of the people who had done it to you. you couldn’t bear the embarrassment of him breaking up with you if he was cheating, or lost feelings. should you do it yourself? save the embarrassment and get it over with? but what if he wasn’t cheating on you, didnt lose feelings, then what. you just ruined the best thing you’ve ever had.

you don’t want to break up with him. you can’t. you won’t. but you need more of him. you need him closer. you just need to feel like you have him again.

that’s what led you here.

standing on one side of the dance studio while soul stood in the middle, breathing heavily, a bit sweaty.

you had texted him asking if you could come over to the dance studio, which he had replied to with a ‘yeah’.

you didnt know what you were going to say, but you wanted to say something.

“hi y/n” soul smiled.

“hey” you awkwardly mutter.

souls smile quickly went away while he turned his head slightly to the side. “what’s wrong?”

“i just-” you sigh before continuing. “are you cheating on me?” you ask quietly, voice shaking slightly.

your brain immediately scolded you. ‘holy shit holy shit holy shit. why did you actually just ask him that? what if he is? do you really want to know that? what if he’s not and he gets mad what if-‘

souls eyes widen slighty and eyebrows furrow. “what? no, im not cheating on you y/n”

“do you still love me?” your eyes start to water and he notices.

“oh my god, of course i still love you y/n!” souls hands fly out and he walks closer towards you.

you let out a sob of relief at his words, but you were still doubting. why is everything colder than it used to be?

soul takes your hands in his and pulls you down to sit on the floor with him. “i made you feel like i don’t?” he questions, his own voice small.

“i don’t know i just- no its okay, nevermind, it’s stupid.” you sniff.

“no, nothing is stupid if it makes you feel like this. especially if it has to do with our relationship.”

“i don’t know, why don’t you say you love me anymore? why- why are you so dry with texting? more than you used to be, somehow. i feel like we’ve drifted and i’m losing you or you’re losing me, i don’t know, it could be my fault for all i know. maybe it’s not you who’s being cold, maybe its me-”

soul cut you off. “baby stop. nothing is your fault. i haven’t lost feelings for you. at all. i’m not cheating on you or anything. i feel the same exact way i did when we first started dating. if anything, i love you more.” soul briefly let go of your hands to move behind you and hold you. “i didn’t really say it as much as i used to because i guess i thought you knew that so i didn’t need to say it so much anymore. obviously, i didnt think about that. and as for getting dryer? i didnt even realize i was doing it, i swear i didnt mean to and its not gonna be the only thing i’ll start working on.”

after you didn’t say anything, soul broke the silence by asking you, “why didn’t you say anything to me when you first started feeling like this?”

“i was scared. scared that maybe i was right. but then what?” you answer.

“well if you ever start thinking or feeling anything similar again, tell me. like, right away, don’t wait. okay?”

“okay.”

“i love you so much.”

god, hearing him say that make you so happy.

“i love you too.”

“can we go to your dorms now? i know you were practicing but i really miss you and while we’re in this lovey-dovey mood i wanna take advantage of it.” you know there’s a huge chance he’ll say no, but you ask anyway hopefully.

“for you? of course we can.”

a/n- i kinda wanna post this again, but with a shitty ending??

if you liked this fic, you may also like -  jewelry

[khys-treasure-box]

AN: Just got a friend of mine into Trigun, so it's been on my mind lately. By extension, my favorite functionally immortal alien dork is on the brain again! <3

CW: Fluff with a bit of angst mixed in. This is Vash after all, we can't go without just a tad bit of sadness, now can we? Similar to another post of mine, this isn't explicitly X Reader, but could totally be read as if it is! This is written more so with Stampede in mind, but I happen to believe this would go for any version of Vash.

Vash, as we all know, wears his heart on his sleeve; he's not really that good at hiding how he feels.

That being said, I think that very much extends to when he has a partner. Even if he tried, he just can't pretend that he's not positively enamored; it always shows. The pure adoration in his eyes when he looks at them, that dorky, almost boyish smile on his face whenever they're around, the way he practically follows them around like a puppy on an invisible leash... He's head over heels, and he, nor anyone else, can deny that. Of all the things he feels, the all-encompassing love he has for his beloved is absolutely not something he'd be tempted to brush off or explain away.

However, being so open about how deeply he loves them does simultaneously make him a bit fearful. He's Vash The Stampede, a man with a bounty worth an ungodly amount of double dollars on his head; a man with all sorts of dangerous folks following in his wake, just waiting for their chance to strike. By all accounts, anyone in Vash's company for extended periods of time would most certainly be in danger, and his partner would absolutely be no exception. In fact, it'd likely be worse for them. They'd likely be targeted to get to him. They could be harassed, they could be kidnapped, they could be killed. All for being by his side. It absolutely terrifies him.

If he's honest, his mind has drifted onto the thought of ending the relationship purely in hopes of ensuring their safety more than once or twice. Of course, he's never followed through on it because as soon as the thought has finished running through his head, he's already thinking about how upset his poor lover would be. He just doesn't have it in him to put them through that. Besides, it took him ages just to muster up the courage to allow himself to be with them. He can't let his worries, even as unfortunately rooted in reality as they were, ruin the relationship he'd just barely given himself the privilege to have.

In the end, all that worrying ends up circling right back into just how affectionate he is. Vash knows that every bit of time he has with them is precious, so he very much intends to make the absolute most of it! Any excuse he can get to hold his beloved, let them kiss him stupid (because let's be real here, he is absolutely the one to get kissed stupid in any relationship he's in), or really anything, so long as it's with them, is one he'll take unquestioningly. All of that is more valuable to him than he can even put into words.

Of course, if that means he has to take a bullet, or maybe a few, to protect them from some gang of knuckleheads after his bounty every once in a while, then he'll do it gladly. Besides, he's got his lovely partner to kiss him better when it's all over, so how could he possibly complain?

[v3nusxsky]

Hey! Can i pls request platonic fem reader x Lady Lesso?? Reader gets a bad panic attack during the night and just starts running until she runs into Lesso. Reader gets a bad flashback and starts hurting herself. Lesso is furious at first and then tries to help.

Sorry it was worded so badly lol but I love your writing 💜🙏

Hello @xx-state-of-mind-xx thank you for the ask and prompt darling. I tried my best with it for you. I appreciate your support my darling I hope this was okay for you ♥️

Internal demons

*Authors note ~ I'm honestly loving these fic prompts, I love that they also soothe you guys as well as myself. Such a joy for me to write and I love hearing from you guys even if it's just an ask or a message to say hi!*

Trigger warning ~ panic attacks, self harm, abuse, flashbacks

Prompt~see the ask

You knew this would happen. It happened every single year. It's always around this time of year. Your brain seemed to cling to this date and force you back into that time. A time where you were a shell of yourself. It was truly heart breaking for you to be flung back into the past, it was as if you were never going to heal from it completely. Deep down a part of you knew your heart would always bare the scars of that time. But you wish you could just forget. But apparently you're not able to.

It was impossible to avoid seeing the date, after all it was plastered all over both schools and the girls in your dormitory had calendars all displaying the date. It seemed to haunt you no matter where you went. And the lack of sleep was clearly getting to you and you were waking up with random marks along various parts of your body with no recollection of how they found their way there. Marks on a Never was certainly not unusual and as far as you knew no one had noticed anything different about you. But little did you know the professor for the school for good had noticed your withdrawn nature and the excessive amount of marks appearing. At first she was sure Lesso had taken you to the Doom room. Nothing too uncommon for her to do with her Nevers, but this many days in a row? It just seemed unfair. And that's how she came to Lady Lesso's office.

Unbeknownst to you, Clarissa and Leonora were having a hearted discussion about you. Leonora protesting her innocence, that you had not visited her Doom room while Clarissa insisting it's the only reason that made any sense and pleading with her to go easier on you. Lesso quickly became frustrated with this. After all she had not truly hurt you at all, and the fact a Never had failed to come to her in their time of need. She truly was not a monster and did not wish to be seen as one. The two women parted ways, equally as confused about the situation but Clarissa knew she couldn't do anymore for you now. All she could do is hope and pray Lesso had heard her pleas.

As for Lady Lesso, she began to pay extra attention to you whenever she spotted you about. It was clear something was going on to cause this strange behaviour, but what could it be? It stumped the fiery head women and she did not like to be at stumped. No, the Dean was typically known to be a few paces ahead of everyone else so this was a rather unusual feeling for her.  That night everything was revealed and she could honestly say, it was something she'd never had even thought of.

You had settled into your dorm that night, trying the same calming routine you always did when your nightmares were flaring. Despite the routine never preventing the dreams from occurring, it did provide a content feeling knowing when you'd undoubtedly wake you'd have everything you need at the bedside. Water, food, stuffed bear that absolutely nobody was allowed to know of and even a blanket. You'd hum the same tune to yourself every night as you drifted off into a restless slumber.

Instantly you are back there again. Back into the very own fiery pits of your personal hell. It was the same every night. The same red room, the same chains he'll even the same scent. It engulfed your tiny frame instantly making you feel the urge to throw up. You knew exactly what would happen, after all it was the same every night, just as it had been back when you were five years old. No matter how hard you attempted to pull yourself from the shadows of the dream world you never could. You had to wait the torment out and only when your brain was ready were you released. The ending was always the same, the room would be engulfed in feisty flames. The very heat of them burning your skin as you lay helplessly chained to the floor. The smell of burning flesh quickly taking over your senses, drowning out your screams of terror.

You bolted upright in your bed, hands frantically gripping at the skin you'd just witnessed be burned. Normally you would be able to calm your breathing with the items by your bedside. But not tonight. No tonight you needed air. To leave. Frantically, you threw your exhausted body from the bed and scrambled to the door. In your state you had forgotten that your feet were bare and you were only covered by a simple onyx nightdress. Your feet continued to carry you mindlessly. You had no clue where you were or even what period of time you were in. Your mind in the throws of flashbacks from that time. His voice taunting you, blaming you a scared little child who had only wanted love. Instead you were starved and chained to the floor at any slight inconvenience you unknowingly created. Hell you would try so hard to be good yet somehow you'd always end up doing something wrong.

The vile words he had spewed at you running rampant around your mind as you began to rip at your skin. You were mirroring a punishment you'd been given unknowingly. Scratching your arms taking chunks of skin away, hitting yourself and even banging your head against the stone walls. All recreating what you were seeing. Once again you had banged your head on the wall as you rounded the corner, the blood tangling itself in your hair. Only you collided with a firm warm body. A natural reaction was to bring your arms to your face in a protective stance. He had found you. How? It didn't matter. You had to protect your face at least, then maybe you could hide the wounds he had created.

Lady Lesso had patrol duty that night, and it was rather dull if she was honest. She longed for someone to be awake and earn themselves a trip to the Doom room, just for some entertainment. However, when she had rounded the corner with a body colliding with her own, her anger flared. Angry words flew from her lips about the insolence and idiocy anyone would have to run into the Dean of Evil. Truly, did they wish for death? All those harsh words soon died out after seeing your bloody and bruised body shaking with uncontrollable terror.

Truth being told you were a state, and if you were in a more rational mindset you'd be embarrassed at such a display of weakness. All you could do is start t rip at the skin on your arms once more and let out a long incoherent line of apologies. You soon enough slid to the ground curling up as small as humanly possible before banging your head once more against the stone. Lesso stood in shock at the display, only then catching sight of your hazy eyes. You weren't in the present that much was obvious. But what were you seeing to cause such a reaction? She quickly thought back to everything she knew of you, turns out it was not much at all. Nothing of use either.

The next move is to stop you hurting yourself and bring you back to the present. She jumped into action pealing your exhausted body from the wall and placing it against her chest as she sat with you between her legs. Obviously, Lesso had absolutely no clue how to help you, everything being done on an impulse, one of her students was seriously hurting and not by her own hand. The way you shrank into yourself recreating the small frame of your younger self. That was the first sign you must have been young, the very sign that had Lesso slipping into a motherly role. "Little one? Darling you can't do that you'll hurt yourself" she murmured to you now pinning your arms to your sides, "can you follow my voice sweet one? I need you to come back to me. I promise whatever you're seeing isn't happening right now. You're safe little one." She whispered hoping to break through your attack and bring you back to earth.

With a massive shudder you rapidly blinked your eyes being forced from the flashback. It took a few seconds for you to adjust. How had you gotten out of the dorm? And who's arms were you now held in? You quickly glanced at your body, seeing where your nails had been furiously ripping your skin. Your head absolutely throbbing like crazy. You brought a hand to the epicentre of the pain only to feel warm liquids. Your blood now covered the tips of your fingers, causing a gasp from you which alerted the older women. "Little one?" She hummed and you froze stiff. You knew that voice. Lady Lesso. You were sat in Lady Lesso's arms, blood all over your body.

The panic must have been evident on your face as she picked you up and carried you to the dorm. After all it was past midnight now and you were only in night attire, you could catch your death out here. After placing you in the bed, the Dean spotted the items on the bedside table, instantly offering them to you which you did take some water and your stuffed bear. A blush adorned your cheeks at her seeing your childhood bear. The only safe constant in your life. Lesso started to clean and sort any damage to your body that you had caused in a comfortable silence. She started a conversation, curious of the bear, "so who is this little one?"

"He's Ems. Had him since I was born" you mumbled embarrassed. "Well hello there Ems, i'm Lady Lesso" she introduced herself to the bear earning a giggle from you. You were expecting her to be cold and harsh and tell you that you had to grow up. No Never should have a stuffed animal. But no here she was caring for you and taking an interest in what made you feel better, if talking to a stuffed animal would help you then that's exactly what she would do. Lady Lesso sat with you until you were tucked up in bed fast asleep with your arms wrapped tightly around Ems. With an innocent kiss to your forehead she left the dorm making a mental note to speak with you tomorrow.

Word count 1891

*Authors note~ I'm not sure if I love this one or not but I tried and had some fun stepping out of my comfort zone*

[dumb-coward]

welp since there isn't really much of a guide out there I'll start one based on what I did. But before all that

A short, hopefully comprehensive guide, to gaslighting your brain to not remember anything

There will be risks if this is the path you really want to take. If you do want hypno amnesia you have to be sure you have safeties within your head to make sure no one is taking your brain hostage from you.

This one was based on my own experiences, it may differ for everyone else how they managed to get their brain to stop recalling how they get hypno amnesia.

I personally had to train myself to forget, there are only a few select times I will remember

I got bored and woke myself up

the person who hypnotize me is bad and now I have to force myself not to forget so I dont interact with them. (This has become a lot more trickier and difficult to deal with... so do be careful if this is the route you truly want)

I got bad vibes after I woke up from trance and now have to slowly remember if something happened while I was under. (this one takes a little while for me too)

Now, for me I always remember I have a lock on my memory once I wake up. You can choose any lock you so prefer. Whenever my brain tries to recall what I did under trance, I will just imagine my lock. I remind myself that the memory is under lock with no key. I should not be looking into it.

You may remember vaguely what happened but you can also just let it slowly drift out. Remind yourself that its not true, you remember nothing from what happened. It may feel like you're cheating... which I sure did. But you have to let your brain know that you remember nothing. Even if bits and pieces of it you do. Pretty much you're gaslighting your brain.

It took a couple weeks (probably about 2 months??) before I would just forget. I would remember clicking on the audio and after I woke up I would already have forgotten what was done.

There is no rush to the training! You cannot force yourself to forget, it may take your brain longer to start actively forgetting.

This trick helps immensely if you listen to a hypno file that asks that you remember to forget.

As long as you remember you have a lock on your memory you're good :3

[koukaaa-descent]

ITELL ME MORE ABOUT BRACKEN AND MASKED QUEER PLATONIC RELATIONSHIP PLEASE. OR DRAW IT . BEGGINF FRIEND I NEED TO SEE .NEED TO KNOW WHAT IS THEIR DYNAMIC TELL ME HOW THEY FEEL

(CAN I ASK WHOS FRONTING I NEED TO FROTH ABOUT THIS AND USE THE RIGHT REFERRAL )

Everythjgn... Beneath The Cut. Prepare Thyself.

Both are dead. Both are alive. Both can die, and both are immortal. (holdon I need to write this in story format or else nothing I Mean will come across.,) (tgis was written in one sitting while my brain was mush I Hope that explains. Things)

The corpse is beautiful. The body is warm in its lap, the thick material of the Mask's host's covering hardly disguising the shifting of flesh beneath. An intricate man-made second skin. It does not yet know what to do with the face peering up at it.

There is light, drifting through the ceiling. It catches on the edges of the Mask, stark and wonderful. It curls a hand around infinitely fragile flesh, heedless to the rustle of its own foliage as it dares to settle into this place, where it fits as perfectly as it always has. A human hand reaches up and cradles its jaw, its clumsy thumb gliding smoothly over the edge of its beak. It could open its jaws and do something terrible. It does not.

Time is impossibly long. It is also impossibly short. It has been a mere two weeks, and, already, the Mask is falling apart yet again. The sickly scent of rot is more than welcome by this point. It has known the other and has kept its corpses for long enough to desire such vile things, seeking the scent of rot whenever it is lost in the winding, empty halls. A home to return to.

Another stroke. The Mask accidentally pierces itself with the tip of its beak. Blood spills, thick and black. Beautiful. It cranes its head downward, gently shaking the curious, bleeding hand away. The hand settles, instead, in the soft foliage just beginning to grow around the width of its shoulders. A hitched sound, soft and gurgling. A sharp clatter of delight, the Mask trembling around the edges in its tired wonder, despite this being nothing new to it. The hard material of its beak clicks against the white surface of the Mask, lightly tapping against it. Affection, soft and warm. Foreign. The glow of its eyes reflects back at itself.

It is going to die. The Mask, too, is going to die. They are both going to die. Luck will not last forever; one day, the Mask will be found by another, and it will lose the other forever. One day, it itself will meet its own fate, by either blade or bullets. Hiding away as they both do now is the only respite. They can not hide forever.

Warmth. Warmth against the soft expanse of its bared throat. A hand—the Mask's hand—gentle. Gentle. It is a wonder that a rotting thing remembers tenderness.

-

It stares up at its monster. The body fires slow, delayed responses, nerves trembling before the enormous thing, instinctually still beneath stark white eyes. The fear devours the body, strange and dissonant. The Mask smiles, smiles, and smiles, partly because it is all it can do. Mostly because it is what it wants to do.

Its creature is gentle. It has to be. Otherwise, the Mask's host will crumble and fall apart beneath its claws. They two have done this a thousand times before. One is always dying in the arms of the other. Only one is lucky enough to live past death. It is so happy; it has its head in its oldest friend's lap. To die with it is a gift.

A hand, softened with decay, frail against the monster's throat. Its monster is warm. It is comforting.

A foreign thought. Five more minutes. But five minutes is hardly enough. It will never be enough.

The tips of the monster's claws hook carefully beneath the edges of the Mask, familiar with this routine. It's smiling. It's glad.

It is pulled from its host. It goes willingly. The host's hand sags away from its beasts throat.

Then, after drawling moments of lingering wakefulness spent impossibly warm within large, clawed hands; a dream.

It is a very lovely dream. In it, its monster holds it close, forever and ever. Until the end of time, until it is devoured by death. Until it, too, falls asleep, and dreams a very lovely dream.

(In it, it is holding the Mask, bathed in sunlight. The dream goes on and into an eternity that the eye can not see.)

[seiya-starsniper]

Smay Day 2 - piercings | "Meet me later."

Apparently, I no longer know the meaning of the word drabble @staroftheendless, because I accidentally started a whole fic 😂

I present to you all, retired!Dream/Murphy with a tongue piercing. At least it's under 1k words?

Murphy is sitting at his favorite spot at the bar when Hob starts his shift at The New Inn.

Hob can’t help but grin at seeing his old friend. He is more relaxed now, more human, than the last time Hob had seen him. 

It’s been almost five years since Dream of the Endless had nearly ended his life, had at the last moment, chosen instead to become human, to become Murphy. Each time Hob sees him, he seems more alive and vibrant than he had ever been in previous centuries.

They trade small talk easily, Murphy updating him on his whereabouts the last few months, Hob providing updates to his classes and new renovations to the Inn. There is an easy camaraderie between them, and even when the bar gets busy, Hob always finds himself drifting back to his old friend.

Murphy is in the middle of telling a story when a glint catches Hob’s eyes, and Hob has to do a double take to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

All those stories, and Murphy had failed to update Hob that he had apparently gotten a tongue piercing.

Hob’s brain stops processing anything once he notices it. All he can focus on really is the slight clink of the piercing against the glass whenever Murphy drinks, the way it peeks out ever so slightly when he licks the wine from his lips.

“Hob,” Murphy interrupts his thoughts, drawing out the vowel in his name. There’s a bit of mischief in his expression. “While I may no longer be able to perceive your daydreams, it is not difficult to parse your thoughts.”

Hob tries to appear nonplussed but it's difficult to think over the roaring in his ears.

“You look at me the same way others have,” Murphy continues, flicking his tongue out and swirling it around the glass. “The same as the man who gave me this,” he adds, sticking his tongue out fully for Hob to appreciate. “Right before I wrapped my lips around his -”

“All right, that’s enough out of you,” Hob says. Murphy’s made it pretty obvious what he’s looking for tonight, and Hob. Well, Hob’s not an idiot. He’d be a fool to turn Murphy down.

He ignores the little voice in his head that tells him he would give Murphy the world if he could.

When Hob has a free moment, he slides a key towards Murphy, who takes it in hand and nods.

“I have a few more hours in my shift,” Hob explains. “But meet me later upstairs. I assume you remember the way to my flat?”

Murphy’s grin is predatory as he stands and makes his way to the back exit of The New Inn, to where Hob knows he’ll find the side entrance to the flat. 

Hob sighs. It was going to be a long night.

—

Imagining Murphy’s lips wrapped around his cock had been one thing, actually experiencing the cool metal of the man’s tongue piercing was something else entirely. 

“Fuck, you’re too good at that,” Hob moans, barely keeping himself from thrusting into Murphy’s mouth. 

Murphy’s eyes flit up to Hob’s, and it’s all the warning he gets before his friend swallows him down all the way to the hilt.

“Fuck!” Hob cries, and this time, he does thrust up into Murphy’s mouth. Murphy gags on the motion, but he doesn’t stop bobbing his head up and down the length of Hob’s cock. Hob can feel the brush of the tongue piercing as it moves in tandem with Murphy’s mouth and if he doesn’t stop the other man soon, the night is going to end far sooner than either of them wants.

Hob threads a hand through Murphy’s hair and when Murphy moans, Hob nearly comes then and there. He gently pulls the other man off his cock, then pulls him up into his lap.

“You’re a menace,” Hob breathes, pulling Murphy in for a kiss. He tastes of sweat and precome, and Hob groans when his tongue brushes against the metal ball on Murphy’s tongue.

Murphy grins against Hob’s mouth. “You enjoy this new addition quite a bit,” he says, then drags his tongue along Hob’s cheek. Hob doesn’t even bother trying to hide the full body shudder it causes. 

“I do,” Hob replies. “I don’t suppose you have any other fun new additions on the rest of your body?”

Murphy shakes his head. “Not yet. But, I could be persuaded.”

[natalie-alkaline-6]

The kind of demiromantic I am messes with my head sometimes.

Something in my brain likes to cross platonic and romantic attraction, so once I consider someone to be a friend there’s about a 50/50 chance of me becoming affectionate for them, with said affection continuing until either I tell them or I crush the affection down and lock it away, assuming the we don’t just drift apart naturally. Whether if they don’t reciprocate it, then while I will have some romantic interest in them for a time after eventually it does get buried under seeing them as simply a friend.

The kind of demiromantic I am sometimes makes me doubt that I am.

My romantic affections tend to develop quicker than I would assume “normal” for being demiromantic. I often feel that I need to justify myself to myself, explaining to myself that, yes, these romantic affections aren’t being targeted towards random people, and that they’re being towards people I would call a friend and have known for months now. Sometimes I wonder if I would be developing affections slower if I didn’t feel so romantically lonely.

The kind of demiromantic I am makes admitting affections harder.

It often feels that due to how quickly I develop affections that there’s no way the person they’re for would feel them back, and that makes it harder to admit to them that I’m feeling romantic affection towards them, and makes me worried of possibly ruining my friendship with them by telling them. And if I do work up the courage to tell them, and it isn’t reciprocated, it just makes it harder to admit it to the next person I’m feeling affectionate for. It makes me feel like a coward for not being able to tell anyone.

The kind of demiromantic I am makes me feel distant.

Whenever a conversation becomes about people loving their romantic partners, it will make me feel hurt. And when I’m feeling hurt by it, I’ll disappear from the conversation. After all, I don’t want to bother everyone else with my own issues when they’re talking about someone who makes them happy and loved, especially when it’s because of me not having someone who makes me feel happy and loved. And so, I disappear, and feel like I’m distancing myself from everyone else because I’m a coward.

The kind of demiromantic I am makes me hurt.

Even now, there’s people I have crushes on that I just can’t admit thanks to the worry of ruining our burgeoning friendships. And it’s hard to crush those affections down. I have no idea if they would want me to crush those affections down, reciprocated or not. Right now, the stress of life has been getting to me, making the pain of all this feel all the worse by not having someone close to talk to it about, all while wondering if the reason I have no one close is because I’m too much of a coward to tell anyone, making the stress and anxiety of everything worse, causing a spiral of pain that I don’t know how to escape, unsure of whether or not I am right or wrong to blame myself.

[ramayantika]

Hi i had a book idea once for Satybhama. The wip has been abandoned since 2021 but here you go. I wrote this in 2021.

The Great War is over. My husband, Krishna, has left the earth. Dwarka has sunk, and my sons and grandsons have perished in the civil war. Some of my sister queens have jumped into the fire and the rest have busied themselves in meditation in various corners of this forest where I live. I can’t find them though.

Tall trees and thick bushes are the only things my eyes can see around. There is absolutely no human living beside me or in my vicinity. Here, the only edible items are fruits and tubers, which taste heavenly. Some years before, I would have grimaced at the mere thought of living on fruits in a forest due to my upbringing and royal status. It never fails to amaze me how time changes everything. A city once ruled by a tyrant is brought down and a city built by the finest of architects gets submerged under a sea getting lost to time and history forever. Time is indeed the ultimate killer. No one can escape it.

I am currently sitting under a Neelmohar tree. Maybe it is their growing season, for the tree is filled with purple flowers. Many of them are lying near my feet. I pick one and gently rub my thumb across one of its petals. The colour reminds me of my purple saree, which Krishna had gifted me, and the flower’s softness reminds me of the saree’s beautiful texture. The saree must be in the seabed now, drifting along the sea-waves. Bhadra loved that saree and would shower me with compliments whenever I wore it.

Dwarka — my second home, where I have spent almost all my life, now lies under the sea, hidden from sight. The once tall buildings where I once walked, the beautiful gardens where Krishna and I spent some lovely times, the archery room which Krishna had specifically built for me, everything now exists in my brain like an old dream. I do not remember how much time has passed since Krishna’s death and the submerging of Dwarka. All the time that I have spent in this forest has been devoted to contemplation about my life.

What is there to contemplate about my life? Do I contemplate about the riches I was brought up with? Do I think about the domestic tensions of my household? Do I wonder about the coming Kali Yuga?

There is so much to think about. What did I do in my life? What will happen once my soul leaves my body? Will someone mourn for me? Will I find Krishna smiling with his perfect rosy lips and pearly teeth in the afterlife? Is there even something beyond death? Wise men say that death is not the end, is it not? These are philosophical questions that Krishna would have answered had he been with me here. Now as I am talking to you, I wonder about my memories which appear in front of my eyes as if belonging to an old dream.

I see my childhood self, running on the corridors of my father’s home with my friends. The scene changes where I find myself aged a little older — I am probably fifteen there, I think. There is a bow in my hand and I am assessing the target ahead. Once again, the scene changes and I can see a marriage ceremony followed by the war and the end of Dwarka. But memories resurface again as if asking to look beyond the mundane. I can hear a voice inside me, whispering, ‘There is more to your story; you must go through it all.’

Now I see something else. There is my father’s house standing tall and proud, and a little girl is playing in the mud while looking at the flower bushes in wonder. I see my mother in a temple where I ask about the goddess Durga. My childhood memory flutters away and my teenaged form arrives. I am young, curious and hot-headed. I am travelling alone in Mathura where I see the exact condition of the people residing. It is pathetic. I see myself now as a wedded woman in the kitchen chatting happily with my sister queens about the day. Now I see my lord, my Krishna, putting flowers in my hair while we talk about the sea. He says, ‘Water when demure nourishes the land, bringing us delight and when water turns wild and frightening, it shall engulf all leaving not even remains behind.’

I realize everything. My life’s story does not start with archery, nor does it end with Dwarka. It starts with me being a curious child trying to understand nature and men, and my story is still incomplete.

“Who am I, mother?” I had raised this question once when I stared into a mirror for a long time, finding my reflection slightly different. I realize I never found the answer.

Who am I now? Who shall answer me?

My mother once told me that there are some questions whose answers lie within our hearts. One must introspect over it and they shall find the answer that has been hiding in their heart all along.

I can feel my heartbeat quicken its pace. My mind is busy with its chain of memories arranging themselves haphazardly. Each incident whispers its lessons to my ears and I feel overwhelmed. I want to share my thoughts with someone. Do you want to listen to me?

I will cease to exist after some time. Historians, poets, and scribes will write stories about me that will be read and heard by people across the world. Fame isn’t my concern nor my desire, for I have had a good share of it. The only thing that concerns me is will the Satyabhama in their scripts be me? How much of my life will they write about? What will they include and exclude? How much of my actions will be overdramatized if by any chance someone gains enough liberty to do so? My life story can even turn into a mythical story, and only I would know that I once existed in bones and muscles.

So before you read and hear about me, I want you to hear me speak about my life, Satyabhama’s life. Here, I promise you that I shall present my story with complete honesty. Satyabhama is my name, which means ‘beaming with truth.’ I promise to be true to myself and you.

Would you like to hear?

This is how it begins…

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