#especially with how thick my hair it doesn’t curl as much when it’s long like this

[dancing-mylife-away]

actually put effort into styling my natural curls today

[ramonathinks]

your dad always mentioning his best friend — you’re always hearing stories about him yet he’s never around. you only ever seen the back of his head in photos, and honestly you can barely even remember his name.

so when you’re back from university during the summer and your dad says in passing that his best friend is finally coming down to see him, you don’t think to much of it. just finally glad you’re able to meet the man who your dad is always raving about.

but being back home and away from school, you finally feel a bit more free. you invite a few friends out to a local club, waiting to look cute and just get some drinks.

you weren’t expecting a handsome stranger to be so taken with you. he buys you a drink, he offers you a dance, you can feel just how hard he is against your backside but he doesn’t care. “i want to be a gentleman and not fuck you in the bathroom…” as he speaks the dress you’re wearing is pulled up your hips, the club dimly lit and you can only feel his strong hands trailing up and down your thighs. “but i can hardly hold on any longer. you’re such a beautiful woman, you know that?”

“so i must ask if i can take you to where im saying tonight?” his fingers circle around your panty clothed clit and you squirm, nodding.

the hotel he stays at is only a block away, the walk is almost unbearable with his hot gaze and his hand on the small of your back.

a good look under the bedroom light and you get even wetter, his older handsome face under your dress when he sits you on the bed.

he’s sloppy with it. wetness coating your thighs as he slurps up the wetness you let out. he plays with your clit using his mouth to suck and lick trails up, drawing circles all over. muttering: “sticky little thing.” you try not to squirm to move but you reach down to tug at his hair as he shakes his hand to get more of your juices to coat his face. your thighs shake but he stops: “want you cumin’ on my cock, got that pretty?”

his cock splits you open, you arch your back and move back, he just laughs: “you can take it, cmon.” and even whispers more dirty things in your ear: “cmon baby, this pussy is weeping, don’t you want her to stop crying?”

you stay up all night as he makes you take him over and over again until he can fit himself all the way in. the long drags of his thick cock overwhelming you, your toes curl and when a tear falls from your eyes he makes sure to lick it up, you can’t believe this man is so filthy.

when the morning time comes you hear him on the phone, muttering or rather trying to be a gentleman to let you sleep in. he leaves you a bit of money with a note saying not to think of it as anything, he owes you for making you stay up all night.

you don’t expect to see him again. especially at home, hugging your dear old dad. you don’t expect him to look at you with the same amount as want and need as last night as you shake his hand.

even when breakfast is over, he helps you wash the dishes, saying he wants to get to know you better or so he tells your dad — his best friend. but instead he’s talking to you: “what are we going to do, hm? we can’t tell him, your dad would kill me.”

“my dad would kill both of us. you’re his best friend—”

“and you’re his precious daughter.” his eyes darken as he looks you over, even with you just wearing a tee shirt and jeans he still was packing a hard on. “he can forgive you, he won’t forgive me. im the adult here.”

“im twenty three, im an adult!” you try to argue.

“half my age, i shouldn’t have been been so careless.” he mutters, thinking to himself. “reckless. let’s just make that a one time thing, okay? look at me.”

your body burns in embarrassment as you look up at him, biting your lip and twirling your hair. you liked the way he looked at you, soft warming and inviting eyes.

he says it’s a one time thing until he’s putting his number in your phone. he says it’s a one time thing until he’s fucking you a few times before he leaves. he says it’s a one time thing until he’s taking you on dinners. he says it’s a one time thing even when he’s three months deep into the summer.

he says it’s a one time thing the entirety of his stay and when you’re back on campus, getting ready to sign a lease to a lonely apartment. you realize it’s not a one time thing when he’s pulling up and quickly telling the landlords nevermind for you and he’s giving you keys to a shared place.

“just don’t tell your dad, okay?” he winks.

SHIU KONG, TOJI, MIGUEL, GHOST, KÖNIG

BANNERS BY @/cafekitsune

[twistyfish]

Can we get some comfort from the boys please? God especially after that last post with us being so insecure that hits me like a rock. MC’s selfish for having all of them I wanna be loved too 😭😭😭

(I love MC but jealousy is uncanny)

It doesn’t help that I read an angst no comfort a while ago and I still am not over it- help 😭

sure! i just wrote a double dose of angst so i hope this eases the pain. i don’t know why the hell sylus’s is so long, so don’t ask me.

prompt~ comfort.

content warning for brief mentions of death, periods, and detailed descriptions of blood.

𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴

Zayne

“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered into the cool fabric of his jacket, gripping the velvety material in your fists. You were sitting on his lap facing him, your legs swung around his hips and hugging his sides.

“I would perish at your side before leaving you,” Zayne whispered back. “No entity in or outside this world could rip me apart from you.”

“I don’t want to die alone.”

“You’re not going to- why would you say that?”

“Zayne, I’m scared of dying alone, please don’t ever leave me alone.” Your voice was panicky and you weren’t making much sense.

“You’re not going to die alone, honey. I won’t leave you alone,” he reassured you softly. “Where did this fear come from?”

“I just… I’ve been alone for a long time. I don’t want to feel that way again. I don’t want nobody to remember me.”

“Sweetheart. You aren’t alone. You have family and friends who love you so much. And I love you so, so much more than I can describe. I even think about you when you get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. How could I not remember you?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Zayne wrapped his arms around you, holding your head with one hand and rubbing your hair soothingly.

“You’re the love of my life. You keep me warm on chilly days. You nourish me. Please never think otherwise.”

𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖

Sylus

You were hunched over on the couch, curled up and gripping your knees. You were intensely nauseous, and it felt like a cat was clawing up all your insides. Your periods were notoriously brutal.

You were being extra cautious not to leak on Sylus’s leather couch, placing two towels beneath you and doubling them up. You flipped through channels on the TV miserably, pulling your fluffy blanket higher up around you.

It was all politics and sports. You shut off the TV and closed your eyes, trying to just marinate in the warmth of the blanket.

You were somewhat peaceful, until you realized the seat of your pants felt warmer than usual. Wide eyed, you scrambled up and checked the towels. The top one looked like the Japanese flag. You lifted it, and the bottom one mirrored it. Praying, you lifted the bottom towel.

The leather couch had a thick blotch of red on it, and you groaned aloud. You stood up and tossed the blanket to the side, ignoring the shooting pains in your back and stomach. Upon standing, you felt yourself leak down your leg. There was now a small red puddle on the floor that you were dripping into.

You seethed. Deciding against retrieving paper towels and potentially leaving a trail behind you, you took off your stained pajama pants and wiped the floor with them.

It wasn’t very effective, as you were bent over cleaning the blood and simultaneously dripping onto the floor at the same time. You were too embarrassed to call any of Sylus’s staff, so you ended up giving up and putting your pajama pants in a heap on the floor and sitting on top of them so you wouldn’t do any more damage.

You sat like that for a solid twenty minutes before Sylus came home. You heard his steps as he entered the room and turned your head, both dreading and being relieved at his arrival. His expression changed from suave to confused as he saw you on the floor sitting on your pants.

And then he saw the bloody towels and stain on the couch. “Oh, shit.”

“I’m so sorry,” you started.

“That’s a lot of blood. Are you okay?” His voice was soft and concerned.”

“Yeah, it’s just my period. Aren’t you mad about the couch?”

“Me? Mad about a couch? I can replace this a thousand times over. I’m more concerned-,” he bent down next to you, “-about the amount of blood coming out of you.”

You looked at him, both weary and confused. “I told you, it’s just my period. It’s pretty standard to bleed a lot.”

He shook his head. “Not that much. Get up.” You complied and stood up, revealing your pajamas which were soaked through by now. His scarlet eyes widened. “What the hell? That’s not normal.”

“It is normal. It happens every month.”

He shook his head, picking up your soiled pajamas and towels in one hand and wrapping his other hand around your bloody thighs. He hoisted you up like you were weightless, ignoring your protests.

“Sylus! I’m covered in blood, stop touching me!”

“You act as though I haven’t seen bodies doused in blood.”

“That’s different. This is blood from my literal va-“

“I’m plenty familiar with that orifice of yours, my love.”

“Oh my god.”

𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝

Rafayel

Your cheeks were flushed, and you were hacking up what felt like several lungs. After much harassing from Xavier, you had taken a sick day and were now taking the hottest shower of your life in an attempt to steam out all the muck in your throat.

You blew your nose one last time before exiting the shower, getting dressed with a heavy head. The air in the bathroom was hot and damp from your shower, and you felt like you were swimming as you walked to your bedroom. You ended up clumsily turning the fan on and collapsing on your bed.

And then the doorbell rang. Of course it did, because you and Rafayel had made plans for a movie night that you’d forgotten to cancel. You groaned into the mattress and forced yourself to get up. You answered the door with what must have still been a very pink face, because Rafayel immediately said, “You’re all red. Are you that nervous to see me?”

“I’m sick.”

He immediately pulled away and lifted his shirt over his mouth. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I was busy being sick, genius.” You were too tired to banter. You sneezed, to which Rafayel made a face. “You need some TLC, Ms. Bodyguard. I’ll be happy to assist. From a distance, of course.”

You didn’t feel like arguing, so you allowed him to lead you inside and prepare you some stew and hot chocolate. It was surprisingly comforting, and Rafayel didn’t pretend to be disgusted when you coughed up mucus. He rubbed your back while you coughed and attacked you with kisses when you sat quietly with a throbbing head.

Even when you pushed him away, reminding him that he would likely get sick from all his close contact, he waved away your worries.

“I need you to recover as quickly as possible so you can protect me. When I’m sick, you can just pay me back.”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Xavier

You fell out of a tree. That was the short version of it. You and Xavier were having a climbing contest, and the branch you’d been holding onto wasn’t very stable. Well, the branch itself was stable, but the bark you were gripping wasn’t. It ripped off in your hands and took you with it.

You let out a squeaky noise when you hit the ground, almost like a dog toy. You would have laughed at yourself if you weren’t in so much pain.

“__! Shit, shit, shit!” Xavier was down the tree in an instant, like a rodent that spotted a snake. He sprinted to your side and hovered over you frantically while you laid on your back and tried to regain your breath. He ended up refraining from calling an ambulance because you had enough life in you to beg him not to. So, he drove you to urgent care instead.

Thankfully you weren’t hurt too badly, but you did end up with a bruised tailbone and a fractured rib, so now you were in the middle of the healing process with Xavier asking you questions every twenty minutes or so.

He’d ask, “Are you in pain?” to which you’d respond, “Yes.” And then he’d ask “Where?” And you’d angrily say “My butt.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay, it was my fault.”

“But climbing the trees was my idea.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Do you need a butt massage?”

“No, idiot.”

Xavier was very apologetic for the next couple of weeks, sleeping over at your house every other day and bringing you burnt baked goods to tide you over. He took care of you in his own sweet way.

[ashwhowrites]

Maybe billy hargrove x sunshine!cheerleader!reader ? where they‘re dating and the rest of the cheer squad (except chrissy <3) is jealous so they act like they are her friends and they keep asking her questions about billy to have a chance with him, but she doesn’t realize because she thinks they’re just interested in her relationship since they’re ‘re apparently her friends. But billy is super loyal (kinda unrealistic with his character but anyway lol) and every time they they try to hit on him he rejects them pretty harshly ? And maybe in the end she finally stands up for herself and billy is just like „that‘s my girl.“

I‘m so sorry if this was hard to understand it‘s my first time requesting and I was so nervous🥲, especially since I basically read all of your ST fics😭

Love love love a good boyfriend Billy fic 🫶🏻

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

Cheerleader game

When the word got out that Billy Hargrove locked down on one girl, hell broke loose. The boys were excited that there wouldn't be any more competition, but the girls were having a hard time accepting it. Billy was the heartthrob of the school and every girl wanted their turn with him. But his eyes landed on Y/N, and they never left.

Y/N was sweet, bubbly, and all-around a ball of sunshine. Her being with Billy was a shock to everyone. Sure, she was a cheerleader and Billy only focused on the popular crowd. But the squad couldn't believe out of all of them, he picked her.

Their jealousy made them bitter and snakes. They swarmed Y/N countlessly with questions about Billy. They craved every detail they could get, details to make him interested in them. Poor Y/N didn't know their intentions, she thought they were just interested in her new relationship. She thought they were being friends.

~~~

"So Y/N, tell us! What does he like about you?" Bethany smiled, patting her manicured nails against the table.

"Um, I don't know. I feel like you'd have to ask him that." Y/N laughed awkwardly. To be honest, she wondered why he liked her too. But she didn't think too long about it. He liked her and asked her out. That's what mattered.

"Wrap your brain around it! You beat out the whole school, there must be something special about you." Bethany said, her eyes glared for a tiny second then a bright smile took over her face.

Y/N tried to rank her brain for compliments Billy gave. She smiled as a few came to mind.

"Oh, I know! He loves my pink lip gloss. He said he loves how shiny and irresistible it makes my lips!"

~~~

Billy was walking towards his car when he saw a girl leaning on it. He eyed her quickly but didn't recognize much about her.

"Can I help you?" Billy asked, and not politely. His voice was thick and sharp. His eyes raised in a bothered way and his body language read annoyed.

Bethany giggled and popped her gum. The gum brought attention to her shiny pink lips. Billy noticed the familiarity of the gloss but didn't say anything about it.

"See something you like? The gloss maybe?" She teased, she slowly applied the lipgloss over her already-coated lips. Billy saw the bottle and confirmed it was the same kind Y/N wore.

"Not on you," Billy said, chuckling at the shocked look on Bethany's face. He got in the car and started the engine. The loud rumble made Bethany move out of the car with a growl.

~~~

"What do you guys enjoy doing on dates? Does he like to go to the movies or something?" Sarah asked, throwing her bright blonde hair over her shoulder.

"We go to the movies a lot! He's really into action movies. He wants to go see that new Batman movie."

~~~

Billy was finishing practice, his sweat dripping from his curls down his chest. The small shorts he wore caught every cheerleader's attention. Practicing in the same gym was the best thing the school came up with.

While Y/N and Chrissy were having a small talk on the couch, Sarah took the opportunity to race off to talk to Billy. After her talk with Y/N yesterday, she raced to the movie theater to buy two tickets for the new Batman film for opening night.

She snatched the tickets and confidently walked up to Billy. His back to her as he switched out his shirts. Sarah felt drool on her chin as she watched his tan back move. She tapped on his shoulder, a smile on her face as he turned.

"Hi, Billy! You looked great during practice today." She batted her eyelashes and trailed her hand up his arm. She tried not to pout when he pushed her hand off and made a grunt sound in response.

"Anyway!" She brushed it off, "I got two tickets for that new Batman movie, would you maybe want to go?"

"Sweet! Thanks!" He smiled. There was a glint in his eye that made her stomach flip. "Can I see them?" He asked, his hand reaching out. She tried to catch her breath as his fingertips touched her skin. Her body was on fire from the simple touch.

"Opening night! That kicks ass. Thanks." He said he slipped the tickets into his pocket. "See ya."

Sarah was confused as she watched him walk off. She turned around and growled when she saw him walk up to Y/N. The tickets were in his hands as he showed them to Y/N, who excitedly nodded. They walked out hand in hand with Sarah's tickets.

~~~

Y/N screamed as Billy scored the winning shot. The gymnasium was electric as the boys celebrated their win. Y/N waited for all the boys to finish congratulating Billy, waiting for her turn to race in his arms and kiss his face.

By the time the boys finished, the cheer squad raced to Billy next. Y/N stood shocked as all these girls swarmed her boyfriend. Their hands on his skin, and lips on his cheek. That's supposed to be her!

"Get your man, girl." Chrissy encouraged, her arms crossed as she looked in shame at her team.

Y/N huffed and marched over to her boyfriend. She felt a sense of pride that he didn't look pleased either. He looked annoyed with all these girls.

Once his blue eyes caught hers, a smile lit up his whole face. Y/N wanted to laugh at the way he pushed through the girls, his feet walking towards her.

"There's my girl." He cheered, his arms open as she raced into them. She ignored everyone around them as Billy spun her in the air. Her praise was the only one he cared about hearing it from.

"Amazing, baby." Her words pressed against his lips as she kissed him. And she kissed him hard. Her hands were in his hair as he set her back on the floor. Her back arched as he dipped her.

When they separated from their hot kiss, Y/N offered him a smile before she looked to her team. Her face was hard as the smile was swiped off her face. A glare and snarl sent their way as she stepped closer to them.

"I'm done with all you girls flirting and touching him. He's taken and he's not interested. If you continue to disrespect my relationship, your ass is off the team." The girls quickly ran off, A sense of fear filled the atmosphere as they refused to look at her or Billy.

Y/N stood proudly as she watched them scatter.

"Atta girl." Billy praised, his arms wrapping around her from behind. His face snuggled in her neck as she giggled at the feeling.

"Gotta sink my claws in you a tad bit more, I think," Y/N said, quietly moaning as Billy nipped at her neck.

"Gladly let you."

[callsign-rogueone]

intimacy alphabet - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x reader words: 1.9k (oops.) 🏷: NSFW. all of it. afab reader, but no pronouns or gendered nicknames used. mentions of penetrative sex, oral, soft d/s dynamics, the usual stuff. I plan to do one of these for each of our boys eventually, but feel free to send a message if you want a specific one prioritized! this is a sexy democracy, after all.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

sleepy cuddlebug. half the time he manages to get you guys out of bed and into the shower, then proper PJs and brushing teeth etc., but the other half, you’re just curling up in each other’s arms and knocking out then and there — you’ll shower in the morning. and he might suggest that you shower together… something about saving time and water… totally not just so he can see you naked again.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he likes his hair, the thick, fluffy curls and the way they contrast his skin nicely. and his arms. he may not be as jacked as his friends, but he’s got some nice strength and definition there that he worked quite hard for.

and don’t get me wrong, he loves every single part of you — but your chest. if you wear a low-cut or tight-fitting top, he’s gonna be staring. he just can’t help it. loves playing with your nipples, sucking on them and leaving hickies on your chest and collarbones. 

also loves resting his head over your heart while you cuddle and having you play with his hair, especially if you were in charge that night; it just feels so soft and safe and warm… he’s also the type of guy to like to fall asleep with a handful of boob, not even in a sexual way, just as a comfort thing. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

says he has no strong preference on where he does it — but really likes to cum on your chest. not afraid to get messy, but he’s a good guy, so he’ll be the one to clean it up and/or wash your sheets for you later.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s pretty open with you about what he wants and doesn’t really hide anything, especially now that you’re in a committed relationship. but before said relationship, he definitely didn’t think of you when jacking off in the shower, and most certainly did not gasp out your name when he finished. yeah, that was the tipping point for him, when he realized just precisely how bad he had it for you and decided to finally do something about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

before you started dating, he had little to no experience. you figured things out together, and now he knows what he’s doing and what feels good, but it’s still fun for y’all to explore and find out new things about yourselves.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

loves you on top / riding him. that way he can see your pretty face and kiss you and hold your waist / hips, watch your chest bounce while you take him nice and deep… lots of perks to this position (for him, at least. but he’ll offer to take over if you get too tired.)

also fond of anything where you’re super close together, chest to chest or side by side — he wants to be as close to you as he can, always.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

always down for a giggle in the moment. he loves hearing you laugh. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he’s doing some maintenance on a regular basis. doesn’t have much body hair, other than the loveliest little trail from his navel down…

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

oh, he can be so soft and sweet and romantic… we’ve collectively accepted that Bo is a total sweetheart, and would be so gentle and respectful and loving with you, especially your first time (which is on my very long list of smut ideas lol) 

but yes. kisses everywhere, lots of murmured praise and affirmations, soft touches… that’s just the default for him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

see letter D.

in the beginning of your relationship, he was handling matters himself more often because he didn’t want to scare you off by propositioning you all the time -- a slight breeze can get this guy going. but now that you’re comfortable with each other, he’s usually doing things with you instead.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

not quite a kink, but he really likes overstimulation. if he’s fucking you and he cums before you do, he’s not stopping. he’ll push through the sensitivity to get you there too. he likes overstimulating you, too (remember what I said about spending hours between your legs?) but sometimes it’s not even on purpose; he just gets lost in the sauce and doesn’t want to stop -- you have to pull him off of you by the hair. coincidentally, that’s also how you found out that he likes having his hair pulled.

he also loves when you take charge, focusing on yourself while you ride him / grind on his thigh / sit on his face… he wants to make you feel good, but he also finds it really hot when you take charge of your own pleasure.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

your room, his, the showers… he won’t try much else when you’re at the school or at Riorson house (too many people around). but if you ever get a house of your own, you’ll be christening every room. and probably every piece of furniture, too.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

all the standard stuff: seeing you undressed, seeing you dressed up or wearing anything revealing, you touching him a little too much (especially touching his chest or waist), when you use that soft, teasing tone of voice. and honestly, if you initiate things / say you want to, he’s ready to go --he’ll almost never decline that opportunity, and it’s a confidence boost to him: he wants to be wanted. 

also, you being possessive and protective of him — I have a scene written where Darling threatens someone at knife-point for hurting him and he’s just like 😍😍

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

does not want to do any sort of degradation or name-calling. again, he’s a sweetheart, and he wants you both to feel loved and respected 24/7, even when he’s railing you or you’re edging him or whatever. it’s just not his thing. nope. not happening.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he can and will spend hours with his head between your thighs. sometimes he’ll just ask you out of the blue if he can eat you out — you can keep reading or doing whatever you’re doing, he just wants to lick your pussy while you do it. though you never stay focused for long, not when it feels that good.

and he loves it when you go down on him. the boy just cannot shut the fuck up when your mouth is on him, babbling praise and swearing and making the prettiest little sounds. he would love it if you swallowed, but again, he’s happy to finish anywhere.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?

he can be slow and romantic when the time is right. he gets faster/rougher when he’s desperate, when he needs you so bad that he can’t hold it back anymore (often after you’ve been teasing him all day.) but it’s usually a good medium pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

loves them. this boy is ready to go at the snap of your fingers. he’s absolutely down to spend the spare half an hour you have between classes fucking you. however, comma, you always underestimate how long things will take and you’re definitely going to be late, so you might as well skip class entirely, right?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

you’ve done a fair amount of experimenting thus far in your relationship, and are content with your usual routine now. anything new is always prefaced with a conversation about it / asking if it’s okay before you do it in the moment. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can go a good two, maybe three before he’s tapping out, but preparing for war is exhausting, so you usually aren’t going much farther than that anyway. and of course, he’s giving you loving check-ins and water breaks etc. between rounds, especially if things are getting rough.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I can’t decide if he’d like to handcuff you / tie your wrists or not. that way he could really take his time with you and make you sit still while he plays with that pretty body of yours that he loves so much, but then you can’t touch him, and he really likes you touching him… hm.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

proper foreplay is definitely happening nine times out of ten (the tenth being a very quick quickie), but he doesn’t like to draw things out too long, because that means he has to wait as well, and he’s too impatient for that. you’re direct with each other about what you want in the moment.

however, it’s very fun to tease him all day and get him riled up because he’s just so fucking cute when he’s needy, and he’s not afraid to beg, either. but if you take the teasing too far, there may be consequences…

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not necessarily loud, but definitely vocal. he’s not afraid to moan and whimper and whine, especially when you’re in charge for the night. but even when he’s the one doing the work, he’s still panting and giving you praise, etc. very nice to listen to. also not afraid to make noise when he’s going down on you, humming and moaning at the taste. a bit of a messy eater, too.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he loves it when you mark him up -- hickies, scratches from your nails… this ties into that love of you being possessive of him. he doesn’t even try to cover it up, wearing them proudly as a sign to any onlookers that he’s taken, thank you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s pretty lean, some nicely defined muscle, and there’s a very nice contrast between his skin and the green of his rider’s relic, which takes up half of his back. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

quite high, as mentioned earlier. he’s really into you, and incredibly easy to get in the mood. you’re having some kind of sex 3-ish times a week, or however many times you want -- he’s adaptable, and will always respect you / won’t push things if you say no.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

pretty quickly, since you are almost always cuddling after (unless you have somewhere very important to be) and he falls asleep super fast if you’re holding him and playing with his hair -- that’s a guaranteed way to get him knocked tf out.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 23 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You think that maybe you’ve gotten off easy for the night, when the two of you practically doze together in the warm tub, the hot water up to your necks. You are endlessly relieved, when you feel him relax behind you, possibly even asleep. You daren’t look, not wanting to disturb him, afraid of what he might dream up next if you rub him just the wrong way.

You can still hardly believe that your relationship has come to this.

The water has started to cool by the time he stirs, kissing behind your ear with a tenderness that fills your heart with a stupid hope, his arm like a band of iron around your waist. “Will you wash me?” There is a softness, damn near vulnerability in this request, and you nod, knowing you cannot refuse.

It doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself too.

You lather up with artisan soap that smells like sandalwood, sliding your hands over the contours of his skin. He tilts his head back, seemingly content, and you hope he will remain like this, passive as a sleeping leopard. Maybe he’ll be ready to snooze after this, and you’ll survive the night.

You try to avoid the area between his legs, but when his lips curl in a wicked little smile your heart skips a beat. “That’s especially dirty,” he tells you through a smirk, as though amused that you thought you might get away scot free.

He should count himself lucky, that you are gentle as you run your soapy hand over the bulge of his heavy sac. Then you are alarmed—and impressed—to find him rock hard again.

So much for your old man jokes.

“Jesus, what are you, fourteen?” you snipe, hoping to cover the state of your own frustrated arousal. Running your hands up and down his thick shaft does not help you at all.

He actually chuckles at that. “You do make me feel young again…not that young, luckily.”

You find yourself exploring him a few more strokes that what is necessary, just for you, because you like the feeling of him in your hand. He grumbles with approval, his eyes half closed. Then because it only seems fair you stop suddenly. “See how you like it.”

You try to slip away, but quick as lightning he grabs you up, water sloshing over the side of the tub. A playful scream escapes you, and his smile is like a baring of teeth. There is a dangerous glitter in his dark eyes that takes your breath away, even as you know you’re doomed.

You shouldn’t play with this man. There must be something missing in your brain, that makes you keep pulling his tail.

“My turn,” he says, perching you on his knees, reaching for the soap.

At first, he really does just wash you, running those strong hands over your body, and it’s all you can do not to melt. But then his focus keeps returning to your breasts, your soft globes floating at the waterline.

Men.

“I think they’re clean…”

“Not for long.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers and you whimper, that ache between your legs that never really went away returning with a vengeance. Somehow, you know begging him to stop will only make it worse.  

“You should sit up here,” you tell him, tapping on the edge of the tub, and just for a moment you think you may have succeeded in fogging his brain just enough to make him forget he always has to be the boss. He looks at you with intrigue—and suspicion.

“Why?”

“Because I want you in my mouth.”

It’s a little funny, as you watch him war with himself, trying to weigh what exactly you’re up to against his desire to put his cock between your lips. You already know it was on his mind earlier. The remnants of that spicy surprise in your mouth from earlier have faded. In the end, the promise of a blow job wins.

It always does.

Almost warily he lifts himself out of the tub, perching on the edge so you can reach him. His big hand fists in your damp hair at the back of your neck. “No teeth,” he warns you.

You make a pouty lip, watching as his gaze turns to your mouth with laser-focus. “Not even a little?” you tease. “Just lightly, on this big beautiful vein?” You trace it with your thumb, your hand dwarfed by the size of his erection in your little fist.

“Fuck. Woman…”

You take that as a yes, and swirl your tongue over his swollen head, before taking him as deep as you can. You actually enjoy giving head, when it’s an act of love, and not a chore in exchange for a boy’s affection, the way it was in your teens. This is…somewhere in between, truth be told, but you give it your all. You can tell by the way John grips your hair, guiding your rhythm upon him, that you haven’t lost your touch. Your jaw starts to ache, and you are relieved when he gives a strangled moan, pulling you off by your hair. He takes himself in hand, pumping himself two or three times before cumming all over your breasts, thick white ropes that paint your chest with hot seed.

Maybe you don’t get it, but the sight of you marked like this makes his eyes burn like low banked coals.  

He actually lets you slip from his grasp, floating away to rinse the evidence of his enjoyment from your skin. He continues to watch you, as you get out of the tub, and dry off with one of the plushy soft towels.

He only catches up when you try to go to the closet for pajamas, sweeping you up into his arms and depositing you in the bed. You can’t help but feel like you won the round, when he tangles you up in his long bare limbs, and promptly falls asleep behind you.

[captain-hawks]

problem solving

satoru gojo x f!reader — (mentions of kento nanami x f!reader & gojo x f!reader x nanami)

summary: your innocent suggestion that Nanami needs to get laid inspires a particular fantasy that Gojo just can't stop thinking about.

word count: 1.2k

content: NSFW, 18+, SMUT, established gojo x reader, oral sex (m!receiving), oral fixation, anal fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, a smidge of degradation and praise kink, gojo wants to be a cuck, some dom!gojo vibes [mentions of a threesome, double penetration in one hole, anal sex, double penetration in two holes]

“Nanami needs to fucking get laid,” you groan, tossing your keys down on the counter before dramatically flopping down onto the couch. 

The comfort of the well-worn cushions is a welcome embrace after a long evening out to dinner with your friends—which would normally be regarded as a fun activity, if it weren’t for the aforementioned man who’d shown up in what was quite possibly the worst mood you’ve ever seen him in (and that was saying something). 

Satoru chuckles as he settles down beside you, lifting up your ankles and placing them back down across his thighs as he fiddles with a loose string along the edge of your sock. “You know how he gets when he’s stuck working overtime at the office. They’ve had him staying late every night this week.”

Placing the back of your hand over your face, you glance over at your boyfriend through the gaps between your fingers. “Yeah, well they should be giving him overtime sex instead of overtime pay so he’s not such an insufferable dickhead about it.”

Dragging a hand through his soft, white locks of hair, Satoru sighs, “I don’t think that’s legal.”

You shrug, “Well, I’m two seconds from signing him up for a dating app against his will if that man doesn’t start making an effort to at least get his dick sucked. At minimum.”

—

You don’t think much of your flippant comments about Nanami’s sex life, or apparently lack thereof. 

But Satoru, on the other hand?

He has quite a few thoughts on the matter, especially as it pertains to the two of you. Thoughts that he decides would be best discussed while he’s balls deep in your mouth a few days later.

“I think you should fuck Nanami.”

You choke—not because you can’t handle the length of Satoru’s thick cock shoved down your throat, no, but because those were the last six words you were expecting to hear from him at this particular moment. 

“Ah—don’t stop,” he chides as you go to pull off of him, one hand gently resting at the back of your head.

You meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow, but shrug as you continue to lap at his cock. 

A small grin peels across Satoru’s lips before he lets his head fall back on the pillows, moaning. “Mmm…okay. Right. So as I was saying, I think this is the perfect solution to our little problem.”

Toying with his balls, you let out a contemplative humming noise that has his shaft twitching between your lips. Satoru is anything but shy in the bedroom, and you’ve certainly mulled over the possibilities of spicing things up in one way or another. So it’s not like this proposition is entirely out of left field…but with Kento Nanami? Your friend?

“Oh…just like that,” he murmurs as you wetly suck on the head of his cock while pumping your fist down the spit-soaked length of it. “After what you said the other night, I couldn’t stop thinking about him fucking you.”

Something warm curls in your gut at his words, and you subtly clench your thighs together as you offer him a curious noise, prompting him to continue while you make a mess of his throbbing, leaking dick. 

“You’d look so pretty with his cock stuffed in your wet little pussy, baby,” he breathes out, rolling his hips so his shaft slides deeper down your throat. “Wanna fill you up myself and then watch him fuck my cum back inside of you.”

You can’t help it, you fucking whimper at that, and you can feel your panties grow slick with the arousal that’s dripping out of you. 

Satoru caresses the side of your face as he begins to fuck your mouth, his voice rough as he begins to lose his composure, “Maybe I’ll let him come inside of you, too. See how much cum we can fit in that tight hole.”

You’re so dizzy with arousal, you hardly register when Satoru pulls his shaft from your mouth and puts you on all fours, pushing up your oversized tee to reveal your lace panties. Hooking a finger in them and tugging them aside, he groans when he feels how wet you are. 

“Please,” you whimper as he notches the head of his cock at your leaking entrance—both in response to the fantasy he’s offering and also a plea for him to fuck you right here and now.

Satoru obliges without hesitation, plunging into your waiting hole and engulfing his shaft in the greedy, wet heat of your cunt. The punishing stretch of his fat cock leaves you trembling, fingers digging tightly into the sheets as a line of drool unconsciously falls from your lips. 

“Maybe we’ll both fuck you,” he muses as he begins to rock his hips, his shaft deliciously stroking your sensitive inner walls with each deep thrust. 

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out, nearly collapsing at the mental image your brain readily supplies—Nanami and your boyfriend taking turns pumping their cocks inside of you. Your lips around Nanami’s dick while Satoru’s face is buried between your legs.

The near-impossible stretch of both of their dicks stuffed into your pussy at the same time.

Or—

“Maybe…we’ll fill both of your little holes up,” Satoru whispers as he folds his body over yours, nipping at the shell of your ear before placing two of his fingers over your lips.

You let your mouth drop open, eagerly beginning to suck on them, moaning and drooling around the digits as the ache between your thighs continues to grow. He removes the spit-soaked digits after a few moments and straightens, spreading your ass cheeks and swiping the pads of his fingers over the tight ring of muscle waiting there.

“Satoru,” you moan, arching your back and presenting your ass to him, pushing his cock even deeper inside of you in the process.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks as he massages your rim until there’s just enough give to slowly slip a finger into your ass. “You’d like being our little cock slut, letting me fuck you in the ass while you ride my best friend’s dick.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you gasp against the pillow, a surging wave of pleasure coiling so tight in your gut you can hardly breathe. 

“Say it,” Satoru croons, your pussy wetly squelching as he ruts into you. 

You moan, legs beginning to tremble.

“Say it.”

“I want you and Nanami to fuck me,” you sob as he slips a second finger into your ass. “Please.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his free hand trailing around your hip, fingers beginning to toy with your aching clit.

Your vision goes white as your orgasm crashes over you, drenching your nerves in a flood of pleasure that leaves you breathless. Satoru’s hips snap forcefully into yours one last time, burying his cock in you to the hilt as he empties himself inside of you. 

You both collapse sideways onto the bed, too tired to bother cleaning up the hot cum leaking out of your cunt and down your thighs. Satoru pulls your back against his chest, idly stroking your shoulder as he presses soft kisses to the back of your neck.

It’s only when you’re nearly asleep that he whispers, “I’m serious.”

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

[marc-spectorr]

come alive

pairing: poe dameron x reader

kiss prompt: #22 …in a rush of adrenaline

warnings: 2.0k wc. mentions of violence, shooting, weapons. curse words.

notes: thank you to the lovely anon for submitting this prompt! i decided to make this its own post bc i wrote quite a lot. also i haven't watched star wars/written for poe in a hot minute so pls be nice to me lol. hope you like it!

—

“What’s the escape plan?”

At the question, Poe shoots you an odd look that is quite concerning. “Escape plan?”

“Yeah, the escape pla—oh my god,” you say in a hushed whisper, blinking at him. “You don’t have one.”

“I don’t have one yet. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something quick and then—”

“—and then we get captured, locked up behind bars to rot or until they decide to—”

Your ramblings are cut short when Poe puts a hand over your mouth, gently shushing you. Three stormtroopers approach the stack of oversized crates, shrouded in darkness due to the absence of sun at this late hour.

You freeze and hold your breath, waiting for them to pass. Fortunately, they march right by without problem, oblivious to the fact that you two are hiding behind them.

As happy and relieved as you were when Poe first showed up to free you, you’re now back to thinking that you will die at the hands of the First Order. It’ll only be a matter of time until someone realizes their imprisoned Resistance spy has escaped. You’ll never get out of here, especially without a plan. You’re doomed.

You swallow thickly and try to distract yourself from the dread and panic clawing inside of you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating. Glancing around wildly, you need to focus on something else. Anything.

Eventually, you have no choice but to settle on having your attention on the pilot’s stupidly handsome face. You keep your eyes on him, inhaling and exhaling deeply to gather your composure. All the while, you wonder— has he always been this good-looking up close? You have never realized how pretty of a shade his dark eyes are or how much they sparkle in the low light. You’ve never seen such thick and curly hair like his, and you have the biggest urge to card your fingers through it.

“Sweetheart, hey—relax,” Poe murmurs when you grow quiet on him, his watchful gaze flickering every now and then to check your surroundings. “Breathe. We got this.”

Poe has long dropped his hand from your mouth, but it remains on your face, cupping your cheek as he assesses you for any injuries. You feel your pulse pick up a beat. You’re sure it’s mainly from the threat of danger you’ve found yourself in. Certainly not because of Poe, your good friend, and crush ever since the day you joined the Resistance.

No, it definitely cannot be that.

“Okay,” you sigh out, nodding. You take a quick glance at the perimeter yourself this time, mostly to hide away from his gaze. “Now what? We can’t stay and hide here forever.”

“You’re right,” Poe agrees. He steps closer to you, his chest brushing against your back as he scans the area with you. “My ship’s past the tree line. Best course of action is to sneak out without alerting anyone. But if things don’t go our way, we use these.”

Slipped into your hand is a blaster. You take a deep breath and tighten your fingers around the grip. You hope it doesn’t come down to a shootout between you, Poe, and the dozens of armed guards patrolling the place. Violence isn’t really your strong suit. That’s why you preferred missions that involved laying low and gathering intel. Too bad your cover got blown on this assignment.

(And yes, you are still sore about that).

“I’m a shit shot, just a heads up,” you warn Poe. You turn around and bump into him, forgetting that there’s barely any space between you. He doesn’t make an effort to step away, and surprisingly, you don’t either.

Poe’s lips curl into a smug grin. He holds up his own weapon in his hand. “And I’m very much not. See, we’re a perfect match. On a scale of 1 to 10, how’d you rate my spur-of-the-moment escape plan?”

You bite back a chuckle and shake your head. Leave it to Poe to distract you from your worries, even if it only lasts a minute. In all seriousness, you have faith in him. He can be overly cocky sometimes, but he’s smart and skillful. You’ve seen and heard what he’s capable of. There’s a reason why you and plenty of others admire the hell out of him.

“I’d give it a 7.5, mainly ’cause I trust in your confidence too much. Plus, it’s not like we have other options.”

“That’s the spirit,” Poe beams. “Sorry if I worried you about not really thinking this through earlier. Once I found out you were being held out here, I kinda just... went for it, y’know? I didn’t have time to waste. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You smile at him, ignoring how your cheeks are warming up against the crisp nighttime air. You’re touched by Poe’s statement. Grateful that you’ve crossed paths with someone like him. Who else would be this reckless and determined to dive into an impromptu rescue—or insane enough to risk their life to save yours?

The thought has your heart feeling tender, but you can’t get caught up in it at this moment. You and Poe need to make it out alive first. Fuck, now the nerves are starting to creep back in.

“Thank you. If we come back to the base both in one piece, dinner’s on me.”

“You mean when we get back,” he corrects. He holds his hand out for yours. “Deal. It’s a date. Alright, you ready?”

Poe’s question almost doesn’t register in your head after he refers to your dinner offer as a date. He doesn’t seem to be joking around. He sounds serious, and you don’t question it. You find yourself more than okay with calling it that.

Clearing your throat, you give Poe a slight nod, ready as you’ll ever be. Both of you have to get out of here alive. Your date depends on it.

Staying undetected as you move through the shadows was easy in the beginning. Few are out on patrol this evening, and when you do encounter someone, Poe manages to evade them. Surely this isn’t his first go-around at something like this.

You do your best not to allow your anxiety of getting caught to cause you to lose focus. The warmth of Poe’s hand in yours helps soothe you, an assurance that if anything goes wrong, you’re not alone.

When you spot your way out, relief floods over you. You tell yourself you’ll be home soon. That you’ll be back in your bed in no time, tucked under the covers, safe and sound. No longer would you be fearing for your life in the way you are right now.

You’re nearly there— the clearing is just within sight. Less than a hundred yards away more and…

Sirens suddenly blare. So loud that they ring in your ears and leave you disoriented for several seconds. The quiet of the night quickly descends into chaos as guards pour out from every which way. The radioed orders your ears pick up are clear and bone-chilling: they are searching for you, and if found, they want you gone permanently. 

“There you are, scum,” a trooper snarls from behind, weapon pointed at you. They’re about to pull down on the trigger, but Poe reacts much quicker. The blaster in his hand fires, and the man instantly drops to the ground.

You barely have time to process what happened when Poe grasps your hand tightly, holding onto it uncomfortably tight, but his touch is grounding. The two of you share a knowing look as the sound of distant voices and heavy footsteps grow closer.

“We gotta keep moving. Shoot anyone who’s chasing after us, got it?” He says, his voice a blur over the erratic pounding of your heart.

Poe doesn’t wait for your acknowledgment. He makes a mad dash towards the gate leading out of the compound. He wasn’t lying when he said he was not a shit shot, taking down a few men with such ease— they were no match for him.

Luck seems to be on your side tonight. The moment Poe tugs you past the gate, you run across the field and into the woodlands as fast as possible, the fastest you’ve ever moved. Your muscles are sore, and your head is dizzy. It feels like you can’t get enough air in your lungs.

Still, you run. You run and run, even if you’re starting to think that your legs will give out at any moment. You have to get as far away as you can from the place that has kept you captive. It’s your best bet if you want to survive.

Finally, Poe’s ship comes into view. He glances behind you, and you mirror his action, seeing that the guards have lost track of you in the dark. The relieved smile on your face remains for only a split-second, however. As soon as you turn your head back, you see the stormtrooper emerge from the thick bushes, aiming to shoot at an unsuspecting Poe.

It’s like everything is in slow motion. From you realizing that Poe is in imminent danger to the way you forcefully push him out of the line of fire and draw your blaster.

Adrenaline buzzes through your veins. Your chest rapidly rises and falls. You steady your hand even as it fights to tremble. Without thinking twice, you fire your weapon. The first shot narrowly misses the enemy, but the following two blasts hit them fatally, and they slump to the ground, unmoving.

Luck truly is on your side tonight.

You gasp a breath in surprise when a pair of solid arms suddenly wrap around you, your nerve endings still on high alert after all that has transpired. 

Poe’s gentle voice saying your name cuts through your foggy mind, and you meet his gaze. Your heartbeat continues to drum sharply against your ribcage as you stare at him for several moments, tracing the deep, worried lines etched on his face.

You don’t know what comes over you after. You’re unaware of what you’re doing until you’re right in the middle of it.

One second, you’re holding onto Poe—feeling some of the tension in your body seep out upon seeing that he’s okay, he’s unharmed— and the next, your lips are on his, soft and warm. Exactly the way you had imagined they would feel.

Poe doesn’t kiss you back right away; it is the only thing that snaps you out of this haze. Have you misread him all this time? He’s a major flirt, but you thought he was genuine with you. A knot of confusion and embarrassment forms in your stomach. How could you be so wrong? How could you have fucked things up?

You immediately pull away, taking a few stumbling steps back. Poe looks at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, but he doesn’t say a word. You glance down at your feet, not wanting to see his expression as you fumble out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Poe. I don’t know… I was just—”

You are interrupted when Poe lets out a breathless chuckle. He closes the short distance you had put between the two of you, his hands cupping your face, fingers stroking your cheeks ever so gently.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t expecting you to do that. It did feel very nice, though.”

Poe’s breath fanning warm over your skin causes yours to hitch. Before you can respond, he slowly leans in and recaptures your lips in a sweet kiss. Your heart stutters and skips for a whole new reason now. Something more electrifying replaces the fight or flight sensation surging within you, making you light-headed in the best possible way.

The kiss abruptly ends at the sound of dried leaves rustling and branches snapping from different directions. You notice faraway lights becoming brighter, no doubt more stormtroopers closing in on you and Poe.

“I’d like to keep kissing you, but we gotta go,” he laughs, nodding towards the ship. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can go on our date.”

You grin in agreement and place your hand into Poe’s hand. Being with him makes you feel alive, like you can handle almost anything the universe throws at you. You could get used to this.

“Take me home, flyboy.”

[klausysworld]

Sex with Rebekah head canon😋

Sex with Rebekah head cannons:

Rebekah is defo a switch in my eyes.

One day she’ll be on-top of you trying to see how far your legs can stretch while she grinds down on you and sucks purple marks into your neck

The next she’ll be squirming with your fingers deep inside her, girlish moans echoing through the mansion

Bekah is much more eager for long, time well spent fucking love making over a quick little interaction

She likes to have you all dressed up nicely to her liking, she loves to take you lingerie shopping, having you all pretty and fuckable

Of course she could never not wear something absolutely delicious. Always dressed in the finest lace showing her luscious curves

Her hips always swayed seductively when she walked, it was never clear if she was naturally so elegant or purposefully trying to entice you

When she lured you back to your bedroom she was always ready to pounce on you, pinning you beneath her and claiming your mouth enthusiastically

She loved to have you hump at her leg, she enjoyed the little noises you would make while you ride her beautifully thick thighs. She doesn’t even have to touch you to have you begging for her.

Occasionally she will beg for you too, especially if you’ve been teasing her.

Oh how easily she falls apart when you have you face between her thighs. She can’t help the loud cries and moans that leave her plump lips as your tongue curling inside her. Nails scratch at you scalp as she pulls at your hair.

Sometimes (with your consent) she’ll wake you up by having her talented tongue on your pretty clit, having you flutter your eyes open only to shut them again as you moan loudly and waves of pleasure crash through you

Rebekah is up for basically anything. Role playing? Sure, what do you have in mind?

Toys? Always.

Accessories? She’s always excited.

Bex wants you to be able to indulge in your every fantasy. She’s had 1000years to learn how to do everything, now she gets to show you how good she can be.

On the rare occasion she hasn’t tried something, she’s even more excited, rubbing her thighs together in anticipation as she waits for what’s to come.

She loves to give to you, she likes to know that she can make you feel better than anyone else and always wants to please you

That’s not to say she isn’t over the moon for you to have control over her though. Gosh the dirty things you’ll whisper to her while her hands are stuck above her head, her body struggling to contain itself.

Sometimes when one of you is especially needy in public she’ll have her hand wondering between your legs, urging you to open them so she can feel you.

A few times she would pull you hand to her, she’s been wearing dresses much more since being with you, always ready for your waiting fingers, buzzing in her seat for you.

Even her siblings know that you two are like breeding bunnies. The distaste is clear on Elijah’s face as he glances at the sofa knowing that you two had been there nearly the whole night before finally moving it upstairs as a very embarrassed Klaus accidentally walked in while he was going to get a drink.

Kol was quick to tease his sister and Freya couldn’t help her giggles seeing both your flushed faces.

[the-cauldron-witch]

To quote @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos

for real though

Like 

You have a really tough day

and Raph is like, hey let's hit the gym

and while he's lifting you're telling him about your day

and how frustrated you are

and he offers to let you use the spare boxing gloves (april's old set) and he'll put on the pads

and you just take out everything, and he cheers you on, giving you some pointers but mostly just encouraging

and when you finish and take the pads off, he swats you on the butt with a big hand

and you turn around to give him a look and he's just smiling at you, proud smug look on his face

and says "that's my girl 😏 " 

as he walks out of the gym 

and you're just like

*blushingggggg*

So, here’s a scenario I wrote off of this!

Today can frankly end at any moment, you think. Be it by either teleporting you into the future, the earth opening up and swallowing the entire city of New York whole, or the sun simply exploding, you would take any end to today. It had started off with waking up to a flat tire on your locked bike, the tube punctured somewhere along your ride home the previous day by a stray roofing nail, which forced you to take public transportation. Of course, due to some reason unknown to you, the bus was running behind schedule which meant you were coming to work fifteen minutes late.

Something about the previous shift put a hair across your boss's ass that day it seemed, as he decided to completely rail into you the second you clocked in for your shift. He doesn’t listen to any of your explanations, simply telling you off on the spot as other coworkers awkwardly stroll by passing you a sympathetic glance. You finally managed to start your shift after being set back another fifteen minutes, despite the fact at least four or five other coworkers are late regularly. It wasn’t something you really could argue about though, you needed the hours and talking back to your boss would hinder that.

Then came your worst nightmare right on queue. He was only scheduled for half your shifts normally, but this one coworker made that time especially hellish for you. Constant shameless flirting, pick-up lines, and attempts at physical contact- you finally shouted at him today after the morning you had just had. Snapping at him you spat that you were very much taken and very much happy about it, so he better back the absolute hell off before you called your man to beat his ass. Even though that was a lie, you couldn’t call Raph to deal with this creep, he was thankfully just smart enough to leave you alone for the remainder of your shift.

Which brought you to the end of your day, right now. A storm had blown in from the south, cascading sheets and sheets of rain down over the city from heavy thick clouds. Trudging to the nearest and safest manhole cover, jeans soaking wet and clinging suffocatingly to your lower half made moving incredibly uncomfortable. Your shirt attempted to strangle you as it hugged to your frame like saran wrap, the dampness quickly chilling you to the core as you descended into the sewers cool air.

Storming past his brothers, soaked to the bone and squishing with every step you took, Raph was a little surprised to see you barge into his room from the end of his workout bench and slamming the door shut behind you promptly. You hadn’t even greeted his brothers as you breezed past them, frankly you didn’t feel your mood was of any good company to anyone other than the one person you wanted to be around.

Normally when you strip in front of Raph, he would comment and attempt to get his hands on you or convince you to get into bed with him. With how you slammed the wad of wet clothing into the laundry hamper with an irritated grunt, Raph chose to stay quiet and allow you to explain yourself. He continued his repetition, curling the barbell in his tridactyl hand to his bicep and bringing it back down with control.

It didn’t take long for you to start ranting loudly about your day, snatching a dry towel from his shelf and tousling your hair as you stood stark naked in his bedroom. His eyes didn’t falter from your frame, shamelessly raking over your body, but he still nodded along as you bitched about your boss being an absolute knob head and giving you shit for being late. Finishing his routine Raph got up and walked to his wrack, placing the dumbbell in its rightful place.

You stormed over to your boyfriend's dresser with a huff in silence, your hair sufficiently dry enough for you to get dressed. Raph had insisted on giving you a drawer to yourself, which you were rather grateful for as you grabbed a quick outfit. It was a work-out outfit to no surprise, mainly because whenever you wanted to change it was to work out with Raph in the first place.

“Hey,” Raph called to you, catching your attention as you rummaged for clothes. “Why don’t you go grab April’s old gloves, I'll put on the boxing pads, and we can work out more of this anger” Smiling warmly at you Raph hoped his offer would steer your foul mood in the right direction. Taking a moment to think you agreed, dressing yourself rather quickly and following him out of the room and into the dojo.

Snagging the yellow scuffed gloves dangling from their ties against the wall you slipped them on quickly, more than ready to unleash your pent up frustration. Strapping all the appropriate gear on Raph made his way to the open space with you, holding up the pads and readying himself. Holding up your fists and planting your feet in place you readied yourself, taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself.

“So, what’d that chump say when ya told ‘im the bus runnin’ late?” Raph questioned you, readying himself for the onslaught but also making sure you knew he was listening to your problem. A small but sweet gesture, one that tugged at your heartstrings a little but didn’t extinguish the flame within you.

“Oh, just told me that it ‘wasn’t his problem’-” You began swinging your fists left and right just as Raph had shown you many times before, “And kept telling me that it was my responsibility to the company to get there on time and make sure I call ahead if I’m going to be late!”

“Because you planned to be late, right?” Raph fueled your fire as the sound of blows landing echoed off the dojo walls. As you took two more quick jabs at his right hand the left pad suddenly swung at you, swiping for the top of your head. Ducking with ease you dodged the attack and launched a counter.

“Exactly! Not to mention no one bothers to pick up the damn phone there anyhow, so even if I called it’s useless!” Executing a surprisingly quick three piece set of punches, Raph grinned from behind his boxing pads shielding his face, flashing his sharp canines in a way that always sent a warm glow up from the pit of your stomach to the rest of your body. The feeling was enough to make you pause for a moment, gasping for air after exerting so much energy.

“Nice moves, you’re getting better” It was like Raph knew when to pull you out of your rampage, just long enough for you to center yourself and focus on the task at hand and not lose yourself in the anger. With renewed vigor and a smile that split your face nearly in two, you began swinging and aiming for the pads on Raph’s hands a little faster now. Testing your reflexes and hand-eye coordination Raph began moving the pads for you to focus on, watching you carefully so that he didn’t receive a black eye.

“And then- mmph! That creep at work kept flirting with me again today,” You spoke through your teeth as you remembered the way that vile walking talking HR report sauntered into your personal bubble. “He had the nerve to put his arm around my waist and try to hit on me!” Emphasizing the burning rage inside your chest with particularly harsh punches you continued attacking his moving hands, imagining the disgusting face of your ‘admirer’ was beneath each blow.

“I threatened to call you to beat his ass if he kept it up, it was the only way to get him to leave me alone” Exhaling in a way that felt like a weight lifted off of your chest you took a minute to breath, the cool underground air soothing the burn in your lungs. You had honestly expected a snarl followed by a physically threatening promise towards your coworker, or even for Raph to blow up into his own fit of rage.

“With those swings? I won’t need to beat him, doll. You could whoop his ass all on your own, but I’d love to watch” He gave you a wink, rolling a growl in the back of his throat flirtatiously. The laugh that barked out of you nearly knocked you over, completely caught off guard by Raph countering your anger with his own flirting. He couldn’t help but join your laughter, thrilled with himself at how quickly he turned your mood around from when you blew into the lair like a furious storm ready to strike whomever crossed you.

“Okay, last round,” You held up your hands at the ready, wanting to finish off strong this round. Eyebrows raising in surprise at your eagerness Raph got into position, the smile on his face wordlessly praising your commitment to training. Now that your mood had taken a better turn you no longer had the energy to rant and spit your anger, instead choosing to focus on the training session. In between instructing you to adjust your elbows or watch your footing, Raph encouraged you to try that punch just one more time. Listening and obeying his advice you continued, alternating pads with each swing of your fists.

Two final, harsh, affirmative punches and you both decided to call it a session. Unfastening the gloves from your hands you turned to hang them back on their hook, walking past Raph with a satisfied smile curling your lips and sweat dripping down your cheek. With one pad-covered hand Raph swung low, catching your entire ass with the glove with an echoing WHOP!

Turning to look over your shoulder and peg Raph with a half-hearted glare, you opened your mouth to snip some sort of retort to him. While your mouth remained open, words seemed to have failed you, Raph’s half lidded gaze boring into you with emerald green fire. A toothy grin dimpled his cheeks as he looked down at you with admiration.

“That’s my girl,” He purrs at you proudly before leaving the dojo, heading for his room to return the boxing pads. There is thankfully no one to witness the blush bloom across your cheeks and to your ears and neck, three simple words sending a shiver through your spine.

@thelaundrybitch Message me if you want to be apart of my tag group!

[cosmitton]

seeing a cute boy outside of a restaurant at night

Johan Seong x F!Reader (foreigner)

A/N: I haven’t written in so long and this is the first thing I’ve ever written for Lookism, so I’m nervous lol. The reader in this is described to be a foreigner, but I don’t describe what she looks like, so I hope that’s okay. She’s based off of one of my Lookism OCs but I thought it’d be better to write it as a Reader instead. I also won’t be using (Y/N) or anything like that bc I think it takes away from the flow of the writing/dialogue. Also, I think this takes place a little after the God Dog arc where Johan’s on his own again.

It’s not really romantic in this, but I’m thinking of making this a sort of series of one shots with this Reader specifically. Please lmk if Johan is OOC, bc I’m not confident in writing him haha. Anyways, hope you enjoy! c:

The nights are still cold at this time of year in Seoul. Not that you can really feel it at this point from where you are, starting the process of cleaning up and closing the restaurant. After having been cooped up in the small kitchen in the back of the hole-in-the-wall building you work at, finally done cooking after several hours, the space is well and truly stuffy by now. You were even a bit sweaty, in contrast to the people you can see pass by the windows outside that are trying to stay bundled up against the wind chill.

“Alright,” your boss walks into the back to join you, “you’ve been holed up in here long enough, I’ll take care of this. You go deal with the front.”

As if it’s ingrained in his mind as instinct, he swats at your back with the hand towel he grabs before you can protest that you can do it yourself and he should rest. You laugh slightly at the older man, deciding that you’re too tired anyway to argue with him right now.

You leave behind what you were working on to go out into the front of house in order to count down the register and go about cleaning and packing up the floors and tables. You work silently, comforted by the sound of your boss cleaning in the back and the distant hum of life filtering in from behind the windows and locked door.

“Mr. Terrence,” you call as you walk toward the back doors, “I’ll take the trash out now.”

“Thanks, kid.” He replies as you grab the black bags in both hands.

It’s as you walk outside, hit by the cold and slightly regretting not grabbing your jacket first, that you see him. A slim, brown-haired boy sitting by the mouth of the alley between your workplace and the building next door. He’s curled up like he’s trying to hide, in a way, with his knees drawn up tight and facing slightly away from you. When you glance over at what he’s looking at, you see two small dogs not far from him.

You try not to stare as you pass by, but it is weird to you. There’s not usually anyone out here, especially at this time of night and in this weather – and if there is, they’re usually not here for any good reason. It’s not your business, you try to remind yourself, and you can’t afford to be getting caught up in anything bad that might be happening.

Although, that doesn’t seem right, either. This boy is just sitting alone on the ground, watching – presumably – his two dogs and still hasn’t even looked up at you. He doesn’t seem the type to be here for any salacious reason, which makes the only other conclusion that comes to your mind much more heartbreaking – he’s here because he has nowhere else to go. You could be wrong, but the way he was dressed (yes, he had a jacket, but not thick enough for this cold) and had only his dogs and a single backpack sat at his side just hit your instincts in a certain way. You couldn’t see his face, but he looked slim – probably not starving, but clearly not eating as much as you preferred for a young person to be eating. (Distantly, you think about how Mr. Terrence would make fun of you for thinking this despite the fact that you are also a “young person”.) His dogs also looked skinny, and even if you didn’t care about this boy, you couldn’t in good conscience let animals go without food.

With that thought, you made up your mind and quickly threw away the trash and made your way back into the restaurant to head straight toward the kitchen.

“Mr. Terrence,” your boss jumped as you burst back into the room again, “sorry. I was wondering if you finished packing everything up?”

“Nearly there,” the older man watched as you scuttled about the kitchen to grab a to go box from under the counter and start filling it with food. “Oh, no,” he scoffs lightly, “not another stray. If you keep feedin’ ‘em, they’ll keep comin’ back expectin’ more.”

“A stray and his strays, yeah.” You continue, ignoring his scoff because you know he could stop you if he was really that bothered by it.

“What?”

“Some guy and his dogs.”

“Ohhh~” you don’t need to look up to face him, because you can hear the smug smile in his voice, “a boy, huh~? No wonder you’re so eager.”

You resist the urge to fling some of the food at him, “shut up. You know it isn’t like that.”

He’s already stopped listening to you, having made up his mind about your intentions, “uh-huh, sure.”

You don’t bother to reply, finished with packing up the to go box now and not trying to play his games. You make your way back toward the doors, hoping the boy and his dogs hadn’t left already. He’s still there, thankfully, when you get outside – again regretting that you forgot to grab your jacket, but somehow remembered to grab the dog treats you keep in your bag for any stray you might come across – and still not looking up. You make your way over to the boy with your shoulders hiked up in a weak attempt to shield yourself against the wind, trying to walk around into his sight so that you don’t sneak up on him.

One of his dogs notices you first, a little thing with pink ears, and seems to watch your approach cautiously. The boy notices and whips his head around immediately, as if he was trying to catch you, and you pause for a moment at the way he looks at you like you might be a threat. He looks to be around your age, with a pretty face and puppy eyes, but he scowls at you in a way that makes him seem older – weathered and weary from past experience. Oof, you think as you try to figure out how best to approach him, a standoffish one, then.

“Hey,” you greet lightly, “sorry to bother you. I work at this restaurant and I was wondering if you wanted to take these leftovers off my hands so we don’t have to waste them by throwing them away.”

You don’t actually have to throw away the leftovers, of course, but you’re banking on him not knowing that because he seems like the type to not take handouts unless it’s phrased as if he’d be doing you a favor instead. Before the boy can answer, though, the dog with pink ears walks up to you first. You kneel down to its level, putting your hand out to let it sniff you before you try to pet it.

“Hi, puppy~!” You can’t help the high-pitched baby voice you use to talk to animals, it’s instinct at this point and you refuse to feel embarrassed about it.

The other white dog that’s wearing a sweater is still hanging back, looking like it’s shivering, but you can’t tell if that’s from the cold or if that’s just natural. You set the to go box down beside you, petting the pink-eared dog with one hand while you wrestle the dog treats out of your pocket with the other. The pup is fully excited now, tail wagging so hard that it’s almost throwing the dog off its feet, while you feed the treats to it, eagerly.

You realize that you pretty much forgot about the boy when his voice makes you jump, “her name is Miro.”

You look over, and he doesn’t seem to be scowling at you anymore, just watching you interact with his dog – still cautious, but not threatened.

“She’s cute,” you smile, “and your other dog?”

“He’s Eden.”

“Can I give him some treats?”

“He doesn’t like strangers much.”

“Well,” you shift slightly, waiting for permission to approach, “I’ll give them to you and you can give them to him, then.”

“Why?” He’s suspicious again - not in the same way that others here are when they see your face and know you’re an outsider - and you recognize it and it breaks your heart for him. (It seems a bit ridiculous for you to hurt for him, given that you don’t know him at all, but you do because you’ve seen it before and you know it at your core.)

“Because they deserve it. They all do.” You mean his dogs, specifically, but you also mean him and every other person like him.

He watches you for a moment more, and you let him, but he doesn’t respond verbally – just shrugs and makes the smallest movement of his head to nod. You grab the to go box again, dog treats in the other hand, and rise to move toward him. He rises too, probably more comfortable with being at eye level than sitting – just in case. Miro is following at your feet, and you stop with a bit of distance between yourself and the boy. You hand him the dog treats first, glancing at Eden shaking a bit behind him, and he stuffs them into the pocket of his jacket. You try to hand him the to go box and that’s when he becomes suspicious again – obvious when you look him in the eye.

“I know it might be an inconvenience, but it’d really help if you could take these. It just seems like such a waste if we have to toss them.” He doesn’t believe you, you know he doesn’t just by how he looks at you, but neither of you are going to say it aloud.

He stares at you for a moment again, seeming to battle in his mind over whether to take it or not, but the hunger that you’re sure he’s feeling seems to win out. He takes it from you and, despite how reluctant he was to accept it in the first place, he immediately holds it close to him and slightly away from you as if you’re going to snatch it back.

You want to say more, but you’re not sure what and you don’t really have any more reason to since you accomplished what you came out here for. You think to ask his name and give him yours, but you feel like you might be pushing him with that. So, with nothing else that you can come up with, you start to back away.

“Thanks,” you smile at him again and look down at Miro and Eden, “bye puppies~!”

You think anything else would bother him, so with one last glance at the boy – who seems to be waiting for you to leave before he goes on with whatever his plans are – you fully turn back to the restaurant and go inside. You wish you had gotten his name, or had some way of checking up on him and Eden and Miro again just to make sure they’d be okay, but you just have to accept that it’s left up to fate now.

Who knows, you might meet him again one day.

[separatist-apologist]

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

Lucien was sent to the north two days after his wedding, leaving Elain alone at court. Her sisters were gone, her parents returned to Spring, which left Elain to figure out Autumn without her usual supports. Elain was tempted to isolate herself, but like the females in Spring, the ladies of Autumn stuck together, for the most part. They had branches, smaller groups within the larger one, and Elain wanted to get in with one, just for security.

Which was how she found Ayla. 

Ayla clearly led one the smaller groups of females and Elain wondered if it was because she was so obviously beautiful. With long, thick hair the color of cinnamon that fell in heavy, ringlet curls and eyes like obsidian, and a wardrobe to rival the Lady of Autumn herself. If Eris hadn’t already been married, Elain would have assumed Ayla was a contender. She seemed born to rule in some capacity.

And rule she did—over a card game every afternoon in the parlor. It was invitation only, and Elain had been invited by Ayla herself as she’d wandered aimlessly through the hall. 

“Elain, right?” she asked, plopping into the chair beside Elain. “I was at your wedding. You were beautiful.”

It was a lie, but Ayla made it seem sincere. “Thank you.”

“I was hoping you’d join me and a few friends this afternoon? We play a friendly game of cards,” she began, fingers twisting a gold ring around her middle finger. “You could ask Arina, too, if she’d like to join.”

“I will,” Elain said, needing to be on good terms with the ladies, especially if Lucien was going to run off every chance he got. Elain was certain he’d run off to meet up with a female and it made her hate him a little.

“Excellent,” Ayla said, clapping delicate hands together. She practically floated away, leaving Elain to track Arina down far, far within the bowels of the palace. She hadn’t realized she’d need permission from the High Lord to actually go inside the library. Beron Vanserra terrified Elain—she’d never ask. Instead, she politely begged one of the scholars to bring Arina to her, and moments later Arina herself appeared, the only bright thing in the gloom.

“We’ve been invited to a card game,” Elain said without preamble. 

Arina wrinkled her nose. “By who?”

“Ayla.”

“Ugh–”

“Please come with me,” Elain implored, looking up at the only woman she could count on to be friendly to her. Elain understood that Ayla needed the future Lady of Autumn to appear, if only to enhance her own social status. Back home, the ladies had clamored for Nesta’s friendship and attention, much to their detriment. Nesta loathed social climbers. 

“Fine,” Arina grumbled, gathering her skirts as the pair began climbing back up the stairs.

“Why don’t you like her?”

“There was a rumor, when I first came, that she and Eris…”

“Oh. Oh. Did they?”

“Well, I never asked,” Arina sniffed, chin lifted in the air. “I didn’t want him to think I was jealous.”

“But you are jealous,” Elain teased.

“He doesn’t need to know that. His ego is already unchecked without my help. It’s good for him to think he doesn’t quite have me.”

“You accepted the mating bond,” Elain reminded her. 

Arina merely waved her hand, as if to say semantics. Elain doubted very much that Eris worried a whole lot about losing Arina given the fact that she’d so easily ingratiated herself into his life. Elain doubted very much Arina would leave him even if he’d slept with every available female at court. Eris was a lot older than Arina—of course he must have.

Though, it made her wonder who her husband had been sleeping with. Surely there must have been people before his murdered lover. Would it bother her? If Ayla slept with Lucien, would Elain avoid her, too?

She didn’t know the answer to that. In some ways, it felt like relief to know her husband had interests outside of annoying her and that he might discreetly pick up with someone else to spare her his attention. It was also strangely humiliating to imagine. Courts were small, insular, and the nobility of Prythian well connected. How long before rumors swirled of Lucien’s disinterest?

Elain could not win. 

Elain shoved thoughts of Lucien from her mind. She didn’t want him, so who cared what he did or didn’t do? The pressure in her chest crested for a moment, thrumming with heat before she could settle herself down. Elain took three calming breaths and the feeling subsided, though it lingered just below her ribs, aching like a bruise. 

Ayla’s card game was massive. Held in a large parlor papered in orange and brown flowers, the room could have held five hundred people comfortably. Tables were arranged with little placards noting who sat where. A long table held tea sandwiches and cakes, towers of little pastries and every beverage a person could possibly ask for. No one was eating, and when Elain and Arina arrived, the ladies already gathered hushed softly, eyes wide with excitement.

This would be the source of everyone's gossip for the rest of the week. 

“You came!” Ayla said, disentangling herself from a group of beautiful women. “I didn’t think—but oh, this is delightful. Here, you’ll sit here.”

Elain didn’t bother to ask who got booted from Ayla’s table. Arina sat, nodding toward the two other women that were already there. 

“Zoelyna,” she began pleasantly, smiling at the redhead. “Celeste.”

They looked like sisters, with the same shade of coppery red hair and bright, blue eyes. They smiled at Arina, launching into a thousand questions meant to occupy Arina’s time. Elain watched Arina with some awe, knowing that Arina did not like these functions or, really, any of the people in the Autumn Court. And yet she had this way of making people feel special—seen. Elain hoped to emulate that.

Maybe, she reasoned, she could make herself so beloved among the ladies they would refuse her husband out of respect or love…or fear, which seemed to be the tactic Arina had employed. There was soft reverence to the way everyone spoke to her that suggested their fear of crossing her. It was absurd—Eris was so besotted that anyone with eyes could see it. 

Though, Elain supposed he had enough power to make him appealing, even with a mate. A mistress often wielded incredible power and if her husband wanted, he could elevate her to the position of a wife without care or concern to how his actual wife felt about it. 

“Explain the rules to me,” Elain said once Ayla sat down, determined to make them all like her.

Ayla beamed. “It’s quite simple, really. Each of us will flip a card in our hand, and the highest suit wins.”

“That’s it?”

“We could make it more interesting, if you like,” Ayla suggested, reaching for a bracelet riddled with diamond on her wrist. “If you want.”

Arina sighed, taking off her pearl earrings while Zoelyna and Celeste both tossed rings in the center of the table. What did Elain have that she could trade besides the coins jingling in her pocket? Reaching within, she pulled out the little pouch and dumped them along with the jewelry. 

“Excellent,” Ayla said with a shark's smile. “I look forward to taking your money, ladies.”

“In your dreams,” Arina retorted, picking up her hand of cards delicately. “I think I’ll buy myself a new gown.”

Ayla smiled at her own hand. “I think I’ll get a new pair of shoes.”

Elain didn’t know what she’d do with their things. Probably return them, truthfully. It hadn’t occurred to her until right then that Elain had no money at all other than what had been sent with her. If she needed things, did she ask Lucien? What if he said no? She knew men like that, who controlled the purse strings so tightly their wives had to beg for simple items like shifts and undergarments. 

She didn’t hear what Zoelyna or Celeste wanted, lost in her own musings about Lucien’s petty cruelty. 

Elain merely shrugged. “I won’t count my coins until they’re in my hand.”

“Smart,” Ayla murmured, eyes bright. “I suppose you aren’t terribly competitive like the rest of us.”

But Elain was competitive. Quietly so, which had always annoyed her sisters. They’d be fighting amongst themselves, battling to be the winner and Elain would sneak in and steal the first prize because they’d forgotten her. 

Again.

It was her strategy in this game, too. She watched them watch each other, and threw her first few hands with an exaggerated, yet good natured sigh. Ayla and Arina immediately began going after each other much like Feyre and Nesta would. Elain’s first win was played off with a chagrined smile.

“What fun!” she declared as Ayla put a little mark in her favor. Elain threw her next hand just for good measure before taking the next five. Ayla and Arina chalked it up to a lucky streak, but Elain had just nearly pulled ahead and had no intention of giving that up. With a sweet smile, she continued to lay down her cards until Arina tossed hers down in frustration.

“You’re cheating,” she accused.

“I would never,” Elain protested, half laughing. “You’re simply a sore loser.”

It was the most fun she’d had since…well. Elain couldn’t remember the last time she had that much fun. So much of her time in recent memory had been spent trying to thwart, and later spite,

Lucien, that she’d let her friendships fall to the wayside back home. Here, though, looking at the shining eyes and bright cheeks of the ladies seated before her, she thought perhaps the worst was behind her.

After all, she was married now. There was no more thwarting Lucien outside of the marriage bed, no more spiting him when he slunk off to avoid her. Why shouldn’t she try and find some enjoyment in this moment. Elain smiled. Maybe Lucien would rarely be home.

Maybe she’d be able to enjoy herself.

LUCIEN:

He hadn’t intended to see Jesminda. Lucien had merely wanted to get out of Autumn for a minute, and Dawn was just far enough to clear his senses of Elain. His friend Nuan lived here, and had agreed to host him for a day while he bullshitted around delivering his fathers proposal for new tariffs on goods. Eris must have been monumentally stupid, or desperate, to relocate Jesminda here.

At first, Lucien thought he was merely hallucinating her in the market. But now—that was her light brown skin, her bouncy brown hair, and her wide eyes staring at him, lips parted in an oh. His legs began moving of their own accord, body vibrating with the need to just touch her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head back and forth as she held up a finger. Lucien’s heart shattered even as he kept moving. “I promised your brother. You weren’t supposed to come looking for me.”

“I…I didn’t know,” he managed, fingers brushing the long sleeve of her green gown. “You’re safe.”

“I was,” she agreed, glancing around nervously. Grabbing the front of his tunic, Jesminda dragged him past rows of vibrant market stalls to a darkened ally where they could talk. “Lucien, go home to your wife.”

“I won’t,” he said, reaching for her face. Jesminda let him, her agony a mirror for his own. “We could leave. We could board a boat right now and leave for the continent.”

“And what then, Lucien? Will you work like some common man?”

“You know I would,” he protested, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “I told you I would. My crown means nothing to me—”

“And your wife?” she pressed, pulling her face from his grasp. “What of her? You’ll leave her to the mercy of your father? I wouldn’t ask you to do that on my behalf.”

“She means nothing to me,” Lucien lied, cringing as he said it. Jesminda noticed, nostrils flaring.

“Oh, Lucien,” she whispered and of course she’d know. No one knew him better. 

“It means nothing.”

“You’re lying,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. “You…you think it won’t, but in ten years—fifty years—your mind will drift back to her and you’ll wonder—”

“I won’t,” Lucien said, well aware he was begging when he already knew the answer. He would have gotten on his knees if he could have, would have cut his own throat if she’d asked him to.

But Jesminda wouldn’t, and so Lucien remained standing before her, desperate for her to say the only words he wanted to hear.

I love you, Lucien. 

“This is wrong and you know it's wrong,” Jesminda whispered, taking a step toward him. “I swore to your brother I would never speak to you again—”

“Fuck Eris!” Lucien exploded, his feelings all over the place. “Fuck all of it—”

“I want you to go home, Lucien. To your ma—to her. And I want you to treat her well…and…” her bottom lip trembled as Lucien shook his head no. “I want you to leave me alone. Don’t look for me—if you see me in the street, don’t acknowledge me. Don’t write to me. Do not…do not even speak my name.”

“Jes—”

“Swear it,” she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Swear that you will keep the memories of what we had and you will let me go. Swear it to me right now.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I might as well hand you the sword your father will use to remove my head right now. If you love me, you will let me go.”

Lucien swallowed his urge to cry right along side her. “I could keep you safe.”

“You can’t keep us all safe. You’d sacrifice your mate,” she whispered the word, as if it pained her to say it, “for me?”

Lucien started to say that he would, but the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t make that promise and Jesminda knew it. She knew what all Fae knew—your mate was the other half of your soul. To lose Elain would be losing part of himself, even if they didn’t want each other or were a bad match. 

Shaking her head of curls, Jesminda offered him a brave smile. “I wondered why it didn’t snap for us. I wish…but it didn’t, and it's better to know now that it was never going to. You and I…we were…” She offered him a pretty smile that cracked his heart in half. “I’m glad I know. Some part of me will always love you, Lucien, but I’ve made my peace with how things ended. My family is still in Autumn and I’m hoping to get them out.”

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice cracking.

Jesminda considered this before offering him a bright smile. “I am. I always wanted to see the world…and Dawn is just one stop along the way.”

“I want you to be happy,” he told her, not bothering to add that he wanted her to be happy with him.

“Your brother was generous. I…I’m going to be okay, Lucien. And so will you. Trust me.”

She leaned up on tiptoes, pressed her lips against his cheek, and stepped back before he could do something rash. Jesminda offered him one last smile, eyes glassy and bright, before slipping out of the ally. Lucien let her, back against the brick, terrified that if he saw where she went he’d try and track her down. She’d asked him to let her go, and Lucien wanted to give her what she wanted.

Even if what she wanted wasn’t him.

Abandoning his plan to waste more time in Dawn, Lucien decided to return home for the night before spending the remainder of his time down by the sea drinking with sailors until he forgot his own name. Lucien winnowed onto the grounds, expecting silence.

Instead he found Elain at the center of what seemed to be a rowdy game with a gaggle of the well-bred ladies of court…and Arina, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed to slits.

“She cheated.”

“You’re a sore loser!” Ayla declared, half hiding behind Elain who was clearly trying to mediate the situation. Not far away, Tanwen lounged on marble steps leading up to the palace, wanting the whole thing play out with a furrowed brow. Elain hadn’t noticed him, which gave Lucien and his aching heart a chance to compare her to Jesminda.

“It’s simply a misunderstanding,” Elain assured them both, hands thrown out to keep Arina from swinging. Lucien was in a mood.

“Arina is simply sore that Ayla was promised to Eris before she came along,” Lucien said, silencing the entire lawn as he stalked away. He thought he’d gotten away with it, too, until something hard bounced off the back of his head. Lucien whipped around to find his wife standing there, wide-eyed and impossibly innocent despite the mallet held in her hand. 

Arina burst out laughing, doubled over as Ayla pressed her fingertips to her lips. 

“Did you throw something at me, wife?”

Elain only shook her head, the picture of chaste nobility. “I would never. Are you well?”

Lucien began to stalk toward her, so angry he could barely contain it. His rage must have shown because some of Elain’s mirth slipped and he saw her fear as she took a step backward.

“Brother!” Tanwen called, jogging toward Lucien before he could do anything rash. “Come inside with me, have a drink. You look like you need it.” It was a warning. Lucien exhaled as he nodded his head. Aware he was being watched by more than just Arina and Ayla, he looked at Elain and said, “You look pretty today.”

That was always an easy complement to give. Lucien couldn’t imagine there would ever come a time when Elain wasn’t pretty. 

“You’re falling to pieces,” Tanwen muttered when they were out of earshot. “Too many outbursts and you’ll draw fathers attention.”

“Who asked you?” Lucien snapped. 

“You know the consequences. You have a wife now, so you have a weakness. Elain doesn’t look as if she’s faced a hardship in her life. I can’t imagine how she’d fare in the dungeons paying for your fury. But no one asked me,” Tanwen replied, veering off to leave Lucien alone in the hall feeling guilty and angry and so, so empty all at once. Lucien went to one of the study’s in the palace—the one he and his older brothers typically occupied when they were trying to escape the noise of the place—and poured himself a drink. No one came to bother him, which was for the best.

Lucien threw the first glass back like a shot. The second and third, too.

The fourth burned as he pressed his back against the cool wood of the wall and sank to the floor, heart racing. Lucien finished his drink before abandoning the glass for the bottle itself. Eyes closed, all he saw was Jesminda telling him not to look for her ever again. That she was happy. 

He wasn’t. She hadn’t asked, likely because she already knew what he’d say. 

And she was right. Lucien buried his head in his knees, choking back the urge to sob himself hoarse. She was right. To chase after her was to condemn her entire family to death and his own mate. What kind of male was he?

A foolish one, with a foolish heart. 

Lucien didn’t remember falling asleep, though he did remember throwing up in a vase somewhere around his seventh or eighth drink. Barely conscious, he felt cool hands on his face and the smell of honey and jasmine.

“Not you,” he slurred as another rougher set of hands hauled him to his feet.

“Take him to the kennels,” a voice that sounded suspiciously like Eris’s ordered. “I’ll have him hosed down and he can sleep with the dogs since he wants to act like one.”

“Don’t—don’t do that. Bring him to me,” came that melodic voice that could only belong to his wife.

“It would please me far more to see him sleep with the animals.”

“Well, it wouldn’t please me. And if you displease me, I’m going to tell your wife to punish you.”

“I love when my wife punishes me—ow, did you hit me?!”

Lucien peeked open an eye as he was dragged, but the world spinned violently, prompting him to close them again. Elain and Eris spoke more, mostly teasing if Lucien judged the tone of their words right, but in truth he was pretty sure he fell back asleep as he walked.

“You’re heavy,” he heard Elain whisper, fingers undoing the buttons on his jacket deftly.

“And you’re forward,” he mumbled, turning so he could lay on his stomach. “I don’t need your help.”

Elain said nothing, though the scent of her was overpowering. 

“Elain?”

A muffled squeak caused Lucien to look down, where he found Elain panting against his chest, shoving him off her. “Please,” she breathed, unaware of how that one little word could fuel a thousand filthy fantasies. Lucien rolled to his side as Elain scrambled off the bed entirely, shaking out her hands as she took a breath. 

“Do you feel it?” he mumbled, grabbing a pillow to cuddle it against his chest. Maybe he’d feel better if she, too, knew about the bond.

“My cracked ribs?” she asked, rubbing the side of her body. “I think I’ll be feeling that for days.”

Lucien chucked. “You will if I have my way.”

“Big talk for a man that agreed never to touch me,” she replied without malice, sitting beside him on the bed. “Do you want to tell me what all this is about?”

“No.”

Elain sighed, murmured “fine,” and started to move away from the bed. Lucien reached for her, dragging her against him.

“I was in love, once,” he whispered into her hair, wondering if this was all a mistake. He was simply too drunk to care. “And she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” Elain replied, because of course she would be. She let him hold her against him, though she twisted on her side so she was facing him. “How did she die?”

Lucien exhaled sharply. “She’s alive. She no longer wishes to see me.”

“Oh,” Elain breathed. “I’m still sorry.”

“It’s for the best,” he said, opening his eyes to look up at the ceiling. “It would never have worked between us.”

“Why not?”

Because I was holding out for a mating bond that was never coming.

“We’re just…two different people, I suppose.”

“Is it my fault?”

“No,” he said, because truthfully it wasn’t. “No, this has nothing to do with you. I’m just…” Angry at you, because there’s no one else to be angry with. 

They lapsed into silence. Lucien didn’t remember falling asleep, and when he woke, it was alone. Elain had been there—a pitcher of water sat on the nightstand beside a few slices of bread with jars of jam and jelly beside it. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting light against the shadows.

Lucien groaned.

“You’re an asshole,” he told himself, rolling onto his stomach so he could push himself up. He knew he was, knew he needed to try and treat Elain better.

But for the rest of the day, Lucien remained in bed.

Drowning in his self-loathing.

ELAIN:

“Hide me,” Elain whispered, grabbing Ayla by the shoulders and shoving her behind a pillar. Ayla squeaked, peering around Elain and Lucien strolled past a moment later, unaware they were hiding just out of view.

“Is the honeymoon over, then?” Ayla whispered once Lucien rounded the corner, unaware of the hiding women mere heartbeats away. Elain couldn’t face him, not after she’d been called to collect him by a nervous servant. She’d found him drunk, jacket half unbuttoned and droll sliding down his cheek pressed against the floor. She’d tried to rouse him, but Lucien was a solid mass of muscle and unmovable. Eris had done it for her, seething with silent fury.

Elain was simply nauseated. He’d gone to see his former love, who’d sent him away likely because it was dishonest and she was a lady of character. That didn’t make his rejection sting any less, even if she didn’t want him.

Everyone would know he’d been drunk over another woman and even if Eris and Arina squashed the ugliest of the rumors, they’d still circulate. He couldn’t go a full day without trying to embarrass her. 

“We just…don’t get along well,” Elain admitted, smoothing out her skirts once she was certain Lucien was gone. 

“No, I suppose not. I heard,” Ayla added, her face rich with sympathy. Elain swallowed the urge to scream. “I’m sorry. I think I might have killed my husband if he did that.”

“It’s tempting,” Elain admitted, allowing Ayla to walk her out of the palace and toward the apple orchard. Elain drank in the crisp air, catching a whiff of smoke in the air. Turning, she saw Tanwen in the distance, marked by the twin pair of axes he wore criss-crossed along his back. He was burning leaves—or something distinctly leaf shaped—causing curling tendrils of smoke to waft toward them. Ayla, too, had turned to look, those dark eyes narrowed just at the corners.

“Why does he dress like that?” Elain asked, desperate to shift the conversation away from herself. “Like he’s ready to march into battle.”

Ayla’s eyes never left Tanwen. “I don’t know. He’s never spoken to me.”

That seemed impossible. “Never?”

“The only Vanserra who won’t,” she said, finally turning back to look at Elain. Elain swore a wine colored flush crept up Ayla’s olive skin. “He rarely speaks to the ladies, though, so I take no offense.”

“He talks to me,” Elain said, wondering if he did so simply to irritate Lucien. Ayla glanced at Elain, an inch or so shorter than Elain’s already diminutive frame. If Ayla stood beside Tanwen, he would simply engulf her. It was had to picture what they might talk about, besides—Ayla was a purebred lady, with proper interests and from the little Elain had gathered, a keen mind. Tanwen, on the other hand, didn’t seem so inclined to play courtly games. Perhaps that was the point of the axes. Perhaps they served as a reminder that he solved his problem in a less elegant fashion.

“Well, you’ll have to introduce me then, won’t you?”

“What would you talk to him about?” Elain asked, not meaning to be unkind. She was merely curious why Ayla would care at all. If she was angling for a Vanserra, surely Connall suited her better? He was just as courtly as Eris but without the wife hanging from his arm. 

More color overtook Ayla’s features and oh. “Perhaps nothing at all.”

“I’ll introduce you,” Elain said quickly, linking her arm through Ayla’s before she could race off in embarrassment, “if only so you can see how terribly dull he is.”

Ayla offered a weak smile. “Thank you. It’s…thank you.”

Ayla left Elain not long after, begging some excuse which left Elain walking through the neatly lined trees by herself. Kicking fallen apples with her boot, she tried to push everything from her mind and focus only on her surroundings. Think of the positives, she urged herself. Autumn was beautiful in its own, half-dead way. She was making friends, which was nice, and her husband’s family didn’t seem to hate her.

Even Lucien— “There you are,” he said, interrupting her as she tried to come up with something good about him. That was a fools errand, she supposed. The male standing before her looked like a prince, minus the dark bags under his eyes. Every inch of him was immaculate otherwise, which annoyed her. If only he was less handsome, she lamented. Of his brothers, he was easily the loveliest, which made hating him all the more difficult. He was appealing to look at. 

In an obnoxious sort of way. 

“Were you looking for me?”

“Yes,” Lucien said, taking a breath. It was clear he prepared a speech which wasn’t necessary. Elain had half forgotten—or, she wanted to anyway. No need for him to bring it all back up. “About last night—”

“This isn’t necessary,” Elain began, desperate to avoid this. She didn’t want to be confronted, once again, by the knowledge that he did not want her. It was bad enough they were together for an eternity, their marriage inked well before Elain had been old enough to have a say. To know he would always be drinking and thinking of another woman was far worse. 

“It is necessary because my brothers inform me you are the spectacle of the morning's gossip. It wasn’t my intention,” Lucien told her, face paling ever so slightly. “I ah…I have a gift—”

“I don’t want your pity gifts, Lucien,” she snapped, rounding on him so quickly that he stumbled back a step. “What I want is for you to get yourself together. You aren’t the only one who wasn’t consulted when this marriage was arranged and yet you act like I somehow conspired to get you. As if you’re some kind of catch. I am doing my best to make a difficult circumstance tolerable while you…you throw all my work in my face. You may as well declare to all of court that you hate me and get it over with.”

“I…I’m sorry,” Lucien said, looking as if he meant it. Not that it meant much, because the damage had already been done. Still, his words stopped her in her tracks. Of all the things she’d expected to hear, an apology was at the bottom of the list. 

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry,” he replied with just a little edge to his voice. It was a warning not to push things too far, and if Elain hadn’t been so tired, she might have called his bluff. “I was an ass, okay?

I’m sorry. Now, can I give you my gift?”

“Fine. Show me this gift of yours,” Elain said, certain a little trinket couldn’t undo the gossip that would trail after her for weeks. 

“This way,” Lucien mumbled, beckoning for her to follow. Elain stayed one pace behind, arms wrapped around the blue fabric of her dress. How long would he make her wear the necklace, she wondered? A few days? Just long enough for everyone to know he was appropriately apologetic?

“Here,” Lucien said, standing outside the edges of an iron gate covered in ivy. “No one has used this in…since I can remember.”

Elain cringed at the creaking hinges before pausing to see what Lucien had brought her to. It had been a garden, once, before decay took over. The once lovely path was made of crumbling, weed eaten stone and gnarled trees swayed in the breeze, ghosts of their once former beauty.

A little earthen pot held a bloom of yellow and red marigolds, peering up at Elain cheerfully.

“Your sisters told me you like to garden,” Lucien said, drawing a small box from somewhere on his person. “They said you do it by hand.”

Elain took the little box, bound in a pink ribbon, to find enchanted gloves. “To protect your hands,” Lucien said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with clear embarrassment. “I thought…” Elain hated the thoughtfulness he’d displayed. How a few days of knowing her, alongside scant pieces of information likely hurled at him between insults, had allowed him to put together the perfect gift. “Thank you,” she said, tucking the gloves into her pocket. Lucien stared for another moment, as though trying to come up with something to say.

“Well, I…should we head back, then?”

Elain allowed Lucien to walk her back, taking the most conspicuous path so everyone would see his hand laid atop of hers resting in the crook of his elbow. The ladies nodded approvingly—including his own mother, who Elain suspected had put him up to the whole thing—while the males watched, their expressions guarded. Perhaps they understood how Lucien felt. Perhaps they simply cared less about these sort of things. 

Elain knew, as she made her way back to their shared bedroom alone, that the news of his gift would drown out his humiliating behavior. He was clever—calculated. A Vanserra, she supposed. Elain stomped into their bedroom, opened the top drawer, and flung the gloves inside.

She’d take the cut up hands over absolving him. Let him see her cracked nails and the dirt caked in the pads of her fingers and let him see she wasn’t some delicate flower he could trample all over.

Nature was fierce, and so was Elain.

LUCIEN:

His wife would be the death of him.

“Elain!” Lucien shouted across the lawn, for all the good it did. He’d simply alerted her, Lady Ayla, and Arina of his presence, which sent the three of them hiking up their skirts and shrieking with laughter as they disappeared over another hill. Lucien was tempted to leave them to the brewing storm and let them come inside, bone chilled and soaked. 

He had also sworn to his mother to be a better husband when she’d come looking for him and boxed him around the ears, declaring she’d raised him better. No one had that conversation with Elain, who was determined to punish him for the humiliation.

She cavorted with Tanwen, letting him teach her to throw axes at trees. She danced with Connall at private parties he wasn’t invited to, and let Eris explain the complicated politics of Autumn when she was bored. And when she wasn’t with her brothers, she ruled court as one of the more fashionable ladies all the others hoped to be like. They copied her hair styles, wore their dresses like her, styled themselves as she did.

And Elain paid him no mind at all unless absolutely forced to. She was in bed most evenings before Lucien, back turned to him and breathing steady. Elain was making a point—he’d humiliated her in service to another female, so she’d treat him the same way. And it irked him. He was trying, even if it was coerced but clearly no one was demanding she treat him well.

“Elain!” he yelled again, voice drowned out by the sound of rumbling thunder. She was still running, unconcerned with the danger. Only Ayla had begun to hang back, the only one of the three who’d grown up in Autumn. She knew how quickly a lightning storm could come and how dangerous they became. 

Please turn around, he prayed softly, not wanting to get caught in the frigid rain. Behind him, Tanwen and Connall followed, arms crossed over their chests. No one wanted to go and get Eris—but they would, if they had to. Better Eris’s wrath than Berons, and he’d be irate if he learned Lucien couldn’t control his wife. 

Ayla yelled something none of them could hear, hair whipping wildly around her face as she tried desperately to convince Arina and Elain to come back. Arina would never be used to the kind of storms they got here—Lucien heard when it rained in Day, the winds were so brutal they could take the roof off a building. And for Elain, the water was warm, nourishing.

Everything in Autumn was volatile. There were no new beginnings, no rebirths—it was all death and ruin, retribution for an unforgiving world. There was nothing Autumn liked more than to swallow something beautiful whole.

And Elain, Ayla, and Arina were exceptionally beautiful. 

Lucien took a step toward Elain, thinking he’d haul her over his shoulders if he had to, reputation be damned. Maybe she’d learn to listen if he embarrassed her a little more. It wasn’t as if she was receptive to his gifts. When he’d seen her torn up hands, Lucien had thought perhaps the gloves hadn’t worked and gifted her a second, enchanted pair. 

He’d found both tossed in the top drawer of their shared wardrobe, half buried under her things. Lucien had changed tacts after that, bringing her a pair of pearl earrings to join the gloves. She thanked him with a pretty smile and never wore them which grated on his nerves. How long did she mean to punish him, anyway. 

Elain turned just as the skies opened up overhead. Lucien heard Connall swear loudly, stomping past him to demand the females return. Not that it mattered. Shrieking, all three began to run back toward the Forest House as Lucien watched, hair plastered to his face. Elain was quicker than he would have guessed, making her way toward him with eyes he couldn’t read.

Lightning streaked from the sky, illuminating the gray world a violet purple. It missed Elain by mere inches, though Ayla wasn’t as lucky. Elain and Arina screamed as the third female crumpled to the ground, causing them both to turn for her.

Panic flooded Lucien, his thoughts tinged red. They didn’t like each other—and she was still his mate. She was in danger. Instinct overrode all other thoughts as Lucien raced toward her, catching Elain just as she reached Ayla. 

“She—”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he snarled in her ear, pulling her against his body. Connall and Tanwen were just behind, hovering over Ayla with nervous hands. They weren’t healers—if they picked her up, would they hurt her?

Lightning streaked again, this time closer to Arina than anyone felt comfortable with. Eris was going to lose his temper when he learned of this. Connall yanked Arina by the arm as Tanwen slid his hands beneath Ayla and lifted her lifeless body into the hair. They moved quickly, battling the wind and rain for the warmth of the Forest House.

“This is my fault,” Elain said through chattering teeth as Tanwen stalked off, not bothering to look back. “I said—I told her to keep running even when she wanted to turn back.”

Lucien almost snapped at her, agreeing that yes, she’d been a pretty little fool. It was the tears, mingling with the rain water on her cheeks, that stopped him from saying so. Elain would punish herself without his help.

“Come on,” he said, guiding her by the elbow. “You’ll catch your death.”

In his mind, every time Lucien blinked he saw the scene unfold differently. Saw the lightning streak toward Elain while he stood too far away, helpless to get to her in time. His heart raced at the image. 

“She’s dead—”

“She’s not dead,” Lucien interrupted, heart in his throat. “It struck the ground, not her. She’ll be okay.”

“She looked dead,” Elain lamented as Lucien all but shoved her in their shared room. “She looked—”

“She’s in shock,” Lucien said, unsure if that was true or not. “Tanwen will take her to a healer, she’ll be fine.”

“This wasn’t how they were supposed to meet,” she mumbled, lips blue from the cold. Lucien all but dragged her into their bedroom, throwing flames at the fireplace to bring it roaring to life. Would she let him undress her? Did he even want to undress her? Lucien thought better than to try his luck and instead turned his back, making a show of offering her privacy. Lucien’s fingers itched with the urge, body taut with interest as the rustling sounds of wet clothes slapped to the floor. He could smell her stronger—she reeked of fear, the scent so cloying it helped clear his senses. 

Lucien didn’t move, even when he caught a glimpse of fair skin from the corner of his eye. Look at her, just look—and touch and taste and—

The mating bond would be the death of him. If he didn’t get control of himself, she’d smell his desire which would only make things worse between them. Forcing air into his lungs, Lucien counted slowly as Elain dressed, turning only when she gave the word. Her hair was still limp, the ends dripping as she stood in front of the fire, but she was clothed again and Lucien could relax. 

“What did you say?” he asked, some of the fog clearing from his mind. He’d forgotten she’d spoken to him.

“I promised Ayla I would introduce her to your brother,” Elain said, chewing her bottom lip with worry. “I meant to do so at a dance, not…”

“Tanwen doesn’t dance,” Lucien said, bewildered. Ayla had been marked for Eris back when she’d first come of age and likely would have been married to him by now had Eris not accidentally met Arina and messed everything up. Tanwen could not have been more different from Eris. He’d gotten the same education, but Tanwen liked blood covered blades and showing his teeth, not fine clothes and sharp words. 

Elain was simply mistaken, he decided. She didn’t know these people the way he did, had misinterpreted and was going to create an embarrassing—yet hilarious—moment between his older brother and a lady at court. 

“Here,” Lucien said, pulling the blanket from the bed and draping it around Elain’s still trembling shoulders. “You’re freezing.”

Elain said nothing, though she wrapped the corners around her neck as she stared into the fire. “I’m trying,” she murmured after a moment while Lucien hesitated, unsure if he should stay or go. 

He sighed. “I know you are.”

He wanted to say that he was trying, too, in his own way. Even if it was bad, or didn’t seem like he was at all.

Lucien was trying.

[wroteclassicaly]

Warnings: Mentions anxiety, hormones, sad situations, hurt/comfort, mentions smut, and fluff.

~*~

“You worryin’ about somethin’ again?” His gruff voice rouses you from your languid daydreams.

When you take notice of the man at your side, hand propped against his cheek, normal faux bravado on standby — your anxieties ease a little. He’s the only one that can do this for you, and it brims him full of feelings he’s been okay to accept lately, though, they remain unspoken between the two of you. You shrug a shoulder as his arm elongates, dropping a calloused trigger finger to ripple a series of touches across your shoulder and collar bone. You’re looking dazed, thoughts on impasse. He lifts up to scoot a little closer, because you won’t ask yet, but he knows you, and he is all too aware that you need him.

And god, do you ever. The nights when air is impossible, that his mouth can provide you with what oxygen cannot. How his hands can embrace you to bulldoze your physical reactions away. His mossy eyes glistening beneath fluttering lashes.

He sheds his khaki, all of the things that give him his shell, skin to skin with you. His bed, it always smells like you now. And his bedroom, it’s just a room, one that’s become littered with various gifts to him or items you have brought from your own place, including several photos of trips you managed to get him to go on with you. That momentous night at the cabin in West Virginia. Then there’s stuff he’s left at your place — clothes, his art set, a few weapons, some records, and more pictures of that time he took you riding in the fields.

His gentle is reserved for you. Just as it is in this moment. He waits patiently until you arrive at the conclusion of your words. You look up at him, his normal slicked back hair in chocolate strands of disarray. Every freckle, every mole — it causes you to speak from your heart, briefly off topic. “You’re so beautiful.”

He tilts his head, swallowing against that kiss littered jugular. He isn’t used to hearing this, especially from someone he was inside of not even ten minutes ago, a discarded, unopened condom at the foot of the bed. He’s just a regular guy, you’re just a regular girl. No guns, no rumors, no rules, no shouting, no violence, no parents. He can be who he wants to be with you, a different man that he’s finding he enjoys spending solo time with.

“You gonna tell me what’s buggin’ your noggin’, sweet girl?” His accent is thick, making you curl into his hairy chest, running your fingers through the drying perspiration, pulling on the chain.

“How much time have you got?”

“I’ve got unlimited time for you.” Is his automatic answer.

“Everything is just… a lot. I don’t know how to explain it to you. I feel…”

“Overwhelmed?” He can’t hide the slight distress, always worrying this bubble will pop and you’ll run away from him. No one ever stays.

You can sense it immediately, shaking your head. “Overwhelmed in my brain. Hormones and other shit. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me right now.”

“Would explain why you were climbin’ all over me the second that you got here.” That gets you to laugh. But his chest is on the verge of exploding with this feeling. The one that he’s too afraid to say yet, that he’s never said.

“I feel the safest when I’m with you. Like, all the bad shit can be dealt with, as long as you’re here.” You let it out, flicking his chain with your fingers, the confession what you can muster. And fuck, he gets it, he really fucking gets it.

You’ve replaced a majority of his nightmares, given him things to look forward to, confidence that is no longer misplaced, and he has to turn with a crinkling of his nose, sniffling slightly. He’s emotional. You know he doesn’t like to show, even around you, so you simple link your arms around his neck and tug him with you beneath the quilt — your breasts smashed into his chest. Your nose bridge nudes his own, lips passing him a feather light graze.

You whisper, “Gator Tillman, thank you for being my home.”

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 —— 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐁𝐎𝐁 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐏. 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟒.𝟔𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

It’s still quiet in the mess hall when you wring out the rag for the last time, bits of clotted blood and clumps of mud floating in the murky water.

Bob looks better--kind of. Without the mud and the blood obstructing his flesh, you see how peaked he is. There’s no color in his cheeks, in his chest. It’s all rushed to the stub of his left arm, which is red and swollen and angry. The bleeding has stopped, yes, but the burn is beginning to blister. 

Deep, deep down in your body, you know that it will get infected. Even if you’re cleaning it every half hour, even if you disinfect your hands as best as possible every time you touch him, you’re certain it will become infected. You’re just hoping that when the time comes, you won’t be at Camp Arcadia anymore.  

Phoenix is sitting with Bob’s head on her lap now, her palms against his cheeks. She glances at you from her lashes--watches you wipe your hands on your dungarees and then sit back on your haunches. When you tip your head back, eyes shut uneasily and throat tight and flexed, she can see that you’re bloodier than Bob. It’s matted over your skin, on your clothes, in your hair. She hasn’t noticed until just now.

“You could really give Carrie White a run for her money right now.” Her fingers are tangled in Bob’s hair. His scalp is hot to the touch--that’s good. At least she thinks that’s good. “Do you want me to wash you off?” Phoenix asks in earnest. 

Humming, you shake your head. Exhaustion is starting to lick the inside of your eyelids--it's saliva is like a paste, a paste that makes it harder and harder to keep your eyes open and on Phoenix. 

“You stay with Bob,” you tell her. You don’t move at first, your heavy head still tipped back. “I’ll wash up.” 

“Alone?” Phoenix asks. She furrows her brows. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” 

“I’m just gonna wade in the lake,” you tell her. You pause--an image of water kissing the bottom of your ribs thick behind your eyes. “Maybe I’ll ask Mable to wash away my sins. Think she’d jive with that?” 

Phoenix snorts, a smile tugging on her lips. 

“It would be the highlight of her summer.” 

You chuckle. 

“You know, if we were talking about anyone else, I’d say bullshit considering the--you know, the circumstances. But I know you’re right. Big time.” 

You and Phoenix laugh shortly--it’s tired and doesn’t take up much room in the warm kitchen. Bob doesn’t stir. And then, just as quickly as the laughter is born, it dies on the tiles shapeless and quiet. 

There is humor in terrible things and there are terrible things in humor. And as you and Phoenix settle back into your quiet lull, you wonder which this is. Holding Bob, who’s still pale from blood loss, sitting on the bloody tiles of the mess hall kitchen, joking about Mable baptizing you. 

Phoenix shifts. She’s baptized--her parents are Catholic. But Bob--she knows Bob isn’t baptized. Late one early May night, they talked for a long time about religion. Bob, a devout agnostic, explained his parent’s distaste for organized religion. He grew up Godless and will die Godless. 

“Are you baptized?” Phoenix asks you. 

You shake your head, sniffing. It’s like someone is holding dirty pennies underneath your nose. 

“No,” you tell her. “The ‘rents never got around to it.” 

“Never a priority, huh?” Phoenix asks. She curls a piece of Bob’s hair around her finger and then lets it go. “I get it.” 

Now you shift. It’s always made you uncomfortable to talk about religion in personal terms. Especially since people always assumed you were religious given your virginal status, which simply was not the truth. 

“I’m a lost cause,” you sigh quietly, finally. 

You scratch your head--dried blood flakes off. 

Standing up, you exhale so all the air is punched out of your lungs. Your legs are wobbly and the muscles in your thighs are burning, but you carefully maneuver yourself around Bob anyway. 

“Be careful,” Phoenix tells you. “Don’t get slashed.” 

“Brill idea,” you whisper. “Why didn’t I think of that?” 

And then you’re walking through the empty mess hall and your footsteps are heavy and echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Your heart is beating in your ears and your feet are so, so heavy. 

The exhaustion sitting heavy on your chest is so overwhelming that when the doors leading outside swing open before you even touch the handles, you almost fall back flat on your ass. You’re partly expecting to see the entity there in the doorway, wreaking of sulfur and covered in Bob’s blood, flesh stuck between its teeth. You think--maybe it’s finally come back to take me. Maybe it will take me and leave everyone else be. 

But it’s just Bradley standing there in the doorway, backlit by the golden sun.

And then all thoughts of the creature vanish. Jesus. You’re sleep-deprived. 

Bradley blinks in surprise, the tips of his ears still hot from his confrontation with Jake. He’s truly taken back by you for a moment--you’re so thoroughly covered in blood that you look hurt. Well, you look like someone dumped a bucket of pig blood over your head.  

You’re blinking at him, your eyes narrowed and your hands lamely by your side.

“Hey,” Bradley says. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…accost you.” 

Swallowing, you shake your head.  

“You good?” You ask finally, swallowing hard. 

Bradley nods. 

“Just dandy,” he tells you. 

He lets the door fall shut behind him and you’re able to open your eyes fully without the sun pouring in the room. 

It’s quiet for a moment. The sticky air is melting the blood on your body all over again--so much so that you can feel it dripping from your thighs down to your calves. It’s pooling in your socks again. 

But the quiet, muggy air doesn’t distract you from all the blood that’s gathered in Rooster’s face, his throat. He’s pissed, you realize. Like breathing hard, lip-twitching, eyes narrowed kind of pissed. 

“What’s grinding your gears?” You ask him. Then you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “If that isn’t too dumb of a question.” 

“Hangman,” Bradley answers, rolling his eyes. He pauses before adding, “He’s really gone for you.” 

Shifting uncomfortably and slapping a mosquito off your thigh, your eyes fall to the floor. Rooster’s just watching you, hands on his hips. Your brows are furrowed and your lips are flat. 

And suddenly, things feel stilted--awkward. 

You care a lot about Bradley. You care a lot about Jake. Jake made you cum and taught you how to shoot a gun and you had sex with Bradley after he told you about his parents then Bob’s arm got hacked off. All these feelings are still here in your body, amalgamating in the tips of your fingers and your littlest toes. 

Things are stilted. Things are weird. 

Bradley’s thinking about how blissful everything felt hours ago. He’d told you he loved you. You told him to kiss you. He can remember the way your lips felt, open and gasping, when he pressed into you all the way for the first time. How thoroughly his you felt. Finally his. Just you and your body and just him and his body. 

Then he thinks about how it crumbled. All of it--gone, just like that. 

“Birdie?” Bradley says softly. He takes a half-step closer to you. 

You don’t look up. 

“Yeah?” You whisper back. 

“Do you regret it?”

Still looking down, you shake your head. You know what he’s talking about.

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t.” 

He thinks, as he stands here before you, that this was never the way things were supposed to go. You were supposed to have sex for the first time and then it was supposed to just be you and him--that’s it. You and him. Sunlight, dewy grass, blue sky, fresh sheets, kissing each other’s throats, making goo-goo eyes at each other across the mess hall, holding hands at the bonfire, skinny dipping after midnight. 

And now it isn’t just fucked up, all of it, but he’s fucked up--he’s hardly asked how you were. He knows how some girls feel after their first times and he knows that it’s his job to make sure you feel good about what happened. But between Bob and blood and searing skin and morphine and all the confusion, he’s been lost. 

“Are you…Jesus…are you, like, okay?” He asks. His hip is jutted as he speaks, his brows furrowed and his eyes wide with earnest. “I know I was supposed to, like, bring you a muffin in bed and, like, pick you some flowers--!” 

“--Shut up,” you whisper, an exhausted smile tugging on your lips. “You’re such a cornball.” 

Just the sound of your voice, which is entirely exhausted but amused, makes him grin. It’s that easy for him. 

“I was gonna write a song, too,” he continues, grin growing wider and wider. “Perform it with just a sheet on.” 

“I would’ve left the cabin,” you tell him, finally meeting his gaze. 

And, oh--there it is, clear as day. His eyes are pouring into yours and they’re crinkled with joy amidst all this shit because he’s looking at you. All the love you’ve ever known, you’ve ever even come close to returning, is sitting pretty on his eyelashes. 

It nearly knocks the breath out of you. 

“Well, in my dream scenario, you’d be tied down,” Rooster says. 

His eye falls in a wink--quick and discreet. 

“Didn’t know you were bad like that,” you tell him. 

And then you take a moment to stretch out your body, reaching the tips of your fingers to the ceiling. His eyes drift to your thighs, which are slick and flexed.

“Depends on who I’m with,” Rooster says. He can feel all the rage in his body, the rage Jake put there, fading fast. “You bring out a different side of me, I guess.” 

“Giving me a big head over here,” you say with an exaggerated eye roll. “And you think Jake is gone for me, huh?”

Rooster grins. 

“Like when I lay it on thick?” 

Another eye roll. 

“Oh, you’re really giving it to me.” 

“Well, if we had it my way, I would still be giving it to you--!” 

Before he can finish his sentence, you’re hissing and shaking your head, nose wrinkled. You have half a mind to clamp your hand over his mouth, but you don’t want to stain his lips with blood. And really, if you do anything to his mouth, you want to kiss it. 

There’s a pause, both of you just watching the other. 

“You regret anything?” You ask softly, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head immediately. 

“Regret not doing it sooner,” he says. 

Heat floods your face. 

“Right,” you whisper. “You’re such a romantic.”

And just as you’re about to squeeze past him and walk to the water before you get too ditzy, Phoenix suddenly bursts through the doorway. Her knees are bowed and her eyes are wide and there’s tears running down her face.  

Rooster watches in real time as you shift. That slight slump in your shoulders, the heaviness in your eyes, that lazy smile, the earnestness in your irises--it disappears immediately. Your rigidness returns, stiffening your spine and pulling your lips down and turning your body away from him. 

“What?” You ask--that edge is back in your voice. 

“Bob,” Phoenix says. She swallows hard, shakes her head. “He’s waking up!”

And before you can respond, just as you’re about to start for Bob and Phoenix with all thoughts of wading in the lake entirely vanished, the mess hall doors swing open again. Everyone, in complete tandem, turns to see who’s coming. 

It’s Jake and it’s Javy, standing beside each other with their chests heaving and their faces drained of any color. They’re each holding something, blinking rapidly at everyone dispersed around the mess hall. 

“Gale,” Javy says, stepping into the hall and shaking his head. “I found the--I found the weapon.” 

“Weapon?” You say, shocked. 

“The weapon,” Jake utters. “Like, as in, this is what cut Bob’s arm off.”

Coyote drops it on the floor--the bloodied ax he and Jake found on their walk back over. Jake was the one who’d seen it from afar, shining underneath the sun, nestled in the rocks and mud outside their own cabin. 

It was not exactly hidden and it was not exactly in plain sight either. It was placed as if it’s user was playing a game--testing the intelligence, the observance of the counselors at Camp Arcadia. But when Coyote said as much to Jake, Jake doubled over and vomited on the rocks. 

“I’m freaking out, man,” Jake had admitted. 

And he is still freaking out now as he stands before you and Bradley in the mess hall, your face horrified and stony as you stare down at the ax.

You step back--Bradley puts his arm in front of you as if protecting you from them. Any other time, you’d shove through his makeshift barrier. But you’re shaken right now and that doesn't happen often.  

“Jesus,” Jake says. “Someone slashed the tires, too. With this.” 

He throws the Swiss army knife on the floor and it clatters just like the ax did, clagning to a stop right by your feet. Jake looks at you, an apology on his lips, but then you’re leaning down and grabbing it. 

A shrill chill slices through the middle of your chest--numbs your toes and your fingers. There’s ringing in your ears and your heart is in your chest and all these people are here and you’re so tired and oh God--Mable wasn’t lying. 

Everyone is stuck still watching you as you hold the knife in your sticky hand, gazing down at it as the blood drains from your body and pools in your lower belly. You’re so full of fear that you feel like it’s bile pushing up, up, up your throat. 

“What is it?” Jake asks finally, breaking the silence. He hasn’t been able to stop shaking since he found the ax--which is covered in blood and bits of Bob. “Gale, what is it, honey?” 

Bradley doesn’t move when Jake steps closer to you. Jake stares at him for a long, hard moment. But he doesn’t challenge Bradley--not when he can hardly look at you on account of the gore you’re covered in.

“What’s wrong?” Javy repeats. “You’re skeeving me out, Gale!”

“Mable told me the Devil…she told me someone cut her with a Swiss army knife,” you say. You say it only just loud enough for the room to hear. “She wasn’t bullshitting us. She wasn’t fucking bullshitting us.” 

You don’t give anyone a chance to respond. You hand the knife to Bradley and meet his eyes again--his brows are furrowed now, his cheeks are reddened again. 

“Put this in the nurse’s office,” you tell him. “Tuck it in the back of a drawer so no one can find it. I mean it, okay? Not a soul.” 

He nods once--suddenly very sober. 

“Why?” Javy asks. 

“We’re not gonna make it easy for them,” you say. 

Your throat is dry. So is everyone else's.

And then you’re jogging back to the kitchen. 

Bob’s blinking up at the ceiling in the kitchen, his eyelids like sheets of rock over his dry eyes. Everything is blurry--the water-stained planks, the wooden walls. At first he isn’t sure why and he can’t even wonder about it because of the pulsing of his entire body. The pain isn’t very bad and for some reason, he knows it isn’t natural. He knows that he’s supposed to be in a lot of pain right now. But it feels removed from him by one degree of separation, like he’s one on one side of plexiglass and the pain is on the other. 

“Bob,” he keeps hearing you say. “Can you feel this?”  

You’re coming in and out of his field of vision, a red blur, and he wants to respond to you but he can’t. He’s too out of it, too distracted from the severe numbness in his left arm. He wants to tell you that he can’t feel anything you’re doing. 

And then he’s freezing, fingers trembling, because someone is pressing an icy rag against his face. 

“Ow,” he whispers because it’s all he can manage to say. 

Phoenix leans in so her face is hovering Bob’s. She’s crying, smiling as she wipes his feverish face with the rag. 

“Bob,” Phoenix says--her voice is quivering. “You absolute dork. You really gave us a scare.” 

You’re making quick work checking his wound, disinfecting it. You’re half-listening to Phoenix talk to Bob as she tries to cool his fever, your heart racing. You’re laser-focused, carefully working around the stub. 

But then you roll his t-shirt back and it takes everything in your power to not faint, to not cry, to not scream. There it is, clear as the day is blue: red streaks moving away from his crimson, swollen wound. It’s angry and seared and pulsing and leaking. Infected. The wound is infected. Carefully, you keep rolling the shirt back and that’s when you see that it’s already spread to his shoulder.  

“What…what happened?” Bob asks, voice thin and strained. 

Phoenix sniffles. 

“You don’t remember?” 

“He’s been out for a while,” you remind her. Your voice is quiet, restrained. You roll his shirt down and stare down at your hands. “We don’t know if he hit his head.” 

Phoenix nods. 

“Bob,” she says softly. “You were…attacked.” 

And as soon as she says it, it all comes rushing back at hyperspeed. It hits him right behind the eyes--the memory of that night. 

Oh, yes. He was attacked. 

He was going to the latrine when he heard a noise by the water--yes, he remembers. It was an odd noise, one that he hadn’t ever heard before. It was a grinding--a quiet and severe grinding, like rubbing two rocks together at a hasty and constant speed. 

He had peered around the corner, the dim glow of the lantern his only source of light besides the paper moon. The noise was so constant that he had a hard time imagining it was man-made. But then he saw it--very faintly, just a silhouette: something by the water, hunched over, grinding something. 

Bob just watched for a long, long moment. He didn’t know what he was looking at, straining to see more in the dark. And as his eyes adjusted, the grinding growing louder and constant as ever, he realized what he was looking at. 

A man--a naked man.

Fear was like a noose around his neck, tightening and raising him up, up, up until he felt like he could only breathe when he stood on his tip-toes. Bob must’ve choked out a gasp, the reality of this horror dawning on him suddenly and overwhelmingly. 

The grinding halted--the naked man looked up and right at Bob. 

And even though Bob was horrified, even though he was stumbling backwards and away from the man with his heart in his throat, he had the distinct feeling that the man knew he was there the whole time. 

Something gnawed on his brain stem then and there: this was a game. This was about fear. This was about what he could get away with. This man wanted to be caught--knew Bob would hear the noise, knew Bob would come looking. 

“What the…” Bob had whispered in the dark. 

He started stumbling backwards, started to head back towards the cabin, his throat numb. 

And then the man suddenly stood--tall and broad, much bigger than Bob. And in his hands was a stone and an ax. That’s what the grinding had been, Bob realized. He was sharpening the ax.

Bob wanted to scream, but the petrification choked him so completely that he could only suck in a gasp, could only half-turn his body before he heard the thunderous footsteps closing the distance between him and the man. The rocks skittered and the cool night air plunged against his back as the naked man ran towards Bob. 

“Wait, I--!” 

And then the stone had come down on Bob’s head so hard that everything blinked into blackness. The last thing he remembered, the very last thing, was the taste of the earth on his tongue. 

Now he’s here, in the mess hall kitchen, and everyone is starting to crowd around him. 

“Do you remember anything, Bob?” Coyote asks. His face is a flat plane of concern, his lips twisted and his eyes narrowed. “Like, anything?”

“Give him a minute,” Phoenix hisses. “He just woke up.” 

Bob blinks and lets his head lull to the side. He sees you there, covered in blood, wearing your dungarees. Your face is hard as you pour something on a rag and start to press it down on Bob’s arm--

Bob chokes on the very breath in his throat. He pales all over, feels dizzy, almost keels over right then and there. 

“My-my arm!” Bob cries. “My goddamn arm!”

Phoenix turns her face when a sob ripples through her body. 

“I know,” you tell him. You’re working quicker now, more diligently. “I know it looks scary, Bob. I know. I know. But you’re okay. I’m--I’m really sorry, alright? It’s just--well, you’re alive, okay? And we’re gonna keep you that way.” 

Everyone around watches in real time as Bob comes to term with his missing limb. 

“This is so fucked,” Payback whispers to Fanboy. He shakes his head soberly, looks away from Bob when he starts to dry-heave. “We’re so fucked.” 

“Enough,” Hangman hisses. “You’re not helping.” 

He’s watching all the campers settle back into their groups, holding the shotgun in his hands. He’s scared enough already, so horrified that his fingers are quivering over the safety. 

“Shit,” Bradley whispers, glancing at Jake. He glances at Jake’s trembling hands. “Neither are you, butter-fingers. You can’t even look at him, can you? Or Gale.” 

Bradley knows what saying your name does to Jake. And Jake turns with a sneer on his face, ready to shove the butt of the shotgun against Bradley’s jaw, but then Coyote gasps in irritation. 

“Stop,” Coyote insists, voice hard. “Or I’m gonna tie both of you to the flagpole.” 

“Me?” Jake asks, incredulous. 

And somehow from your spot beside Bob, who’s writhing, you hear their conversation. 

“Yes you!” You hiss from your knees, bloody sweat dripping down your spine and staining your shirt. Everyone’s eyes go wide when you point to Bradley, too. “And you! The both of you need to--God, you need to grow the fuck up! There are real issues in the world--there are real issues here, right now. We don’t have a way out. We don’t have a phone. All we have is each other and that fucking shotgun. Lots of help that’ll be if the two of you keep trying to mark your territory. So--just--Christ, just fucking can it.” 

You’ve never spoken to Bradley or Jake like this before. Your heart is racing, your body is hot. You’re stuck on Bob’s spreading infection and suddenly, you feel like you’re on a time limit. And everyone is looking to you right now. 

Everyone is watching the floor, your words ringing in their ears. Fanboy’s skin prickles at your tone alone--God, he’s glad he’s not on the other end of it. Coyote just nods soberly at Jake and then shakes his head at Bradley. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Bradley asks. After the conversation the two of you just had--when you were so soft and so close--your words feel like acid rain pouring down on his sun-kissed skin. He glances at Jake, who’s staring at the floor. And that’s all it takes to push Bradley over the edge. “Here’s a grown-up thought that I bet no one else has had--have you even considered that the slasher is one of us? Has anyone considered it?” 

The room goes ice cold. No one says a word for a long moment before Payback meets Bradley’s eyes and shakes his head slowly.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Just…take it easy, man, okay?” 

Bradley’s skin is hot. The tips of his ears are red and plump as cherries. 

“No, no--fuck, if we’re really gonna get it all out in the open, if we’re all gonna hold hands and sing Kumbya while we wait around for someone to come fucking kill us…I’m gonna get this off my chest,” Bradley insists. He looks at you hard--you stare back just as stony. “Who the fuck is gonna hike their happy ass all the way out to Great Oaks, then hike all the way out to Camp Arcadia, just to kill us?” 

“Now isn’t the time!” Phoenix tries, still sobbing as she holds Bob’s tearful face in her hands. “Can’t you just get lost already?”

“No, this is important. I think we should all hear this if we’re gonna just sit around and wait, right? Entertain all the ideas! No bad questions, right? Right, Gale?” 

“Enough!” Fanboy snaps.  

“Let him finish,” you insist. Your lips are flat, your brows are blanched. “If it’s so dire.” 

He looks around the room--everyone’s staring at him. His fingertips burn with rage, his heart racing in his throat.  

“So, I’m the jerk now?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at you. “After everything I’ve done--all the shit I did for you and for Bob and--!” 

“My hero,” you interrupt. Your voice is very quiet, very solid. You do not stutter, you do not quiver. And you can see how it burns Bradley bad. “What would we do without you?” 

Bradley’s jaw is flexed. 

“C’mon, guys…” Payback insists. His throat is dry. “We need to keep our heads.” 

“You’re cut loose, man,” Coyote says to Bradley. “Go.”

Just as Bradley starts to plant his feet on the floor, just as he about spouts off again, you hand your head and look at Bob’s wandering eyes. His face is wet with tears and his cheeks are red and the infection is spreading. 

“No,” you whisper. “We need to draw straws.” 

Everyone looks at you confusion. 

“What are you talking about?” Phoenix asks, wiping her nose.

“We can’t keep sitting here,” you decide. You sniffle hard now, voice seeped in exhaustion. “We’re--fuck, he’s right. We’re sitting ducks.” 

“But what are we drawing straws for?” Payback asks. 

“Someone has to go,” Jake answers for you. 

You glance up at him and although he isn’t able to meet your gaze, you know that he wants to. 

“No,” Fanboy insists. “No fucking way.” 

“That’s like--shit, that’s like sending them with a target on their back!” Payback says. 

“We have weapons,” you say softly. “Axes, knives. Two people can go. It’s a couple days to town, right? And maybe we still have those old walkies--we can check in or something.” 

“We do,” Jake pipes up. “I saw ‘em in the bus barn.” 

“Well, this is just great,” Fanboy laughs humorlessly. “You two would want us to go ‘cause your names won’t even be in the drawing!” 

“Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask. 

“You’re the nurse! You have to stay!” Fanboy says. 

You swallow hard. 

“Look…” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Someone’s gotta go.”

“Why? What happened to waiting?” Payback insists. 

“Bob’s arm is infected,” Phoenix says before you can. She sniffles hard, glances down at the red streaks. “She can be in the drawing because if she doesn’t go--if no one goes, then it won’t…” 

“It won’t matter,” you whisper. 

Bob’s ears are ringing. He’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open. You’re glad he can’t process anything that you’re saying now. 

“So, like…” 

“Bob’ll die,” Bradley says. He glances at you. You won’t look at him. He knows he fucked up and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Not now. “Simple as that. So, let’s fucking draw straws.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: BUT AT LEAST BOB IS ALIVE!!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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[moony-ghoul]

ghoul hair hcs

dew: his hair was naturally a cool almost white blonde when he was a water ghoul, after his transformation his hair become auburn. he bleaches it still to a platinum blonde, he doesn’t feel like himself when he’s ginger. despite the bleaching he keeps his hair very healthy having a whole ass weekly schedule just dedicated to his hair, it’s long and just reaches his waist. for body hair he’s not very hairy as is but he still shaves everything for sensory reasons, sometimes he’ll let his pubes/ happy trail grow but even then it’s very light and grows very slow

rain: rains hair is thick and dark, there’s a slight curl to it, he has a shaggy kinda wolfcut that just reaches his collarbones. he likes to keep a bit of stubble on his face (mainly cause dew likes it). he cannot grow leg hair (water ghoul thing), he keeps the rest of himself trimmed and proper but even then it doesn’t make much of a difference because of how thick all his hair is, he’s got a perfect line down the middle of his torso reaching a nice splatter of hair on his chest, he keeps a nice bush going

phantom: PHANTOM FUZZYYY. cause of their vitiligo their hair grows black and white depending on the colour of the skin underneath. they have very shaggy hair it’s short but has no particular style to it, it’s so thick that it just kinda stands up on its own and ant has learnt to not fight it, most of the hair of their head is black except for a large streak near their face that’s white. that white streak from their face goes down across their eye leaving them with a white eyebrow. they cannot grow facial hair. because the colour of their hair matches the colour of their skin they look like they’re pretty hairless especially when wet but when you get up close you can see this ghoul has a pretty solider layer of fuzz all over their body, it gets thicker in the winter but also means they shed in the summer, they never shave it’s too much of a hassle which means they have a thick bush

swiss: swiss is fuckin HAIRY. dense dark curly hair from his collar bones to his dick, a well trimmed but thick beard, long dreads reaching midway down his back. if he had his way he’d let it all grow forever without a care in the world but he has a small fire ghoul wife who has built him a perfect routine for caring for his intense hair, making sure his beard is trimmed and neat and his body hair is still soft and clean. after about a month of dew bullying him into a self care routine he actually really started to enjoy it, he loves feeling good and knowing he looks and smells good for his partners

mount: he has very thin hair and it’s very light. he’s ginger. the only hair that isn’t thin is the hair on his head which is long w a slight wave, resembles a lions mane when he wakes up. he does not shave at all so he has full bush leading up to a pretty lil happy trail, he’s got a lil chest hair (it kinda looks like a big heart in the centre of his chest) but his legs are hella hairy it’s almost fur, he also has the same on his arms. it’s all a lot of hair but very thin hair so you don’t get the full picture until it’s wet and sticking to him (when he sweaty). in summer when he’s tan it’s less visible but he’s the same as ant where he’ll grow a winter coat in a way

cirrus: my girl is the hairiest out of everyone. she doesn’t shave at all and is covered in thick dark hair. she has like a long mullet, she takes great care of all her hair so it’s beautiful silky shiny. she doesn’t have a whole lot of chest hair but her tummy and bush are hella fuzzy. she has a double slit in her eyebrow that came from a scar (thanks dew). the hair on her arms and legs contour her muscles so perfectly and it makes everyone fuckin drool

cumulus: cumulus is so particular about her hair, her and dew write out their hair care schedules together, they have completely different hair textures but they just like having someone to talk to about it. her hair is white and big and curly (3b to be specific) it looks like a cloud. she only shaves her pits but the rest of her hair is so light she doesn’t see a point in shaving it, sometimes she’ll shave her legs just cause she likes the feeling of being all smooth and on occasion she’ll trim up her pubes. much like some ppl say “don’t talk to me before i’ve had my coffee” lus will say “don’t talk to me until i’ve done my hair”

aurora: rory is a hair dye girly, her natural colour is a pastel pink but she loves changing it up every few weeks, dew taught her how to bleach her hair and take care of it after and she hasn’t looked back since. her favourites are pastel colours. she has a ramona flowers type cut with a bob but longer in the front, sometimes she’ll let it grow out for a few months but she doesn’t like the feeling of hair on her shoulders. she likes to keep the rest of her body fairly hairless, she keeps her lil happy trail tho and shaves her pubes into a heart.

[gayerthanevertbh]

my beloved natasha

you meet a gorgeous green-eyed woman in the same alley where you no longer see a man who was your “friend”, only to know about the dark secrets from the woman herself. 

warnings : 18+ MINORS DNI dark!natasha, oral sex, fingerfucking, dirty talk, mommy kink, mentions of violence, stalker-ish, just unhinged natasha.

notes : ENJOY I GUESS?? but seriously i am deprived from writing, but i’m having inspirations now which is good

masterlist | navigation 

You always walk on the same road every night from work. The city lights gleam on your face as the acrid smell of gas pollution curls up in your throat madly, yet there is some comfort in it. You love the city, you love the people around you, mostly because they bring you comfort and safety – that’s why you live in a crowded area, to feel safe.

Well, whatever that means now, especially when you no longer see the familiar face in the alley whenever you walk back home.

Technically, you made acquaintance with this man. He had a very kind face, beautiful silk brunette hair, and long veiny hands. They were always placed on your biceps and tell you how much you mean to him, and you’d reply the same way because it’s true, that man has done nothing but be the nicest person to ever exist. Except that, he’s gone. Out of nowhere, out of sight. Now, this leaves you curious. What happened to him? Did he just disappear? Perhaps he has, and never told me about it. He’s been “gone” for almost two weeks and you couldn’t stop this feeling in the pit of your stomach; is he hurt? What happened to him?

Everything was such a mystery, you felt distraught.

Then something abruptly came out. (dum dum DUUUUM!) A woman appears, a mysterious tall looking woman walks towards you, and makes your stomach feel all types of things. Like churning or the idea of going to the bathroom, that kind of feeling. You swallowed thickly and made a surprising smile, but she made the first move.

“Hi,” she greeted. “I was wondering where the pub is. You see, I’m quite new in this city, and I’m not sure where I’m going.” oh, she seems nice. Doesn’t feel alarming at all. You decide to reply and tell her the direction, and she pats you on the shoulder like the man always does. “Thank you for that, lady. What’s your WhatsApp number? Maybe we could talk or something since you’re the only person who seems nice to me.”

WhatsApp? Why does she want my number? You think crudel about it y, as you intend not to. Yet, when you look at her in the eyes, it seems like this woman was the next man that you always see in the alley. Except maybe her eyes are greener than his, more physique, and not-so-tall – which you didn’t mind, you never really cared about the height difference.

“It’s 999-9999-99088.”

She chuckles, pushing the back of her hair that looked red, you could see a bit of blonde on the edge of her silk hair. “I didn’t understand that, could you repeat that for me, hon?”

Hon… doesn’t feel alarming at all. Hmm, not really.

“Let me type it down for you,” are you seriously giving your number to a stranger? What happened to “Stranger Danger”? “What area are you from?”

“Manhattan,” she responded in a thick accent, yet you could hear from her voice that it was sort of Americanized. “Would you like to go to the pub with me? I don’t know, grab a couple of drinks or something?”

I guess I could just forget about him, you thought solemnly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, she seems nice. Too nice.

“I mean,” you hesitated for a moment, but those wandering eyes won’t let you stop staring or even think about leaving her. God, she looked so kind and very approachable. How could you not? You shrugged, smiling with your teeth pearling in front of her. “If you treat me then, why not?”

“I most definitely will, sweetheart.”

A few drinks – as if a few – later, “Natasha” is walking down the alley with you, sharing her life in Russia that seems to grow your interest. So, she’s gorgeous and Russian? This made my day even better, you thought to yourself. As both of you were nearing your area, you halt her to stop with your hand on her coat.

“Are you coming along with me?” you asked.

“I want to bring you home,” she responded, licking her lips. “Can’t I bring a friend home?”

“Well you can,” you shrugged. “It’s just–my house is a mess, I wouldn’t offer you to come inside.”

“I don’t mind the mess, I just want to be around you right now.” yeah, but I could be your mess.

Definitely not alarming, you thought. And if you admit it right now, you do enjoy her sly comments and her green hooded eyes. It’s quite bold, actually. And you like bold. Your parents are certainly wrong for thinking of you as a conservative child. You walk her to your apartment and unlock your door, pulling her collar inside the house as you kiss her hard on the lips, which both of you melted from. She holds your neck and moans into your mouth, her other hand on your lower waist. This feels so… incredible. Igniting, even. Fuck.

“My god you taste good,” she whispers, licking the corner of your mouth. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

You pulled away, cracking up a laugh as you scrunched your eyebrows together. “Huh?”

She only smiles – this time you don’t know whether this is innocent – and pushes you against the wall, her wet plump lips on your chin, as she tucks the strand of your hair behind your ear. She smirks at you, and growls into your ear, saying: “I’ve longed for this moment. Ever since the day I’ve met you.”

“Wha–”

“Shh,” she interrupts you with a wet kiss, making you pull away when she bites on your lower lip. “Oh, come on baby. Don’t do that now, I have photographs of you with that man and I just… couldn’t help but slice his throat.”

Now, what?!

“Wait,” you have your hands on her lower stomach, trying to push her away, but god she was strong. Probably stronger than you. “H-Hold on, what are you talking about?”

“I killed that man for you, little girl. He was taking you away from me,” she coos, shaking her head with a tsk sound from her mouth. You shut your eyes when you felt the hilt of her knee pressing against your covered core, trying not to get aroused at the moment. “I love you, I love you so much! I did everything for you, can’t you just give in to me now? After everything?”

“You killed an innocent man!”

“He was trying to bring you home!” she shouts, holding your biceps down as you feel smaller and smaller from the way she yells at you, especially with that deep tone of hers. This felt like a dream, a very bad dream where you don’t wake up and instead die from your sleep. You hate it, you loathe thinking of it. You turn your face away when she tries to kiss you, which makes her angrier. “Don’t pull away from me baby, please don’t be like this… let me touch you. Let me kiss you.”

“Get off of me!” you pleaded, pushing her with all your might, but you were pinned on the cold brick wall as you whimpered from the pain. She was gripping you tightly, kissing down your neck to soothe you down, but nothing was working. “P-Please, don’t hurt me…”

Natasha pulls away with a crude smile and cups your cheek, her thumb rubbing your skin up and down, which is a little comforting. She leans down to your face and whispers with that fucking smile of hers, “I could never hurt my precious girl, you’re mine. You’re all mine.”

“Please,” you begged with a whine, pushing her face away when she’s suddenly going down on you, kissing each part of your clothing. “...Leave! I need you to go, now–”

“Shut up you slut,” she demands with a hissing whisper, pinching your naked inner thigh while her mouth is on your pelvis, smelling your cunt that is still covered by your panties. “Can’t believe I have such a little whore like you, my good little girl. Gonna fuck you so good… maybe even bite you.”

The idea was rather arousing yet trembling, though you never bat another word. You nodded and let her continue to spread your legs. She removes your skirt along with your silk white panties down, revealing your shaved cunt – which she smiles like the wicked woman she is.

“My god,” she whispers, her smile never fading away. “This pussy is so fuckin’ beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Gonna ruin it now…”

She plunges two fingers inside of your wet slit, immediately creating this irritating feeling in your walls, as you cried for help. But she lifts herself up again and covers your mouth with her bare hand, shushing you with a worried look. “Baby, it’s okay… you’re gonna be okay. Mommy wants to play with you for a bit, it’s going to be alright.”

You believed her, maybe you tried at least. You wanted to push and block this feeling away, this immense pleasure that circulates your entire blood, but you couldn’t. You wanted more, you needed more. She knew that, her smile gave it away. “That’s it,” she coos kissing your cheek with tenderness. “That’s my good little kotenok, my good girl. Take all of my fingers.”

She slams her fingers inside of you with a grunt, her head burying into your neck as she lets out a quiet moan – her fingers curling inside of you to hit that spot of yours. You writhe in her body, you cry for mercy, and you cry for pleasure. It hits you slowly, you were attracted to this feeling, mostly her, and you are ashamed of it. But the way the heel of her palm hits your clit gives you a sign of climax; you wanted to come for her.

“You’re gonna cum for me?” she asks with a higher pitch in her voice, licking the skin of your neck as if she’s going to mark you. Mark me, mark me, taste me! “Oh princess, you make Mommy absolutely crazy. Come on, cum on my fingers. That’s it… Argh, you’re so beautiful, gonna keep you…”

You imagine her keeping you in a den. Or maybe in a dim-light room where no one else is surrounded but her and her gorgeous smile, an evil smile that takes you away completely. You rock against her hand, finding that sparking orgasm as you cling to her, biting your lower lip to hold your screams. But she taunts, “Let me hear your scream baby, let Mommy hear you.”

“Mommy!” you shake your head while humping her hand. “I’m–please Mommy, fuck me harder… I’m so close!”

“My precious obedient girl,” she growled into your ear, pushing you further against the wall while speeding her thrusts, creating a wet squelching sound that gives pleasure to her ears and her core. “You’re going to be a good girl and cum for me. And once you cum, you’re going to come home with me and I’ll tie you all up and fuck you with my cock, yeah? You like that?”

You nodded. “Please, I want it all!”

“I bet you do sweet girl,” she grunts, pressing her forehead against yours while curling her fingers inside of you at a rapid pace. “Yeah fuckin’ hell, look at you coating my fingers with your juices, take it all… Take all of it.”

Both of you let out a throaty moan as you came hard on her fingers. She feels you clenching on them, and she couldn’t help herself but hump you back for friction. You realize what kind of a whore you are letting some stranger fuck you, and you would certainly like the idea the most if you are going to be her personal whore. You sobbed out loud as you felt your legs trembling from the overtaking orgasm you had let out.

“I’m gonna take you home,” she sighs, still thrusting inside of you but at a slower pace. “I’m gonna fuck you all night… you’re going to be my dirty slut.”

pleasesend me ideas for my kinktober for nat if you’re interested!