#and original fiction snippets

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I was going to make a poll to ask if I should resume WIP Wednesdays despite whatever I’m working on, and then answered my own damn question. Because I’m an adult and this is a multi-fandom blog and I’m writing things that make me happy and I want to share with my followers so... it’s that simple, right?

Right.

[the-modern-typewriter]

In a recent post you said most of us weren't here for vampires but I beg to differ; your vampire snippets are literally enthralling. If you're in the mood to write another one, here's an excuse for you to do so (pls they're so good-), preferably with an enemies to lover vibe? Who doesn't love a little dramatic tension, right? Thank you!~

"Don't turn around."

The human paused, heart slamming in their chest at the voice. The hall of mirrors was eerie around them, all shadows and neon and flashing lights and distorted glass that offered them no sign of the vampire behind them. After a beat, the hunter kept walking, gaze trained to the wall of mirrors lining the left.

Somewhere, in the distance, they could hear screaming. It was difficult to tell if the sounds were horror or delight.

"What happens if I turn around?" the human asked.

"I'll have to kill you, and neither of us wants that."

"I'm a hunter. I'm pretty sure we both want that fight. Kinda how it goes, you know?"

Yet, the hunter didn't turn around. They had a weapon on them, of course, because they always had a weapon on them. But they hadn't come to the fairground to wage battle against terrible evil. The night was supposed to have been a fun one, candy-floss sticky and sweet with first kisses. A stupid lump wedged in their throat. They hastily wiped the remnant tears from their eyes.

They felt the vampire move next to them, though they heard no steps and felt no breath. Only the slight emanating chill of the undead. Despite themselves, despite knowing better, they searched the glass for any sign. There was nothing.

"What do you want?" the hunter demanded.

"What do you want, coming here?"

"I didn't know this was vampire territory."

"I suppose you are just a baby hunter. How old are? Sixteen?"

"Seventeen," the hunter snapped.

The vampire chuckled. "Seventeen," they echoed. Musing. There was something in their voice that the hunter couldn't quite read.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

The hunter rolled their eyes. They supposed they should have been terrified - on any other day they would have been. They hadn't technically done their first solo hunt yet and even one vampire was not a creature to be taken lightly. Everything in their head was too loud for terror. Too raw.

"Is it the girl you liked, or the boy?" the vampire asked.

"Excuse me?"

"The boy and the girl who were kissing here, not long ago. That you saw. I saw you see them. You looked like you'd been staked through the heart. Which is the one you liked?"

The hunter whirled, furious. They caught a blur of movement before an icy hand clamped over their eyes, slamming them back against the glass hard enough to knock the breath out of them. They were surprised the mirror didn't shatter. Their head throbbed and a low whine of pain slipped free of their throat. The vampire caught their wrist before they'd finished reaching for a weapon, grinding that into the glass behind them too.

"I said," the vampire's lips pressed against their ear, voice a sudden lethal hiss, "don't turn around."

"And I don't take orders from vampires!"

"Touchy subject, was it?" The vampire's grip tightened hard enough to hurt.

"If you're going to kill me, just kill me!"

The vampire was silent, at that. They did not retreat, but their grip eased enough to be only iron instead of something painful. Their body felt hard and lean and strong against the hunter's. Dangerous and gorgeous. Nothing like the gentle wholesomeness of-

"The boy," the hunter said. "Eddie."

"Eddie. And you are?"

"Fuck off, leech."

"You're hot," the vampire said. "Eddie's an idiot."

It startled the hunter enough that the venom died on their tongue and their mouth dried. They'd expected - well, anything but that perhaps. They would have gaped at the vampire if they could see past the press of darkness over their eyes. They were sure their jaw dropped.

Hot. A vampire had just called them hot. Maybe they had concussion. A shiver ran down their spine.

"Want me to kill her for you?" the vampire asked, conspiratorial. "Bet I could make it look like an accident."

"No! She's my friend."

"Some friend. Want me to kiss you?"

The hunter - the hunter had absolutely no idea what to say to that. Well. They knew what they were supposed to say. No. Nada. Absolutely not. Vampires were vampires, and the only acceptable way to deal with them was to stake them.

The vampire chuckled again, presumably at their expression. They pressed a kiss to the hunter's throat, above their jugular. The hunter's breath hitched anew.

"God, you're so angry and so hurt," the vampire said. "I want to eat your heart. You're gorgeous. You can cry again if you like, I won't mind. I won't judge."

Vampires, their parents always said, craved life. It was why they were found so often in bars, or fairgrounds, or the other high points of the night. It wasn't just hunting. They were drawn to the sound, and the vibrancy, like ravenous ghosts clawing at the wounds of the world.

Somehow, it made the hunter feel less pathetic. For all those chuckles, it felt a bit like power. They could only imagine what their parents would say to that. No doubt they would berate the hunter for their unforgivable stupidity, because vampires killed hunters and hunters killed vampires and if the fairground was actually a travelling coven then -

"Do you want to kiss me?" the hunter asked.

"Yeah."

"That's embarrassing for you."

The vampire scoffed.

"And crying alone in a funhouse over some boy who doesn't even know vampires exist is cool?"

"I thought you weren't judging."

"Vampires are all shameless liars. Didn't your parents teach you that?"

Despite themselves, the hunter snorted.

"It's because you're not normal," the vampire said, in a different voice. Quieter. Suddenly serious. "Not like them. Can't do the things they do, because you're too busy stuck trying to slaughter the likes of me. Eddie's normal. Safe."

The hunter swallowed.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," the vampire echoed once more.

The vampire kissed them then, or maybe it was the hunter that started it, but it was clumsy and shockingly gentle and good and definitely the dumbest thing that the hunter had ever done. But they weren't thinking about Eddie anymore. It was impossible to think about Eddie with that cold perfect mouth and the adrenaline searing heat through the hunter's body. Every instinct in their body screamed danger and it was the most glorious distraction from heartbreak.

Their body arched against the glass, pressing foolishly closer.

They were left panting.

Then the vampire kissed them again, and it was a little less clumsy, more claiming, like the vampire was learning how to do it. Like maybe they'd never kissed anyone either. Like maybe they really were seventeen, and had thought their life would all work out differently.

"Next time," the vampire said, and nipped their lip just enough to draw blood. "Don't turn around. I've gotta go."

They shoved the hunter away, and - the hunter wasn't sure if they were left alone with the empty reflections, because they didn't turn. They looked at themselves, all dark eyes and hurt and confusion, in the glass.

All hunger.

They smiled, wiping their own blood from their lip.

They did look hot, actually.

For at least a moment, they walked out of the hall of mirrors feeling better than before.

[poemswithouthomes]

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

“But I don’t understand,” said Sidekick to Hero, dramatically looming over the roofs on the city. “That business is supposed to be simple, right? Heroes good, Villains bad, Heroes go smash on Villains, boom, job done. What’s so hard to get?”

Hero took a break from taking a pose to stretch a bit. Not that it mattered, as it was night now. The cold had settled. They sneezed before answering:

“That’s how our publicity goes, yes. In reality, it’s a bit more complicated. You have to wait it out before acting.”

“But won’t that let innocents hurt while you’re thinking it over?”

“Trust me, I’ve been there a long time. Ah, there. That’s what I wanted you to see.”

They tended their chin towards the street, where a person in a suit at a bus stop. Two hours earlier, Hero and Sidekick had said to them that the bus wasn’t passing through that day. Citizen had smiled and thanked them, but they’d stayed just where they were. They’d looked tired, but not in distress in any way.

And now, a menacing shadow was lurking in the same street. Sidekick nervously glanced at Hero, who held them gently but firmly back. A villain with a silver cape was gliding solemnly in the frail light of the streetlamps, advancing slowly but surely at the citizen who didn’t move, probably paralyzed by fear.

“Now now, what have we here?”

Citizen stood up, just in time to find themselves between the wall and Villain, who purred:

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone? And my, aren’t you pretty.”

“I- I’m just back from work-”

“Darling, you work too much. I think it’s time you get a little rest, don’t you?”

With a gloved hand, Villain invited Citizen to follow them, and they did, eyes fixed on the ground. Sidekick looked at Hero with insistence, but their boss was busy fumbling in their pockets.

“You know what I hate most about this job? This suit doesn’t have enough pockets. I can’t tell you how much I had to fight Designer to get a jacket where I could put actual things – but then you have too many pockets, and you can’t find anything. Nothing is ever perfect. Ah, there you go.”

Sidekick looked at them hopefully, but instead of some shiny gadget that would have solved everything, Hero pulled out a handkerchief.

“Nights get colder and colder, have you noticed ?” they asked before blowing their nose.

“Did I-We’re in winter, of course nights get cold! Have you noticed that someone got kidnapped right under our noses?”

“I have.”

Hero pulled out a watch this time:

“Let’s check on them in two hours.”

“How?”

“By going to Villain’s lair, of course. It takes a while to go there.”

“Wh- You know where he’s hiding?”

“Of course.”

*

Villain’s lair was not exactly hard to miss. It was a mansion that looked quite new, despite its Victorian architecture. Sidekick renounced to count every window after a while.

“And people have trouble paying rent”, they grumbled through their teeth.

“Yeah...”sighed Hero. “Let’s go in.”

“By which window?”

“It’s the middle of the night, and it’s full of people. Let’s not disturb them.”

“The Henchmen?”

“The people who were kidnapped, kiddo, pay attention.”

“If they’re sleeping. If they’re alive.”

“My point is, let’s try the door.”

“You know, I thought you were going to say that by this point,” grumbled Sidekick.

Hero smiled and pushed slightly the heavy door that wasn’t locked. As silently as possible, they slipped through the main corridor.

“You have guts, I’ll give you that,” they heard Villain say in another room.

“But I know nothing about Hero, I swear!” answered a little voice that sounded more shy than terrified.

“Your loyalty is as striking as your beauty, I see. Very well...let’s see if a stay here will make you talk.”

With a laugh that would have been admitted in the most high of societies, Villain closed the door. Hero sniffed and waved a little. Villain raised an eyebrow, glanced at Sidekick, and asked:

“Are the streets so empty that you’re coming to arrest me?”

The other one struck a heroic pose in answer, plunging forward with their fist held out, making their cape fly, and stood still so Villain could pump their fist with theirs.

“Nah, idiot, I wanted to present to you my new Sidekick.”

Said Sidekick was looking more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

“Hi”, they said flatly. “I don’t understand or like any of this. Can someone explain?”

“I didn’t get it either at first,” said Hero, opening slightly another door. “But look for yourself.”

Sidekick peeked. Another Citizen was sleeping soundly in a huge canopy bed. The room was huge and spotless, with a library and a television. Nestled in the center of all that luxury, Citizen had the little smile of someone getting the sleep they had needed for years.

“But a kidnapping is still a kidnapping,” whispered Sidekick. “Even in a nice room.”

“None of the doors are closed,” pointed Villain. “You see, I became what I became because I couldn’t cope with my daily life. So now I do what I’d have wanted before. Someone taking me away and let me rest without having to feel guilty. They’re kidnapped, so they’re forced to do what they want.”

“That’s what happened", confirmed Hero. “I checked. Multiple times. Say Villain, do you have some tea left?”

“I'll see what I can do.”

Villain led the way in the corridor, while the two others followed through.

“Do you understand, Sidekick?” asked Hero softly. “You have to get the story first. They are a lot of Villains in this town, but some of them are just like this weirdo.”

“I think you’re all insane.”

“Ah, now you’re learning.”

*

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist

[instructionsnotincluded]

Can we get a snippet of JJ interrupting them? 👀

We can have that 😉

Read Wild Winds here!

18+ MDNI | Language, shower sex, smut, sex interrupted.

Logan slipped her fingers into Rafe’s hair, forehead pressed to his as they kissed slowly. The steam from the shower filled the small room, and Logan was so thankful for the window shedding just a little light into the bathroom, making three thirty in the afternoon feel a little more romantic than it normally did. Rafe’s fingers spread along her spine and Logan arched into him, breasts pressing lightly into his chest, the hard metal of her piercing contrasting with her soft skin as he deepened the kiss, inhaling sharply through her nose when she gently nudged him with her knee. 

“Ever done it in the shower?”

Rafe nodded, lifting a hand to slide along the base of her throat as she felt the shower wall against her back, a slow moan slipping from her mouth as he squeezed gently, thumb pressing to the middle of her throat. “Could kiss you all day.”

“Please,” Logan breathed against his lips and Rafe groaned, hand flattening out along her back and running along the curve of her spine until he was able to palm the fleshy part of her ass. Water droplets stuck to their eyelashes and Logan lifted a hand to brush some of his hair away from his forehead, her lips grazing his jawline.

She drug her hands down his chest, her gaze following their path as she teased his nipples, eyes shooting to his face to see his reaction before drifting lower, feeling the fine hair below his navel that traveled south. He was hard against her hip, begging for attention and she gave it to him willingly, fingers circling his length before her thumb brushed across his tip, Rafe’s head tilting back breathlessly as she teased him. “I’m so hard, Lo…”

“I know you are,” Logan stroked him slowly, teasingly, as she pressed a light kiss to his collarbones, “you’ve been so patient today.” He nodded, swallowing thickly as she increased the speed and pressure, her own eyes flickering down to see him reddening further, his smooth head just begging for a kiss, “Have you been good, Rafe?”

Rafe’s hips jolted as she cupped his balls and he groaned, arm sliding around her to pull her closer, mouth connecting with her own as he kissed her senselessly. His other hand gently lifted her leg up, locking it along the crease of his elbow before he wrapped his other hand around hers and Logan gasped when he brushed the space between her legs, her body calling to his as he teased her, coating himself in her before he slipped inside. 

The stretch was good at this angle, her head falling back against the shower wall as Rafe eased his way inside of her, his lips attaching to her ear as she adjusted to the size and position, squeezing him tightly to let him know just how much she was enjoying it. “Let me in, baby,” Rafe begged, hips pausing, “you’re so tight.”

Logan closed her eyes, mouth opening to kiss him just as a loud noise sounded from somewhere inside the house, both of them tensing immediately. However, before they were able to respond to the noise or move, another loud sound came from the closed bathroom door. “Let me in!”

JJ sounded just a little frantic and Logan had to shake her head to try to clear it, unsure how to respond with Rafe seated so deep inside of her, filling her so well. “What…?”

“Let me in,” JJ knocked again, “I gotta take a piss. Open the door.”

“I’m literally in the shower!” Logan pressed her forehead to Rafe’s shoulder to muffle her moan as Rafe nudged that spot he loved to tease, “Wait like…twenty minutes.”

Rafe snorted into her neck and Logan drug her hand up his stomach and around his hip, squeezing his ass warningly, her mind briefly drifting to how firm it was as he smiled knowingly down at her. 

“Lo-gan!” JJ whined, “I gotta go and we’re in a hurry!”

“We?” Logan’s voice reached a higher octave as Rafe snapped his hips and she squeezed her eyes closed, a soft pant leaving her mouth as the bathroom door opened. Logan gasped, gripping Rafe’s shoulders as she whipped her head in the direction of the door, glad that they were hidden by the green opaque shower curtain, “What the fuck, JJ?!”

“I gotta piss!” The toilet seat landed loudly against the porcelain tank and the sound of JJ Maybank peeing filled the room next, Logan squeezing her eyes closed, both angry and mortified she was in this situation right now. “It’ll take like three seconds! Relax.”

Rafe’s body vibrated with silent laughter and Logan only rolled her eyes, her body begging her to move, too full with Rafe to think straight. He seemed to read her thoughts or feel the same way, Rafe slowly moving, Logan shaking her head to keep from crying out when he did. She clutched him to her, nails digging into his back to keep him from moving further as she waited for JJ to finish buttoning his shorts, the toilet flushing a moment later, sending freezing cold water through the pipes. Her boyfriend, in all his Kook experience, had clearly never had this happen before, jumping enough that Logan had to knock the shampoo bottle over to keep his startled hiss from being heard by their intruder.

[bodhrancomedy]

Every Friday I do a snippet. This is next Friday’s choice!

Last Friday’s Winner!

A Doomed Company of Squires

The dust choked her in the aftermath of the hail of ice and stone, cobweb-threads of grass tangling in her eyelashes.

Ezrah raised her hand as if she could bat away the remains of a mountain by will alone, blinking away the emerald aftershock of her master’s spell.

The sun had returned, and the monsters were dead.

But, as her vision sharpened and she pushed herself up on shaking limbs, Ezrah saw that the last screamed warning from her fellow squire had been terribly, horrible prophetic.

“It ’s too unstable!”

Nobody had moved, but she was now alone.

[unforgivenn]

hii y'all. Soo this idea has been in my mind for like so fucking long aaanddd I can't just let it be. >.<

So basically when people turn a certain age depending on their social status they're classified either as humans or livestock. The system is pretty fucked up. Those labelled as livestock lose all their human rights because, apparently, they don't deserve them.

Parents disown their kids not able to fully believe that they'd just been rearing livestock this whole time. It's heartbreaking for their children to hear this. They're still the same person!! Their life can't change just because of a single document!!

These people or if you can even call them that anymore, are classified into many different categories like workers, pets and experimental subjects by going through a test. Or if they deem out too useless, they're turned to meat. (haha yes, I'm being serious T_T)

People with high social status live in luxury, while those at the bottom suffer terribly. Since these people are no longer considered human, it doesn't matter what happens to them. They can be tortured, raped, or killed, and no one would care. They still have feelings, but in this society, that doesn't matter at all. It's a world where the rich have all the power.

Should I turn this into a story? ^^

LINK TO THE STORY

[leechjuice]

have u given your cannibalistic butch gf a knife haircut today?

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Mind Games

New story who diiisss. Anyway, thank you to @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 for the whole idea of this story! Hero x detective for a twist.

TW: Blood, stabbing, knife, mentioned murder, kidnapping, restraints, blindfold, mentioned drugging, male whump

Waking up blindfolded and bound to a chair wasn't exactly a novelty for the hero, but that didn't make it any less irritating. There was something about the forced ignorance a blindfold subjected you to that got on the hero's nerves and blew fuses in his brain.

The patter of footsteps on a parquet floor rang in the hero's ears, and he could already sense his mystery assailant get near him and flick him on the head like a disobedient child.

"You up, sunshine?" Detective's sharp voice called out.

The rough grunt he gave seemed to be enough of a response, and the detective removed the blindfold from around his head.

The light seemed to assault his eyes, too bright and cold and violent, and the hero let out a soft cuss. "Do you make a habit out of kidnapping people and tying them up in your basement, detective?" he questioned irritably, his eyes half-screwed shut.

The detective, immaculate as ever, wearing a goddamn three-piece suit in his own house, gave out a soft, but unsettling laugh, leaving his lips in a tight smile that was all teeth. "No, Hero. But you already know why you're here, don't you? Because I know you think playing dumb might save you, but I'm here to tell you it won't," he growled, baring his teeth.

The detective was never a particularly pleasant human being, dryer than a desert more often than not, but he was always calm, like no problem in the world could even sour his mood. So to see him already lash out, even this slightly told the hero that even with him tied up and possibly drugged with how groggy he was feeling, the detective probably saw him as a threat.

Shame he'd have to play another set of cards to win the game.

"Alright," the hero said calmly, fixing the other man with a piercing look, "if we're agreeing neither of us is here to screw around, then how about you cut to the chase. You don't seem like the 'pace and around the room and monologue' type of guy," he reasoned, an easy smile on his face.

Maybe he wasn't feigning oblivion anymore, but he wasn't giving the detective the satisfaction of feeling like he was scaring him.

The detective made a scoffing noise, reaching into his pocket to pull out a switchblade. "Maybe you'll learn to smile less at the wrong times, asshole," he spat as he unfurled the blade, looking eerily calm, nothing behind the whirpools of black that were his eyes.

"You're going to talk. Answer all my questions properly. And if you don't, I think even you are not dumb enough to not be able to guess what's going to happen."

The knife really didn't faze the hero the way it should. Sure, it left him uneasy, sharp and disturbingly pristine. But he'd been roughed up before one too many times, so he knew to some extent how this stuff worked.

The hardest part was selling his act.

"How did you find out it was me?" the detective started, pulling up another chair and carelessly throwing one leg over the other.

"I'm good at what I do," the hero shrugged, his face blank. But he couldn't help wincing as the detective grazed his thigh with the knife, his body already tormented enough with his ridiculously cramped muscles.

Nothing he couldn't handle, anyway.

"The evidence. What lead you to me?" Detective tried again, the blade still in his hand with Hero's fresh blood snaking down it.

"Does it matter? I figured you out anyways," the hero supplied listlessly, his gaze languid and half-lidded.

The detective stabbed harder this time, twisting the knife in the hero's shoulder and forcing a snarl out of him. He truly wasn't sure for how long he could keep playing the defiant card, the pain blooming across his shoulder and even down to his arm as the detective snatched the knife out just as fast as he'd put it in.

If he could incinerate the detective by staring at him wrong, he seriously would've. Instead he grit his teeth and tried to ignore his throbbing shoulder, looking up at the detective, irritated.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat right now." The detective's voice seemed a little too relaxed for comfort, the dirty switchblade now resting on the hero's jugular. The hero was no longer even slightly surprised the other man was a criminal.

It took an insurmountable amount of self-restraint to keep his lips from curving into a self-satisfied grin. Sure, it wasn't very believable if an agency-trained hero crumbled under a few stabs, but death was a reasonable enough fear for even someone as formidable as him. Nevermind that the wide eyes and the harsh bite of the lips were actually fake.

"W-wait. There's no point of you killing me. Not without finding out what you need to know. And do you really need anymore blood on your hands?" the hero breathed out, a little desperation sprinkled into his tone.

The detective looked almost lost in thought, until something wicked burned a fire in his eyes for just a moment. "You only get one chance, Hero. Don't waste it," he drawled lazily, pulling the knife away and twirling it elegantly with one hand.

The hero nodded gratefully, readying himself to lie through his teeth. "When you said the victim had died of asphyxiation, even before you were granted access to the autopsy report."

The detective's brow furrowed and his lips were pulled into a tight frown. "I never said he died of asphyxiation, he died of mercury poisoning."

"Bingo," the hero, his hands now free of their bonds, crooned, as he used the detective's momentary surprise as a distraction, pulling the knife out of his hand and using it to cut through the ropes around his legs.

Say something wrong about a subject and your target will rush to correct you. A surprisingly effective trick as the hero had come to learn.

The detective's face twisted into an expression of pure, unbridled fury as he tried to wrench the knife out of the hero's hand, but he dodged, quick on his feet much to the other man's chagrin.

Hero had to give him credit, the man was almost nearly impossible to stab, parrying the crime-fighter's attacks with calm, stable, maybe even clever moves, so much so that all he'd managed to do was lightly nick him with the blade.

But with all his focus on blocking, he hadn't even noticed that all the hero's fighting had backed him into a corner until too late, until thr crime-stopper's leg had slammed him into the wall with a painful kick, and the knife's cold edge had bit into his skin.

"Don't. Move."

The detective was breathing hard, practically paralysed by the knife and the glint of warning in his enemy's eyes. His face burned with the shame and humiliation of being frozen in place, his own weapon at his neck.

"How d-did. . .you find out it was me?" the detective panted, voice desperate.

It was the hero's turn to smile wickedly. "On the day of the victim's death, he got a visit from his doctor. I searched the trash and found a broken thermometer. It was pretty clear from the bruising on the poor bastard's face the killer was left-handed. The doctor you paid off that I interviewed was right-handed. To test out my theory, I told the doctor I was taking him to prison for the murder, and his tongue might've just slipped too much for your hush money to fix it."

And with that, the hero knocked him out with a punch to the jaw, dragging the other's body and praying desperately the adrenaline would keep the pain in his shoulder at bay until he got out of here at least.

Some trails are shadowy and unclear, obscuring the vision and playing tricks on the mind. But the smallest amount of resilience can very well go a long way, if only you learn to time your moves right. Because even if you only get a short string, you can still sew a mark on the tapestry of your fate.

Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @adamswrongchild @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth @dragonmine-24 @detectivepetrichor @orangeduckweed @red-is-the-reputation4444 @alexii117 @prophecies-bestowed-upon-ye @alphabet-egg

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[space-writes]

nine lines nine people

tagged by @zmwrites, thank you! here’s a recent nine from Awakened Witch ft Vren finally getting a front-row seat to Sorrow’s nightmares.

(context: they're trapped in an antimagic cell and have been for several days. Sorrow hasn't slept for any of them)

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

A scream pulled him from sleep. Vren jerked upright, blinking wide-eyed in the darkness, searching for the threat. It didn’t take long to find it—Sorrow had finally fallen asleep. The dim moonlight picked him out, curled on the floor by the bone bars, tail thwacking against the floor over and over, so hard it must have hurt, yet he didn’t wake. Vren shifted upright as another scream filled the cell, a blunt sound of fear and pain so opposed to Sorrow’s very being it seemed impossible that it should come from his mouth. “No.” The word dragged itself from Sorrow’s throat, a sleeper’s voice, rough and slurred. “No, no-no-no—” Over and over until the denial blurred together into a nonsense sound. His face was screwed up, sweat sheened on his brow; his hand were tight-balled fists, so much so his claws must have been punched deep into his palms.

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @charlesjosephwrites @olliexwrites @jmhwritesstuff @sam-glade @sarandipitywrites @the-inkwell-variable @willtheweaver @tabswrites and @talesfromaurea

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @reininginthefirewriting @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist

@at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph

@sam-glade @viscerawrites @thegreatobsesso @flower-reads @the-inkwell-variable (ask to be +/-)

[ink-flavored]

Pride & Justice: A Wary Truce

warnings: teenage bullying, teenage hooligans doing vandalism, bullying, yelling Banner art by @auroblaze P&J Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection @auroblaze @zeenimf @vacantgodling @foxys-fantasy-tales @stesierra @noblebs @thelaughingstag @ceph-the-ghost-writer @damageinkorporated @wyked-ao3 @alesseia

Tips are appreciated!

Pride swung his tail over the side of the bench, stretched out on his back. It was bumpy and uncomfortable, but he’d take it over laying in the dirt. The clouds of smoke swirling from his horns put a gray haze over his view of the starry night sky. It didn’t bother him—stars didn’t hold all that much charm for him.

The one thing Pride definitely held was boredom. He never thought he’d get tired of pushing humans souls along the precipice of damnation, but the impossible inched close to becoming reality. He wanted to do something else—to go somewhere else. His options were annoyingly limited.

Earth sucked, he didn’t want to stay here anymore. If he never had to set foot in Hell again, it would be too soon. Trying to sneak into Heaven again was a recipe for getting dissolved to ashes before he reached the gates—there was no way they’d let their guard down so soon. Pride wasn’t sure he believed it, but even if Justice kept his promise and told everyone he was dead, the holy realm was nothing if not paranoid. So what was left? Purgatory?

Pride raked his hands down his face, pulling at his eyelids and stretching his cheeks. Making that contract was the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

A sweet-sour sting on his tongue interrupted his frustrated thoughts. There was a human around, maybe even a few, who had more than a little pent-up sin. Curious, Pride sat up to survey the park that had become his little domain.

The dim streetlamps that washed the park in gray light shadowed an entire group of humans. Young ones, by the looks of it, rolling toward the playground with excited confidence. They shoved each other, hooted, and cackled—all except one. A meek looking one hung far back in the group, arms crossed over a bulky sweatshirt. Pride folded his arms on the back of the bench, trying to figure out which one of them called his name.

“—gonna do it,” the leader of the group said, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder.

“You don’t think so?” another taunted.

“No way, man, he’s too much of a pussy.”

One by one, the main group turned around to sneer at their straggler. He balled his fists up, and Pride quirked an eyebrow at the flavor that flooded over his tongue. Icy-hot wrath and tart pride at once.

“I’m not a pussy,” the straggler insisted.

“Then prove it,” demanded the leader. He shoved the bag into the meek one’s chest. “Pussy.”

There came the wave again. Every human in this posse tasted a little like sin—mostly pride, with wrath and envy sprinkled unevenly among them—but the clearly-marked outcast reeked of it. A deep-seated, suppressed anger bubbled under his skin, kept at bay by a sliver of willpower. Pride could help with that.

He slunk off the bench, prowling through the darkness to meet his target. The kid was on his knees in the grass, digging through the bag forced into his arms. All the others in his group watched, arms folded and sneering. Invisible to their eyes, Pride crouched down and peeked over his shoulder to see what all the fuss was about. A metal bat, a few switchblades, lighter fluid, and clunky tools heavy enough to do blunt damage. Even through the darkness, Pride saw the kid’s hands shaking as he sorted through it all.

“Hurry the fuck up,” the leader ordered.

“I’m going,” the kid said, and hastily grabbed the bat from the trove. He stood up, and Pride stood with him. “Now what?”

“Do the honors.” The leader stepped back, gesturing at the playground behind them. “Unless you’re gonna chicken out.”

The kid flushed with sin again, staring down all the expectant onlookers, but didn’t move. His face screwed up in determination, full of potential, but nothing came of it. All that beautiful sin would go to waste. Pride took the opportunity.

He slunk an arm around the kid’s shoulders, leaning in to murmur into his ear. “You’re really going to let him talk to you like that?” he asked. “You’re going to act like a coward in front of them all?”

“Fine,” the kid spat at his leader. He stalked past the group, bouncing the bat in his shaking hand, with Pride hot on his heels. The rest of them followed, closing in so there was no escape. Pride felt the string of his influence waver with every step they took.

“You can’t back down now,” he insisted, feeding the impulse he’d tasted mere seconds ago. “Not unless you want to prove them all right.”

“I won’t,” the kid muttered. He stopped at one of the plastic slides and reeled back with the bat. He stopped at the peak of his swing. The hesitation threatened to snap the thread altogether. Pride went for the kill.

“What would she think, if she found out how much of a pansy you are?”

The cord of his influence tightened to steel. The kid flared his nostrils, spurred to action, and swung the bat down—

“Excuse me, but I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

Pride’s ichor turned to ice. He and the humans whipped around at the same time, bearing witness to the most ridiculous thing that could have possibly happened that night.

“And I don’t think,” that stupid, fucking Angel of Justice said, duffel bag dangling from the strap in his hand, “that you’re supposed to have these either.”

“Scram!” the leader hissed.

“What?” asked the outcast, but it was too late.

All the humans scattered like frightened ants. Pride snapped his influence and ducked under the slide. Trying to avoid another dose of dumbass righteous fury, he circled around until he came under the shade of a tree, preparing for a fight. Justice hadn’t moved, though. He zipped up the bag, threw the strap over his shoulder, and only then did he approach the single shaking human.

The abandoned kid whipped his head side to side, trying to find where the rest of the humans had gone. Justice got closer, walking with purpose. He dropped the bat—Pride rolled his eyes—and tried to make a break for it.

“Hey,” Justice said. He barely grasped the kid’s shoulder, which was enough to make him freeze in fear. “Come on, you’re not in trouble.”

“Y-yeah! Good!” the kid stuttered, putting on the weakest show of defiance Pride had ever witnessed. “Because my friends would bail me out, you know.” Pride snorted.

“Your friends? The ones that just ran off to let you take the fall?” The kid flapped his jaw indignantly for a few seconds. Justice crouched down to his level, a sad smile on his face. “I think we both know they’re not really your friends.”

“They are! I’m just—They’re just teaching me how to be cool.”

“Real friends don’t try to change you.” He took the metal bat off the ground and laid it flat in his hands. “Or make you do things you don’t want to do.”

Pride seethed, lashing his tail, smoke gushing from his horns, as all potential sin bled out of his target. The tart flavor slipped off his tongue as the pointless angelic advice took hold.

“I think,” Justice continued, “you should find some people who already think you’re cool.”

“But what about… girls?” the kid asked, so meek Pride almost couldn’t parse what to snicker at.

Justice didn’t find it as funny. “If there’s a girl who wants you to act like someone you’re not, she doesn’t really like you at all.”

Sobered, the kid hung his head in defeat. Justice put the bat down and ruffled his hair, and they giggled together. Pride wished he had organs to throw up with.

“You’re kind,” Justice said. “Don’t let anyone take that from you.”

“Okay,” the kid agreed, hands deep in his pockets. “Thanks.”

The kid shuffled off into the night, not a drop of sin left in the air. Justice was the only thing left in the park, zipping the metal bat back up with all the other unused tools. And Pride’s promise of an interesting evening. He stomped out from behind his tree, hands on his hips.

“That was my catch, you know,” he snapped.

Justice stood and revealed his wings as he turned around, stark white feathers cutting through the night. Pride grimaced as the pinprick headache of an angel’s power hit. Justice made a similar face back.

“You’re going after children?” he asked.

Pride rolled his eyes at such a base accusation. “Oh come on, all humans are children. Your people said it yourself.”

“That’s—” Justice put his palms out to stop himself. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah, you want to explain that?”

“Gladly. What are you doing here?”

“Uh, what does it look like?”

“I told you to go back to Hell!”

Pride laughed openly at the rage on his face. “You’re kidding me, that’s why you’re here?”

“This place reeks of sin! Do you know how idiotic it is that you stayed on Earth?”

Suddenly it wasn’t funny. Pride set his jaw, tail twitching. “What, like you’re any smarter?”

“Do you really think this—” Justice threw his arms out, gesturing to the park at large, “—is the safest place you can possibly be?”

“You’re the one who left me here, dumbass.”

“And I told you to leave!”

“Yeah, so fucking what? Why should I listen to you?”

“Because this place reeks, like I said.” He jabbed a finger up to the dark sky. “We can sense it from Heaven, and if anyone else catches on to why, we’re both. Dead.”

Pride folded his arms, unimpressed. “Not my problem.”

Justice stared at him like he’d grown an extra set of horns. “Your life is in danger. How is that not your problem?”

“If angels don’t have anything better to do than chase one demon around, that sounds like a you problem.”

Baffled was the only word that could accurately describe Justice’s reaction. He worked his jaw up and down and vaguely circled his arms. His wings half-flapped, like they couldn’t decide if it was better to fly away. Pride watched him struggle with cool disinterest.

“Are you serious?” Justice finally said.

Pride shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I saved your life.”

“Your decision.”

“I’m trying to help you!”

“Not a great choice, to be honest.”

He made a tortured noise, balling his hands into fists by his head. “We’re this close to being caught by Heaven’s entire garrison, and you can’t even accept a warning? Are you dense on purpose?”

Pride flared his nostrils, horns spewing dark clouds of smoke. “Hey, you’re the one who got me thrown behind bars in the first place, remember that?”

“And I defended you in your trial! I’m the only reason you got to tell your story at all! I helped you escape!”

“I didn’t ask for any of your fucking charity!”

Justice stalked up to him in two long strides. “But you got it! Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not a fucking thing, buddy!”

“The life of the only person in Heaven on your side doesn’t mean anything to you? Your own life doesn’t mean anything to you?” He scoffed and took a step back. “No, of course it doesn’t. All you had to do was go back to Hell, and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. But no, your ego is more important than accepting my freely offered help.”

“You know what, maybe it fucking is!” Pride stuck a finger in his face. “Maybe you’re not half as smart as you fucking think, Justice, because I’m as good as dead if I go back to Hell anyway!”

Pride only realized what came out of his mouth when Justice raised his brows. He clamped his jaw shut, too late to keep any more secrets.

“What do you mean?” Justice asked, less accusatory and more sympathetic. It made Pride’s skin crawl.

Pride chewed on his cheek for a long moment. “I have… enemies,” he finally said. “Having a contract left hanging makes you weak. And even if no one knows you helped me get out, the news that you defended me in that stupid trial has got to be spreading by now. Failing to complete the contract and needing an angel’s help would—” He bit the sentence short, not wanting to imagine it. “I wouldn’t be greeted with acceptance and understanding.”

Justice nodded seriously, but wouldn’t meet his eye. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well. Whatever you think Heaven’s going to do to me, Hell would be ten times worse.”

It was eerily quiet. All of Justice’s righteous anger was gone, replaced with pensive silence. Pride took the opportunity to sulk. He shouldn’t have let an angel get him so worked up. After revealing this much, letting slip that he had no choice, Justice would be free to do whatever he wanted. Take him anywhere he wanted—because he’d be dead either way.

“Most angels,” Justice suddenly said, “don’t like me all that much.”

“Like who?” Pride asked. “Honesty?”

He breathed a weary sigh. “Yes, like Honesty. She thinks I’m too soft for my work, too sympathetic. She’s been trying to get rid of me for ages, and it’s… not an unpopular opinion.”

After seeing Honesty’s entire face twitch during his trial, Pride couldn’t say he was surprised she didn’t like him. But most other angels too?

“Weren’t people defending you earlier?” Pride asked.

“A few,” Justice admitted. “Not enough of them can actually made decisions, though. And plenty of others already suspect I’m—” He closed his eyes, and looked pained. “They think I’m a traitor.”

“I mean technically—”

“I know, yes, by helping you I am.” He took a breath. “That’s not the point. The point is I’m already being treated suspiciously. It’s not long before Honesty and everyone else who already disliked me start blaming me outright for letting you escape.”

“Okay…?”

“Okay, so.” Justice stuck out a hand. “Truce?”

Pride stared at him. “What?”

“We stay down here on Earth, together. We lay low as humans, get everyone off our trails, and figure out how to complete your contract. Everybody wins.”

“How is this going to convince everyone you’re not a traitor?”

Justice swirled his hand, annoyed. “We can come up with excuses for that too, come on.”

That was the dumbest idea Pride had ever heard proposed. It sounded like the idea of someone desperate to stay alive, or someone too stupid to consider the consequences. Pride would be the biggest idiot in Hell, Heaven, and on Earth to agree to it.

But was he really any less desperate? No doubt he’d start getting chased around for refusing to cooperate with… whoever came to collect him. And having an unfulfilled contract was a ticking clock on his soul, too. He’d be an even bigger idiot to ignore that.

“Fine,” Pride agreed. He cautiously slid his hand forward to shake. “Truce.”

Justice grinned unreasonably wide and shook hard. “Okay! I guess we’re doing this.”

“I guess we are.”

We’re gonna die, Pride thought. But at least I convinced an angel to defect from Heaven.

And what better victory could he ever hope to get?

[hatterpillar-author]

They saw who I was, they got their jaws around me and they bit. They ate away at me until there was nothing left. And what do you do with old dogs who bite?

You put them down. 

[the-modern-typewriter]

hi!! i love your work so much :) could i request something where the protagonist starts to fall in love with their rival (who the protagonist 100% loathed before because they were a total asshole) only to find out that their rival has been possessed the entire time they were falling for them? and then they confront their rival (who’s still possessed) about it? thank you so much!

"Ah," their rival - no, the demon - said, at the sight of them. "What gave it away?"

"You're not them."

"And small mercies for that, am I right?"

"You can't keep possessing them. It's - are they in there? Still?"

The demon's head tilted a fraction.

The thought that their rival might be inside the demon still, unable to move or speak or make themselves known in any way, was a terrible one. The protagonist had kissed those lips. Had their rival been inside the whole time, disgusted and screaming?

It felt like a violation. They felt themselves a violating ting.

"Are they in there?" the protagonist demanded. Their hands clenched.

"Yes," the demon said. "That is how possession works."

The protagonist swallowed. Bile burned down their throat. "You have to get out of them. You can't - you need to leave."

"Are you going to try and exorcise me?"

"If I have to!"

"You don't like them," the demon said. "They didn't like you."

The demon moved closer, and even with the gig up, the way they crossed the room was a flawless imitation. The protagonist couldn't see the stitches, the points where their rival became the demon, except in the simple fact that the demon was better.

"I like you," the demon said. "And I know you like me, despite your every expectation, despite the stench of this body's history with you. You don't want them back. Do you?"

"It's not your body."

"I am the one caring for it and using it."

"But it's not -" The protagonist floundered, and their fists curled ever tighter, nails biting into their palms hard enough to draw blood.

The demon's gaze flicked down. They took the protagonist's wrists, oh so gently, drawing them up to kiss the protagonist's knuckles, before they carefully but relentlessly smoothed out the protagonist's fingers.

The protagonist closed their eyes. The fury that had driven them to the room still lingered, yet with a mere touch the floodgates opened. Hurt. Horror. Sorrow. Betrayal. Disgust. The most dreadful longing because of course they wanted to keep the demon in front of them, of course they did.

"It's not right," the protagonist said, barely above a whisper.

"There are many shades of right and not right in this world of yours. Was this body a right thing previously, despite its tenant being what can only be described as a total asshole?"

"Being an asshole doesn't mean they deserve to spend the rest of their life stuck in the prison of you, screaming."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you that they're not screaming?"

"Would it be true if they did? What would be the alternative? Because they don't-" The protagonist focused their attention on their entwined hands, the soft and intimate brush of the demon's fingers over their skin. "They don't want me. They would never want this."

"Then they are a fool, because you are the most lovely thing on this planet."

"Don't."

A dozen new questions ripped through them. Did the demon truly care for them, or were they simply doing what they needed to do to keep their new body? Was it a trick? A manipulation?

The demon's hand shifted up to cup, to cradle, the protagonist's jaw.

"They are not screaming," the demon said, and if it was a lie, then it was a beautiful one. "They are sleeping."

"Sleeping?"

"Tucked away in a quiet corner of me," the demon said, "where they can't hurt you or anyone else. Safe. Peaceful."

That did not sound like demonic possession. It was their rival who'd always worked more closely with demons - the protagonist's specialty was ghosts - but everything they'd ever heard about demons suggested that they were nightmarish creatures. Bound by deals, but ever tricksters, out for their own again. Sometimes cruel and always amoral.

Possession was not a nap. It was not a mercy. The demon was definitely, absolutely, lying.

The demon leaned in to kiss their forehead. When the protagonist tensed but did not recoil, they kissed the protagonist's lips.

"Hell is a terrible place, my love," the demon murmured. "Don't send me back there. Don't send me away from you. Would you truly kill me to get them back? Is that what I deserve?"

"You're a parasite."

The demon's thumbs stroked the protagonist's cheeks. "I'm still the same as I've been all these months. The demon who loves you, despite everything. The demon you love. I'm better than they were, you know I am. You've told me."

"Yes."

"Nothing has to change," the demon said. "There is no screaming. There is only us. It can be only us. Nothing has changed."

Nothing had changed.

But everything had.

The protagonist kissed their demon, heart pounding, and planned their goodbye.

[poemswithouthomes]

I fear my notion of home means me and me alone. My breath, my flesh. My bones. That is all. This is home. 

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

“Pockets,” spitted Designer, shaking their head, sipping their tea. “They want pockets now.”

Villain nodded encouragingly. Around them, the guards were trying really hard not to be confused. Not that they would have been remarked in any way by the Villain’s distinguished host. The price tag on their clothes didn’t quite cut it.

“In my time,” complained the guest, “Heroes knew about style. About boldness. About audacity. They wore colors, not this dark edgy subpar armor material. They wore tights, exposing proudly to the world their-”

“Yes yes, thank you-”

“- their self-confidence and desire to save the world!”

“Oh.”

“Now, what have they become? A pathetic hunch yelling after “Kevlar” and “camouflage” and "oh Designer, I just want to be protected by my suit”. Now, you Villains have still elegance. You may wear black, but at least you still have the cape and the spikes and the gadgets.”

“That’s true. Sometimes I like a bit of purple thrown in, mind you.”

“Exactly! The color of the royalty.”

“And your offer is ?”

“I can work for you. I know all about the heroes suit, their size, their powers, their-”

“Their real names?”

“Oh, I don’t remember that,” huffed the Designer, in a tone of voice suggesting that they never registered that kind of data before.

Villain shrugged:

“Well, you have the right state of mid in any case. Welcome at board. Someone shows them their quarters.”

Designer bowed their head politely and followed the guard who waited for them. Villain finished their tea when a henchman whispered:

“Boss…”

“Yes?”

“Do we really have to have them?”

“Yes.”

“I mean...are we really going to dress like they do?”

Villain sighed and drank their tea in a gulp, shuddering.

“Great causes require sacrifices.”

*

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist

[instructionsnotincluded]

Please please please can we get a snippet of wild winds?

Yessssss

Read Wild Winds Here!

18+ MDNI | Flirting, language, beginnings of sex aka Rafe has an oral present for Logan, season one spoilers.

Logan heard the sound of a car engine before she heard the knock on the door. Part of her assumed it was JJ, back from doing whatever it was he and John B needed to go do, but as she moved quickly to the door she wasn’t surprised to see Rafe through the peephole, dressed in his tuxedo. Logan flipped the flimsy lock on the door and hauled it open, resting her hip against it as she took him in. 

“A bow tie? Really?” Rafe tugged at the accessory and Logan wasn’t sure if she was impressed or amused as he slowly untied it with one hand. “And it’s not a clip on…”

Rafe scoffed, bow tie hanging undone as he ducked his head in, eyes sweeping the house, “JJ here…?”

“No,” Logan glanced over her shoulder as if to confirm that the dark and quiet house was all hers for the night, “he and John B are off doing something.”

“He was at Midsummers,” Rafe lifted his hands to undo the buttons along the points of his collar, sighing in relief when he could finally breathe just a little better. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Logan hummed, arms folded across her body as she continued to block the doorway, “I don’t know. What’d you do to JJ?”

“Nothin’,” Rafe lifted his arm to rest it on the doorframe, taking her in from head to toe, liking how soft she looked in her oversized t-shirt and shorts. “Just reminded him he was crashing and that he has a hot sister, that’s all.”

“I’ll hear that tomorrow,” Logan rolled her eyes and Rafe smirked back at her. “Is he going to tell me anything that might surprise me tomorrow?”

“Nah, Kelce roughed him up a bit, I think,” Rafe said, “but he got out without a scratch. Just a bruised ego, I’m sure.”

“Did he say why he was there?” Logan felt her face warm when she caught his eyes drifting down to stare at her bare legs. 

“John B’s hookin’ up with Sarah.” Rafe tapped his knuckles against the doorframe, “So you gonna let me in…?

“John B and Sarah?”

“That’s what Topper says,” Rafe lifted a shoulder, “I don’t know. Topper’s pretty pissed off, wanted me to ride with him to try to find them or something.”

“And you said no?”

Rafe ducked his head to better see her, his eyes searching hers, “It’s bad enough I had to go to this shit tonight, you think I’m gonna miss comin’ here after just to get in the middle of Topper’s shit?”

Logan took a step back, hand reaching out to push the door the rest of the way open, watching Rafe step into the house before closing the door behind him. She’d been getting ready for bed, a handful of candles on throughout the house to help it not feel so lonely and as she stepped around Rafe to move to the kitchen, he caught her around her waist and pulled her into him.

His forehead met hers and Logan stared into his eyes, her heart beating harder in her chest when he whispered, “Happy Birthday, Lo.”

“Thank you,” Logan lifted her hand to smooth down his tuxedo shirt, fingers brushing across the pearled buttons. 

“Did you have a good night?”

��Amy treated me to a nail date,” Logan lifted her hand and Rafe glanced down at it, his hand taking hers to inspect the fresh color, not willing to admit how his body instantly responded to her black French tips as he imagined how they'd look wrapped around him, “and then we had some pizza on the dock.”

“Mmm,” Rafe leaned down to kiss her knuckles before he slowly brought her into his arms, hands running down her arms and sides. “Sounds better than my night…”

“What’d they have at the club?” Logan unbuttoned the first few buttons to his crisp shirt, enough she could scratch at his bare skin, sending goosebumps down his body. 

“I don’t know, didn’t eat,” Rafe looped his arms loosely around her, gently walking her around the couch towards the hallway, “thought I’d have some cake with you.”

“I don’t have any…”

Rafe cut her off with a slow kiss, hand flattening out at the small of her back before he lifted his other to cup her jaw, the couple pausing halfway down the hall as Rafe turned and pressed her into the wall, his mouth moving from hers down her throat, tugging at the stretched out collar of the shirt she wore to kiss her collarbones, hands fisting the material as he mouthed his way down her covered chest and stomach, the man in front of her getting to his knees. 

He pushed her shirt upwards, kissing the soft skin of her stomach and hips, tongue dipping into her bellybutton as he hooked his index fingers into the band of her shorts, his lips chasing the band as he pulled it down until the material pooled at her ankles. 

“Found some,” Rafe’s breath fanned out across her, Logan sighing as she leaned heavily against the wall, her fingers gliding into his hair as he pressed a very light kiss to the space between her legs, glancing up to meet her eyes as he dove in, his own groan rolling into her after his tongue when she tugged on his gelled stands, “pull it harder, baby—tell me how you want it, birthday girl.”