#give the bruises out like gifts | threads

[lottie-rcss]

who: Lottie & open where: the backyard bus

“I don’t care what time is in New York, when I ask you to do something, I expect it done.” Lottie speaks into her phone in that lilting cadence she’s adopted since leaving this ghost town the first time, the only sign of her annoyance the tiny pucker between her brows. “Well then wake them up.” She closes her eyes, tapping her ring against her glass of shitty gin – god she forgot all anyone drinks around here is whiskey or fucking moonshine. What a goddamn cliché. Lottie sighs, glancing back at the lights of the bar she's walked far enough away from as to not be overheard. “I’m hanging up now, you have until 6am my time.” She misses the drama of being able to slam a flip phone shut – fuck, now she was getting nostalgic for high school? She downs the rest of her cocktail and walks back to the bar.

“Sorry,” she’s not, but that dazzling smile is distracting enough to be convincing. Flagging down the bartender, her attention returns. “What were you saying?”

[la-petitmortss]

where: one man's trash / jr hq who: charlotte and @javier-morata when: quite late at night or very early in the morning, depending

Charlotte is covered in blood. It is not an entirely unheard of situation, however it is one she usually tries to avoid. Particularly when she’s fairly certain a good bit of it is her own blood. Fuck. She’s fine, really fine - she’s been hurt worse, it's the messiness that is the real problem. And so she ends up at the headquarters - a building she generally goes out of her way to avoid as much as she can help it. Its quiet, thankfully, but she’s not so stupid as to assume she’s alone here. 

The bathroom door does not lock, a fact added to her mental list of grievances about this place. It’s not that she’s particularly concerned about who might walk in, Lottie just likes to find reasons to complain. She strips down to her bra and reveals a gash across her side - not deep enough to be debilitating but still concerning. She hisses under her breath, then goes in search of the first aid kit, praying to whatever deities might be listening that it still contains a suture kit. Charlotte Astor pouts over a broken nail - Death is about to stitch up her own side in the bathroom of a forgotten antique store. 

But there’s someone already searching through the kit, someone vaguely familiar but not so well known that she doesn’t subtly reach for a hidden knife. “Your paper cut can wait.”

[quccnbees]

when: 16:45 where: vineyard entry who: lottie & @tendcrbones

“Daph!” Lottie calls out across the arriving, mingling crowd. Of course her twin is in black, and – Lottie’s eyes narrow at the sight of that woman beside her. Kate or Caroline or whatever her fucking name is managed to stick around, and even earn an invite to meet the parents. She half hopes Daphne’s finally grown a backbone and is doing this out of spite. But Lottie knows her sister like she knows herself and the truth is likely much worse. Clearly Daphne needs Lottie to protect her from things like this – she should have pushed harder over the past few months. But for now, at least, Charlotte Eversley will attempt something rarely seen – apologizing.

“Why didn’t you come see me straight away when you got in? Nevermind –“ Lottie throws her arms around her sister and gives her a swift kiss on each cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here, they’ve finally got someone who makes a French blonde the way I like it.” Lottie intertwines their fingers then pulls her in the direction of the bar, without a second glance for her sister’s guest.

“Do you still hate me terribly?” She asks when they are alone. “I am sorry,” a lie, “you know how protective of you I am, I worried she was using you.” Summoning her most sincere face, Lottie faces her sister with a slight pout. “Promise you’ll forgive me?”

[gemmaismss]

hall of mirrors ; open !

Gemma never could resist a mirror. It's not vanity, though she does little to dispel this rumor. Rather – habit, and perfectionism so deeply ingrained through decades of training that she has little choice but to obsessively check her lines and posture. There is the slightest shift, shoulders drifting back millimeters as she studies herself until she is performance ready. But the usual meticulous self-critique blurs a bit at the edges, champagne maybe, or something else. Anything to dull the knife’s edge of raw emotion constantly tugging from both ends. She loses herself for just a moment, the girl in the mirror shifts into ghost – just another lovely thing to haunt these halls. And then she is not alone, lithe fingers clutching at her chest. “Christ, you startled me – “ Gemma is back on stage, smile balancing perfectly between expressive charm and aristocratic aloofness. “I thought you might be one of the ghosts, places this old and full of history must be haunted.”

[quccnbees]

Lottie’s mature enough to admit the one benefit of the estate over her home in London is the expansive ground for Hazel. She’s a good mother, the best mother any dog could want really – and so she’s half-awake nursing a quad espresso whilst her poodle runs free amongst the gardens. This place is always at its best at sunrise and sunset. The colors bleed across the dewy gardens and fountains spring to life – for a moment Charlotte is the only one who exists and everything might be perfect.

She takes another sip of her drink and glances around, searching for Hazel. She turns and walks straight into someone so solidly muscled that she practically bounces off them and loses her balance.

“Fuck!” Lottie screams, flat on her ass in the dewy lawn covered in her espresso. Violent eyes glare up at the culprit. “Literally isn’t your entire job to be aware of your surroundings?” Hazel runs over, alternating between licking Lottie’s arm and barking at the man standing over her. “Hazel, calm.” The barking stops, and Lottie pulls herself to her feet.

“This side of the estate is typically empty until midday, it's why I bring Hazel here so early. She likes to run.”  Lottie gathers herself, squaring her shoulders against the man who is now supposedly the head of their security. “What brings you way out here so early, sir?”

Having been called to a potential security risk on the other side of the estate, Theodore had chosen today to walk. He wasn't particular concerned about the so called threat as he had been at this job a long time and could tell the difference between something serious and a waste of his time. There was no doubt in Theo's head that this was a waste of his time, but this was his job and he did his job to the best of his ability. Theodore decided he would cut across the castle courtyard today, a little shortcut he'd learn over the many years of living and working on the estate. Theo was busy texting away on his phone, leaving instructions to his second and third in command for what they were to do while he was away from the guardhouse. Theo was muttering to himself, "No.. no.. no.. that's not- no.."

Therefore, he was completely engrossed in the device in his hands that he hadn't heard nor seen the other individual, so there was no way he wouldn't be able to avoid them if they decided to talk straight into him.

[la-petitmortss]

when: late evening where: charlotte's favorite home in kensington who: charlotte and @asa-m-holland

Charlotte always indulges after a death, particularly those involving so much effort on her part. It's distraction, or perhaps self care - some way to rebuild the facade she sheds each and every time she picks up a knife. Shrouding herself in silk and lace and luxury until she is no longer Death, but the glossy armor that is Charlotte Astor. The knock is expected, but arrives too early - she’s not fully back yet, stuck somewhere in between her two selves. She huffs in irritation, deliberately ignoring the unease that’s plagued her since she landed, or perhaps before that, this building pressure like shaken champagne against a cork. 

“A house call? Aren’t I special?” Lottie gives Asa an almost unnerving smile, then steps back to allow him to enter. “You’ll have to forgive the mess,” there is little, “I only landed a few hours ago, the flight was terrible, thank you for asking,” she hums, voice flighty and distracted - that considerable willpower occupied in keeping the creature of roiling emotion and rage locked inside its gilded cage - ritual now fully interrupted. Charlotte drifts into the kitchen and frowns, pulling out a bottle of champagne. “I suppose this will have to do, would you like a glass?” She finally looks at him again, eyes a touch too bright. “Oh! I got you something!” She beams, then slides the men’s signet ring from her thumb, watching vaguely as it skips and spins across the marble countertop.

[familyvideostevie]

day after tomorrow

joel miller x reader

summary: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him. 

warnings: modern no outbreak au, game!joel or hbo!joel, fluff, really just a fluff fest honestly, new-ish relationship, falling in love, sweet enough to make your teeth ache | 2.7k

A/N: this is a christmas gift for my dear friend @strangerfreaks who makes my life better in every way possible. i love you! hope you enjoy this <3

___

He's leaning on the side of the truck when you hurry outside with your stuff. 

"Morning," you call. It's barely that, sky still dark and air still carrying the bite of the night's chill. 

Joel straightens up and gives you a tired smile. Most of his smiles are tired but they're always genuine when directed at you. He tugs the backpack from your shoulder and presses his lips to your cheek, beard scratching your skin gently. 

"Howdy," he says in your ear before pulling away.

The travel mug Joel pushes into your hands is warm to the touch. 

"Tea," he says before you can tell him it's too early for coffee. His voice is deeper than usual, still warming up from sleep. It's not a cup from the local shop -- they're not open yet -- so he must have made it at home. "No caffeine before flights." 

"You remembered?" 

He gives you an unimpressed look and grabs your bags. They go in the backseat of his truck and he jerks his chin at the passenger door. "Get in. S'chilly."

It's also early. So early you were not going to ask him to drive you to the airport but when you mentioned you had to go on a work trip he offered. Insisted, actually, once he found out what time you needed to get there.

"You ain't takin' a cab that early," he had said. "Hell, you ain't takin' a cab home, neither. I'll pick you up."

This thing between you isn't new anymore, not exactly, but it's not solid yet. It doesn't have a name. But it's been a few months and you know what his sheets smell like and the feel of him pressed against you in the middle of the night and how he laughs with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes creased at the corners. He likes to take you on long walks around the lake a few towns over and you know all about his daughters even if you haven't met them yet. Your life feels a little more solid with Joel in it and the swell of your heart in your chest when you talk to him, when you see him, when he looks at you, is a welcome feeling. It's nice to want and be wanted in return. 

The inside of his truck is warm, your seat heater already turned on. The radio is down to a low hum and there's a silver cup similar to your own in the holder between the seats. Joel gets back into the truck with a slight groan and glances at you to see if you've got your seatbelt on before he clicks his. 

"Ready?" he asks. You nod. He settles his hand on your headrest and looks out the back windshield as he reverses the truck out of the driveway. "Shouldn't hit much traffic," he says. 

You take a sip of your tea and watch him as he drives out of your neighborhood and towards the highway. Part of you wishes you would hit traffic so you could look at him longer. Even in the dark you know his face pretty well by now. His hair is getting a little long, the dark threaded through with some grey and falling over his perpetually lined forehead. The scar on the bridge of his nose that you love to run your finger across and the bruises under his eyes from too many nights up late working on site plans and employee schedules. You don't think you've met a man who works as hard as Joel, and yet here he is driving you to the airport when he could be sleeping. 

Maybe it's because he's tired or maybe it's because it's dark or maybe it's because you're leaving for a few days but Joel lets you look without teasing. His eyes catch yours for just a second and he smirks.

"Why don't you drink coffee before a flight?" He takes a sip of his own thermos. You watch his throat work as he swallows and look away this time. The sky is starting to look purple out your window, the trees and fields and occasional buildings flying by too fast for your eyes to settle on anything. Joel drinks coffee like it's water. You're still leaning things about each other -- most days you find yourself thinking that you want to be learning things about him for the rest of your life -- and this is a new topic of conversation. You haven't had to be on a plane since you met him.

"I don't really like flying," you say. "Makes me nervous. I figure caffeine will just make it worse."

"Don't like it much either." You look at him again and find see smirk turn to a frown as he merges onto the nearly empty highway. "You gonna be okay?"

He asks like it's within his power to make flying something enjoyable, to cancel your work trip, to squash everything in this world that makes you nervous. Mostly you're just glad he's not teasing you about it. Maybe someday you can take a trip and be grumpy about it together.

"I'll be fine, Joel."

"Hm."

He rests an elbow against the window and rakes his hand through his hair.

"What are you up to this week?" you ask. 

He sighs. "Not much," he says. "Lumber shipment but Tommy's handlin' it. Ellie says her shower head is actin' funny so I'll go to her place and look at that. Probably sit my ass on the couch and try to watch a damn football game or somethin'."

"So what I'm hearing is you're going to miss me." It's meant to be a tease but it comes out a bit more earnest than you'd like. 

He sends you that unamused look of his but the mirth in his eyes betrays him, tells you he sees through it. You're learning that he's good at that -- seeing what you really mean, what you really want, who you really are, all the way down to the core. "Course I will," he says. "What man wouldn't miss cold hands bein' stuck up his shirt when he gets in bed?"

You scoff and Joel snickers. You could remind him how he usually catches your hands in his before you make it to his hemline on the rare nights he does wear a shirt, how he cradles your fingers and blows on them softly while rubbing them with his perpetually warm palms. The memory makes your breath hitch just a bit. 

It's only three days. Some conference your boss wanted you to go to in his stead. It won't require much of you -- you just have to attend a few panels, a dinner or two, and schmooze a little bit. You'll be back before you know it. You tell yourself it's silly to feel this apprehension at the distance, the time apart. But you're used to Joel by now and damn if you won't miss him. Used to him taking up space in your kitchen, used to his arm around you on the couch, used to his short texts and heavy gaze. You know by now that it's only a matter of time before you love him.  

"I'll miss you, too," you say softly. Joel eyes you, smirk turned soft again and reaches for you. He settles his palm on your thigh and you cover your hand with his. 

When you get to the airport aren't many cars around and you're pretty sure the attendants won't yell at you for idling. Joel seems to think the same thing as he gets out of the truck to set your luggage on the ground. You leave your now-empty to-go mug in his car and throw your arms around him when he gets to the curb with your suitcase. His chest rumbles in amusement but he hugs you back, one palm rubbing between your shoulder blades until you pull away. 

"Thank you for --"

"Nope," he interrupts you. "No thanks allowed." He hands you your backpack and you shoulder it. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," he says. 

You wave him off. "I get in way too late, don't worry about it --"

His hand cups your cheek and the words sputter out in your throat. "I'll be here," he says again. 

"I'll call you," you say. "When I get there." It sounds like a question.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please do."

"Thanks for the tea --"

"Now, what did I just say?"

You wrinkle your nose at him and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss just a little though it remains chaste, mouths closed as his thumb strokes your cheek once, twice, before he pulls away. It's the kind of kiss that feels fond, feels familiar. A kiss that becomes routine and for a second you imgaine the press of your mouths a thousand times over just like this. 

"Safe flight, sweetheart."

You smile at him and grab your suitcase before you stand here kissing him all day. "Bye, Joel." 

6:04 am: you make it to your gate okay?

You send him a picture of your breakfast sandwich and the sun rising through the window, painting the sky purple and orange. 

6:05 am: don't text and drive!

He replies with a photo of a full mug of coffee on his counter. It's a silly one, a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat. You think Sarah got it for him as a gag gift. 

6:05 am: home already. let me know when you land

6:06 am: will do. have a good day!

The flight is pretty okay. You spend the bumpy moments thinking about Joel's hand on your leg and get through it just fine. A shuttle takes you to your hotel and you have to hurry a bit to be ready for your first panel. 

You're busy all day. So tired by the time you get back to your room that you flop on the bed with a groan. 

"Ugh," you say, face smushed into the sheets. You're tired and hungry and...you miss Joel and feel a little silly about it.

That sense of puppy love, as most people would call it, hasn't faded. Your feelings for Joel are more than the crush they were when you first started seeing each other but they still linger in the realm of infatuation. You like to look at him, to feel the solid warmth of him beside you, above you, underneath you. You like being near him. But you're also starting to love things. You love the way his voice sounds when he wakes up, the way he says your name over the phone, the way he asks you what you want, how you are, how your day was. You love to see him on your couch, in your kitchen, in your bed. You've started to miss him when he's not around. 

And what you said to him in his truck is true. You do miss him. It's an ache that sits in the center of your chest, an ache that feels like the best kind of bruise -- because it comes from something good. And because you know it'll be soothed soon enough. 

But, because you're only human, you doubt that it's as serious for him. Joel keeps his cards close to his chest and while you feel like you know him pretty well by now you also have so much to learn. So, though you really want to, you don't pick up the phone and call him. Maybe the next time you're away. 

7:54 pm: day 1 done! ready to get in bed. why do men talk so much?

He texts back immediately. 

7:54 pm: god knows. don't forget to order room service on the company dime. sweet dreams.

You laugh and do as he says. 

The rest of the conference goes the same. By day three you're exhausted and your face hurts from smiling at so many people. Your shoes are no longer comfortable and as soon as the closing keynote ends you're out of there, changing into soft clothes and taking the shuttle to the airport. You text Joel a picture of your airport dinner and then your eye bags and he replies with a cute that has you giggling a little too loudly in public. 

You just want to get home to him. Your own bed is a bonus. 

But then your flight gets delayed. Twice. Joel tells you not to worry, he'll pick you up in the middle of the night if he has to. Once you board you get stuck on the tarmac for another half hour before finally taking off. It's a decidedly less relaxing experience because you're so anxious to be home but you make it. When you land it feels like you're sitting in your seat for ages. You're tired and feel gross and you want to go to bed. Your phone turns back on and you've got one text waiting for you.

10:34 pm: i'll be by baggage claim

That was 15 minutes ago. He must have been checking your flight in the air to get here at a reasonable time. God, you want to touch him. You want to stick your nose in his neck and inhale. 

You try very hard not to run through the terminal to the escalator that goes down to arrivals. It seems to move really fucking slowly once you're on it. As soon as it gets far enough for you to see the baggage claim level and everyone waiting there your eyes search for him. You see some families, a few tired children sleeping in arms that hold them tenderly. A group of girls with a sign that reads WELCOME HOME RACHEL!

And then there's Joel.

Once you spot him it's hard to keep a smile from your face. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the escalator. Jeans, jacket, boots, and a firm set to his jaw that might be intimidating to anyone else but to you it's familiar. It's him. Once he sees you he stands a little taller and you see his cheek twitch. If someone wasn't in front of you you'd be down the steps in seconds but you wait until you're at the bottom to race forward. 

It's probably a bit dramatic. You drop your suitcase and backpack at your feet in front of him.

"Hi," you say, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. Joel laughs. 

"S'like you're comin' home from war, or somethin'," he says, though his hugs you back just as tightly. "Should'a made a sign."

"Feels like it." Your words are muffled by his shoulder. 

"That bad, huh?" His palm drags up and down your spine. "Let's get you home, then."

Neither of you pull away. "I missed you," you say softly. 

Joel breathes deep and pulls away, hand on the back of your head as he makes sure you're looking at him. 

"Missed you, too," he says gruffly. Then he kisses you. It's less chaste than your goodbye kiss but still perfectly acceptable for airport arrivals, you think. 

"You hungry?"

"I sent you a picture of my dinner!"

"Not what I asked." You shrug and tangle your fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We'll get you somethin' on the way home."

"Do you want to stay over?" you ask in a rush, realizing too late he's got no reason to want to. It's late and tomorrow is a workday. "I'm just gonna shower and go to bed but I--"

Joel's nostrils flare. "If you want me to I will." Simple as that. 

"Okay," you say. He squeezes your hand.

You walk in easy silence for a few moments. Once you're in the car you'll ask how his week was, tell him about the gossip you learned at the conference. You'll look at him the entire drive to your place, drinking your fill of him after three days without. Yeah, you're going to love him. It's just a matter of time.

"Thank you for coming to get me," you say. 

Joel looks like he wants to argue but he allows it.

"Anytime," he says. It sounds like a promise. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[la-petitmortss]

where: one man's trash / jr hq who: charlotte and @langdon-peterson when: very late at night or quite early in the morning

She actively avoided headquarters as a point of pride. Trash, as Charlotte firmly believed, should remain as such. ( Niko once called her a snob for such observation, to which she replied: 'of course.' ) However, on some occasions it was necessary. Like when her target had so rudely decided to wake up in the midst of being assassinated, resulting in the loss of her third favorite knife and blood in her hair. She certainly could not go back to her side of town looking like this, thus hq became a necessary evil.

The bathroom door did not lock, a fact added to her mental list of grievances about this place. She wasn't particularly concerned about who might walk in, she just liked to find reasons to complain. Charlotte was never sloppy, but it had been a while since she'd had a job this messy. And she'd forgotten how fucking annoying it was to get blood out of her hair.

The doorknob turned and so did she, knife flying from her fingers to embed itself in the wall, mere inches from the intruder's face. A warning shot she did not often give on the off chance it might have been someone important. Instead... "Langdon Peterson?"

[juletheghoul]

Ache

Gif by @userkeery

Authors note: It's 3:30am and I am posting Joel smut because just like all of you, that show ruined me. It's literally pwp because.. well you all saw it. lol. Hope you enjoy! (Thanks to my wife for literally talking me through this @foli-vora)

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 800

Warnings: 18+ no minors, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, feelings? let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

-

He walked through the door with an air of determination, his mouth seeking out yours with pure purpose. He licked into it, barely giving you time to close the door behind him.

“Someone’s happy to see me.” Your words come out breathy, his passion flowing through him and now into you as you’re herded towards your couch.

“Been thinkin’ bout you all day, couldn’t wait to get here.” He punctuates his words by grabbing a meaty handful of your ass, low enough to pull the lips of your sex apart and it makes you gasp into his mouth. 

“Jesus Joel-“ he doesn’t let you finish, his tongue fills your mouth again and all you can do is try to keep up, your hands find the gap between his shirt and his jeans and you sweep your hands up the broad expanse of his back—lifting it up and off relishing the golden skin on display for you now. 

He grins and then your shirt is off and tossed onto the floor, your bra joins it soon after and within a few minutes you’re both naked and on your couch, mouths fused together, sharing the same panted breaths. 

“I missed you too.” You thread your fingers into his dark hair, guiding him towards your breast and he gifts you with a groan from deep in his throat, his tongue eager on the stiff bud of your nipple. 

He hums his acknowledgement onto your breast before moving to the other and his desperation is currently hard and weeping against your hip, sliding against your skin with every movement but he doesn’t get to it. Instead he keeps a steady suck at your nipple, moving from one to the other until you open your thighs underneath him, hoping he’ll slip in to soothe the aching emptiness he’s created.

“Come on baby, you gonna make me beg?” You tug at the dark waves of his hair, gasping when he lets your nipple go with a pop.

“I have half a mind to let you, love it when you beg.” He kissed your sternum quickly before grasping his cock in hand, giving himself a few strokes against the slick pooled at your entrance. “You think she’s ready for me?” He bites his lip, drunk on the way your hips tilt up to help him. 

“Yes Joel, put it in already.” He laughs at your tone, his dark eyes lively and lust blown.

“Yes ma’am.” He slides in with a moan. The smile morphs into something almost unfocused as he pumps himself slowly in and out, coating himself in your liquid heat before he speeds up. 

The stretch of him is exquisite.

You’d thought about him all day, waited with baited breath from the moment he’d called during his break, knowing he’d have you wet and mewling for him just like he always does and yet this is so much better than your daydream. It’s always better.

He shifts, kneeling on the couch and pulling your hips up with him. His big, calloused hands hold onto your hips with a grip hard enough to bruise but it doesn’t matter because his cock is pressing up against something sacred, something that makes your eyes roll back, something that lights a fire in the base of your spine. And then it strikes like lightning, a scream and a wet clench and you're falling off the cliff.

“You’re not even gonna make me work for it huh?” He’s triumphant, proud of the way he’s made you see stars but it’s not enough for him, he speeds up, fucks you through your climax and just when you think you might pass out he’s pulling you up to wrap your arms around his neck, grinding his come deep. 

-

Your hands slide across the smooth skin of his back, enjoying the press of his lips in the crook of your neck. Your legs are tangled up together, a rare cool breeze envelops you both as you catch your breath and savor the afterglow. 

“Where’s Sarah today?” You press the tips of your fingers into the knots of his shoulders, wanting to take some of the pain he complains about away.

“She’s at—oh, fuck that’s nice—the Adlers, Jesus Christ, right there-“ he winces but leans into it, letting you work the ache away. “I should get goin’ soon.” 

“Am I ever gonna meet her?” It’s not an uncomfortable question, with the way things were going between the two of you it was only a matter of time.

“Actually, yes. My birthday’s comin’ up. Thought it would be nice if you came over then. You can meet my shithead brother Tommy too.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, moving to find your mouth again before he inevitably had to go.

“I’d love to.” 

-

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @lorosette @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @evelynseventyr @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x some people who I think might like this; @the-ginger-hedge-witch @write-and-buried

[urfavoritegirlkisser]

ooh for hazel maybe a fic where hazel is fully oblivious to the fact that reader likes her and misses their very obvious flirting until someone makes a joke about the two of them

idk i feel like that’s something she would do lmao

Oh for sure, she is definitely very oblivious when it comes to someone flirting with her

Tags: Fem!Reader, Hazel is so oblivious, swearing, a smidge of angst and insecure!reader, use of y/n, slightly suggestive at the end but it's no big deal honestly, lightly proof read, girls kissing (giggling and kicking my feet)

"Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way" - Hazel Callahan x Reader

“Maybe we could go hang out at your place? You could help me study for Mr.G’s final” You say, lightly grazing your fingertips on Hazel’s arm while batting your eyelashes up at her.

“Didn’t he literally give us the test answers as a study guide?” Hazel says, oblivious to your flirtation as always.

This was the billionth time it feels like that Hazel has shut you down, and honestly, you’re sick of it.

You decide to try a different tactic, gently grabbing her hand and admiring her rings, “I just love your rings” you rub your thumb across them and let your other hand rest on her thigh.

“Thanks! Most of them were gifts from friends, and this one was from a cool thrift shop downtown” Hazel rambles on while you sigh as she continues to ignore your obvious attempts at flirting with her.

You genuinely thought all hope was lost…until you heard PJ shout from across the gym.

“Jesus! Get a room you two, have some decency for the rest of us and go fuck in the janitor’s closet!” the girl shouts and your face heats up as a deep blush settles over your cheeks

Hazel scoffs, “What? We’re just friends PJ, don’t be a loser” she says while laughing nervously.

It took all of your willpower not to crumble right then and there.

You’ve had enough of this, you weren’t going to put in all this effort for someone who just sees you as a friend. Sniffling as tears start to form in your eyes from embarrassment, you quickly excuse yourself and practically run out of the gymnasium.

Your feet carry you to an abandoned classroom, where you let yourself finally let out the sobs you were holding in. Of course Hazel didn’t feel the same, why would she? She was amazing in every way and you were just some loser.

You’re so consumed in your thoughts that you don’t hear the door crack open and Hazel slowly walk inside.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” she says in a near whisper, but it still makes you jump and quickly look up at Hazel while wiping your tears.

“Hazel, what are you doing here? The club meeting is about to start, you know how PJ is with people being late” you try to speak in a confident voice, but it comes out shaky and thick from the lump of emotions in your throat and you look away from her so she can’t see your tears.

Hazel shakes her head and sits down beside you, “You’re more important than a stupid meeting” she says softly, “Josie told me about your feelings for me”

You groan at her words and put your head on your knees, looking back at her with a sniffle, “I’m so sorry Hazel, I get it if you don’t feel the same way and I won’t blame you-” your words are cut off by Hazel grabbing your face and hurriedly pressing her lips to yours in a bruising kiss.

You shriek in surprise at first, but quickly kiss back, shuddering as you feel her tongue enter your mouth.

Hazel pulls you onto her lap, your fingers threading into her soft hair as her hands rest on your hips. You both pull away after a moment, pupils blown, breaths heavy as the both of you just stare at each other for a moment.

Hazel is the first to speak up, “I’ve actually wanted to do that since the first time I saw you” she says breathlessly while moving a hand up to cradle your jaw and gently stroke your face with her thumb, “You are so beautiful y/n, I would be lucky to be able to call you mine” she says with a smile that makes your heart melt

“And I’m sorry for being such an idiot” she quickly adds which makes you laugh

You kiss her softly, pulling away just enough so your foreheads touch and you can just live in this tiny moment the both of you have created.

“As long as I can call you my idiot, then that’s all that matters” you say before the both of you dissolve into giggles.

an - meant to post more today, but got hit with a wicked migraine, so I hoped you enjoyed. Go drink water you girl kissers.

[coffearabica]

your words, princess|xavier thorpe

synopsis: xavier wants you to say it

!includes!: soft/dom xavi, teasing, cockwarming if you angle your phone the right way, literally just smut on smut

note: help this is so bad ive literally never written smut this explicit asldkfd also the ending is soo bad. aged up obviously <3

word count: 0.898k

He was slow as he moved, every flick of his tongue savoring and every brush of his fingers lingering. It drove you crazy in the same way it liquified your bones. 

“Xavier.” you sighed, legs curled around his hips as his head dipped below your collar bones. It was so easy to get lost in him. Every wet kiss against your skin was anticipated, your core tightening with every huff of cool air brushing against the wet spot he'd leave behind. He hums as his hands tighten around your wrist, where he has them locked in place above your head. 

“You feel so good, baby.” he breathes, movements gentle and rocking. “So, so good.” the bed creaks, the sheets rustle, and outside the dark clouds gently grumble. His hip bones meet your inner thighs over, and over, and over again. He’d leave bruises for him to kiss in the morning, but for now, masked by darkness, you were his to do as he pleased with. 

“Please,” you gasped, back arching when he hit that spot. He smiled down at you, your breasts offered before him like a gift. He pulls back, lowers his mouth, thrusts back in, and sucks you into his mouth. “Fuck!’ 

“Hmm.” he moans out, knowing you’ll feel it in places he couldn’t physically reach. You thrash a bit, turning your face into your arm, legs slipping down his waist, and hips moving on their own accord. He loves it, seeing you so vulnerable before him. So needy for him. 

“What do you want, baby?” he licks a stripe between your breasts, all the way up to your jaw. You turn back to him, eyes shut and lips searching for his. He kisses you, only a quick peck that you meet with a frown. He’s slowed almost to a complete stop now. 

“More.” you whine.

“More?” He nudges your cheek with his nose. You turn again, wanting so badly to kiss his lips before you screamed. But he pulls away again. 

“Xavier,” you drag his name out, tugging on your hands but he only tightens his grip.

“Your words, princess. I want to hear exactly what it is you want from me.”

When your eyes open all you see is him and for a moment you’re reminded of just how big he is. Tall and lean, his shoulders span across you with one arm slipped underneath your back and the other bounding your hands. Every inch of him rubbed against you and every breath you took reminded you of how badly you needed him to move.

“Hi, pretty.” he smiles and pecks your lips again, parts of him amused by the frustration in your eyes. “You wanna tell me now?”

With a huff and a glare you pick your head up, getting as close to him as you could, “I want you to make me come with your cock.” 

The dirty words coming from such soft and sweet lips was like electricity in his blood. Both of you could feel him pulsing from deep inside you and when your legs wrapped around him again, ankles digging into the backs of his thighs and driving him back in the last few inches, he sees and feels nothing but burning, white pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re perfect.” His lips smash down onto yours, teeth knocking and tongues battling. He begins moving again, his dick sliding in and out slowly at first before he begins picking up pace, leaving you to groan into his mouth. “Whatever you want,” he pants between kissing you, “I’ll give it to you, baby. Whatever-”

His words die on a gasp when your insides tighten, his hips stutter and his head falls into your neck. He doesn’t even hear the gentle moans falling from his mouth, doesn’t register that his hold on your wrists has loosened. It isn’t until your fingers thread through his hair and tug and that same blinding pleasure surges through him.

“You feel so good,” he repeats. “You know how to make me feel so good, only you.” He speaks into the junction of your neck.

The words send another ache through you, this one so intense that your vision shifts and when he slams into you at a particular angle it reaches its peak. 

“Xavier!” 

“”Fuck yeah, come on my cock, pretty girl.” he picks himself up and moves over you until your legs fall away from him. Until you're a quivering mess and the sight of you all flushed and sweaty and sated has his lower back tingling and soon his own head falls between your breasts as he pours endless spurts into you. 

There's a brief silence filled with nothing but your heavy breaths. His damp forehead rests against your sternum as you brush his hair away from his face. It isn’t until he drops a kiss across your chest, then up to your chin that his eyes meet yours. 

“Hi.” His grin is dopey and infectious. 

“Hi.” You smile back and he drops his mouth to kiss it. 

“I think this was my favorite time.” 

“You say that every time.” your eyes roll. 

“Can’t get enough of you.” he wiggles his brows, proud of the giggle that escapes you. 

He doesn’t move and you don’t tell him to, he simply lays back across your chest as your fingers find their place in his hair once more.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy" - Tex "Oatmeal" Johnson asking for his.. "breakfast" and some exercise to wake them both up 😌

Spooky, here’s your breakfast. Tex Johnson x Fem Reader. Gif by @cristinaricci. TW: somnophilia, dub-con, Tex, spanking, anal play, really nsfw

You should really know better by now; sleeping in Tex’s big flannel and that little thong (or, as he likes to muse, a scrap of cotton on elastic) he loves… just to get him riled up? Tsk.

That’s how you end up with him kissing and nibbling your cheeks while he knuckles over your pussy.

You’re all weak and jello, unable to protest properly when he slaps the band of stinging elastic against you, pulls it aside and flicks your little asshole with his tongue.

“Nah, nuh-uh,” you growl, hands going back to stop him, but not before he catches your wrists and holds them flat against your back with one unfairly big grip—your own personal pair of handcuffs.

“You don’t like that?” He asks, grinning a kiss into your plump left cheek, only letting his teeth graze just a little bit. 

You giggle, and it’s stupid that you honestly think you can get out of this by saying, “go away.”

“Oh yeah?” He muses, nuzzling his beard into your pussy lips, sucking and slobbering. The underwear does little to deter his sneaking, slippery, silver tongue.

You try a different bargain. “Tex, I can’t -“ 

He gives your butt a wicked little slap. “You’re gonna.” 

You groan and bury your face into the pillow while he eats the cum out of you. 

“Fuckin sleeping in these cute little panties to get me hard first thing in the damn morning. You just wanted to tease me, huh, little girl?” 

The generous bastard gifts you two thick fingers curled perfectly.

“Answer me or I’m gonna edge ya til you cry.”

“No no no please. Okay okay yeah. Nah ah ahn oh fu-uh-uck.”

You clench on three fingers without warning, soaking right through those aforementioned cute panties. Fuck, you really liked those.

“Already?” He asks, shaking his head. “Talk about jumpin the gun.”

“Shut uppp Texx—“

“Tell me what I wanna hear.”

“Mmm.”

“Oh, you better fuckin do it.”

“M’ your pretty girl.”

“What honey?” He purposefully ups the force of his fingers to get you louder: “m-mmmmah yuh-ur pretty girlll.”

This is what you get for insulting yourself in front of him that one goddamn time. He had grabbed your cheeks, smushing them between his fingers. “What was that?”

“What?” You challenged, defiance ruined by the comical distortion of your voice.

“Naw, you know exactly watcha said, and if you ever talk like that about my pretty little honey again, you ain’t gonna like me very much.”

You rolled your eyes and batted him away, but he threaded his fingers through your belt loops before you could run. “You hearing me? Only person that gets to be mean to you is me and my cock. Are we clear, pumpkin?” He tugged you chest to chest, usual playful smile turned down into something stern and menacing.

“Crystal.”

And, ever since that moment, he has been making you say it—that you’re his pretty girl. Even in public, around people you know, if he asks, you supply with a bright blush and eyes downcast and pussy clenching.

As he’s stated before, he really likes making you gush around his fingers and then licking it up with his tongue—overstimulate your “poor little kitty kat”. Loves it when you’re swollen and spent, cum dribbling from both holes when he and John decide to make a sandwich out of you. Sure, he can threaten all he wants with edging games, but you know that, if you play cards with this wicked devil just right, he’s going to make you cum many times over, until it fucking hurts—leaves you screaming and crying and kicking your feet, actually missing Wick’s week long edging sessions…as awful as they are.

You’re already sore when he makes you sit on his cock.

“I’m tired,” you whine, draped over his torso so his fat tip isn’t bruising your cervix quite so much.

“Baby,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “You’re always tired. Nappin like an house cat every time I see you.”

“I’m sleepy,” you protest, huffing into his chest. And it’s probably because we fuck like rabbits every six or seven minutes, you think to yourself.

“Aw, poor sleepin beauty.” He gives your ass a sharp smack. “You better start workin on this cock before I do it for you.”

[strangelittlestories]

It was somewhere around a year into the apocalypse when the Lion and the Lamb found what they had long been looking for: a very remote (and thus largely unpillaged) and *very fancy* hotel.

(Lion and Lamb were the names I knew them by, at least. We met at a wedding - always a strange event in the end times - and they did not give me their true names. This was, honestly, a wise move given the kind of entity I am. But they did gift me with this anecdote, which perhaps reveals more about them than a simple name could.)

After scouting the place out - and bloodily evicting a small pack of ghouls that had gotten separated from the horde and (hopelessly lost) wandered into the hotel spa - the pair climbed the many steps to the building’s palatial penthouse suite.

There, they found many wondrous treasures. Fluffy bathrobes. Tiny sachets of shampoo. A bed so large it should probably have been illegal.

And, of course, a little peace and quiet.

---

“What do you think the thread count on these sheets are?” Asked Lamb.

“Do I look like the kind of person who understands thread count?” Lion was already lying in the bed, starfishing her limbs out across the pillowy expanse.

“It’s just…this might be the softest thing I’ve ever felt. This has got to be four hundred. Maybe even five?” Lamb’s brow wrinkled for a moment. “Hey - would you mind if I take this with us when we leave?”

“What’s the matter? You already afraid to go back to scratchy blankets and sleeping bags?” Lion grinned, while twisting the top off a little bottle of Jack Daniels. A small pile of tiny liquor bottles lay beside her; across the room, her axe rested against the sundered mini bar.

“No, I uh-” Lamb looked sheepish. “I was thinking it’d make for good bandages.”

Lion paused with the mini bottle of Jack on her lips. She made steady eye contact with Lamb as she downed the bottle, then threw it casually to one side.

“You want to take the sheets off this bed.” She sat up and calmly took hold of Lamb’s arm, pulling him close. “This bed that may as well be made of clouds. These covers that were probably hand spun by gods or artisanal Shoreditch arseholes. This bed that may be the last gift from a now-absent god, and which - by the way - we have not even hugged in yet…”

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“You want to take the sheets off this bed - this bed that is larger than some countries - and tear it up for stab wounds and bullet holes?”

“I just-”

At this point, Lion yanked on Lamb’s arm and he tumbled awkwardly into the aforementioned bed, rolling over Lion and landing nestled snugly in the crook of her shoulder. It was somewhere between a cuddle and a headlock and, if we’re being honest, Lamb really didn’t mind that.

Some time passed. We need not discuss how it passed, let us simply say that it did and that, for the Lion and the Lamb, its passage was necessary, healing and only mildly bruising.

Lamb sighed happily and said:

“I just thought. Y’know, about the bandages. That … well, dangerous shit happens to us so often. It’s really easy to get used to being scared. To being hurt. So I figured it might be nice, y’know, if when we were patching each other up, we had something soft to do it with. So that even when it hurts the most, we can *practise* being soft. And it’d be something that reminded us of this. This perfect day we stole for ourselves. A happy memory to literally bind up the hurt with.” Lamb looked shyly up at Lion. “It probably sounds silly. Or soppy. But, well. I am those things sometimes.”

Lion leant down and gently and carefully kissed Lamb on the forehead.

“Okay.” She said, in a voice roaring with love. “We can destroy the sheets when we’re done.”

“Thanks.” Said Lamb. “I knew you’d cotton on.”

And, even despite the pun, Lion could not have been happier.

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac #12 : two monkeys and their hobbies

They're just enjoying a great afternoon and doing their respective hobbies while still talking together! Just peacefull times 😌

Macaque was organizing the various flowers and herbs he gathered during spring to prepare his medicines, at least that's what the golden-furred monkey had been calling his powders and elixirs. Speaking of the sage, he was leaning over him curiously, whispering now and then some questions about the different ingredients. While Macaque took some petals and herbs and brewed them with a sharpened pebble he used specifically for this, Sun Wukong began to busy himself with cloth and threads. Lately, the sage had been fond of needlework, especially since he could gift his creations to Macaque. The black-furred monkey had to admit, Sun Wukong was way more talented than him for this kind of work. His wardrobe had never been so diversified, he had traded his leaves for linen robes, silk shirts and cotton hats. He still wore some leaves, especially during the heat-wave hitting the mountain at the end of spring.

Macaque added some petals of purple phlox to his powder and smelled it, once he was satisfied with the scent he put the powder in a little vial and tied a purple ribbon (or more precisely a bit of the ribbon he cut) at the neck of the vial.

“You know your sleeping medicine is terribly effective. How did you find the recipe?” Asked the sage as he sewed the edges of his new creation, a tiny purple robe embroidered with plum blossom fitted for Macaque.

“Trials and errors.” Shrugged the lil guy, he took some sage herbs and brewed another medicine, one for increasing strength. “I always had some facility with flowers, being born from one and all.” Sun Wukong raised an eyebrow at that, he turned the robe he was working on and began to work on the back.

“I thought you were born from the shadows?” Mumbled the sage.

“Both.” Macaque felt the King's curious gaze and decided to elaborate a little. “I'm born from the shadows gathering inside of a plum blossom bud for one year.”

“Aw, that means you bloomed? That's adorable.” Macaque fondly rolled his eyes at this.

“Then how were you born?”

“From a stone egg gathering the power of the earth, the egg hatched once thunder struck it.”

“Dramatic.” Snorted the black-furred monkey.

“I like grand entrances.” They fell in a peaceful silence after this, each enjoying their own hobbies. Sun Wukong was lounging on his wooden couch while Macaque was on a silk napkin created especially for him by one of the sage hair. The silk didn't hurt his knees contrary to the wood and it was comfortable.

“Maybe I should create a pocket for you in my clothes.” Suddenly said the sage as he peeked over Macaque with an excited smile.

“Really? You want me to go in your pocket?”

“Well, I'm always afraid you'll fall when you're on my shoulder.” Whined Sun Wukong, mayhaps he also wanted the pocket to be on his chest and carry Macaque close to his heart, but the lil guy didn't need to know this.

“If the pocket is comfortable I'll consider it.” Huffed Macaque with the hint of a smile. “I made some powder for the elder who had trouble with his back, the one you told me about, it's the green vial.”

“You know you could give it to them yourself.” Pointed out Sun Wukong, Macaque huffed with flushed cheeks and averted his eyes.

“I may get along with the younglings but still I'm not part of your troop.”

“You could be.” Whispered Sun Wukong with a hint of longing. Macaque stilled for one second before shaking his head and resuming his brewing. It was not the first time the topic of the troop came between them. Sun Wukong was always eager to include him but Macaque had his reluctances. He liked to show off his stories to the younglings and he did see the olders watch him from afar, some even nodded at him, apparently grateful that he entertained the cubs. He also supplied medicines to the King for the bruised and sick, but he never truly interacted with monkeys outside of the sage and the cubs. Some part of him was scared of truly being part of a group. Having a friend was fine, having fans was troubling but he could deal with it, but being part of a troop? Being in an active community? It was something he never did, the unknown at its utmost. Macaque was scared of that.

He was born alone and lived alone for a long time. Not fully fae but also not fully monkey, he had no places. Some giants even chased him because of his oddity, finding his rarity entertaining. Macaque wasn't ready to be part of something bigger than him. Mayhaps, one day he will be ready, but not for now. No. He was still trying to get used to friendship after all. Speaking of friendship, Macaque was experiencing one of his first great crisis with relationships. From what he understood and the specks of conversations carried by the wind, the brotherhood was planning to attack Heaven at the end of summer. And while Macaque had told himself to let Sun Wukong make his own decisions, he was also torn by the need to warn him about the consequences, the dangerosity of this endeavor. He knew he shouldn't dictate Sun Wukong's life, but sometimes he just wished he could lock him behind the water-curtain cave and protect him from the outside world. Those odd urges were becoming stronger and stronger as the planned attack approached.

“Hey… So you still want to follow through with the attack on Heaven and all?” Asked Macaque as he bit his lower lip.

“Yeah of course, man, I'm so excited for it! You know when we will take over Heaven I'll give you anything you want!” Chirped Sun Wukong with a thumping tail.

“I don't need anything.” Sighed the macaque, a little bit fond. “You know it's dangerous, right? The Jade Emperor is… ruthless sometimes.”

“It'll be fine. We're not gonna lose.” Shrugged the sage, Macaque sighed, but he couldn't do anything more than that. Sun Wukong was allowed to do anything he wanted with his life and Macaque didn't want to take this freedom away from him.

He simply hoped everything we'll go well for his friend.

+ cut scenes

Older monkey *At new mom struggling with both her babies* : You know you could leave them to the lil shadow. 😌

New mom : the lil shadow?🤔

Older monkey : a friend of our king, he entertain the younglings with his shadows and they adore him. You could have the afternoon to relax.

New mom : so that's what lil Yue and lil Yong were fighting about!😲

Older monkey : they were fighting?🤨

New mom : yeah for being the shadow club president or something. 😅

SWK : look I made you a new robe!

Macaque : Oh it looks good, let me try it on!

Macaque proceed to shed his clothing

SWK : w-wait let me turn around!! 🫣

Macaque : you know we're both monkeys? 🤨

SWK quickly turns around with flushed cheeks and a puffed out fur.

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[hell-drabbles]

Gabriel 1

Summary: It was a cruel idea that you put on the table, you know this well, but you’ve never known yourself to be soft and merciful. If one manages to break Gabriel in, then it should be a simpler task to break the rest of his brethren.

(This one is a… a little extreme. Gabriel torture and the beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome. Also probably gonna make an angel OC. Just need to settle on an appearance that appeals to me. His loyalty will be towards the Reader. The man will worship them with every fiber of his being. Probably will be big, like Mammon. Jokingly want to name him Baraqiel. Because, you know… bara.)

This was torture entirely built on the base of selfishness. Your selfishness. You won’t even begin to pretend that this was for the greater good of the devils in Hell. Well, not as though torture was ever anything but self serving, it just feels more… significant that you proposed this idea with the full intention of taking advantage of it.

Gabriel, the angel that phased through your screen, who sliced open your friend and declared you a target of all angel kind, was chained to the floor of a humid dungeon. He was forced on his side, mouth gagged with hands and eyes bound tight with the cloth of his own clothes. Practically clad in blood-soaked threads rather than a uniform.

He growled as all dogs of heaven do when they hear anyone near their cell. He bit down on his gag when the devil keeping watch clinked open the cell door. And he shuffled his back–six jagged lines, uneven skin caked in disgusting black blood–away from you. You didn’t even grant him the mercy of giving him stitches. He’d scar, but he’d heal.

He didn’t have his halo anymore. You had that thing ripped off when it nearly blinded you just a week ago. He didn’t deserve to shine, to cling to this grace gifted to him by this being he worshiped so much.

You stopped before him and watched him squirm and attempt to curl into a defeated ball. You knelt and grabbed his chin before forcing his head up at an almost agonizing angle. The devils that came before you had left marks on them. Claw marks and plum colored bruised all over his neck.

Of course, they couldn’t kill him. Not when that was your right.

You heard a rasp deep from his throat, pushed out of his mouth with a purpose. He’s trying to say words, probably trying to curse you with an anger deep from his bones, but there was nothing.

“Tch,” you clenched your jaw and ripped off the gag. You forced his mouth open with a thumb and peered inside. No tongue, no uvula, and beyond that was fresh and fleshy scarring trailing down his throat. “Someone took your voice, huh?”

And without your permission. You said to those devils that they can hurt, but they cannot take pieces of your toys. Of course someone would get high on their own power and disobey you.

Gabriel didn’t dig his teeth into your thumb, he closed around it instead. He didn’t stuck, and couldn’t lick, but he let his lips fall around your thumb nonetheless. Seems he recognized your voice. You do make it a habit to do some care. Can’t very well have him die on you suddenly.

You scratched through his greasy hair, like you would any pet, and Gabriel bowed his head into your hands.

Isolation certainly has done a number on him. It won’t be long before he’s bouncing right towards your feet.

[quccnbees]

It's her own fault, really, she’s always been too goddamn curious and obsessive for her own good. And maybe she’s foolish to blindly trust Charles Eversley – but in many ways Charlotte is still the wide-eyed little girl waiting at her father’s knee for his attention. She’s spent the past few weeks trying to rationalize it, combing through her memories for some sign or reason or something to explain what she found in her father’s files. The rationalization and mental/legal gymnastics take up a good two weeks. It's only when she’s staring at herself in her bathroom mirror, half drunk and covered in glitter at four in the morning after a Taylor Swift concert, that Lottie finally realizes why she’s such a mess about this.

He lied to her. Or rather, Charles Eversley did not trust his favorite daughter enough to tell her the full truth, and yet he still gave her legal authority over his estate. There’s a slippery, oily feeling in her stomach, fear and guilt and anxiety all wrapped up in something she can’t quite name. So what, he’s dying – that vicious, cruel part of her that she’s so long nurtured argues – but still withholds, you’ll never be enough—bitter self-doubt lingers. So she’s come back to the estate—to find out the truth, to confront her father, or to get utterly fucked up with her siblings – who’s to say?

The car pulls up and Lottie glances out the window at her childhood home, instead finding Campbell waiting for her. For a moment, the anxiety and dread and anger vanish, replaced with a swooping joy at the smile on their face. She opens the door before the suburban fully stops and hops out, throwing her arms over Cam’s shoulders, a well-loved Birkin abandoned on the gravel drive.

“Fresh air? Don’t be cruel, that’s my thing,” Lottie pulls back with a smirk that’s only half convincing, “the drive was impossibly long, I’m so happy to see you. Truly, I though mother would send Teddy to meet me, or god knows who else she’s brought on.” She talks a lot when she’s nervous, something she’s spent most of her life trying to control. “No, no, leave the bags – someone will get them,” the blonde loops her arm through Campbell’s and pulls them towards the house. “Are you busy? You must tell me everything—did Adrian really bring someone? And I,” she hesitates, glancing down, “I need to ask you something, not here though – in my rooms or yours, somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

excitement was something so foreign to campbell. they often went weeks without feeling any moments of joy, not even fleeting. their existence was quite drab whenever they weren't dealing with astute criminals. however, they'd chatted with charlotte a few days ago about her homecoming. this had gotten campbell quite giddy, they'd become close over the passing years. it had been hard to watch charlotte come and go, especially as their friendship deepened over the years but campbell had always cheered her on from the sidelines. every homecoming for charlotte, campbell wanted to know everything about university, it helped them reminisce on their own experiences while in school all the while congratulating charlotte on championing for her career. she was a breath of fresh air, reminding them that there was life outside of this beautiful prison. campbell was waiting outside the estate as the black suburban came down the drive, waving with all of their enthusiasm. when charlotte finally emerged from the car, campbell was there waiting to grab her bags, "you're just the breath of fresh air this place needs," campbell greeted her with a grin. @quccnbees