#and the whole time i kept thinking 'what if i just clipped my fingers off. what if !!!!!“

[barkingangelbaby]

hmmmm fun fun body harm thoughts 🤠

[kenananamin]

Nanami as a girl dad

Nanami is a girl dad, I will not argue or fight on this but if you think he's not... i got news for you ANYWAYS these are my Nanami headcanons as the best husband and dad and what he would do as a girl dad during pregnancy, birth, and actually raising the baby

takes a personal day off work to take you to your doctor's appointments then takes you to brunch and a movie. will hold your hand the whole time

fought HR/managers/supervisors/ANYONE for as much paternity leave as he could get

asked if he could work from home bc he doesn't want to miss a single moment of your pregnancy or newborn baby

sits on the floor to talk to his baby girl and holds your tummy saying that he's holding her hand

made 20 copies of the sonogram picture and kept them all. there's a copy in his wallet, behind his phone case, in the glove compartment, and in every suit jacket pocket close to his heart. he likes to brag about his girls (you and baby)

comes back from the store with more diapers and wipes bc "we need to be prepared"

bookmarks blog posts talking about how to bond with your baby

reads every book he can and asks the doctor more questions than any other dad who comes into the office

will ask anyone he trusts for advice, but gets defensive when someone tells him to do something differently

takes naps with his head on your lap and his lips touching your belly

has two hospital bags ready in the closet but has an emergency one in the trunk... just in case

does not sleep the whole time you're in labor even when the nurses tell him to "rest before the baby gets here"... that gets him more excited and doesn't let him sleep

tells you to dig your nails into his arm if you need to when you start pushing. kisses your entire face when the baby starts to cry and rushes to the nurse holding her to ask if they could stamp the baby's feet on his shirt/gown before cleaning her (a/n: my dad did this with me and it is the cutest thing ever. we still have the gown with the tiny feet stamped on there)

carefully takes off the shirt/gown and immediately wants to do skin-to-skin contact after you hold the baby first

follows baby to the hospital nursery and takes pictures of sleeping baby to change his wallpaper

changes wallpaper every two days bc "she did something cute" or "sticking her tongue out" or "giving me the stink eye"

loves waking up with her at night bc besides letting you rest... it's daddy-daughter time so don't interrupt

demonstrates what tummy time is while she lays on her baby bouncer (you laugh bc it's ridiculous and she's only a couple weeks old)

buys scrapbook and disposable cameras to start an album (the first of a hundred probably)

buys special clips for crib blankets to be tight and immovable around mattress bc he kept reading about possible suffocation

either way, does not like for her to sleep in her own room so he buys an extra baby moses to put in your room

has an extra diaper bag in his car bc he likes impromptu trips to let mommy rest

sulking when he has to go back to work

finds remote job within the next month

sits baby down on his lap while be works and she plays with her toy

throws an intimate 1st bday party first then a second one the next weekend to invite anyone he's ever talked to and brag about his family

literally kicks his feet and giggles with his daughter then stands up to be the most intimidating man to anyone else

tears of joy when you're pregnant again and sobs when they say it's a girl

carries his girls with him everywhere he goes

is proud that he's raising strong women who will learn how to fight for themselves. keeps reminding himself that he's raising the next generation and that fuels a fire deep inside him

let's the girls play with his hair and put all the clips they can find around the house on his head

lets his fingers and toes be horribly painted while he reads the newspaper and leaves the house with those nails

gets teary eyed on the first day of school and waits outside the school the whole day for a week (paid time off used)

can only do simple pony tails and braids but loves waking the girls up, sitting them on his lap and doing their hair while you get them dressed

making cute lunches for the girls with you is one of his favorite parts of the day

likes dressing the girls alike or the same and has a strange obsession with buying them overalls

loves playing barbie with them and lowkey has a favorite barbie

goes toy shopping behind mommy's back and tells the girls that this is the only secret that they can ever ever keep

randomly brings back flowers for every single one of his girls

takes his girls (you and daughters) on group and individual dates

makes the girls sign a contract written in crayon stating they "will love daddy forever"... frames it and puts it in his office

cries tears of joy AGAIN when you're pregnant with another girl... and looks for a bigger house

rips off door side where he was marking the girl's height and puts it in the new house. he did not believe in marking/tracing it on another thin piece of wood and said he wanted the original

takes everyone out for dessert every Friday and checks in on each kid to see how they're feeling and if they're ok

never misses a single game, recital, rehearsal, practice, ANYTHING

takes his daughters to their first self-defense class

does not believe in violence and does not condone it... but will first ask the girls if they won the fight (strongly insinuates that he will be disappointed if someone kicks their ass)

corrects the girls when needed and has a special look to tell them to stop messing around

later goes to apologize if he ever uses the look

will ask the girls for a sleepover and will throw every blanket on the floor to make one huge bed

tells the girls to follow him as he does repairs around the house or on the car bc they "need to know how it all works and how to deal with it"

is shocked when you're pregnant again (even though he likes to do a certain something that leads to babies) but is REALLY SHOCKED when it's a boy this time

reminds the girls that they have to be nice and helpful with their brother

starts all the reading and bookmarking all over again, but his time on how to raise a gentleman

raises the best little dude and let's the girls show him everything he has shown them so far

okaaaay okay i know i said he's a girl dad and a girl dad only buuuuut Nanami would raise the best little gentleman ever. AND IMAGINE A MINI NANAMI?!! ... but he's still a girl dad first and foremost

extras:

would absolutely praise his wife and randomly thank her for giving him a family

will wear a disguise and follow daughters to first date

refuses to parentify any of his kids and wants to let them be kids

constantly reminds them that they only get to be kids for a short amount of time then they have to be adults for the rest of their lives. so be silly

is always down for a quiet drive if anyone needs to clear their head

dreads the day when he will no longer he able to carry his kids on his shoulders

has already made mental plans for every possible situation the kids may create, even the absolutely crazy ones his brain has imagined

is very open w the girls and talks about safety in intimacy

leaves cute notes during bad or iffy days and writes motivational quotes on their mirrors with dry-erase markers

loves when you say he's a dilf

tries to talk to them about the stock market

passes his budgeting king crown to the kids

feels super cool when his kids brag to their friends about him, even puffs his chest a little bit

[moonstruckme]

Hey! I know you wanted more requests for people besides the marauders so you can do this for anyone you like but maybe reader who is just soooo in love with them that anytime they do something nice for her she starts crying? Like happy tears because she's just so in love and she doesn't know how to express that. If you don't want to that's fine!

Hi, thank you! I decided to go with Sirius anyway because I felt like he'd be the most fun. (This is gonna be me btw, the first time I experience romantic love there's no way I'm gonna be able to handle it)

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to show off my tattoos on the first day?”

“Mm, maybe,” you muse, looking longingly at the way Sirius’ inked-up forearms pair with his black dress shirt. “I feel like after the interview it won’t matter, but today you probably want to present your straightest-laced self.” 

“Gross,” he grunts, but starts rolling down his sleeves. 

It’s a rare sight, Sirius up before noon, but his job interview is scheduled for ten and he doesn’t feel in a position to negotiate. The frail morning light bounces off the full length mirror he’s standing in front of and illuminates the room as he purses his lips and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You’re lying on the bed watching him get ready, trying your very best not to look enthralled and wanton (it is a constant effort). 

“My most gorgeous, radiant angel, could I ask you for a favor?” 

You grin, warmth flooding your chest. “You don’t have to butter me up. What is it?” 

“Grab the bigger version of this shirt? I think I may want a baggier tuck.” 

You hum and get up, padding into the closet. Sirius’ clothes are all strewn over the floor and dresser, but miraculously the shirt you’re looking for is on a hanger. As you reach for it, you nearly trip over a small box on the floor. It looks like the shell of something Sirius was sent in the mail, plain cardboard with the shipping label torn off. You bring it back out with you. 

“Thanks, lovely,” Sirius says as he takes the hanger from you. 

“No problem,” you reply. “Want me to recycle this for you?” 

He turns to look, blinks, then looks harder. “No. Where’d you find that?” 

“On the floor.” 

“Must have fallen off its shelf.” He discards the smaller shirt on the bed and starts doing up the buttons of this new one, smirking when your eyes track the deft movements of his fingers. “Don’t throw it out, it’s got important stuff in it.” 

You weigh the box in your hand. “It feels empty.” 

“It’s got important, lightweight stuff in it.” 

You eye the barely-open flap of the box, intrigued. “Can I look inside?” 

You think you catch a flicker of hesitation across Sirius’ features, but it’s quickly schooled into insouciance. A vine of nervousness winds around your gut. “Sure,” he says, “go ahead.” 

You look at him a bit longer before slowly peeling back the cardboard flap. Inside is a mishmash of things. Paper, mostly, but you recognize one item immediately. It’s a flimsy, neon orange paper wristband, a venue’s name stamped haphazardly onto one side. At the first concert you’d gone to together, Sirius had griped endlessly about how the orange contrasted with his outfit horribly and brought out all the ugliest hues of his skin (there aren’t any, but you were too timid to tell him that at the time). He’d seemed desperate to be rid of it. But here it is, carefully clipped off instead of torn and preserved like something special. Something warm and weighty blooms in your chest. 

You take out one of the pieces of paper, unfolding it. It’s your handwriting, thoughtless scribbling you’d left for him to find on the fridge one day after you’d left for work. Have a great day, love you. 

Another is a bar napkin, containing a whole back-and-forth exchange between you and Sirius from the first time you’d met his friends. You’d kept passing it to him under the table, asking Do they like me? Are they just being nice? Is Remus always so frowny? and he’d passed it back saying Yes. Yes, they love you. James is this nice to everyone, but I can tell he likes you. Remus is being a sourpuss because he hasn’t eaten yet. You’re perfect. 

By the time you come upon a polaroid you’d forgotten he’d taken of you in his kitchen, you’re pressing your lips together to keep them from wobbling and your entire being feels warmed by incandescent, aching fondness. Your heart feels so big you can’t breathe around it. You’re not sure you have room for this much love, but you’ll happily carry it around like a weight in your chest for the rest of your life. 

You’re all too aware that Sirius is watching you now, so you try to keep it together for his sake, but when you blink a tear slides down the side of your nose. 

“Hey,” he chides lightly, amusement inlaid with a bit of panic. “Don’t.” 

You sniffle, then laugh wetly. “Can I hug you?” 

Normally he might make a joke (Not if you’re going to get snot all over my interview shirt) but something in your expression must sway him, because Sirius’ eyes go soft. “Yeah, baby. Of course.” 

He doesn’t make you get up, crossing the distance to the bed and wrapping you up in his arms. You let out a little sob at the contact. 

“I’m gonna clean off your shirt once we’re done,” you promise, gripping his shoulders. 

“Okay.” He sounds amused. 

“I just—I didn’t know you kept this stuff.” 

“It’s cheesy.” 

“It’s not,” you insist, hugging him tighter. It makes you happy beyond words, to know you’re bringing this out in him. To see, with your own eyes, how much he loves you back. You can check in with yourself at any time and know you’re happy in your relationship with Sirius, but you never could have imagined how spectacular it would feel to know that you make him this happy in return. “It’s special, Sirius. You’re special.” 

“James’ mum used to tell me the same thing.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You smack his arm, pulling back with a huff. You’re smiling, though, and he sees, taking your wet, blotchy face between his palms and grinning at you. Honestly, if he weren’t Sirius Black, he’d be such a dork. 

“I love you,” he says, a significance in his tone that contradicts the playfulness in his expression. “Do I let you forget it?” 

“No,” you tell him. “You don’t, it’s just…I just really love you too, you know?” 

His smile spreads, flashing canines the second before he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s firm and spirited, and Sirius holds you there until you’re laughing into his mouth. 

“I know,” he says, pecking you once more on the lips before letting you go with a swipe of his thumbs across your cheeks. “Alright, gorgeous, clean me up, would you? I’ve got other people to go impress.”

[leighsartworks216]

Hi hi! I saw your requests are open and I really love your writing. There's a scene I saw on yt from bg3 where Raphael just magics Astarion's clothes off and I was wondering if you could write something where Tav covers him up or snaps at Raphael over the invasion of his privacy. Here's the clip btw

https://youtube.com/shorts/RJyurXglAHM?si=YNBC5POkV0j2Zns4

OH MY GOD I saw this prompt and literally could not stop writing until I was finished

Warnings: non-consensual undressing (by Raphael), slight arguing, swearing, trauma

Word Count: 1,139

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Now, let’s talk about you.” Raphael turns his burning attention to Astarion. “I sense there’s something you want to ask me.”

“I do. I have a… proposal for you.”

“A proposal? If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”

You can feel Astarion’s whole body tense beside you with agitation. “This is serious business… devil.” The anger fades into discomfort. “My old - well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d like to know what they say.”

Raphael hums as he contemplates the deal before him. You turn to your companion, confused. “What are you talking about, Astarion? What scars?” It’s not as upset as the spawn expects it to be. Truly, he was fully prepared for you to round on him for hiding something from you for so long.

He never got the chance to be… intimate with you. He tried, of course, he was uncomfortably desperate for the safety it would bring him. But, somehow, you saw past him. Through him. You saw the seduction for the act it was. And, somehow, you stayed with him anyway. He just, well, forgot to tell you about them. He told you of Cazador, of course. Just, not what he did to him.

Raphael was all too pleased with your confusion, smirking. “You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.” You stare sharply at the devil. He was enjoying teasing Astarion too much. But then it really went too far. With a lilting, “Why not let them see? Don’t be shy,” he snaps his fingers and Astarion’s clothes disappear in an orange glow.

You don’t even think as you immediately unclasp your cloak and wrap it around his shoulders. He’s more surprised you covered him up than Raphael un-covering him. You act as a barrier between the two, holding Astarion’s shoulders to keep the cloak covering him and glaring venomously over your shoulder at the devil.

Before you can spit vitriol at him, he’s trying to soothe the tension. “Don’t worry - I’m motivated to help you.” His teeth show as he smirks wider. “Scars often tell such wonderful stories - I think yours might be truly exquisite. I’ll see you soon.”

And just like that, in a puff of flame and smoke, he’s gone. You turn back to Astarion.

“Are you okay?”

His eyes widen, shocked. “I’ve been keeping a secret as wide as my back - literally - from you all this time, and you’re worried about me? Aren’t you, I don’t know, angry? Betrayed? Ready to kick me out of our little group?”

You frown. “No, of course not.”

He can’t wrap his head around it. Your face says you're upset, but your eyes shine with sympathy and worry. You mean it. Why?

“But I lied to you!”

“You didn’t tell me - it’s different.”

He scoffs bitterly. “A lie of omission is still a lie, darling.”

“Did you do it out of malicious intent?”

His face scrunches up. “Why should that matter?”

“Well, did you?”

“No! Not on purpose, anyway. There may have been some… selfishness.”

“Then you were doing it to protect yourself?”

“What are you-”

“I’m not angry, Astarion.” His mouth lingers open, but the words die in his throat. You squeeze his shoulders. “You kept a secret to protect yourself, not to trick me. You had your reasons for not telling me, and that’s okay. I’m not angry.”

He’s quiet. Shadowheart and Gale had backed away some time ago, giving you as much privacy as they could while you fought. Not that it was much of a fight. You’re grateful for it, nonetheless. Astarion has a hard time being genuine when it’s just you two; he almost never lets his guard down around anyone else.

He sighs. It’s shaky and quiet, but you can feel the shudder in his shoulders. He looks down at himself. He’s in nothing but his underwear and your cloak. His stomach is still largely exposed, and he grabs the edges of the fabric to close it the rest of the way. It feels… safe. He’s terrified, of course - he’s in his skivvies out in the open. But the way you immediately covered him up. He’d never dreamed of anything like it.

“I’ll find you some clothes. I should have something tucked away.”

You’re slow to release him. You pull the cloak to wrap more evenly around him, and then you’re kneeling on the floor, rifling through your stuff. Your face is set in determination. Your eyes are keenly focused on your search. A warmth fills his chest.

When he speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

You don’t turn from your task, but he can see your soft smile. It eases him even more. Soon enough, you’ve pulled out a loose shirt, some pants, and a spare pair of boots. He has no idea how or why you carry spare clothes around, but he really shouldn’t be questioning it when they’re suddenly the most important thing in the world.

“Here. They may be a bit big, but they’ll do until I can threaten Raphael to give your armor back.” He chuckles and takes the clothes you offer him. “I’ll go talk to the others and start working out a plan.”

“Wait.” He grabs your wrist before you can even start to turn away. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak. Thank you again, apologize for creating this mess, something. But he can’t find the words. You wait, ever patient. And, gods damn it all, your expression is so open and kind - he can’t help cupping your face in his hands and drawing you in for a kiss.

It’s soft at the same time it’s passionate. A quiet thank you for everything. For your kindness, your patience, your protection. You don’t know where to put your hands. You touch his shoulder hesitantly, wanting to pull him close but not wishing to touch him where he’d be uncomfortable. It makes his undead heart ache even more.

His hands leave your face to slide down your arms, guiding your hands underneath the cloak and around his back. Even with his guidance, you’re reluctant to touch him, but then your hands, warm and gentle, glide across the raised skin. You press into him, kissing him harder as thanks for his trust.

When you pull away, you press your forehead to his, breaths fanning over his face as you catch your breath. He leaves one last kiss at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you.”

You smile. He watches fascinated as your eyes become filled to the brim with fondness. You squeeze his waist and slide your arms from under the cloak, stepping back carefully. “Get dressed,” you say. “I’ll be just around the corner.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis

@hypopxia

@flsalazar

@beverlybeav

@angelofthorr

@emiemiemiii

@marina-and-the-memes

@lynnlovesloki

[calicoups]

hi, hani! i like your writings so muchhh… i always go to your account whenever i’m having a cheol brain rot. if it’s possible can u try a jeonghan fic where in reader tries to make something cute out of jeonghan’s long hair? like putting clips on him or smth. thank you!!^^

hi! tysm omg 🥹🥹 i loved writing this :]

jeonghan lays on your lap, his hands busy playing on his phone while yours card through his silky hair.

“mm, that feels nice,” jeonghan mumbles as his fingers spring across the screen of his phone, pressing his head further into your hand. when you stop moving your hands, jeonghan whines at the loss of the good feeling.

“can i try something with your hair, please? i just remembered something.”

he lifts from where he was to sit facing you, “you can do anything with me, baby. what is it you wanna do?”

face lighting up at his response, you tell him to wait where he is before rushing off to find what you need.

you return with your hands in the pockets of your (jeonghan’s) zip up. jeonghan looks up from his phone, tilting his head, “what’d you get?”

you hum, "you'll see in a bit. carry on with your game, hannie."

he follows what you say, focusing on his game. while he's occupied, you part his hair down the middle due to his hair being all over the place. then, you grab a hair tie from your pocket and use it to tie one side of his hair into a little pigtail, doing the same to the other side so that it looks the same.

"okay, look!" you hold up a mirror in front of him that you had snagged from your room. jeonghan laughs, "what is this, babe?"

"pigtails. you look so cute, right now. can i take a picture?" you ask with your phone in your hand, the camera open. he laughs again before nodding and you snap a few pictures before searching something up on your phone, gasping at a thought.

"what?"

"you know who you like right now?" jeonghan shakes his head at your question, "you look like boo from monsters inc."

laughter bubbles out of you as you hold up a picture of boo next to jeonghan's head. he takes the phone from your hand with the mirror in his other hand as he compares the character to himself.

"you're right, i do," he chuckles, taking a selfie on your phone for you to keep. at this point, your whole camera roll is filled with selfies jeonghan has taken on your phone, knowing you love to use them as your wallpaper.

rummaging through your pockets, you take out a handful of star shaped clips, "these too."

jeonghan simply nods, used to all your little clips that you put on his hair many times. some of those being little bows, gems of different shapes and even hair claws when his hair was long enough to be kept up with the claw.

carefully and with calculated placements, you clip them on, moving his head around with your hands to see any empty spots that you can fill. when you're done, jeonghan looks at his hair through the mirror and once again using your phone for pictures, "these are so cute, i love it."

"good! otherwise that would've been all my hard work wasted!" you joke and jeonghan smiles.

"i always love your amazing masterpieces. think i'll grow out my hair a little more, wanna try those claws again," he says, slender fingers messing around with his hair in the mirror.

"really? i'll have to bring those out again, there's a few i wanna try on your hair again."

jeonghan sits up, "we could match!"

you gasp at the idea, "we'd be so cute, hannie!"

[stormoflina]

Okay, so this is regarding that fantastic anon I got over the totally absent DomiTrent content in socials. There I shared my reasonable (or so I think) opinion on the matter, so here's the very unhinged one.

Just as a reminder, this is pure fun, I made it all up, based on speculation, I don't know anything and none of this is factual. Now, that we got that out of the way, let's do this.

So, we all know and remember (and grieve and miss!) September, the literal peak of DomiTrent, right? It all started when Trent assisted Domi's first ever goal for the club they had that very cute celebration. DomiTrent thruthers were born that day. Then, literally every Inside video we have, they are suddenly next to each other. The sm media only have themselves to blame, because it was them who launched them first when they posted them hugging and laughing and arriving to training together! This kept happening, I mean them being literally obsessed with each other. And the official socials were milking the heck out of it!!

The scenes when these dropped? Girly, they dedicated half of that Inside video to them! They KNEW what they were doing with including a literal clip of Trent sniffling and clinging to Domi like a coala. Engagements were flying.

By this time, they were all over, everywhere. Neither of them could give an interview without being asked about each other. People were obsessed with them, and the sm media was very aware of that. They were posting singular posts about just the two of them having the most basic interactions, they were totally milking it. The fact that Mo posted them together on the hot tube only added to the fire.😭

Then, the bum tickling/fingering controversy happens. Bumm. It's unexpected and uncontrollable. They were just literally caught on live, there's no editing them out, making it a certain way, nope, it's out of control and it's everywhere. And I mean everywhere. And while we were having a field day here, not everyone was... There are hundreds of comments like this (and this is only twt):

At this point, there are viral tweets going on how both of them, especially Dominik is gay. News just dropped he broke up with his girlfriend, too. First, its all fun, clearly a joke, then it's just like the tweets show, it reaches a certain circle. It reached the Hungarian media too. Now, there are close-minded, homophobic older football fans, and there are Hungarian close-minded, homophobic older football fans. Let's just say, it did not look good.

Right after the whole bum-touching incident, Szoboszlai's dad goes to a Hungarian live broadcasting of the next Liverpool match. Of course, they pull the video out about him and Trent and ask him about it, basically, that what is Dominik doing, looks like he got comfortable in LFC already. It was light-hearted, the question, his dad response ... seemingly too,or at least tried very hard to be to. I think there was pa certain edge to it. They were trying to ask about Dominik's bromance with Trent, as most journalists did at the time, but he dismissed the whole thing and cut the conversation short with only saying that "He [Dominik] likes to clown around".

(He said "bohóckodni", which does mean clown in mirror translation. It could be also translated as joking around, but jokes imply that it's fun and light-hearted, not to be taken seriously, while what he said, again, had some real edge to it. Kind of like "fool around". A disapproving tone to it, basically.)

After that, silence. No more DomiTrent content, they even got moved in the training from being in the same group. To me, for a time, It looked like the sm team was actually going out their way not to show them together. Like the first game they had a post about them was when, against City, showing a pre-match training shorts video? That's a bit odd, considering that they were living off posting of the two just literally breathing next to each other.

So, here's what I think. I think Dominik's management did not like what was being assumed about him. That he was building up a reputation of being the "new gay acting guy, obsessed with Trent". It's not something, that at the moment, could be accepted. Not in football, and definitely not in the Hungarian footballing world. When his dad was asked about it in live TV, I think that was the last straw. I don't think he was impressed/happy about Dominik in that regard, that this was even something that people brought up and connected his son with. I think, essentially, pressured by his dad (who admittedly still have a huge influence in his life, on his agent), his team must have told the Liverpool sm team to basically stop showing them together to silence those shouts.

Again, this could have been done by the Liverpool sm team, done or supported by Trent's team, the players themselves, anything and anyone, we don't know. We don't even know if it was really an intentional move to quit showing them together. I think it was, In my mind, have no question about that. What I shared above tho? Bit of fanfiction-like😭 but in my mind, based on how his dad reacted and just the culture/Domi's relationship with his dad, could totally see it.

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette inspected her various flowers one more time. Even as a florist, she probably put too much focus on checking and rechecking her garden, but she adored the process or making things look beautiful. It wasn't dissimilar to her fashion hobby in how it took effort but paid off in the end as long as one knew what they were doing.

Satisfied with her work, she left the greenhouse area and went to the front of the store behind the counter. Placing her hands on the edge, she arched her back, taking a deep breath to inhale the pleasant scent of flowers permeating her whole shop. She was fairly certain the scent had even overpowered her perfume, making her wonder if it was worth using in the first place.

As she was steeping a cup of tea to prepare for another day of work, the bell at her door chimed to indicate that someone had come in. She looked up, wearing her usual smile specifically for customers, but it faltered when she took in the customer in question.

It was a young man, sporting black hair that turned blue at the tips. The hair alone wasn't strange - either people had it naturally or others dyed theirs to imitate it - but it was that he had flowers in it with no sign of what was attaching them.

Marinette knew her flowers as well as her fashion enough to tell that they were not only real flowers, but they didn't seem attached by any sort of hair clip. In fact, she'd never even heard of anyone using real flowers as a form of fashion statement unless it was extremely temporary, whereas the mystery man walked like he was used to it.

"Hi," he greeted casually, stepping up to the counter.

She snapped out of her stunned state, just enough to reply, "O-oh! Hello! How can I help you?" She pointed, giggling sheepishly and adding, "N-normally, I'd ask what kind of flowers you want, but I think you have enough!"

She'd said it to distract from her being distracted, but winced when she considered that it could come off as an insult. Luckily, the man took it in stride, even letting out a chuckle.

"I do, but I'm still here to talk about flowers." He put a hand on the counter and leaned against it, running his fingers through his hair with his other hand.

Marinette watched in silent awe at how his touch didn't disturb the flowers at all. She kept waiting for them to fall out, but they truly seemed stuck there. She could only nod, curious about what he was going to talk about.

"I'll get to the chorus right away," he began. "My family's descended from flower nymphs. The genes aren't that strong, so they might skip a few generations, but some of us wind up with..." He gestured to his hair for emphasis.

She'd heard of flower nymphs before, but never actually met one. Anyone outside the realm of "normal humans" tended to have their own places to go, simply because they preferred living in different areas or having different lives, but she supposed that anyone who only had a few traits passed down could live a "normal" life amongst other non-magical humans.

"S-so those are real?" she asked, then corrected since she'd already known that, "I mean, they're a part of you?"

"Yeah."

Unconsciously, Marinette reached up, almost needing to see for herself. Her fingers slipped into his hair and through the lavender flowers growing out of it. The feeling wasn't unlike normal hair, though somewhat damp as if it had almost finished drying from a shower. She suspected that the flowers still needed moisture in the way that they did from soil.

As she felt, she noted a sensation under her hand and froze. In real time, she saw a bud form between her middle and ring fingers, blooming into what she recognized as a violet. Her lips parted in amazement and she looked down at the man's face, wondering if he'd done it on purpose.

What she ended up seeing instead was a hint of a blush on his face, his gaze averted to the wall. Her eyes darted from the violet, to his face, and then back to the violet again, somewhere in her mind registering shyness.

She pulled her hand back, blushing deeper as what she'd done registered. The experience had reminded her that flower meanings didn't merely come from nowhere - they were often based on whatever flower nymphs were feeling in the moment of growing whichever flower - but she'd also just embarrassed herself and invaded his personal space, so it wasn't ideal.

"S-sorry." She looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. "I get kind of excited when it comes to this stuff."

"It's alright." He cleared his throat, the smile in his voice returning. "My sister already told me what you'd be like, and I don't mind."

"Your sister?" She peeked at him, mulling over who he could possibly be talking about.

He placed a hand to his chest, explaining, "I'm Luka. Luka Couffaine."

"Couf—ah!" Recognition hit immediately, Marinette smacking the counter with a hand. Pointing at him, she blurted out in surprise, "You're Juleka's older brother!"

He beamed, nodding to confirm. She'd heard about him quite a few times, but had never gotten the chance to properly meet him. Juleka herself had also conveniently left out the whole, "by the way, my brother grows flowers out of his hair," thing. The worst part was that she couldn't be sure if Juleka had left it out innocently, perhaps from having grown up with and thus no longer having thought anything about it, or if it was out of a mischievous sense of humor.

She could believe either, but perhaps it was her own fault. While Luka looked nothing like Juleka in terms of physical traits, they had similar ways of dressing. It was almost strange on him with the combination of torn clothing and jewelry, yet paired with a calm expression and a built-in flower crown, but she didn't dislike it.

Luka, apparently having already recovered from the event, tapped an idle melody on the counter and continued, "She told me you used to help her with her hair. I wanted to ask if you could help me too."

Marinette eyed his hair again, but focused on its length this time. It wasn't long by any means, unlike Juleka's.

"I know it's not much to work with," he clarified, "but people get uncomfortable around me when they see these grow." He tugged gently at the petals of the violet. "I can't cover them with a hat or I get uncomfortable, so I thought I could get an expert to take care of it."

She put her hands to her chest, horrified by the mere thought. "You want me to cut off your flowers? That's crazy! People are stupid for being uncomfortable over something like that!"

Even though she'd said it, she couldn't say she was surprised either. In all aspects, she was a "normal" human without an ounce of magic, yet people had looked at her funny ever since she was a kid.

"Thanks." Luka grinned at her, though added in a semi-teasing tone, "I could've guessed that you liked them, but it's still nice hearing you say it."

Marinette blushed, pouting at him, but it was hard to complain about him taking her touches in stride. Maybe he even approved somehow, and she hadn't just ruined the first impression she'd given to her friend's older brother.

He raised his hands up in a show of peace. "Sorry. I don't want to say anything to make you uneasy, or make you do anything you don't want to. Cutting my flowers can stop any more from growing for a while, but if you could figure out a way to hide them instead, that'd work too."

She pressed her lips together, considering the suggestion. Of course, she had so much more to ask him - "Could you get overwatered? Can you swim without worrying about that?" "Do you like to relax in the sun? Maybe you could tell me if my flowers like the greenhouse." "Has anyone ever tried to pick flowers off you before? Or have you ever picked petals off yourself to make decisions?" - but she knew she could ask those sorts of things if they ever got closer.

It only occurred to her then that she hadn't yet said anything about his request. Straightening up, she gave him a reassuring smile and replied, "I'd love to help you if I can. Maybe you can visit after closing time and we can talk a little more?"

"I'd love that." A hint of tension released from his shoulders as he exhaled. Reaching a hand out to shake on the agreement, he admitted, "Honestly, I'm happy. You're one of the only ones I've met who actually likes these."

"One of?" she echoed, not hesitating to accept the handshake.

"Bees."

"Oh." She wasn't sure whether to snort in amusement or be concerned, but he at least seemed casual about it. Would the honey taste like the actual flowers they come from, or would he have his own brand? What would Luka-brand honey even taste like?

"I really want to know what you're thinking about right now," Luka confessed, curious yet respectful, "but we can talk about it later if you want."

"Ah—okay!" Right, they were still mid-handshake and she'd just zoned out in the middle of it. No doubt he could tell that she was thinking about him.

She hurried to let go, certain that however long she'd been in her own head had been too long, but was met with resistance. She raised a brow at him, puzzled, and noticed his free hand going up to his hair. It was hard to see from the angle, but she noticed a white flower bloom, then detach from his hair. She'd presumed that he couldn't pluck the flowers himself or he wouldn't be here, yet there must've been some rule the flowers adhered to in order to come off painlessly.

Just another on the list of questions she wanted to ask him.

Luka smiled softly, breaking the handshake itself but still keeping hold of her hand. With his other hand, he settled the white flower inside and closed her fingers around it.

"It was nice meeting you, Marinette," he uttered, the warmth of his hands leaving her as he pulled back. With one last, fleeting look at her, he turned away and exited the building, his form disappearing as he headed down the sidewalk.

Marinette blinked, still standing stupidly in place. She'd could count on one hand how many flowers males and females alike had given her over her life, regardless of their meanings, but it was the first time someone had given her one they had literally grown themself.

Staring down at her hand, she uncurled her fingers to reveal the mystery flower: a daisy. New beginnings, her brain provided, though one sip of her tea later, she was already second-guessing herself. Or... was it love?

She blushed, unsure but not daring to dwell further on it at risk of zoning out for her entire workday. Regardless of its meaning, she was looking forward to getting to know him and that was that.

Ending her thoughts on it for the time being, she brought the daisy up to her lips and whispered against the petals, "...Nice meeting you too, Luka."

[smittenkitt3n]

holy fuckkkkk that was the hardest i’ve orgasmed in i think forever!!!

so first thing this morning, i brought all my toys and everything i needed for my work day into my car! i drove around until i found what i think was the perfect spot: a parking lot of a convenience store and a starbucks, in a spot where at literally any time someone could have found me 🥺 it was so fucking hot i want to masturbate like that every time! the thought that someone could park beside me or walk by my car made me so fucking horny and wet that by the time i was ready to start, i barely needed any lube!!!

i put on my favourite type of porn (men edging and masturbating themselves with toys) and started first with just pinching, slapping, and torturing my swollen clit. i could already feel myself trembling from how much i’ve worked myself up over the last few days, so i quickly grabbed my butt plug and used my creamy juices to work it into my tight little asshole. immediately i was panting, rocking back and forth a bit just to feel the delicious sensation!! i need to get some bigger butt plugs now because i’m starting to be obsessed with the sensations.

then i used my starter dildo (a black silicone one with an amazing curve to hit just the right spots) to pump in and out of my cunt to prepare it, and it was so fucking easy because i knew i was so ready for the big one! i clipped my throbbing clit with the little butterfly clips and shifted my ass down so i could spread my legs as much as my car would allow. at first i just pumped the head of the monster dildo in and out, which felt so good i had to hold it there for a few seconds so i wouldn’t instantly cum, but eventually i couldn’t wait any longer so i slowly started working it in deeper and deeper until the knot pushed past my tight opening and holy fuck i swear to you my whole body trembled!!!

as much as i wanted to make myself wait, the man in the porn i was watching just started cumming and it was so fucking hot i just couldn’t handle it! i instantly started pounding my cunt over and over again, the feeling of the knot popping in and out kept moving the clip on my clit and i started cumming so hard i was whimpering and moaning so loud i’m sure if someone was nearby they would have heard me!!! that thought alone made my entire body shake and just as i was about to pull it out, the man in the video started moaning loud as he came again! i started pounding my cunt again and came for a second time!

i’m so glad i brought a towel to sit on because when i pulled the massive dildo out of my throbbing and aching cunt, i was gushing cream and cum all over the place 🥺 i was going to take a photo for you all, but i was in such a haze i forgot before i started sucking my creamy cum off of the dildo!! i’m so sorry, i promise to share it with you all next time, but i tasted so fucking good that once i started i didn’t want to stop, so i sucked the massive dildo clean and then started fingering my soaking cunt and sucking the juices from my fingers too.

i’m still feeling the aftershocks now that i’m at work, with little jumps and twitches! i hope no one notices, but i high-fived three people this morning to say hello before i washed my hands hehe thinking about touching them with the same hand i had fucked myself with just a little bit earlier was such a turn on!!!

i’m going to give myself a little break at the beginning of the day but i plan to start edging myself again, hopefully by lunch time!

[listerbirdloml]

this was probably from ages ago but some fun asks for you; favorite lister headcannons? [I]

OOH idk man i’m shit at head cannons ALSO THIS WAS SAT IN MY DRAFTS FOR AGES IM SO SORRY I THOUGHT I POSTED IT

- well in my mind i always read him with a northern english accent and i’m not sure why. i know he’s from kent like Rowan + Jimmy but he just gives off northern vibes idk. and after learning that his dads scottish i can also see him using lots of Scottish slang terms.

- i think he’s a slag for a bit of pop too. Britney, Ariana, Taylor, Reneé, you name it. he gets a bit embarrassed though so he turns off his AirBuds when he wants to listen to girly pop music. he has the widest music taste out of the ark, so his Spotify wrapped is always mental. he posts them every year and not once has the same song appeared in his top listened to

- ik he’s not like blonde blonde but i think his natural hair is a lot darker but he’s been dying it blonder since he first met Jimmy and Rowan. when the ark are on hiatus he lets it grow out to his natural colour for a bit.

- he tried to grow a stache one time but Rowan shaved it while he slept. Also he didn’t know how to shave when he first met Jimmy and Rowan, so Pierro taught him. Pierro also taught him how to tie a real tie rather than use a clip on one.

- Joan LOVED lister. she would always fuss over him when he would come over. When he’d come round he would help her in the garden, but really he was terrible and Joan would always have to fix his mistakes. when he told her about how he and his mum would listen to albums together when he was little, she began showing him her collection of old records from when she was a teen/young adult. when she died she left Lister a few of his favourites. Lister keeps them hidden at all times so when he was hosting parties there was no chance they’d get damaged. after they stopped having so many people over Lister kept them displayed in the living room.

- i think that before he and Jimmy got together he had healthy and fun relationship with someone unrelated. it’s not anything ridiculously serious but it helps him see what he should realistically be looking for and what he deserves. it’s not like he’s using the person though, and he actually really likes them. they eventually end things amicably though, and stay good friends.

- it says on the WIKI article alice wrote for him that he has three half siblings. as far as i can think there’s no canon information about them other than that, so i like to HC that they are all from his dads second marriage and they don’t talk much since Lister hasn’t been to visit his dad in years. the ages are;

1.) Lister (19-20)

2.) a sister who’s like 17ish, she’s super embarrassed about the whole ark thing and is reluctant to rebuild a relationship with him again when he reaches out to her post IWBFT, because she remembers how he used to constantly fight with their dad when he’d come over for christmas / two weeks in the summer holidays. when they do start to reconnect and get closer she helps him bond with their dad too. (maybe she’s called Maya?)

3.) a younger brother who’s 13ish and a total TWAT. they look really similar and he’s just like how Lister was in school but he’s hilarious and really admires Lister. somehow he’s stupid smart though, even if he’s class clown. i think he reaches out to Lister when he’s still in the hospital after the incident. i also think it would be funny if the younger brother’s celebrity crush was Jimmy but his image of jimmy is completely shattered when he meets him properly. (i call him Brodie in my head)

4.) his youngest sister who’s like 7 who barely remembers lister but once they get closer she has him wrapped around her little finger. he almost bought her a horse once but Jimmy and Rowan had to remind him that a 7 year old who lives in a city centre can not logistically look after a whole horse. (i think her names Eilidh)

- the ark move from the flat into a house just outside london and he makes sure they all have a room so they can visit whenever they want to.

- after getting to know them better, he gets really close with Angel and Juliet. the three of them and Bliss have “girls” nights in the arks flat. when Listers hair grows they teach him how to pleat it. he gets really good and when he starts seeing his half siblings again he pleats his sisters hair for them)

sorry idk man i yapped a bit 🤷‍♀️

[chrisevansleftpeck]

Bad Idea

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: none, just drunk emily lmao

Spencer Reid x Reader

WAITRESS INSPIRED FIC :)

“Hey.” Spencer stopped you in the Quantico parking lot after work. You’d just finished up your case report and handed it in to Hotch. You’d known something was up with Spencer when he’d stuck around the office past forty minutes. He was usually the first to finish writing case reports, but it almost seemed like he was trying to match your time today.

“Hi.” You turned to face Spencer with a smile, somewhat confused. 

Spencer cleared his throat, “Hi, so, kind of off hand but you know how they’re doing that FBI gala that everyone is required to go to this year?” You nodded at Spencer, your thoughts beginning to spiral.

You’d had a crush on Spencer a few years back, but it was kiddish and you were both young. You never told him but you were sure he knew. You’d gotten it under control, subdued it, but still, butterflies swarmed your stomach at the thought of what he might say next. 

He continued, “Well, I thought it might have been cool to bring my mom so she could meet you guys, but she’s not doing great so…I guess I was just wondering if you were free? Not like in a second-resort way but, I like you a lot and I- I’d really like to go with you.” Spencer laughed cutely, smiling down at his feet, before realization struck him. “Not like like but like we’re close,” Spencer waved his hands, “Sorry if that wasn’t clear or-”

“I’d really like that, Spence.” You couldn’t help but dodge his eye contact as you felt blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Really?” Spencer perked, he sounded almost surprised that you’d say yes. Of course you would. 

“Really.” You laughed, nodding towards your car, Spencer following you.

He kept close to your side, close enough that you could feel the breath that left his mouth and fogged against the cold night air. “I guess we should probably coordinate outfits and stuff then-”

You accidentally laughed, causing him to stop once you reached your car. Damn Spencer Reid for being so cute. “I- sorry. Yeah, yeah that’d be fun. Meet at your apartment before the gala? We can call or text or email about the dressing stuff tonight if you want.” You suggested.  

“We can text.” Spencer smiled, opening your car door for you. You couldn’t help but begin to think this might be a dangerous plan. Maybe you didn’t subdue those feelings well enough, because the way his hand wrapped around your car’s handle, opening it like a gentleman for you made you nervous and flustered.

Then it hit you. “Text? You don’t text.” You pointed out, sliding into the driver’s seat. 

“I’ll text you.” Spencer reaffirmed, closing your car door with something more than a smile- a smirk. Like he knew. He knew what he was doing. 

Your head spun the whole drive home. He said he’d text you like you were different to him. He’d text you. He didn’t just text anybody but he would text you. 

You knocked twice on Spencer’s apartment door, flattening out any obscure wrinkles in your little black dress as you waited for Spencer to answer. When he did, you couldn’t help but feel stunned and somewhat overwhelmed. He wore suits a lot, but something about the occasion made this suit look even better. Maybe it was that he was going with you.

“I messed with my hair a little.” Spencer laughed nervously, your eyes running over his fluffy hair. 

“I like it.” You whispered, watching Spencer’s eyes nervously dance around your body, unsure if he could even look. “Um,” You laughed and released the ends of your dress that you’d been fiddling with. “I- I kinda just did the mom-clip messy bun situation.”

Spencer stared without a reaction, you spun around so he could see. He laughed at your little 360, fake-clapping for you. “Nice. I like the mom-clip. It’s very JJ, isn’t it?” 

You brought your finger up to your lips in a hush, “I actually stole it from JJ during a case.” 

“When’d you find the time?” Spencer laughed at your cheekiness, but you could barely focus as you couldn’t draw your eyes away from his neck turning red from laughing and nerves.

“Umm, when we- we shared a hotel room together. Last case.” You gulped, still trying your best to maintain a smile. Your mind couldn’t stop running. This idea had danger written all over it.

“You alright, y/n?” Spencer’s brow furrowed as he reached out to place his hand on your forehead but you flinched away.

You shook your head, “I’m so sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to do that-”

“No, no, no. You’re right, I should’ve asked first. I never, um, touch people. Sorry- that was very out of character for me.” Spencer seemed stumped by himself. You could tell it wasn’t something that happened often.

You let the awkward moment steep for a moment until you couldn’t take it anymore, “We should probably head out, huh?” You itched the back of your neck nervously.

Spencer took a step out of his door, locking it behind him. “Yeah. Ready.”

Considering Rossi donated to the funding of the FBI gala, it was pretty extravagant. The wine selection was wide to say the least and the room was filled to the brim with FEDs. Must be a criminal’s worst nightmare.

Everyone had shown up with either their significant others, spouses, or best coworker group, but you’d just shown up with Spence. It meant nothing to most of the room, you knew, but it definitely was a shock to the BAU’s girls. 

You tried your best to ignore Penelope and JJ’s hawkeye stares as you and Spencer wandered across the room towards them at the bar. The crowd was tight though and you came into a close call, brushing shoulders with some other attendee.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You waved before drawing in a long breath as you felt someone’s hand slither around your waist. It was Spencer.

Shakily, he guided you through the room, releasing his hold once you got up to the bar where Penelope and JJ stooped next to Emily, who was already too drunk to even assess the situation (who could blame her it was a party full of serious politicians), and Derek. 

“Hi…guys.” Penelope said, suspiciously, her eyes tracing over you and Spencer.

“Hey.” Spencer nodded at the wine, Derek pouring a glass for him as if nothing had just happened.

“Well, y/n, JJ, Em and I are going to run to the ladies room. Care to join?” Penelope offered but with a more forceful glare behind her eyes. JJ chuckled beside her.

You turned your head to see Spencer, already whisked away in a conversation with Derek. “I’m- I’m good actually.”

“Perfect! Let’s go.” JJ grabbed your arm with a smile, dragging you away to the bathroom.

Three of you huddled up in a corner while Emily listened from beside a sink, fixing her lipstick in the mirror. 

“So…you have a date.” JJ nudged you with a mischievous smirk.

You looked away to hide the smile growing on your face. “He just asked me to go with him. As a friend.” You defined the last part with an eye roll.

“Did Dr. Spencer Reid really say ‘as a friend’?” Emily doubted, cleaning up the edges of her lips with her fingernail.

“He said something like I really like you but not like you like you and I was wondering if you wanted to go. Something like that. Platonic, friendly.” Penelope slapped you on your arm immediately. JJ’s eyes blew up into heart shapes.

“Did he do the little stutter thing like when he’s nervous?” Penelope practically jumped up and down.

“Y/n, look at me.” JJ forced you to make eye contact. “Why would Spencer clarify him liking you in a platonic way if there wasn’t any evidence he liked you more than that?” 

You rolled your eyes as you felt your phone buzz in your small black purse. You took it out to check your notifications. A text from Spencer.

Everything okay? Lost you in the gala.

- Spencer

You blushed at his technological cluelessness. “Your boyfriend looking for you?” You jumped just to notice Prentiss hanging out beside you, her wine-breath nearly on your skin.

“Oh hush.” You laughed, pushing out the bathroom door and back into the wildness. 

You were pleasantly happy to find Spencer still at the bar, but by himself now. Morgan must’ve found someone to converse with. Spence simply sat alone but with two glasses of wine, one calling your name.

The girls must’ve separated from you because they were nowhere to be found by the time you sat down. 

“Sorry I ditched you. I got dragged out for girl-talk.” You laughed, Spencer handing a glass to you.

“About what?” Spencer asked innocently, then realized it might be personal. “I mean-”

“No, no, you’re fine. Boys and stuff.” You took a sip of your wine while remaining eye contact with Spencer. The crimson shade of his neck was enough to tell you that drove him wild. You really had to back off. He was your best friend.

“Boys?” Spencer raised his eyebrows.

You nodded cheekily, swallowing your wine. “Boys.” Spencer didn’t want to ask anymore questions but you knew it was killing him. However, just as soon as you decided to relieve him of his curiosity, a slow song began playing. 

You turned your head towards the sound of shuffling as people ran across the room to match up with their partners. Spencer definitely noticed the smile creeping on your face as you watched. “You want to?” He asked shyly.

“Dance? Oh, no, I’m fine with people-watching.” You smiled, resting your elbows on the bar, glancing at Spencer.

He sat there for a moment too, staring back at you. “I think we have to.” Spencer decided, reaching out for your hand and slowly making contact, melting his fingers into yours.

Your stomach stirred, yet you still let him take you to the floor. It was okay- your arms draped around his neck. It was all okay until you felt his hands slide to rest on your hips. 

“Um, is this smart?” You asked, tensing under his touch. You felt him release his grasp gently, but that just made you feel worse. Guilty.

“Dancing?” Spencer asked innocently, even though he knew what you were talking about. Touching. This close. You tilted your head to the side, silently asking Spencer to give the jig up. “You’re right. Inappropriate, sorry.” Spencer whispered, taking a step back from you then practically running towards the exit door. 

You looked around, frightened at what you might’ve just jeopardized. You followed him out, clenching your purse tightly to your side. You could finally breathe outside, panting after your little sprint. Spencer was doing the same against the same brick wall.

“I ruined that, I’m sorry.” You apologized, moving closer towards him. “I just don’t want to do anything stupid- to our careers, to us.” You fidgeted with the bottom of your dress again, a nervous wreck.

“I can risk it.” Spencer panted out, straightening his back against the wall.

You shook your head, tears starting to form. “Don’t say that.” 

“I would. I think about it a lot, so I- I’m sure.” You couldn’t stop the waterworks now. You ran your hands through your hair in stress.

“Fuck!” You yelled over the oddly loud slow-dancing music coming from inside the building. “Fuck.” You began the word in a yell, but ended it in a whisper this time at the feeling of warm hands cupping your cheeks and swiping your tears away.

“I’d do most anything for you. If you don’t want it like I do, I’ll live. But if you do, please tell me. Please tell me and we’ll make it happen.” Spencer whispered as you began to blink your eyes open, steadying on his face and honey-golden eyes. God, he was so pretty it just made you want to cry all over again.

But instead you opted for what you’d wanted to do all night. You shakily brought your hands up to touch his face then drew a deep breath in before you pressed a kiss against his lips, desperately. It felt so good to give into temptation. It felt so good to feel safe. 

Spencer seemed to like it just as much because after 5 years of pining, whether either of you knew it or not, Spencer was nearly ready to do anything.

 It didn’t take long to switch places with Spencer, you against the building’s brick wall with Spencer’s hand behind your head for comfort. You couldn’t seem to separate your lips from him though. It took feeling your stomach pressed completely up against his for you to place your hands on his chest and pull away. 

“It’s a bad idea, me and you.” You more of stated it. You weren’t against it, but you needed to say it. Just so both of you knew what you were getting yourselves into.

“Let’s just keep kissing till we come to some answers.” Spencer whispered breathlessly through pants. All it took from you was a nod to be up against the wall again. You couldn’t make worse what was already pretty bad, could you?

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"No Place Like Home." Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Okay! So the amazing and wonderful @applesontheground wrote me a Leslie Vernon fic for my birthday and I adored it so much I didn't want it to end. She encouraged me to continue it, and so I did just that, and then she joined in and kept it going, and it became this beast of a collaborative piece that ended up being thirteen thousand words. It started off as being just for me, and true while it is still very self-indulgent, it's turned into something for all of you as well! I hope you enjoy!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 13K. Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer Obsessed Freak. Banter. Drinking. Murder. Blood. Gore. Ropes. Restrained Reader. Threats. Reader Kinda Wants To Die But Not In A Suicidal Way. Canon Aligned Meta Talk. Man Handling. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Blow Job. Messy Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Cum Eating. Scar Worship. Many Feelings. Vaginal Sex. Multiple Orgasms. Overstimulation. Raw Sex. Cream Pie.

---

You understood that it was a joke to begin with.

Living in a rural area, there were a lot of empty spots between the bricks that made up Glen Echo. Most of it was the usual urban legends and small businesses that just didn’t keep up with a world changing around it, turning to joke about it amongst themselves.

To you, though, there was something comforting and endearing about the pace. You were a bit of a way from home out here but found yourself filling those gaps and making the best of it. At the end of the day, being somewhere new had its moments that paid in turn for the shortcomings it could put you through.

Simply being “attracted to the area” was only half of a lie; you had shown up because of research on the mythos. You could admit that you even looked into it a little too much. The idea of the enigma who nested in the area – a man that fabricated his whole being just to relish in the spilling of unsuspecting blood – was utterly fascinating. You could find the Photoshopped news clippings and chase almost laughable clues sitting around town for days if you didn’t have a day job to occupy you.

Even remembering the life outside this Autumn night, silent and swift as a cat under a new moon, was something you finally decided to release from your attention. Halloween was no time to worry about a day job, and with that you began dawning your costume. Think like the woman you dress as, you told yourself with a smug grin to the mirror. The iconic blue and white dress fell into place on your body, resting on the midway point between your thighs.

Prudes would call it too short, and company you meshed with way better would tease that it’s far too long. It didn’t help that you wore accents that drew attention to your legs on top of that, those knee-high socks with laced hems and the ruby red slippers, which had a taller heel for an accent.

Life beyond the fantasy you were basking in was far behind you, tightening the red bows that kept two well curled pigtails hanging down behind your ears. With a touch like that, only the thickest of skulls wouldn’t know who you were.

Leaving home, following that yellow brick road that lead out of the small confines of the shabby town and into the rural space, you soon caught up with similarly dressed heathens who were raising their flasks and opened cans of alcohol to you, recognizing you were part of the pack that was heading to the supposedly haunted orchard as part of some middle finger to the belief that anyone smart enough to live out here would abstain.

The possibility had been mentioned that he – a walking spirit or man that pulled the strings as quickly and seamlessly as he did steal souls, whatever he did – would find everyone there, and he would not like what he was seeing despite the high spirits.

“Then what?” A girl expertly stepping along the uneven road beside you, a little too tough to be dressed as Princess Peach, but you quickly digressed because she wore the white elbow-length gloves well.

“Then, we become history.” Someone up the road replied, “Immortalized as the idiots who tried to party with Leslie Vernon.” Putting a fist up, you saw the blue and white Letterman jacket he was wearing had a few rips in it, and that his face was painted a ghoulish grey and rooted with purple veins along his jawline to accent it. Something about him seemed eerily familiar, but then you considered it could be something generic, very plain in the visage of an undead high schooler that the Halloween stores would sometimes parade for the uncreative minds. The fact he was holding a bottle of Jagermister only made you squint a little harder before centering your thoughts back to the road beyond the crowd again.

It was a joke to begin with, but you were still finding yourself wanting to believe it. Almost as if you wanted the party to be at real risk despite the blanket of calm everyone had draped over it, additionally nursing with booze and jokes. Surely, there would be a twist from him to combat the weak one that these costumed groups thought they were pulling.

He can’t deal with all of us, right?

You found yourself needing to take a deep breath at the thought that in your wildest fantasies that he somehow could.

After passing a fence down the trodden path, the air around you was wordlessly shifting. As though it was on a cue from where you were standing, trees were clearing from the sky to allow a half-moon to illuminate the dirt road before you, and somewhere in the lump of unclear horizon sat the dilapidated Vernon farmhouse. Bunches of yellow and rouge apples rest within the first trees that you were passing, a signal you had made it to the orchard.

A breath pulled tight into your chest; eyes as wide as you could make them while you continued to peruse, to listen to every little noise outside of the murmur of people. The Jager man offered you a drink from the cooler that they were lugging out with the rest of the crowd, and after fiddling through the soggy ice, your hand secured a vodka shot between index and middle fingers while the rest of your hand found the rim of a canned pre-mixed drink. He then said something in a pompous tone, but it was otherwise unintelligible to you, so you just laughed it off to go back to soaking in the sight before you instead.

Even after basking for a good portion of the party’s setup, you still weren’t done. You decided to give it a rest, be a little more social. It was the omniscience embedded within you to realize how you looked, staring wistfully into the orchard surrounding the clearing that everyone was gathering in, not interested in any person at a Halloween party. Too suspicious, and despite knowing there were no tricks up your frilly short sleeves, you were aware no one else knew yourself as well as you did.

You began striking up conversations to avert any of the oddly placed suspicion that might have been drummed up, complimenting costumes as the two drinks you had snagged were put down between giggles and conversations about what kind of final girl was the best kind You fell elbow-deep in bringing up a classic archetype, the movie buff who called plot twists and elements that would play out in their own story before they happened, someone locked eyes with you. You didn’t stop, of course, but held the stare from across the party as you went on.

“Please, where would we be without those dudes half-baked and quoting The Creature from the Black Lagoon? They’re the ones painting the picture for the rest of the clueless victims.”

You couldn’t quite pinpoint what about him really excited you. First off, the thrill of him being the Scarecrow and unintentionally matching you passed as you failed to recognize the shape worn on his mask, and the absence of straw in the torn holes of the rest of his getup was only a final nail in the coffin of your hopes. He was just…some mope-mouthed zombie, or a haunted doll.

The people you had been speaking to were well into buzzed territory, taking the lull in your conversation to go stumble into another aesthetically appropriate chat circle while you waited for this new acquaintance. He continued to wade through the crowds that you had been standing off to the side from, and finally piped up as soon as he could be heard from behind everything.

“Looks like you forgot Toto.”

You snickered at that, and shrugged, “Yeah. None of my friends’ dogs wanted to do it, sorry.”

He made an amused noise at that, then pointed to the drink in your hand. “Want me to grab you another one?” You shook your head, grimacing a bit, “No, no. I’m still working on this, and besides- Even in stoppers, not a great combination to keep drinking with these shoes on.”

“Even in what?” He stooped a little to hear better, and you demonstrated it by walking perfectly stable along the uneven terrain, wading off the dirt clearing everyone was gathered in to show off a pair of high heels in all their red, glittery glory on forest brush. “Heel stoppers. They keep me from sinking in all this mud and dirt around the property.” He whistled a bit as you did a fancy little turn, accenting the agility they provided, and he complimented, “Pretty smart. You do that just for parties?”

You bit your tongue, smiling as you walked back over and admitted, “More to just keep in the race should I need to run.” The inquisitive glow to wide eyes suddenly narrowed, and he scoffed, “Run from what? It’s pretty harmless out here, save for those dudes who won’t stop saying they’re gonna climb the roof. It’s gonna give out the second any weight gets put on it…” He faltered, arm shooting out to the farmhouse like it was obvious from where the both of you stood, “Looks that way, anyways.”

“That’s what you think, dude. Do you know where you are right now?” He was silent; merely staring on at you, almost through you. You smiled and elaborated for him, “The Vernon Farm. Leslie Vernon’s resting place?”

He scrunched his eyes and hummed, “Can’t say that’s ringing a bell. Enlighten me.”

You felt as though the words couldn’t fall faster from your mouth, crafted into the same story you loved to tell the locals (as if they weren’t native to the area that it all started in, hearing the tall tale since they were in grade school).

“Isn’t that fucking ingenious?” You paused partially through the story on how he had committed a few murders within a span of the last three years, part of you trying to steady yourself as you realized you had spilled your guts to a man whose face you hadn’t even seen, “He’s up and coming still, but I think he’s taking a lot of cues from the greats of these serial killer types. I mean, morally abhorrent, but I’m no snob to that.”

“Wow.” He looked away in a rather brisk motion, but seemed amicable to the subject, “It sounds like you’re really banking on this dude to be some kind of mastermind.”

“Please.” You shrugged, “I mean, these murders that happened over three years seem pretty real to me. Whoever, whatever’s been utterly elusive on a rural farm for so long – still Vernon as we see him – he absolutely knows about stuff like this coming on the horizon. I can see it already, it’s so practical now that I have my actual eyes on this place.” You pointed up to a tree you had been perusing, “There’s an electrical wire trailing up this tree, perfectly on the outskirts of the crowd where someone can – no, will run towards it if they get spooked. Seriously, doubt anybody in our group put that up there, it’s not covered in all these goofy Halloween decorations.” His own eyes slowly trailed up your arm, catching on an exposed tattoo before briskly tearing away to see what you were talking about, following your pointed finger.

You then gave the unimpressed tone right back, “That’s going to do something. Electrocute someone, take power to something that’s even more gruesome. It’s too high off the ground to be some sort of cutting wire, right?” His eyes went back down, sizing up your confident expression with a halfhearted blink, “Pretty sure whoever, whatever Vernon is, has more than rocks in his head. Fueled by more than just hearsay, ghost stories…”

Finding humor in your almost asinine explanation, you found this was better timing than anything that’d come afterwards. You were surprised he was even still standing in front of you, as you figured you may as well introduce yourself, still caught in a starry-eyed smirk. You offer up your name.

He shook your hand nicely and replied, “Nice meeting you. I’ll let you in on mine after the party.” Finding it almost bold in nature, looking to fulfill some type of promise with that reveal, you blew him off. Rolling your eyes, you asked, “Sure. Then what can I call you until then?”

Still holding your hand in a mockingly polite way, he mulled, “Just call me the wizard himself. … Or the Scarecrow. Whatever works for this costume, Dorothy.” Taking his hand out of yours, he flicked one of your pigtails while pulling away slightly, just enough to leave you able to recall the subtle warmth from standing beside him as something so much stronger just mere seconds ago.

He had glanced at your arm again, so you decided to keep the topic going. “If you can’t tell, I’m kind of fascinated by these slasher types.” You gave him a good view of your tattoos, and his eyes traced over it, silent at first but the approval shining through in a thoughtful roll of his neck as he took in the entire picture again, every detail having soaked in through painted eyeholes.

“You know, I didn’t take you as someone who saw so much in a dynamic like that. The killer and his final person, I mean.” He carefully crossed his arms, like he was letting this creepy façade rest its head for a moment as he speculated, “Almost sounds like you want that for yourself, or at least to see it for yourself, straight out of the movies and the stories.” You smiled unapologetically, and although it sounded like you were playing along it was spoken in earnest, “Oh, do I.”

He stared off into the tree line with you for a beat, and hummed, “A girl like you really seems to chase after that, stick around in places where it can’t help itself.” You rolled your neck a little, adjusting in the scratch of the costume, as alcohol started permeating on your tongue a little heavier. You admitted, “Can’t help being such a go-getter with this. I almost live for it, which means I have to die for it too, I guess.”

“Go-getter.” The words themselves felt like they could be sarcastic when he echoed them back to you, but something earnest coated his voice as he suddenly affirmed that, “You’ll find it. It’ll find you. One or the other.” A hand came up, grasping at an imaginary subject in front of him as he spoke in even more earnest. “Ghost stories or not, something about that attraction. It’s palpable…magnetic, even.”

He then pulled a handle from his pocket, and you soon saw from the size of it that it hadn’t been inside, but rather sitting right in plain view over the top. The stranger shrugged rather peacefully. “It’s like the two can’t keep away from each other.”

That blade didn’t look plastic. You raised an eyebrow; it didn’t even look chrome; it was chipped in certain spots and narrow in a way that fake weapons just couldn’t emulate. Wear and tear made marks like that. You got one more look at his mask, a few second thoughts shutting you up well and fine.

“I’m keeping that promise, by the way. We’ll talk a little later. Can I count on you?” he asked, friendly enough as you merely nodded, trying to act like you were thinking before the nonverbal answer. He slid right past, not towards the crowd, but into the shadows of the apple orchard that surrounded the farm. No one even looked twice at the noise, so minor that it was easily blamed on the wind, should you not know better.

“Oh.” You spoke to yourself, staring down at your drink, “Oh, now that just isn’t fair.”

~

What in the fuck was he doing?

You felt the rope constrict tighter, one of his long arms stretching over one shoulder to take the other end towards your back. Silent, you merely matched his own lack of words because you were more confused than terrified. Maybe even a little let down.

This was how you told him you had wanted to go, at the hands of some dude like him, and he isn’t even killing you.

Between the small talk by the tree and reuniting with him now, to say you had been put to the test to be his victim would be an understatement. Between the classic straggler at the party who disappeared for far too long only for a severed arm or head to turn up to people hanging from the rafters of the farmhouse or in the trees, everyone had scattered, herded together by the supernatural entity of Vernon, and picked off to the best of his abilities. The ones he hadn’t been able to physically get a hold of got caught, you had noted when you ran by that wire and saw someone electrocuted at the foot of the tree it was wrapped around.

What do you know? I was fucking right.

Securing the entire hog tie, he suddenly lifted his haunches from you. Before you recognized he was gearing to leave, that was it. Turning onto your back and haphazardly sitting up, ignoring how your dress rode up slightly in favor of looking through the trees, he had slipped off again like the ghost that he was trying to emulate. You almost wanted to holler at him: The fuck is THE Leslie Vernon doing taking live captors? Is he getting bait? Playing with the food before consuming it?

Pondering had honestly brought you to a comfortable seat on the dirt beneath your backside, not caring if it was starting to pour into the backs of your socks, or even accidentally slip under your skirt, peppering your bare thighs before you readjusted with a huff. You had a hunch, one that finally helped your dry throat find its gloss and find its voice again.

“Not gonna lie, you’re kind of screwing this up.” You called out, and he emerged from the dark, like he knew your own speculations that would come to the light, much like himself: He couldn’t run off yet. Still saying nothing, he tilted his head to one side. It was impossible to tell if he meant it in admiration or disbelief. Regardless, you heard a shuddering breath behind his mask.

“You know,” You crossed one ankle over the other, calming the pulse between your legs, “I always assumed you’d want to keep this brief. Especially if I’m not your final victim.” He made a beeline back over to you, crouching to one knee. Instead of an unnerving whistle or hiss, he gave you an honest mutter in disbelief. “Please. For you?” He asked, and you curiously let him go on, “If anything you’ve told me tonight is true, about yourself and about your passion for what I’m doing, I almost want to ask for permission.”

A hand came up, sans his weapon but nail just as pristine, as he ran feather-light tracks over the outline of the tattoo resting. “I mean, you weren’t lying about your commitment to this sort of lifestyle. These all look pretty real to me.”

“Rub a little harder, even.” You dared, looking down at the primed muscles stretched on the back of his hands, “I don’t mind if you need to prove to yourself that I’m the real deal.” The pristine curl suddenly became lighter, intimidated even as it fell away, and he quickly digressed.

“It isn’t about that, the sweet honeypot at the end of every horror movie. I always thought it had something more to do with the journey, the planning…” He swung the sickle, breaking through the itchy rope and not courteous enough to keep it from catching threads from your dress. He gasped, “I’m a lot like you, in that I will admit it’s nice, but…I want this whole event to be special, you know?”

Pausing, his eyes scoured your body for a couple seconds before his two hands, the curved blade falling in his lap to give way for nimble fingers pulling the rest of the rope apart, taking it from your body and letting it fall along with the weapon. Still, most of it fell to your own lap. Looking at each other, the sigh practically tumbled from behind the mask. Whether it was relief or exhaustion, neither of you cared to label it. He almost seemed put off by something, squinting at himself more so than anything about you or what you were doing.

Then, with the same hands, he pushed the mask up over his face. Seeing him, not the mirage he had been flowing through the entire evening like water vapor, he smiled through a painted on frown. It had been an accent paint, it seemed, something to abscond in case the wooden face didn’t fool a wandering eye. Everything was smoke-colored and smudged over his expression, beginning to get sweat through, and somehow making the smile lines in his face more prominent simultaneously. It was as though you could see everything and nothing at once.

“Special,” You echoed, “I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean, Leslie.” You cocked your head at the sound of his name on your lips, “Can I call you Leslie?”

“Absolutely. Think we’ve both earned the right to be friendly with each other.” He answered with a harmless nod, and just as swift as he had stripped down to the man that he was, he was shoving you backwards with the heels of his hands. “I honestly don’t know why you’re asking. It’s so clear you knew to use my name long before-“ He framed your arms against the dirt, pinning both the extremities, “we ended up here.” You let your head fall back, the earth supporting heavier realizations as you simply murmured, “Yeah, maybe I did.”

He shifted, as though physically feeling you would do something about this. Rough denim pulled against your bare leg, and even if you could attempt to fix your skirt, you knew you were far past the point of wanting to. Anyone who could see either of you was dead, or rather you could notice from the peripherals of your stare into his own that there was a body nearby.

Whether or not it had been intentionally turned away from the two of you, that was something you enjoyed leaving up to the imagination. You couldn’t even register before he collided into you a little too hard, his hand slipping in a pure excitement that made it hard to keep steady when he was on top of you the way that he was.

It made the fact you talked about the things that you would do about your interest in him all the more diabolical, eyes snapping open and looking past his short dark hair that had been styled by accident to stand on end from how he had removed the mask. You told all of that to his face.

When he finally pulled back, he peered down with an almost euphoric, electrified look to his eyes. “Sorry. I get a little antsy – and you probably knew that, too.” You had no idea what he was talking about until the slow ooze of blood went over the cupid’s bow of your lip. “You’re fine, they happen easily.” You almost coughed through your speech, laughing at imagining just how dishevelled he had you in a matter of a few movements, a few touches that were far from the only ones going forward.

He flicked the sickle, and you watched some stray streaks of blood fall into the dirt, permeate into a diabolical splatter of what you could assume to call mud. “…Listen, we can discuss this away from the rest of the…the party, maybe?” He asked breathlessly, and when you nodded once again leapt off of you with the same pace, the same ethereal ability.

“Well,” You let a string of bloody spit fall from your mouth, as ruby in color as your lipstick and as your shoes, letting him pull you back up by the back of your neck and suddenly hoist you off the ground. You didn’t move as he hefted you over one shoulder; rather, you turned your head and asked, “So, let me just ask this. You’re not gutting me? Stabbing me? Not even slitting the throat, letting me go out in a more iconic fashion? Where the hell are we again?”

Leslie stopped. Readjusting you, the loose threats of your dress along with your soft hip pressing into the side of his neck, he straightened the skirt over your backside with a lingering hand and hummed, “I’ll put it like this: you are not in Kansas anymore.”

Your hands rest on his back, not for lack of support, or fear that he’d drop you, but just because you could, he was right here and he was letting you. Through rough thermal material you could feel how firm he was underneath, defined muscle definitely present, fabric slightly damp from sweat and whatever else from the effort he’d expended this evening thus far. Your nose hadn’t stopped bleeding, a slow drip, he was still carrying you away, somewhere, and you watched as stray drops fell to the ground, bright red standing out amongst dark and loose dirt, like a farewell to the rest of what the party had originally thought it had got itself into. In all honesty, they all assumed it was what it was: a joke.

This was no goddamn joke, tangible as the flexing back underneath your palms.

It’s quiet for a moment, your mind is whirring, wandering as it always is, and watching the faint blood trail, dressed as you were, perched on the monster himself’s shoulder? 

It’s like something out of a fairy tail in a way. The big bad wolf and the little red victim, but instead of a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a gingerbread house, it’s a pathway marked with blood mixing into the earth, and it’s leading to-

A glance around, gaining your bearings. It clicks as soon as your eyes leave the ground. The Vernon farm house.

Oh, this is what he had in mind. He wants to bring you inside. 

You would have been fine getting anything from him, you would have let him fuck you back there in the dirt and loved every single second of it, but apparently he had other plans, better plans. 

You love who he is, and more importantly, you love who you are. 

Furthermore, you have no illusions about yourself either, and certainly no shame. You would have let him do all manner of things in the cool evening air and under the light of the moon, no less than ten feet from a body that he himself had brought to the ground. He deemed you worth more, better than a nasty fuck in the dirt- No. He thinks what you are going to do together is better suited under a roof, in a proper bed.

He thinks you are worth that extra care and effort, and he thinks you deserve the Vernon home’s comfort, warmth, safety…

You suppress a laugh as the word safety floats through your mind. He takes you inside, barely mindful enough to close the door, but enough to give the needed privacy. Up the stairs, you have to stifle another giggle, his shoulder driving up over and over into your sternum inadvertently. He doesn’t even care to notice, let alone say anything about it – especially since you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself. Into the closest guest room, he slings you off of him and onto the bed.

The idea that you are safe with Leslie fucking Vernon is, laughable, hilarious, and yet – seemingly and inexplicably – true. He looks like he is too excited, like he doesn’t know what to do first.

You jump into action, knowing the role deserves such from both parties. You reach out to him, propped up on one elbow, your other hand is open, a move of your fingers, a small invitation to join you on the surprisingly plush surface, it certainly beat the dirt outside (mythos ingrained couldn’t make it any more pleasant after all). He takes you up on it, starts to crawl onto the bed, it’s not as slow as before, as if now that he’s experienced it once, he is craving to be on top of you again too much to not rush it, and soon enough he is. 

You revel in his weight on top of you again, your hand that was previously reaching out touches down on the back of his neck, you sink further into the mattress with a sigh. You speak, you ask, “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” He asks, and you nod once, “Yeah, after everything, we kept you pretty busy tonight, running around, you feeling tired yet, Vernon?”

A shake of his head, small smile, addressing him by his last name is fine too it seems, good to know. He tells you, “No way, not at all.”

“No?” The question is innocent in tone, but not in what you hope to gain from it, and he says, “You have no idea the stamina I am capable of.”

“Show me?”  You asked, tone thoroughly hopeful, almost offended by the notion you’d underestimate him. Still, you wanted him to make you understand, and not only that, but to not stop until he was sure you understood.

The implication is obvious, the motives clear, yet he still tilts his head a little and asks, “And just how should I do that?”

He’s being so fucking coy about it, he has to know how endlessly attractive that is to you. You fight the urge to grouse, a playful musing of, must you do everything is left unsaid.

Hand on the back of his neck moves up, fingers slide through short dark hair and thread slightly, twist as much as they are able, and you use that to tug him down as you move up so your lips meet. It’s fitting you suppose, there has to be a point where this happens, right? A shift in your dynamic. He’s still instigating, doing the set-up, but you can’t be stock static forever.

That isn’t the point, it isn’t your role. It isn’t any fun if he’s the only one doing the moving, otherwise you might as well just be one of the bodies abandoned in the dirt outside, chilling and succumbing to the elements as you two lay here.

The flavour of him hits your senses due to the union you’d just forced, mostly it’s salt and the paint he wore. It doesn’t taste like any normal make-up you’d ever worn, but it’s him, just as much as the light apple you managed to gain a sense of was. The idea of him taking a small break and eating from the orchard on the job is weirdly endearing, if not a bit funny, but there are better things to focus on. Mostly like, where the fuck did he learn to kiss like this? Was he this good, were you this hard up, or was it everything else? The tension, the build up, the chemistry or as he so succinctly put it earlier, the magnetism? 

Either way, you simply cannot bring yourself to care as he settles in closer to you, body more flush to yours, really letting you soak up the feeling of him on you, letting it consume you more easily not just into him, but the moment itself.

The rhythm and ease, back and forth, push and pull, inhale and sigh, your lips part more, and then you’d realized something vital just now, in your haste to kiss him you’d honestly forgotten about the fact you were still bleeding. You pull back, about to apologize, but that look in his eyes makes you stop again, shining in the low light of the room. The words die a quiet death on your tongue, lingering there before being buried with the taste of iron on your palette.

He doesn’t let you, his hands are on you now, too. Your grip loosens while his tightens, another shift with one hand in just about the same place yours was on him, the back of your neck. His mouth stained differently than before, more red like yours was, and he says, “Not yet.” before leaning in to take further. 

He is getting bolder, more confident, dare you even say a needier edge to this, the thought passes through your mind, How does he like it? He definitely knows himself and what he’s doing. Also, how long had it been for him?

When was the last time he had someone in his bed, kissed someone, touched another person without the express purpose and idea being violent fanfare? Clearly you are not the first, no way anyone is this capable on their first go with no previous experience to back themselves up, but when was the last time he had penetrated a warm body below him in a different sense? It sends a thrill through you, weeks, months, fuck, years? The very idea certainly made you feel special. 

You’d been returning his affection this whole time, matching him in enthusiasm and pace. You wanted to ask, to know, but should you ask right this second when his mouth felt so good slotted against yours? You could talk more later. Right now, your body is betraying what you really crave: a move of your hips against his, a grind upwards, and you feel with perfect clarity how much this is getting to him too. The friction is good but nowhere near enough, the move is repeated twice more, and it just gets better, it makes you want to go further at the warmth that is blooming inside as well as kick off your sparkly heels and shed much more clothing than just that. Something eager, like how he had collided so harshly with you just prior to this, was rushing to the hilt. Practically gagging on its leash, the seams of your panties rubbing you to near pain before anything even passed the barrier of clothing.

Again, maybe you were just that predictable. His hand tracing from the waistband of your skirt to glide along the socks, his mind was going straight to those heels. You crease your brow slightly as you feel his fingers stick past the spot where the shoes still wedged fast to your foot, and without taking his mouth off of yours, he pushes one of them off. Then, the other with a similar urgency to his movement, the same brisk shuffle of the other hand. When you glance down, he’s holding both of them in one hand, caring not to throw them to the floor but rather set them gingerly by the foot of the bed.

“Those shoes got some thought in them,” He commented when he saw where your eyes had been, “I respect the craft, so I’m not here to wreck those heel stoppers.”

“Well, that decides it,” you say in a serious and emphatic tone, with your brows still pinched together, "I have to blow you."

A laugh, small and shocked, before he asks, "Right this second?"

"Do you have a better or more appropriate time in mind, Leslie?" You say it teasingly and even after you expounded earlier about all the things you would do, even after proving your devotion to the supposed “cause”, it was as if he still didn’t believe you to back it up and be so forward. He had a lot to learn about you.

In the interest of continuing to be forward, you lean in that direction, sitting half up to meet his now kneeling position he took when removing your heels, hands are back on, setting to work on his overalls as you say, “I think I can pencil you in for around four pm next Wednesday if that suits you better?”

“Lots of jokes from you right now-” He starts, and you laugh, as if he didn’t open with one himself earlier, didn’t set the tone, the snaps undone you tell him, “Trying to keep the mood light, it was getting pretty hot and heavy there for a minute.” 

“Are you complaining about some good, solid sexual tension?” He asks as you tug the denim down. You admire the way the dirty off-white material is stretched across his arms and torso, eyes linger while your fingers abandon the straps, settling into the openings near his hips to get it the rest of the way off. “Never, just don’t want you to blow your load too fast, you know?”

“Be honest.” He implores with a smile, and you shrug, eyes break away as you say, “Maybe I want to make this last a bit longer, don’t want to rush something I’ve been wanting for so long.” 

It is honest. You want to savour it, especially because who knows if this is a once in a lifetime offer that will expire after tonight. Perhaps the sun will rise in the morning, then proceed to set on whatever is between you and him right now.

You push the thought aside as easily as you do the rest of dark muddy blue fabric with his help, no time to think about all of that when you have this right now. Enjoy the moment as it happens, for what it is, or regret it forever. Either this is the one and only, the possibilities as infinite as the entire evening felt, or the hopeful first of many, and in either scenario your full attention is deserved.

“That is something I can completely understand.” 

You’re sure he can. Tossing the clothing on the floor with much less care than he gave to your shoes, you notice his current state and ask, “Woah, commando under there, huh?”

“Freedom of movement is important. Gotta stay aerodynamic with all the running, chasing...” He points out, and your hands come up. “Never said it wasn’t”. Verbally, you reply, “Fair enough.” That doesn’t put you off, the idea of him doing this so unencumbered wasn’t bad at all. You reach out again, hands help him with his shirt, and he is more than amicable but at the same time points out, “You are still awfully dressed.”

“You know you can do something about that, anytime you want to.” Making your own point in a similar tone that he did earlier, but before he can start to worry about removing white and blue checkered frills, you are much closer. Hands on his shoulders, another kiss not stolen, but willingly given.

If the excitement you felt when making out fully clothed before was good, him bare under your exploring hands was incredible. You are torn between the feel of his mouth on yours and how the planes of his skin under your careful palms. He had some good scars, ones you would be getting a much closer look at if you weren’t so consumed with how his tongue was working into your mouth. Lower and lower, fingers trace until you are down past his ribs over a particularly gnarly scar on his side that makes him tense. A small breaking apart, lips hardly lifting from his as you ask, “You good?”

A hum of acknowledgement with a nod as you trace over it again, you think this is it, you think this is the big one he got from Her and you are touching it, evidence of their bond and connection, foraging your own private moment with it.

You don’t linger, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable but from the way he is breathing you don’t think he is bothered by it, you think he’d let you do more to it and maybe later you will.

For now your hand is concerned with going lower, thumb slipping over his hip bone until you find what you really want, a fleeting thought of empowering yourself makes a smile pass your lips briefly before you kiss him again, swallowing up the gasp he lets out from the firm grip you take.

Christ, this was going to be good, you could tell, but you can make it better still. You break away to lean down a bit, spitting into your palm before taking back your position, your hand is gliding much easier. You think of putting your mouth to better use. You don’t want to use just your hand; can anyone blame you for wanting to satisfy an intense oral fixation, something that made you hit the ground running at the drop of a dime? Not only that, but you were good at it, and you wanted to show him just how good you could be. To see what reactions you could draw from him when your fingers dig into his hips and pull him in close and down your eager throat made a mantra clear as day cross your mind, almost blinding you as you felt yourself tense slightly in anticipation. 

Stop thinking, start doing.

You make the move, sliding lower on his body. More passes of your mouth, brushes of your lips, quick pecks placed as you travel down, admiring as you go and your hand never stopping. The look on his face made him seem that he was merely allowing it, but as he got more sensitive to each meeting of your mouth against his skin, his posture was starting to slack.

Jaw to neck and neck to shoulder, his shoulder to chest and his chest down his stomach and fuck, you see it: the edge of that brutal scar. You lick your lips quickly, and the pure impulse pushes you to lean in. While tightening your grip on his shaft, your tongue licks up along the length of the raised tissue. He responds as if he’s been electrocuted, a choked sound that was desperately trying to abscond itself made you clench the empty space between your legs. It seems you took him by surprise yet again. Thank God for the hand you have on his opposite side while you work him over, or he might have just toppled right off the bed.

You let the underside of your tongue pass over it once more on your way down until you are finally stomach down on the sheets, right where you need to be. After all, previous thoughts of knowing where Her story ended and yours began was a line you were willing to dance along.

The hand on him slows as you make that first contact, you start with a kiss, something soft and akin to reverent. It’s just to kick it off, but quickly the experimenting turned to knowledge, then knowledge to want. You’re quicker now, and a hungry mouth opens as you take almost half in one go. A light moan around your mouthful, lips close and with the seal formed you suck deeply.

Some people might be grossed out by the taste of him after a night's activities. You are not one of those people. The tang of him is strong, and it is very welcome. The taste of him and heavy weight on your tongue along with remnants of the drinks from what felt like an entirely different night ago made you grind your hips into the mattress as you bob back once before driving down again – harder, taking more.

A hand finds your hair along with a quiet curse, a half smile can be heard in his tone, “Shit, you’re eager, huh?”

Eyes glance up through your lashes, along with a nod that doesn’t stop your pace. You merely slow for a moment, fingers on his hip squeeze, and you use that to draw him closer. You are going to take him to the base and swallow around the head of his dick, even if it suffocates you. Forcing your head down is easy, taking him deeper is no issue, you are plenty motivated, a straining of your neck as you keep leaning, hand pulling him towards you until finally you achieve your goal.

It took a few rocks back and forth, a minute amount taken more each time, until your nose is buried in trimmed coarse hair. Another moan reverberates out of you, somewhere deep in your throat and then up his shaft. Nails bite into his hip as you move him back a hair, and you suck down a deep breath through your nose before your lips are locked once more around his base.

You suck, your tongue moves in slow lazy circles on the underside of his shaft as an opener, yet you still listen as his breathing pitches, becoming laboured. You take the chance and give a strong swallow.

He lets out a groan, the hand in your hair threads, and he tugs, “Fuck-”

That is what you need to hear. No, that is what you live for. A telling tone, rough and faltering into something less confident. It was almost like he was vanquishing that idea, and letting it go where it needed rather than where he saw to fit. You swallow him again, and another sound pours out from above you. You repeat yourself with another swallow, a sound to match once more, and you throb.

Finding some guarded clarity for a second, he then says, “You know you, ugh, you don’t have to do all this.”

Brows quirk, and you move back, pulling him out and noting how he’s dripping in your spit. Your hand locks onto him tightly as you move seamlessly, not breaking stride, and you squarely look up. “I thought you were smart.”

He laughs breathlessly, eyes hard to see from a half confused and half pleasured grimace before he questions, “What?”

Your opposite hand comes up, thumb dispatching the spit that had slipped out, while you maintain eye contact. You tell him, “I’m not doing this to impress you, Leslie. This is just how I like to do this, or else… What am I doing here?”

You lean in and slip the head back between your lips. You suck again, his head tips back as your hand works his shaft in tandem with your mouth and then a few pumps later pop him back out, finishing your previous train of thought, “This? It’s just as much for me as it is for you. Trust me.”

You set back to work, hand slows, and you work him back into your mouth, sucking indulgently all the way, a blanket of bliss taking over. Fingers are loose around the base of his shaft, and you bob your head up and down. The rhythm is casual and easy, you are just having fun with it at this point.

Like the loosening grip on control, he seemed more than happy to let you play. It gave him the time to have what you said linger on his mind.

A minute later, he then let his head fall back down and asked, “What do you mean, it’s just as much for you?”

You didn’t want to stop, so you think you can show rather than tell. Your hand that wasn’t holding him in place while you continue to fuck your mouth with him slips down. A hand goes up your skirt and into your underwear, finally giving reprieve to that wall that kept the last of hidden details from what was before both of you.

Fingers slip down, and you are soaked.

You pushed two into yourself, and gasp as much as you can with him in your mouth. You rock back and forth, fucking yourself on your fingers, and God, that felt so good. You linger for a moment before your hand is pulled out and held up, still shivering from the inside out from its protrusion. His fingers catch your wrist, and he brings it closer to see them slick, a mess running down them and strings of arousal breaking apart when you splay your fingers. 

Undeniable evidence of just how much this particular act does for you. 

You’d hoped he would understand, and he does. Synchronicity is further bliss, so much so that you have this much of a read on him. It was something more satisfying than just grazing the books, the articles written capturing mere glimpses of him. For fuck’s sake, he has your fingers in his mouth. He sucks and tastes you, and apparently likes it so much he moans (not in a dissimilar fashion to how you did upon tasting him.)

Fuck, you had it so badly for him. 

You hadn’t wanted to stop. Urges to keep going until drool was trailing down your chin and neck were throttling you, and you were a breathless mess who was somehow even wetter by the end of it. Looking up, it was becoming clear that he had other plans. It’s shown on how his face once again grew dark, similar to what you had seen when the mask had come off. Eyes fixated on your face, taking in features with a few restless heaves of his shoulders, a still ocean in his expression as he thought for another second.

“You want to know about me?” He asked, smiling as he let go of your wrist. “Let’s scratch that. This business is a lot about improv, if you didn’t already know, and here comes an improvised thought.” He readjusted, finding some footing in the way he was kneeling, and he leaned in a little more – to a point where you could smell yourself on his breath. Another grind against you, he shuddered out the words.

“Let me get to know a little more about you for a second.”

You were frozen in place, merely humming in response as he suddenly turned his attention lower. With a smoothing motion, your skirt rode up your hips along with the heels of his hands, pushing it like something in his way, which you suppose it is.

Suddenly, just as quick and almost erratic as he had been the more he was enjoying himself, enjoying this, and enjoying you – he was off the bed for a split second. You didn’t watch, just waited, made yourself more comfortable, because it was a pattern of his to come back when he did that. Your mouth feels tragically empty at the loss of him, but you have a good feeling whatever he is about to do will more than make up for it. 

“God, they’re the same color as the slippers-” He lamented for half a second, speaking of your red panties he had revealed when he moved your skirt out of the way, but as soon as he had left he was back. Something cold slid underneath the fabric of your underwear, and with a thoughtful turn to rest on a small edge between your skin and the elastic made you realize what it was.

How did you not see that coming? He held it with a steady hand, a semblance of trying to keep some control with something so sharp, as he caught his breath. Pulling upwards in an almost savage motion shattered the otherwise serene, quiet moment.

“Sorry if you were thinking about wearing those again.” He shrugged, no remorse in his tone. You chuckled at that and replied, “You think I’d get rid of them even after that?” As you finished the rhetorical question, you saw him holding them in an iron grip with the hand that didn’t have the sickle.

“Not what I meant.” He said the obvious aloud, and in a quick move of his arm he threw them out of sight, “Good luck finding those again.” You scoffed, head falling back on the bed as you lamented, “Will it be as hard as learning your na-”

He cut you off again, this time with a hand feeling your entrance with the same careful precision he had given with the weapon. It was your turn to shudder, fingers curling in response to the feeling almost immediately as you got your last word out, “Naaaame?”

“Everyone knows my name.” Leslie reminded you, “At least, around here. I’ve done a great job with making it all common knowledge, but…” You stared with lidded eyes as he finally let the middle finger pass your walls, unable to keep the expression of a surprise that broke the final assumption that you couldn’t feel this wet, this hot. Neither of you could keep talking, awe striking both of you from making the connection.

The moment overtakes, there is one thought that breaks through the haze, lingering in the now mostly empty space of your mind, “Leslie Vernon is inside of me.” 

To be fair, he always has been it seems, once you learned about him, it was like he set up camp in your mind, your heart – fucking Hell, into the very marrow of your bones, he took root, curling around your spine all the way up your brain stem. It’s like an infection, poisoning you, making you sick.

You never wanted to get better. If this is what being ill is, then you want to be staying under forever. He’s been in you in every way but a very physical way, but now?

As he almost totally withdraws his middle finger and then adds his ring finger next, he has broken that last barrier, and you need to hold on for dear life to keep yourself from spiralling out. You writhed slightly, trying not to clench your legs and prevent him from doing what he needed to. He started to pump a few times, but it was growing too much again. That same face falling over him like a blanket, he ducked down. His fingers felt incredible, but his tongue was something that made an involuntary gasp come with an inhale, then a shaky cry fall from you with an exhale.

He was mute, focused with a furrowed brow as his mouth merely ghosted, then settled into where he felt fit best. One lick up through your folds had him deciding quietly that he needed to get more comfortable for this, wanting as much of you exposed as possible. Fingers leave you and his hands lock onto your hips. He tugs you down as he moves, showing his strength, no matter how you had made him look weak in full view. The reminders he could do anything he wanted prompts a small moan to slip out.

He has his knees to rough hardwood, your legs remain splayed, and he gets to it. 

You’d thought about this very thing often. It had been an impossibility, a complete pipe dream to be taken by his mouth, but here he was turning the thoughts into one hell of a reality. There had to be a figure that he was rather good at that, even outside his other work. You look down the length of your body to see those weathered hands resting atop your thighs, his eyes closed and that mouth of his getting into a rhythm of doing some frankly criminal things, neck muscles flexing in the process.

His tongue was eager but minded its pace, going from bottom to top, hole all the way up and over straining and hyper sensitive flesh before repeating the action. It made you tense with a quick inhale as your body became taut, the easy simmer of pleasure from the first contact. The tension and tease of a rise upward culminating in the bright burst of feeling that hits when he passes over your clit, to then the leftover buzz when he pulls away briefly to drop back to do it all over again.

It’s wonderful, it’s maddening, and before you could even hope to start to put together the thoughts to form a sentence to complain he knew, somehow he knew just when to move on.  His mouth becomes much more focused, the movements are drawn out and unhurried. Very comfortable, light brushes of his tongue over your twitching bud through the hood make your body respond in kind, unable to remain still. You are so perfectly worked up, it is like you can feel every move, no matter how miniscule with rough palms holding your legs in place during the times they jerk more heavily, and a rough stubble scraping against the edges of your inner thighs. His lips, soft, slick and pliable – they’re phenomenal.

He’s intuitive. You knew this going in, but he is paying very close attention and realizes that gentle passes of his tongue are doing more than something firmer and with more pressure, the real winner though? Using his lips to, not even suck really, more he was just using them to provide smooth gliding and very wet friction, the heat and careful attention is doing you in, the amount of touch is perfect, the pleasure it hoists upon you is near overwhelming.

It’s like a kiss, honestly. A filthy, completely mind-bending, make your knees give out if you were standing kiss, but a kiss all the same. It’s intense, passionate, makes your head spin and fingers twist into the sheets harder. You aren’t even aware of the sounds you are making as your thighs squeeze his head, pitched moans and cries, out of breath and broken praise and encouragement that spills forth without thought. It’s quiet, whispered out hushed over the wet sounds of his mouth as he worked, “Leslie-”

You sound wrecked as you tell him, somehow finding the words to utter, “-jus-just like that-” and he does as asked, keeps the stride. In moments, it has you begging, a weak and pathetic plea of, “-don’t stop, ple-ase, fuck!”

He hums in acknowledgement, and that makes your legs move involuntarily again with a gasp. One of his hands lifts off your thigh, but you are much too consumed with the seal of his lips around your clit, the quick passes of his tongue and the pressure building steadily to notice his hand moving. The loudest moan of the night is torn from you when his hand is back between your legs, those same fingers taking up the same space they occupied before. 

You are even wetter by this point, the two fingers slide into you with no resistance at all and at first? He doesn’t do anything with them, he just allows himself to sit inside, let you use him as something to clench on, to feel the effect he is having on you, the flex and pulsing of your walls. Within another minute of your breathing getting worse, more pleas that somewhat resemble words but fall short, that is when he curves them, curls them up and with one pass he finds it, the rougher and spongier tissue and he presses. 

You choke out the first half of his name, a cry of, “Les-!” 

His mouth is still providing that light and simple stimulation, exploiting how sensitive and easy you were, but his fingers decide to be steady, relentless, consistent presses to that same spot over and over. 

You were done, gone, fate was sealed, right on the precipice and nothing was going to stop it from happening, as inevitable as him and you ending up here, you were going to come. 

Words were not needed, as if you could form any right now. He knew, all too aware, with lips around your clit and two fingers deep inside you. Your eyes slip closed, brows are creased, and you are trembling; that bad habit of yours creeping up again, so totally consumed with feeling and sensation, on the bleeding edge of what might be the biggest orgasm of your life that you are not currently breathing. Holding a lungful of air in, your form taut and your body rife with tension. In that wonderful plateau of fantastic torture of that compact moment before it all hits, the space prior to the world splitting and your mind going blank from pleasure. He is consistent and that is just what is needed to slip over and finally fall. 

The first natural reaction is to let out that breath you’d been holding in, as the string snaps and the pressure begins to unravel you, an unsteady exhale that is broken in the middle leaves you, a sharp gasp back in. The sound you let out could be read as his name, it is like it starts off with the “Le-” sound and then instead becomes a chorus of this breathy sound, not a laugh, but close enough. It seems that way because of the open-mouthed smile that has taken over your face. Losing control of the breaths that followed after, you let yourself tumble through an ether of forgetting who you were, who he was – you just knew there was a connection feeling one hell of a hot flash, a touch between one another that could fuel your interest for lifetimes.

You squirm and shift, his fingers were still pumping in and out of you, the other hand on your hip, holding you firmly in place, so you couldn’t wiggle away, making you feel every second of it as he feels it from his side too, every twitch and clench. His tongue has slowed, light passes over your clit still caught between his lips, keeping the stimulation going is vital, ensuring the most feeling out of your peak but still managing to not overwork you. 

You don’t think you can adequately describe how good it feels, but you can’t describe much of anything when you are totally thoughtless like you are right now. It takes a while for the feeling to ebb and slow and eventually stop, and you to return to yourself. Your breathing returning to some semblance of normal was still a ways off yet. You felt weak, boneless and helpless. You barely notice him lifting his mouth or his fingers slipping out of you, the only acknowledgement of the loss of contact a short exhale and your eyes starting to open, you feel the movement of him before you register the sights, eyes taking a moment to refocus. 

How could you even begin to describe the look on his face at this moment? Eye’s alight, chin wet, grin on his face and teeth partially exposed, you’d think the look he wore was one full of mischief and promise of what is to come, pure unadulterated excitement for what is next. You think your own face is betraying your own true emotions as well, and you are positive that yours match his, if anything you think you have a much more distinct tint of want. When he adjusts, between your legs, hands hooked under your knees and grinding himself against you? That shows that you are more than ready, more than wanting. The small smile that was on your face, playful and light, drops as his shaft cuts through you, sliding up over and through your folds, the head of him passing over your clit, and it steals your breath again, 

Another movement of his body against yours, of his hips slotting against you, has you sucking in a hard inhale, and the next move to rush the exhale. Head tipping back, a hushed call of his name for the who knows how many-th time tonight. Enveloped by a thud that brings his hips into yours, a cover of heat that fills your entire body and makes you nearly lose grip of the bed underneath you as you adjust to the push.

Your vision is fixed on the main point of contact between you and him, of him hard against you, soaked, it felt much better than it had any right to. In the frenzied process of him eating you out your costume has gotten even more messed up, the hem of the skirt pulled higher, you are glad for that, more skin on skin contact is always good of course but with the blue and white out of the way there is no worry of the view being obstructed. 

The visual was stellar, his breathing was matching yours and that makes you tear your gaze away up to his face. Your eyes catch his, your breathing is pitched and in sync, chests rising and falling and staring into each other, it escalates further without direct communication. His body moves a tad lower, your hips angle, and then he is lined up just right, slick tip leaking pre-cum prodding at your more than prepared hole. It takes less than ten seconds for you to be telling him in a half annoyed and hurried voice, “Do it already Verno-”

You don’t get his last name out. A hand suddenly comes up from where it had been placed lower on your body to find a hold around the base of your neck, pushing the muscles on either side together. It was something secure, helping to keep your head angled up, but also a reminder of who needed to stay in control. Especially catching the glimpse of his eyes, elusive as ever. If you hadn’t been far too down this rabbit hole, you’d want to bargain that. Truly, who was pushing whose buttons?

His own face changing, a setting of his jaw, eyes harder and committing to focus on yours. He takes, slides home fucking finally and fills you to the hilt. You don't cry out yet, instead opting to make a sound akin to a strangled whine. Hands reach out blindly, unconsciously, wanting to cling to something, to him, a desperate attempt to ground yourself using his body as the means to an end. Your nails scrape against skin as he moves back, taking half of himself out before forcing back in all the way, changing the previous sound to a gasp and that sound, is what changes all of this, really sets it all in motion. Like he knew you had doubted the control within him, and that just made you all the more palpable to what came.

It isn’t tentative or nervous, confidence is gained quickly, it feels right, correct, a give and take that has you and him not working against each other but instead with one another. His hands lock back around your waist, you arch closer, a flick of your tongue against his throat, tasting the salt of his skin has him driving into you deeper, and so it goes. You are trying to hold on, literally, while you adjust to the stretch of him as well as the gravity of the situation, Leslie-fucking-Vernon is inside of you right now, holding you, fucking you. 

How the Hell are you meant to cope with this? You hoped, but weren’t even truly sure he was real until you met him, and now a good roll of his hips had you moaning something close to his name. You’d wonder what your life was, what it had turned into, but why would you question such a good thing? In fact, where you would be and go after this was as far from you as it possibly could. You, instead, in a very healthy move by the way, lean closer still, lips brush the shell of his ear, nearly chest to chest you ask quietly, rushed, “Fuck me harder?”

You are met with a simple and single word, hummed out in a tone that tried to find some sort of sharp edge of condescending but falling just short of fascination instead, “Demanding.”

There was a brief reposition, making sure both of you were ready for some goddamn finale that this night deserved. He’d more than proven his strength to you by this point, and yet you still find ways to be amazed by how he shows it to you, in the sheer force he exerts as he complies with your needy request. It’s good, more than good, but you know it could be better still, the mental stimulation was incredible alone, just a little more was needed. His grip on your waist is keeping you right where he wants, holding you firmly to the mattress, but you do what you can, what you need, feet finding some purchase on the sheets, a slight bending of the knees and you, or rather he, found it. The reaction is immediate and obvious, the moan you were midway through is choked, a tremble that nearly rivals the first ones that wracked your body when he made you cum with his mouth and your own mouth clamping shut. Thighs squeezing his hips and your soaked hole clenching around him tighter, he doubts the hint could be more obvious if it was a neon sign flashing in his face. 

Doesn’t mean he still wasn’t going to be just a bit of an asshole about that, mostly, because he knew you got off on that kind of thing. He holds in you, a purposeful grind that stimulates you both inside and out, a pathetic sound tries to break out as your eyes shut, and he asks, “You okay?” 

You nod, short, curt, he isn’t relenting, another grind but this one ends with him pulling halfway out before filling you completely again, this time you can’t stop the moan that slips out, “You sure? You are being awfully quiet.” 

Before you can try to conjure a reply or attempt to defend yourself, he stops playing around, no more easy but devastating grinds he is back to the previous pace he was setting. There is no true reason to be holding back, who was going to overhear you? The corpses outside? It was laughable, further still, you couldn’t shut up now, not with how he’d locked onto just where you needed him. The litany of moans and gasps might be embarrassing if you weren’t currently drowning in pleasure, you are very unaware of much, just focused on the fact that you needed this feeling to continue, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Nails biting into his skin and your eyes locked on his, hardly able to process any visuals, you can hear his voice again over the heaving breaths and skin on skin. 

His question makes you realize he was responding to you speaking, brain on autopilot it’s sluggish but catches up. You are connecting the dots through the context clues of his words, his near saccharine and condescending tone and question of, “Yeah? Right there?” 

Makes you come to the fact that you must have been letting out a surely pitiful chorus of, “Ri-right there, right there-”

You lean in further, hoping if you debase yourself further still he’d continue, he’d see this through, he’d make you break apart as strongly and beautifully as he did before. “Yesss-”

You were not far off at this rate, perfectly worked up and so sensitive. 

If the build up before could be described as a slow climb of a staircase, you’d say this one is more akin to an elevator ride that you can feel in your stomach, a rushed ride to the top but one you wouldn’t dare dream of complaining about. The height feels as though you were on top of the world all the same, where nothing could reach you quite like the view would. Looking to him, you concurred it was just as breathtaking. You don’t need to tell him, again, everything else about your body language and the fact he is stuffed to the hilt inside of you tells him you are nearly there. 

The state of being stuck in that lovely frustrating plateau was nowhere near as long as the first, from near the edge, to on it, to thrown the fuck over happened faster than you thought possible. He helped you, continued to hold you, fuck you through it and wring every ounce of pleasure he can out of your spasming cunt. The come down isn’t easy because he simply is refusing to let up, even when you try to pull back a bit, adjust, he isn’t having it, hands slide from your waist to under your legs, resting behind your knees. You can’t escape, he holds your legs closer, pressing them down, he abuses you further, enjoying how you reacted to the intense over stimulation. 

You find your voice again, use it for something more than moaning incoherently, “Leslie-fuck, please, ease up-” 

A minute shake of his head, his grip under your knees tightens, a hard swallow he tells you firmly, forces out, “You can take it.”

You clench around him again, another pulse of heat races through you. “Oh my God-” You gasp out, he’s right, for him, you could and would do just about anything. 

You try not to be crushed under the intensity as you look up at him, and that’s when it hits you, the uneven pace of his breath, thrusts becoming more erratic, he’s close himself and the prospect of him reaching his own end buried inside you is unbelievably exciting. One more word is grit out, “Almost-”

In your fervent excitement, you nearly cut him off, begging for it, “Do it.”

You don’t plead for him to not pull out, you don’t wrap your legs around his hips, you want him to make the choice himself, willingly, craving him to take that leap and that risk with you. Your streak of good luck has not yet run out because he does just that, another slam of his hips into yours, and he cums, holds mostly still, the force of it makes him shudder with your name on his tongue, and you feel near endless pride at that. The shudder of his shoulders completes an already perfect picture, something that would linger like cobwebs in your head.

It’s quiet now, no more noise from the bed or from your bodies against one another, just heavy breathing, and you aren’t in a rush to go, but slowly you do untangle. Your hands slip away as do his, legs are back on the mattress, and he slips out of you, the mess that follows that action staining the sheets and thankfully not your hiked up costume. He falls beside you, and you aren’t sure what to do from there, is it weirder to want to cuddle up with him or to not? 

The same question about whether you should leave is on your mind but, he answers both, an adjustment, an arm around you as he sighs out, “You already ran enough earlier, you can stay a while.”

You let your eyes close as you get comfier and do just that, he might be a killer but he’s courteous enough to let you get a few hours sleep in his bed before you go. 

Even as you began the long walk out, you still weren’t quite sure what to do to cope with meeting Leslie Vernon. Even waiting until the Sun was up to let yourself be known to the world again, a new soul forged from a night you couldn’t even begin to explain to others – let alone rationalize to yourself – didn’t do much for your mind, bogged with a confusion that only knew one thing.

You had enjoyed it despite all that had happened. It still touched your skin, scents still held in your costume, and stepping onto the uneven earth again, you then concurred you knew two things.

You still had the heel stoppers on.

Traversing the uneven road back towards Glen Echo. They were doing their job fairly well, albeit the muscles in your legs were singing another kind of song, straining at any sign of a bend or a shift in your weight. Scanning the surrounding area, you were nearly left thoughtless – because speechless was well and achieved, sitting like a plug in your throat.

There was no one left. Presumably all of the people who had come with you were dead – or left in a state of hopeless confusion just like yourself. For them, it’d be time to put together the facts on what had really happened that night.

But for you? It was the time to paint alongside Leslie’s own fantasy. You had spoken with him about what to say, where everyone had gone, and what had exactly happened to you. It was as gorgeous as the rest of his work, and something you felt rather unique to be touched by, to know the truth behind the…

Behind the mask.

The feeling you were being watched was well weighted on your shoulders, and there was something ever so taunting about knowing when you turned around or tried to meet it, there would be no way to talk to him. Leslie was an open book – you could even call him an open heart, but he also had a job and a name to keep pristine and mysterious as it had been when you had entered the domain of the Vernon orchard.

You considered it a little funny, then a little unexplainable. That just made the thoughts tread foggier water. Part of you wondered if it had even happened, knowing that it didn’t sound serious as you kept telling the story to yourself while walking home. He had given you something straight out of a fantasy, and you then concurred that was his specialty, wasn’t it? There was a solemn recognition that you were going to be the only one that should hear about it.

Still, you then shifted, feeling that there were no longer panties under the dress, (he ended up being right, you couldn’t find them, unsure if they were genuinely lost, or he stole them). That was no joke.

[pickinglilahs]

Blackeclipse for the soul

Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 6.5; Part 8 Remus/James/Regulus Reggie!!!

The third time Remus awoke to fingers running through his hair, he smiled.

He could get used to this.

"As adorable as you look in my bed, Moons, it's time for dinner."

Remus cracked his eyes open to see a freshly showered James crouched down to eye level. He hadn't put his glasses back on yet and the tips of his curls were still dripping.

Yawning, Remus rolled onto his back stretching and tossing back the covers. He sat up and moved his feet to the floor. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he looked up at James.

There was a peculiar expression on James' face that he couldn't quite place. Before Remus could contemplate, however; Sirius came over, clapping a hand on James' shoulder.

"Food?"

James and Remus both nodded in agreement. James waited at the door, while Remus stumbled into his dorm slippers.

The other two must have already walked downstairs because Remus didn't see them when he got to the door. James reached out, pulling on the sleeve of the jumper Remus stole.

That peculiar expression was back on James' face, but, again, Sirius called them for food. They made their way down to the great hall.

Remus again sat beside James, but this time they were facing the rest of the house tables. It didn't make a difference until he felt someone's eyes on him.

Looking up, Remus casually scanned the hall. Sure enough, at the Slytherin table, Regulus Black had his eyes trained on Remus.

Remus arched a brow and Regulus twirled his fork till it was facing somewhere behind him. The direction of the library. It was Regulus' turn to arch a brow.

Remus looked at his friends, they were completely unaware of Remus' silent conversation. He also knew that they wouldn't like to leave him alone twice the day after the Full, even if he was feeling exceptionally well.

Still, if Regulus was asking, it had to be worth it. He locked eyes with Regulus and gave a small nod. They both turned back to their friends.

As expected, they didn't want to leave him alone after dinner. It took a whole five minutes to convince them that he did not, in fact, need an entourage to retrieve a forgotten book from the library.

When they went to separate, James caught his hand. "You're okay, right?"

Remus couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, Prongs. I'll see you in a bit, and we can talk."

James nodded, squeezed his hand, and stepped back. Remus watched them start up the stairs before heading towards the library.

Regulus was waiting for him, pacing the small distance between the chairs. Upon seeing Remus, he froze. Remus stopped beside his chair and waited.

"It's a private investor. Several, actually. The odds of all of them pulling their funding are slim." His words were clipped, diplomatic, and his face was blank. There was something in his eyes, however, that gave Remus pause.

"That's not why you asked me here. That could have waited until tomorrow." Remus, tired of being diplomatic with the younger Black, left himself open and curious.

At Remus' tone, Regulus seemed to relax a measure too. "No. I-" He cut himself off and seemed to re-think his response. "Are you staying at the castle over the hols? I think there's going to be two Full Moons over break."

To any outsider, these statements would have been completely unrelated. But to Remus, they were confirmation. Regulus knew, but what did that have to do with winter break? "I have plans, actually. Why?"

Regulus just nodded and looked away before, "I think I'll be staying at the castle. For spring break as well."

Remus sucked in a sharp breath. If Regulus wasn't going home, then things must be really bad. Before Sirius had started going to James', he was always forced to go home for the hols. If Regulus was actively trying to stay away...

"Because you want to? Or because you need to?" Remus let the concern bleed into his tone. He studied Regulus' face as the other boy kept his eyes trained on the shelves.

"Because I know what will be waiting for me if I don't." The words sent chills down Remus' spine. He had no idea how to respond, but it didn't matter. Regulus was already leaving.

Remus stood there in shock. He knew Sirius and Regulus' parents were horrible, but this was something else. Regulus wasn't just wary of Walburga's wrath; he was terrified.

Remus made his way back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze. Before he knew it, he was opening the door to their room. He must have passed Sirius and Peter in the common room because they were nowhere to be found.

"Remus?" James was shirtless, sitting on his bed, and tossing a quidditch magazine onto his nightstand.

Remus hurried over. James crossed his legs and Remus sat in front of him. He pulled the curtains and cast a silencing charm.

James reached for him. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Before he could think better of it, he replied, "Regulus isn't going home for Christmas." James's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Or Easter."

His jaw dropped. Remus didn't think James could look more stunned. James had already known about Remus and Regulus' study corner, and they had agreed that Sirius didn't need to know. This, however, was unprecedented.

Neither of them had any idea what to do with this information, nor if they should do anything at all. In the end, it was James who spoke first.

"Does he have a place to stay?"

Remus shrugged. "No idea."

James nodded, and they looked at each other. Then Remus remembered the other thing they had talked about.

"Also, apparently, there's a study trying to find ways for lycanthropes to keep their human mind during the Full. Malfoy's dad is trying to shut it down but it's being funded by private investors, so."

He was wrong. James could, in fact, look more stunned. Remus thought his eyes were about to pop out of his head. "Wha- I mean- That's- And- Really-"

"James." Remus needed to reign him in before he got both of their hopes up. "Even if they do manage to pull this off, it's years away. It would be nice, but there's no use making a big deal of it now."

"A big de-" James stopped. "No. You're right. Sorry. I just-" James physically shook himself, paused, and re-focused on Remus. "How are you feeling?"

"About the study? Or in general?" James shrugged, letting Remus steer the conversation. He didn't want to put too much hope in the study so, "Better than I thought possible. I got really tired when I went to the library, which is why I came back for a nap, but it feels like the moon was days ago."

James smiled and reached for him. Remus went willingly. He settled between James' legs, his own thrown over James' thighs to curl around behind him, and arms around his neck. James pressed their foreheads together and they both closed their eyes.

"We should probably talk about this." His voice was soft, and his breath fell over Remus' lips.

"Yeah. Probably."

"I never thought I'd find you."

Remus smiled. "You already knew me, Prongs."

James rolled his eyes and tightened his arms around Remus' back. "You know what I mean."

Remus chuckled. "Yeah. I know. I didn't think I'd find you either."

"How did we not know? After all this time?"

"I did figure that out, actually." James leaned back, surprised. "Well, even though you and Sirius talked about it first year, I never actually saw yours. And, obviously, it's always covered."

James was still confused. "But if you didn't know who yours was either, why didn't you want to look?"

"Because I didn't know I had one." James blinked at him. "It's on my back! I didn't know until third year when Poppy mentioned healing with a Soul Bond. She didn't realize I didn't know about it but, apparently, I've had it since the first time she saw me. By the time she mentioned it, I had already forgotten about your Mark and assumed all of you had seen it as well."

"But, why didn't you ask? At least to find out why we never said anything."

"Because...I didn't want to talk about it. I had already resigned myself to never finding you. It had been over two years, possibly longer. That, and, I would have had to take my shirt off to show you."

Understanding lit James' whole face. "Which is why we'd never seen it before in the first place." James paused before, "Can I see it again?"

Remus hesitated. Before he could decide, however; James decided for him.

"Never mind. Some other time. Don't worry about it."

Remus wanted to protest, but James was already lying down. Remus sighed, chucked off his jumper so he was only in his undershirt, and let himself be pulled under the covers. They lay like they had in the Hospital Wing. James' arm around him, Remus' head on his shoulder.

Their hands found each other's marks. But, this time, James' hand was up under the back of his shirt to rest on his bare shoulder, and Remus let his fingers slip under James' pants. Remus' fingers brushed the top of James' Mark, and James drew patterns with his fingertips over Remus'.

They fell asleep, their whole bodies tingling from the connection.

[bitchinbarzal]

Yes write the date!! 🫶

A knock on your door had you mid lipstick swipe looking annoyed “He’s here”

“I’ll get it” your roommate shouted.

“Hey Dylan come in she’s just finishing getting ready”

You finished, putting on perfume before making your way downstairs. There he stood in a shirt and jeans holding flowers and staring up at you

“You, You look amazing”

You smile, taking the flowers “Thanks Duke”

Your roommate takes the flowers and shouts “don’t keep my girl out too late Duker!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

The whole time something felt off.

You were at some fancy steak restaurant, he kept looking around worriedly and he was clearly uncomfortable in that shirt.

Your hand reached out across the table to hold his “Dylan… what’s going on?”

He looks at you, crazed “Huh?”

“You’re so not yourself right now… no jokes, honestly you’re kind of boring”

He tries to laugh but chokes on his dry throat “i’m sorry, I guess I’m just nervous”

You frown “Why?”

“Because i only have one chance… and I’m blowing it”

Your frown softens and you squeeze his hand “Dyl, you don’t need to be something you’re not especially not for me”

He nods and watches you push your chair out and stand up “What’re you doing?”

“Going somewhere I think we’d be more relaxed”

You hold out your hand for him to take and he does.

At Yost, you sneak in and on the ice. He’s physically at ease now.

You skate around, hand in hand.

“You know I’ve never had a girl who knows how to skate I’d usually put the moves on her when she falls”

You smirk “Oh yeah? That old, oh I gotcha moment?”

He nods and you reply “Jack uses that one all the time”

A few laps in and you turn to skate backwards infront of him “I think I’ve forgotten how to skate”

“Wha-“ he doesn’t have time to say anything before you actually clip your skates together and tumble to the floor.

He’s on top of you, faces inches apart and you heave

“Oh my god that’s so embarrassing”

You make eye contact before you burst out laughing

“What was that?”

“I was trying to be your damsel in distress then I actually was one!”

Dylan smiles, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips while you do the same.

His hands are frozen pressed against the ice but he doesn’t care he can’t mess this up.

Your fingers are on his cheeks, jaw and your thumb brushes his bottom lip. He lowers his head and in one fell swoop his lips are on yours.

Once you pull away, regaining your breathe you smirk “Is this the bit where I fall in love with you?”

“Is it working?”

“I think so”

[puffpasstea]

not sure what this is, but I woke up feeling angsty.

--

Harry took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what's to come as he gripped the door handle with shaky fingers. He knew what lay behind that door. He knew what letting her in meant. More importantly, he knew what it felt like. It felt like he was opening the door to his own execution. He'd do anything to go back and change things, but it's too late now. And that's a fact that he will have to live with for the rest of his life.

She gave him a nervous smile, and a small "hello" when their eyes met. The look on his face broke her heart. His eyes red, like he'd just been crying, his lips red and chapped, his unruly curls escaping the little clip that kept them off his face, the dark circles under his eyes. She hated herself for putting that look on his face. She hated herself even more for still thinking that he looked so beautiful and warm and kissable. As if she wasn't regretting her decision already. How was she ever going to make it without those beautiful green eyes?

"P-please, umm, come on in." Harry's voice shook her out of her daze.

"Thanks," her voice was just above a whisper. Feeling a wave of apprehension, she clutched on to the piece of clothing in her hands for comfort. It was Harry's first ever pastel pink Pleasing hoodie. A sample of what eventually ended up selling as part of the collection. The color of which she'd helped him pick at the time. When the first toile came in, they fought over who gets to wear and test it, but he secretly loved how involved she'd wanted to be, so he let her win the fight and keep it for herself. Harry smiled when he saw that she still had it in her hands. He even caught himself wondering if maybe that's a sign that he's still got a chance?

"I- uh. I won't be long. Just need to grab some stuff, and I'll be outta here. Oh, and, here's your hoodie." her trembling arms reached out to hand it to him. That's his last hope crushed, he thought. All she did was hand him back his hoodie, but he felt it was the most cruel thing she could ever do. It was worse, in his eyes, than driving a knife into his heart.

"Don't be silly." He protested. Pushing her hand back gently. "You should keep it."

"It wouldn't be right. It's the first piece ever made! It's a big milestone for you. You should keep it! Like hang it up in your office or something." He smiled. Touched by how thoughtful she is, til the very end. He wanted to remind her that it wouldn't even exist, this product, in this exact shade of pink, without her input, but he wasn't sure he could get through that conversation without crying like a child, so he held back.

"May I go into the bedroom?" She felt foolish even asking the question. A week ago, this was her bedroom too.

"Of course! You never have to ask, you know that."

They walked upstairs to the master bedroom. She was further up the stairs that he was, and she felt his eyes on her the whole time. She knew why he was staring, what he was getting ready to say, she was silently begging and praying that he wouldn't.

In the bedroom, she pulled out her suitcase and began to pack. The image of her emptying her drawers was more than he could take.

"This...doesn't feel right. Shouldn't be happening." He shook his head.

She wouldn't allow herself to turn around and look him in the eyes, knowing that it would all be too much to handle.

"Please, my love, give us, one last chance?"

Harry was growing frustrated with her silence, as well as her continued packing, is she sending a message? does she really care that little about his pain? Too unbothered to even acknowledge his pleas?

He finally leapt forward and placed a hand over hers, to stop her from moving and grabbing her stuff from the nightstand. "Sop...stop. Just- no more packing!"

This was the first time he'd touched her since last week. Oh how she'd missed his skin on hers. She instantly shook, her eyes watering, as he tightened his grip on her hand.

"Harry, please. Don't make this any harder than it needs to be. We've been over this." her eyes downcast, she began to openly cry.

"Know you hate me right now, and lord knows I deserve it. But, please, honey. We can work things out! Promise, I'll be a better partner-"

"I don't hate you, Harry. Could never. You were the love of my life. I can't imagine ever feeling hate for you. But, I think we both know it's for the best."

Harry felt as though an electric current had jolted right through him. The combination of "were" and "love of my life" had wrecked him.

He fell to his knees and began to sob, remaining there the whole time that she packed up her stuff.

When she was finished packing, she sat down on the bedroom floor with him and wrapped her arms around him. "Hate seeing you like this. Please, Harry. Don't cry."

***

"It's late. I should get going." Her arms had grown numb around his body. It'd been an hour since she'd moved them.

Harry sniffled and offered her a drive, but she politely declined, saying that it would just make things even harder for both of them.

He stood up, helping her back up as well, and carrying her suitcase for her. "I'll walk you out."

At the door, he set her suitcase down and watched her get ready to leave. "Can't believe you're the person I love most in this world, and I'm just letting you walk out the door like this."

She turned around, her hand still on the door, "it's not forever. We'll see each other around."

"You're still coming to my shows next month, yeah?"

"Of course. Still your biggest fan."

[fatale-distraction]

More from my Orin-Kidnaps-Barcus idea. Part 1 is HERE.

Part 3

This will eventually be polished and holes filled in, but for now please enjoy the roughest of drafts.

~~~

Not for the first time, Lithe was glad to have offered to help Yenna. She slurped down a second helping of soup with noisy abandon, Grub purring fearfully on her lap. It was so nice to finally have some good, flavorful food on the road, Yenna was an endearing child, and Grub got along well with Scratch and Owlfredo, even if he was petrified of everyone else.

“Fantastic as usual, Yenna,” praised Lithe, stroking Grub’s rust-colored head as she set her bowl aside. “I think you might be getting even better.”

The child beamed, but her expression shuttered as Astarion approached, a sneer stretching his lips.

“Getting better?” He scoffed, seizing the girl’s arm. Yenna squealed in pain and shock, tugging at her arm in his grip. “At cooking, or pulling the wool over your eyes?”

“What are you talking about?” Lithe demanded, standing so quickly that Grub hissed and leaped away, cowering behind his struggling young mistress. “Astarion, unhand her!”

“Don’t you see?” the vampire implored, giving the girl’s arm a twist. “She offered to cook for us, but she’s been sneaking poison into our food the whole time! SHE’S the traitor Gortash warned us about!”

Lithe began peeling Astarion’s fingers free from the icy grip on Yenna’s arm. “Let her go! She’s just a child and Gortash is as paranoid as you are! What’s gotten into you?” She managed to break his grip and gave him a hard shove, putting her body between the two.

As her friend stumbled backwards, cursing, Lithe shooed the child away, instructing her to find Jaheira and stay with her. She narrowed her eyes at Astarion, who shot her a lofty scowl right back, flexing his fingers.

“Astarion,” Lithe started, jaw set. “Why is your mole on the wrong side of your face?”

“Why is my what where?” a familiar voice asked behind her. Lithe squeezed her eyes shut and heaved an irritated sigh as Astarion approached, dabbing a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. He stopped short at her side, staring at the man in front of her.

“Oh what in the hells—“ he drew his dagger just as the other Astarion charged him, their blades crashing together with a spark. The doppelgänger knocked him back several steps, but he managed to keep his feet under himself. Lithe had rolled out of the way and came up with her bow drawn and knocked. The arrow flew past the two white-haired men, nearly clipping the real Astarion’s cheek.

“Aim for HIM, not me, damn you!”

“Sorry,” Lithe panted. “Hard to tell the difference.”

“Oh please,” Astarion snapped, still grappling with his clone, who had begun laughing in a hysterically high pitched voice that sent shivers down their spines. “I’m MUCH more handsome.”

“Vanity doesn’t become you,” teased the Not-Astarion in a curiously feminine voice.

“Everything becomes me,” Yes-Astarion gritted out, finally throwing his assailant off.

“Apparently a bit too literally.”

The doppelgänger backed up, grin too wide for his face as the two friends flanked him. The other companions were beginning to gather, drawn by the fighting and Yenna’s cries, but kept their distance. There was no point in further complicating things, but each of them was ready to jump in if they needed to.

With a sickening crack of his neck, the Astarion double shifted and changed, limbs jerking, skin tearing until Orin the Red stood before them, dragging her tongue up the twisted blade of her dagger.

“Charming,” quipped the vampire.

“Aren’t I?” cooed Orin. Lithe made a gagging noise and the other woman scowled her way. “I’d mind my manners if I were you, delicious little creature. I’m here to play a little game, and you don’t even know the rules yet.”

“No one wants to play your weird game, Orin,” the elf snapped. “Haven’t you had enough fun for one night?”

“Oh not nearly,” she cackled. “There’s so much more fun to be had. I haven’t even gotten to the best part! You’ll just DIE when I tell you.”

“Can we just kill her please?” complained Astarion.

Lithe knocked another arrow. “Absolutely.”

The human woman tutted and shook a finger. “Ah, ah. You haven’t heard the rules yet,” she giggled maniacally. “Kill me now, and you’ll never see him again!”

Violet eyes widened as the realization hit her and Orin continued laughing to herself. The bow dropped from limp fingers with a hollow clatter.

“What are you talking about?” whispered Lithe. “What did you do?”

“Oh, I haven’t done a thing, yet. And I won’t, as long as you play by the rules.” Orin twirled a stray hair around her finger until the circulation became visibly cut off. “You see, I took something very important to you. A sweet. Little. Pebble.”

Shards of ice squeezed Lithe’s heart. Astarion shot her a panicked look. “Say what you mean, witch,” he ordered as Lithe’s chest rose and fell faster.

“I have your ugly little boyfriend,” sneered Orin. “And if you don’t play by the rules, I’m going to flay him alive, bit by teeny tiny little bit.”

“What do you want?” Lithe asked in quiet, steady voice, her face as cold and hard as a sheet of rock.

Orin flashed her a smile that might have been pretty if she wasn’t so horrifying to behold. “Oh, it’s a very simple game, my delicious morsel. All you have to do is kill that traitorous little scab, Gortash. And then you and I will meet beneath the merciful eye of Bhaal, and duel in his honor. Whoever lives gets to play with the little pebble.” Her voice dripped sugar and honey as she explained her perverted game, then took on a sharp, raspy hiss. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

~~~

Lithe stared into the space left behind by the shapeshifter, eyes wide and glimmering with the horrified tears that streamed down her cheeks.

Shadowheart was the first to break the tense silence, calling to her friend in a soft, hoarse voice.

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” murmured Lithe so quietly everyone in camp leaned forward to hear better, only to jerk back again when the simmering rage finally boiled over and exploded from her mouth like acid.

“I am going to fucking kill that fucking psychotic motherfucking BITCH!” Lithe shrieked. She began to pace, gesturing wildly as she continued to scream and rant. “I am going to rip out her fucking spine and strangle her with it and then wear it like a fucking necklace! I’m going pop her stupid fucking eyeballs out and eat them like grapes! I’ll pry out every single last one of her rotten teeth out of her stupid head and string them together with her weird little black veins and wear it like a fucking crown! I am going to FUCKING KILL that godsdamned BITCH!”

Astarion was practically bouncing up and down, clapping his hands lightly as Lithe swung back around to face her companions, tears of fury streaking down her burning cheeks. Lae’zel looked quite impressed as well. Lithe could certainly be moved to violence when circumstances called for it, but this was the first time anyone had seen her react so viciously.

“But first,” Lithe raised a shaking finger, eyes hard and cruel. “First, I am going to make her SUFFER. Any pain she’s put my Barcus through, I will inflict upon her a thousand fold!”

“Excellent,” Lae‘Zelda hissed with a grin, strapping her sword to her back.

Karlach did a giddy jig and pumped her fists. “Let’s fucking go!”

[ducktracy]

I'm not sure if you've been asked this before but: Your thoughts on Duck Amuck vs Rabbit Rampage? Both have a very similar premise and I was just wondering which one you think works better.

DUCK AMUCK ALL THE WAY! i have my obvious biases of course… but i do very earnestly think that Duck Amuck is a much more superior cartoon and works better in every way. i admittedly think Rabbit Rampage is one of Chuck’s worst cartoons, but this is somewhat a compliment in itself because if that’s what a dud looks like for him? then you’re doing something right.

Jones’ Bugs is not sustainable for the cartoon, whereas the premise works perfectly with Daffy. (it helps that the initial concept was tailored TO Daffy and his needs.) i could see RR working better if it was the more reactionary Bugs of Bob Clampett’s or Friz Freleng’s, but instead the whole short feels very awkward in that Jones’ Bugs is trying to be something he’s not. i was initially happy to see his Bugs get with mad, because i love the thin-skinned Bugs of yesteryear, but after awhile kept asking myself when it would end and came out feeling annoyed rather than impressed. Bugs wouldn’t let that fly. he’d put a stop to it after a minute, whether that’s taking care of the source problem or just disengaging entirely.

Duck Amuck works so well because Daffy is one of the most versatile fictional characters ever created. he is incredibly adaptable, and the crux of the cartoon is all ABOUT adaptation—how can Daffy (or Bugs) still be seen as themselves when they’re being forced away from their core identities? how does Daffy as a four-legged, flower headed, flag toting amalgam still manage to read as Daffy first and foremost?

Daffy’s outbursts (or disarmingly polite concessions) work because they feel so genuine. he’s a reactive, emotional, responsive creature of impulse. likewise, there is an overwhelming sympathy in Amuck not present in RR. Daffy isn’t asking for the hijinks to stop entirely (at least, not early on)—he just wants something he can work in. he’s willing to adapt! can’t be one of the Three Musketeers? you’re doing a farm scene instead? fine. it’s not ideal, but he’ll do it.

it also helps that Daffy has such a natural extroversion. interaction with the audience is a core part of his character and has been since the very beginning. when Bugs talks to the audience, it’s funny, but you don’t feel like you’re on the same footing as you are with Daffy. Bugs will give you the time of day to crack a punchline or dubious expression at you, but is largely invested in himself. Daffy is one of the only characters who can talk, show off, confess to, and bargain with the audience and have it feel totally natural. i always like to default to this clip as an example. nothing of it feels forced or pedantic, it doesn’t feel like a “special privilege” or just a narrative device that he’s taking time out of his day to talk to us—how lucky are we! it’s just an instinct.

as a result, with both cartoons having the characters converse to an entity off screen that simulates the illusion of them talking to the audience, Daffy feels natural in this regard. it feels stilted and odd for Bugs to do the same. there isn’t that same exact friendliness or organicism that’s present with Daffy.

also, the ending for both: Elmer is the one causing Bugs all of this turmoil????? really?????? this complete rube of a man whose soul has been shattered multiple times by Bugs, even/especially in the face of deadly weapons? having Bugs as the animator in Amuck makes perfect sense. like. of course it would be him. who else? who else barely has to lift a finger for Daffy to be crushed by his own impulses? the reveal in RR just feels totally lame

regardless, i will give RR this: it is animated ENTIRELY by Benny Washam and nobody else, which is an incredible feat in and of itself. Washam draws some particularly appealing Bugses, so there is a lot of eye candy to be had. regardless, it just does not work for Bugs at all. i know i have my biases (Daffy will forever be my favorite fictional character and i personally am not a fan of Jones’ later Bugs), but i do just believe that the two don’t even compare, Duck Amuck all the way!