#glacier shut the fuck up

[glacierclear]

leon kennedy headcanons (things he would do that arent positive)(lighthearted/don't take these too seriously)

- he would leave the toilet seat up

- and he would never put the toilet paper roll in the right way

- he'd get up and leave in the middle of any conversation that upsets him (like, in the middle of his partner trying to talk to him about difficult topics)

- he would sneeze/cough like a dad

- he would wear socks until they have holes in the toes

- he would grab you a little too hard when he's nervous about your safety. in that weird helicopter partner way.

- .......passive aggression

- bad at communication. doesn't text or call enough. can't take a compliment.

- emotionally unavailable as fuck

- he would leave a sliver of milk left in the carton and put it back into the fridge instead of just drinking the rest

- on that note; drinks straight out of the bottle or jug. like, standing in front of the open fridge. (I do this too lmao)

- would get mad if you give him gifts that are too expensive.

- mega light sleeper.

- kicks in his sleep.

- I have no evidence to support this but I think this man picks out the veggies in his fried rice.

- doesn't separate the colors in the washing machine

- maybe a little road rage. as a treat.

- wouldn't know the difference between an alligator and a crocodile

- so sweaty. even when he's asleep. sweaty sweaty man.

- wouldn't let you even split the cost of any meal he takes you too. (maybe positive or negative depending on who you are)

- hogs the blanket

- falls asleep during movies sometimes (you're happy he's getting some rest but goddammit leon this is plot relevant dialogue you're missing)

- wouldn't tell you if you have a booger hanging out of your nose

- his feet are so fucking cold leon get your toes off of me I'm gonna die

[softer-ua]

Villain getting handcuffed and put in the van

🦹🏼: OH THANK GOD YOUR FINALLY HERE!!! GET ME AWAY FROM THESE FREAKS!!!!

🐷: … you mean the top three hero’s??? You can’t call the hero’s of our nation freaks?!

🦹🏼: Look at them!!! The blonde clearly has rabies, he’s literally frothing at the mouth and has tried to bite me once already?!! The red and white haired freak in the boiler man suit hasn’t blinked once since he arrived, not once!!!

🦹🏼:And, and the green one?!! His smile hasn’t wavered, not even when he dislocated my knee with his steal shoes, not even when I managed to have a street lamp fall on him, not when the unblinking maintenance guy set my cap on fire and trapped the remains ice(chocking me!!), not when the blonde dog blew up a overhanging statue and almost killed me and he smiled even brighter!!!

🦹🏼: in fucking fact he’s only gotten happier?!!! He’s loving that he’s holding that rabid fucker back from biting me!!! He’s a psychopath!!! He’s a deranged menace who not only enjoys hurting me but gets satisfaction from being hit, frankly I don’t think his heavy breathing is from exertion, I think he’s imagining letting the blonde rip out my spleen rn

🐷: you’re the insane one here buddy, those three are shining pillars of our community and you should show some respect!

🦹🏼: this can’t be legal, it’s at minimum excessive force, and it feels cruel and unusual

[clarafordahwin]

Good:

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 

And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 

Still… 

Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

[renhanaschewtoy]

Coworkers

FINALLY. I'm so sorry it took so long. All the chaos and junk really got the better of me. I hope y'all like this, I really tried. I can't wait to write more. Strade's Favorite Bartender will be next! 💚 NSFW MDNI

You’d always had a certain fondness for Lawrence you supposed. He was always the quiet guy at work, hesitant to ever really speak or have attention be directed his way. 

And it wasn’t like you’d bulldozed into his life either. 

It had started small, really. He was stronger than he looked and often you both shared shifts. You’d asked him a few times if he could help you move some things, speed up the task and he’d always given a little nod and followed you to do so. 

You wanted to bridge that gap, you bought some tea you kept in your locker, offering it to Lawrence on breaks. At first he just stared at you for a long moment before slowly giving a nod of his head, crystalline eyes directed anywhere but you. And then grabbing the sandwiches or other items from the corner Mart you saw him buy from time to time. You simply wanted Lawrence to feel appreciated in the warehouse. That you were grateful he helped you.

And it turned into routine after a little while.

Sharing breaks, eating together in the silence that was the wee hours of morning before the sun broke. Settled in the stale smelling break room or outside on the bench in the parking lot, side by side. You usually did most of the talking but from time to time, it was exciting to hear Lawrence talk. When he'd mention his plants, the most recent time he went on a trek through the park or on a hike, better was when he’d actually give you his opinion. Even if it was differing. If it weren’t for the occasional stutter or stammer, you’d reckon to say he’d have a rich voice. Dulcet to you, if you dare say so.

You gave him your number, just in case you switched shifts at work or something came up of course! Though that didn’t stop you from sending the occasional message asking how he was doing, or if you shared a shift a “have a good night! Oops, I mean morning!” sort of text. You wanted to endear yourself to Lawrence.

And you had.

You wormed your way under his skin and into his heart like vines of twisting ivy, you made it hard for Lawrence to breathe around you sometimes. The saccharine scent about you that was so alien, so absolutely opposite of damp rot and soil he’d become accustomed to. You were the fragrant bulbs of flowers he tried to nurture and fight the impulse to cut. You were soft, you were succulent in a way Lawrence didn’t understand like the occasional ones he had spotted around his apartment. Visions of you swam in his head at night in his bed, in the fog of his shower. Emboldened by the haze of burnt hash of a blunt that was discarded on the ashtray nearby. Lawrence wondered how you would feel…from the inside. How different you would feel from his hand. Water or lotion made do in a pinch when he’d fist himself to completion, more often than not he would grow frustrated after the clarity hit him.

“huff…huff…nngh…f-fuck…(Name)...” Water cascades down Lawrence’s pale body, head bowed with one hand braced against the cool tile wile the other hand stroked his weeping cock. You brushed up against him on more than one occasion today, he felt the soft warmth of your skin through your clothes, caught a peek of skin when you’d reach up high, Lawrence swore…goddamn it, he could hear the blood in your veins. Your hand brushed against his when you handed him a paper cup of some herbal tea you’d been so proud to prattle about hoping he’d like it. And he’d die before telling you that it was actually too sweet for his taste. But maybe that was you and your influence on the moment. Too sweet. His breathing grew ragged as his glacier eyes screwed shut, trying a slight twist of his wrist as Lawrence fisted his cock; reliving the encounters behind his eyelids.

The warm flush of your cheeks, he wondered how much blood could reach the apples of them…the plush look of your lips that always curled into a little grin, what might they look like swollen from his own pressed to them or his teeth sinking into them? Would your heart hammer in your chest? Or would it be slow and calm? Would you let him touch you? Actually touch you? To crawl inside of you and feel your warmth from the inside, to break your ribs and truly be in your embrace until you were cold and still like he often felt. A grunt passed Lawrence’s lips as he grappled with the thoughts– did he want that? No…no, he didn’t think he did. Lawrence wanted to savor you if he was ever presented the opportunity. You’d feel different. You were different. His mind rewound and pulled forward like a video on a loop, searching for just the thing to focus on. That breathless face you made after exerting yourself, the way your breathing drew a little rough and you tried to chuckle through, the way your (color) eyes would look up at him so gratefully in a way only you ever looked at him.

“Hhngh…haah…(N-Name)...” Lawrence choked your name from his throat as a shudder ripped down his spine, hips jerking erratically in a rhythm that grew sloppy before pearly, viscous cum splurted forward, coating his hand and dropping into the water to disappear down the drain. The smell of stale, foggy air and eucalyptus as the evidence of his mild perversion disappeared from sight. Maybe that’s why it was always easier in the shower. His panting eventually subsided into just one heavy sigh, the heaviness left him and again the frustration followed.

It wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t you.

Maybe Lawrence was getting greedy. Not that he could ever act on it. It always made him seize up worse when you were just looking at him with those eyes of yours. So patient for whatever he may say or do. It was maddening that he let it get this far. That you somehow had sunk so deeply into him instead that keeping you was now a regular rotation in his fantasy. That fire fed and fanned by content he consumed on the internet. But there was always just a slight pause on maybe trying such on you. Maybe. Exhaling through his nose, Lawrence turns off the water and steps out of the shower. His brow is deep set in thought as he lazily towels off his pallid skin and blonde hair that falls over his shoulders limply still damp.

Dressing for bed, Lawrence dares to glance at his phone- he never gets notifications. Not really. Just from you. And today must be one of those nights that the stars just align, one message from you.

(Name): “Hey!! I have some news tomorrow!”

Lawrence’s brows furrow and lips press in a thin line, he’s not sure how to reply. If he should. But he wants to.

Lawrence: Okay.

Like most or any social interaction- not his best work. Not that you cared. It never stopped you at all or caught you off. Most might find him brusque and socially awkward, which wasn’t untrue. Lawrence doesn’t linger on the thoughts of what it could possibly be, it could be anything with you; infinitely more optimistic than himself. You found the silver linings in most things, took joy in the small victories or whathaveyou. Something he would possibly find overwhelming or even annoying but you seemed to broach him a way just so that it never…felt that way. Lawrence didn’t want to keep you at an arms length like he had the first handful of shifts where he’d nearly tried to avoid you. And now he craved you. You were sunlight, warm and necessary. You were nourishment Lawrence didn’t believe he needed. He was starved in ways that didn’t make sense.

Tugging on old, worn sweatpants, Lawrence crawls into his bed and tries to settle in and stares at the ceiling for a while before his breathing lulls into sleep. 

The next day, the next shift. Stars litter the sky and the moon hangs along them. The streets are mostly dead, the silent stillness of the parking lot of the warehouse is usually comforting but there’s an odd looming sense regarding your news and Lawrence doesn’t know why. Why his stomach turns and twists so strangely when he sees you eagerly wave him over as he pushes the heavy door open after a swipe from his employee badge.

“Hey, Law!” you greet, warmly as ever- you were probably the only one who forced themself to adapt to the lifestyle of working this shift and still function. Or function better than most of the other workers here. Granted it made sense to Lawrence, it was what he preferred though it never showed.

Lawrence gives a low hum of acknowledgement you had grown accustomed to as you met him halfway to walk to the lockers together. “You…mentioned you had news…?” After spinning the dial on his lock, those piercing baby blues turned to you, seeming to perk up at his voice addressing you.

You bite your lip in that way that makes him wish he could be one of your teeth. To feel the plush skin under pressure. Lawrence blinks before turning his focus back to your eyes. “Yeah! Yeah, I finally got a grown up job, heh…” You run a hand through your (length) (color) (type) hair, your grin faltering to something almost akin to nervousness or anxiety. Because all Lawrence can do is stare at you with a blank, unreadable expression. The silence hangs over heavy as you scuff your shoe on the floor.

“... you're quitting…?” It feels like he's choking it out but if he did, you didn't seem to notice. And he's grateful for it.

“Well, yeah, I mean…I gave my two weeks. It's just…I can't work here forever. It doesn't pay enough and I'm not exactly cut out for it long term.” You admit with a little bob of your head, glancing around the warehouse stacked with pallets and equipment. And it was true if Lawrence was being honest, you weren't as strong to continue this sort of labor for long without it doing something to your musculature or God forbid your beautiful bones. It was bad enough when you bruised.

“...oh.” There's an odd sort of thrum in his chest he can't discern, a tension that settles tight in too many places for his liking. Your sharp eyes seem to snap to him at the monosyllabic reply and soften. That look. Not of pity, just soft.

“But we can still text! Or meet up on off days! I'd like to check out that trail sometime, if you'd be down?” You're quick, so quick, to offer him the modicum of comfort. That you somehow, some way, want to be around him even when no longer coworkers. You were so odd. But it wasn't unwelcome. “But uh…I was gonna throw a little party. At my place with people from our shift. If you wanted to come.”

Lawrence raises a brow at that, it isn't a “no” (it would be for anyone else)but it's more of that confusion. He didn't do parties. He didn't do other people. Crowded spaces. Not without some sort of necessity or incentive tied to it. His pause seems to make you fidget. “I know it's not your thing, so don't feel you have to or anything. But it would really nice to have you there.” You uplilt your word with that hopeful tone.

He shifts on his feet, his eyes unable to hold your gaze. Honestly? He doesn't want to. He really doesn't want to. Lawrence shifts on his feet a little as if still chewing all of the information over. He didn't like any of it. Most of all your leaving. Your absence would be felt so deeply. Lawrence felt like had something, had someone, even on the humdrum shifts you shared. Be it normalcy, warmth, Lawrence didn't know. But he wasn't about to let it go. Let you go. He couldnt. You might be vines constricting around him, but Lawrence could be all the thistles, barbs, and thorns in the world of it kept you ensnared to him.

Sometimes the stars just aligned like that.

“But, like I said- I know it's not…”

“I'll come.”

You blink up at Lawrence, surprise stark on your face for just a moment at his definitive tone. It lingers before your lips curl into a toothy grin making his heart thud against his ribs. “Yeah? That's great. Really great.” You pull out your phone and tap on it few times before a buzzing comes from his pocket. “That's my address, it starts at seven but y'know…it's a party so show up whenever.” You shrug casually.

Lawrence glances to the side, racking his brain for a moment, thinking of what next, of what to do when he gets there- nevermind that it's days away. “Alright! Well, let's go kick this shift in the teeth!” You chime, clapping your hands together and wandering off to whatever task you were assigned and Lawrence slowly trailing after you.

×××

Relationships were complicated. People were complicated. Well…living people were complicated anyway. For the briefest moment Lawrence thinks back to his family, people that meant little to him in the grand scheme of things but whether he liked it or not was part of his building blocks. At least a little.Which brought a vague memory of a muffled voice from childhood, “We can’t go to a dinner party empty handed.” A few hours before Lawrence decided he would make his appearance, he stopped at the liquor store on the corner to bring a bottle of…fuck. What did you even like?? All you drank when you were together was whatever was at the vending machines, the convenience store, or tea. Lawrence stood near the door of the shop- bottles lined all over the shelves and walls. Advertisements of several brand plastered all over in bright colors or neons.

Augh.

Eventually Lawrence meanders over to the wine section, staring at the bottles blankly, drifting from label to label. White wine? Red wine? If you would even drink it. Dry? Semi? Sweet? It was alcohol for fuck’s sake, why did it have to be so complicated. With a shake of his head, frustration beginning to simmer in the pit of his stomach, Lawrence swipes a bottle of sweet red with a delicate looking label adorned in little gilded flowers. Maybe even if you didn’t like it, you would think it’s pretty. Or maybe you’d think he was weird, like most other people– no…no, that wasn’t true. It was you. None of his antisocial tendencies seemed to deter you or bother you, opposite; you’d been nothing but accommodating and patient with Lawrence.

Keeping his head down, Lawrence shoves a few bills at the unbothered clerk who bothers to spare him a second glance before he begins the trek to where your apartment is supposed to be. Gingerly stepping through the building, Lawrence lingers in the hallway probably a beat longer than necessary before rapping his knuckles against the door. His palms are sweaty as he cradles the bottle of wine and waits…and waits…he can hear the thrum of bass through the door, music playing paired with a few voices…by the sound of it, not to many people (thankfully) or so he hoped. Just as he debated leaving and tossing away any hopeful ideations, the door is abruptly pulled open to reveal you. In more casual clothes. A warm flush blooms beautifully over your cheeks that has his breath hitch ever so slightly.

“Law! Oh man, I was beginning to worry you weren’t gonna show up!” You lilt, posture so much more relaxed and…oh. Lawrence spies the red plastic cup in your hand, of course. It was a party. People drank. He brought a bottle that he’d almost forgotten about seeing you the way you were. The drunk blush on your cheeks looked ever so enticing. “C’mon, c’mon in!” You usher him in warmly and he can take in your apartment. Posters decorate the walls, well loved furniture, a small cozy kitchen…that same sweetened perfume that was so uniquely you seemed to seep into the very walls. Lawrence shuffles inside, keeping his eyes down, only sparing glances to the other coworkers mingling around your place. Some chatting, some playing video games you had set up on your television, others bobbing a little to the music.

Lawrence’s hands tighten around the bottle before looking up to you and awkwardly thrusting it towards you. “I…I didn’t know what to bring…If I should bring anything.” He admits, biting the inside of his cheek as you blink and accept it, looking it over.

“Huh? That’s real sweet of you, thanks Law! Wine, huh? Fancy. I’ve never really tried it.” You inspect it, but keep it carefully tucked in the crook of your arm, though before Lawrence can feel embarrassed about his actions you give a mischievous grin. “You’ll have to come over again and maybe try it with me, huh? Can’t drink alone.” You chime warmly before disappearing only briefly to tuck it safely in the kitchen so nobody thinks to open it. Something for just the two of you…it ignites a spark of hope that he allows himself to buoy on for comfort now that he’s vastly out of his element. You poke your head out of the kitchen, “You want something to drink? I can mix you something or uh…I’ve got water, soda, juice…” Lawrence takes the opportunity to follow you and the variety of beverages and snacks. 

Opting for water, Lawrence takes up post along one of your walls, simply watching you and everyone else. Time ticks on as his hands worry the label of the water bottle to shreds. The music feels too loud, he can feel the bass in his bones. Nobody but you really wants to talk to him, he’s spared a nod of acknowledgement or a brief greeting but nothing more- if anything people seem surprised to see him here at all. Lawrence swallows thickly and glances to the clock and moves to stand up and you seemingly appear out of nowhere. Your eyes seem to trace over his features, lingering on his face for a beat before you do that wonderful thing you do. Soften up. Relax. “Hey...I know this isn’t really your scene. It can probably be a lot huh? Here…my room is quieter, you can chill there for a bit maybe? Kinda decompress? I really…hah…I really don’t want you to go yet…if that’s okay?” The alcohol has you emboldened, your lips a little looser, your thoughts more apt to slip between them.

And a strange warmth is surging through his veins, he feels it in his own cheeks, feels his fingers twitch slightly before Lawrence finds himself nodding. Your hand slips in his smoothly, gently- and he’s tempted to flinch but instead he squeezes, carefully. True to your words, your room is notably quieter than the living room, the length of hallway giving a decent berth. You settle on your bed with a dramatic sigh and Lawrence almost shyly sits beside you, hands in his lap. “...I’m glad you came.” You admit as you fall onto your back on your duvet and tilt your head to look up at him. “Is it greedy I wanted to keep you a little longer? Just to myself?”

It’s not greedy.

You’re not greedy.

You’re perfect.

Lawrence swallows thickly, your words reverberating in his skull, echoing his same thoughts. You wanted what he wanted. He could only hope anyway but you said what he was thinking aloud. You made it real. You were real. “N-No..No I don’t think that about you.” Lawrence manages to mutter out and it makes that smile grow wider on your lips. Your hand reaches for his again, delicately, as your fingers trace his knuckles. 

“We could hangout more often, y’know. I meant it when I said I still wanted to see you even after I’m outta there.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever wanted to hang out around him, much less. Well beside that one friend he made online who seemed down to maybe talk in person. But they weren’t you. Nobody compared to you. The silence hangs for a moment but in the soft lighting of your room, your eyes roam over his face again before you push yourself to sit up again, shuffling a little closer to him that Lawrence can feel the warmth of your body next to his. “...is it okay if I…” You dip your head slightly, lashes fluttering to make a point of looking down at his lips before meeting his gaze again. Just barely, Lawrence shakes his head before you give a breathy little chuckle and press your lips to his, a hand raising to cradle his jawline. The light stubble there is felt against the soft, smooth skin of your palm. Your lips are plush and sweetened by whatever alcohol you’d been drinking before, slightly sticky and sweet that Lawrence savors before clumsily kissing you back. Pushing back against you perhaps with an eagerness you hadn’t anticipated that draws a soft sound from your throat. Lawrence swallows down your groan, wanting more, feel you more, taste you more, feel all that livelihood that seems to emanate from you.

The kiss grows, heat building as your arms string around his neck and hands tangle in his blonde hair as it falls messily from its elastic. Lawrence leans, arms circling around your waist, a soft grunt muffled against your lips as he dares to deepen the kiss, tongue tracing your lower lip before being granted. Being able to explore inside of your mouth before pressing you down into the mattress. He can feel every breath you take, the expanding and compression of your chest, the way your heart thrums against your chest- Lawrence swears he can hear your heartbeat. Or maybe it’s his own pounding in his hears. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is more. More. 

And you seem of the same mind. Your hands drift down to his hoodie, moving to push it off his shoulders and Lawrence awkwardly shrugs out of it, loathe to part from your lips even to breathe. With you on your back, his hands take the opportunity to roam, albeit shakily. Taking in every curve, noting the muscle and fat on your body- soft under his larger hands and so very warm. Lawrence could get lost in you endlessly. He wanted to. Parting only for a moment, his breathing ragged, you seem to waste no time as you greedily take in air while yanking your shirt up and over your head and reaching for the buttons of his plaid shirt. It isn’t long between the two of you, clumsy hands- some from alcohol and others from lack of real heated experience, before clothes are strewn over your floor and you and Lawrence are a tangle of limbs on your bed. His body cages you in, body anchored to you as he savors each sensation, each beautiful sound he’s able to pull from your lips, feeling the way your body moves and the way it works against his own. Lawrence reminds himself to be affectionate, what he was taught affection is supposed to look like through media consumption anyway, though with you it’s easier. It’s so lovely to kiss along your neck, feel you gasp and shudder, to feel your pulse flutter under his lips. “...feels…fuck…so good…” he groans lowly against your skin.

Lawrence can almost picture the expression on your face as you give a chime of laughter and dare to roll your hips against his own, feeling his erection straining against the cotton of his boxers in a very obvious tent. “It can feel better…I can make you feel better…” You croon softly and that’s the snap that breaks him. Pulling away so abruptly you look up at him owlishly, he shoves his boxers down his pale thighs, impulse and need overriding most if not all thought in this moment. The desperation that burned through Lawrence to feel you from the inside.You lift your hips accordingly as he paws at your underwear before they slip down your legs and carelessly discarded with everything else. Bare before each other, there’s the briefest moment between the way the two of you have been interlocked, drinking the other one in. Before Lawrence’s hands grip the meat of your hips and tugs you closer with a strength you usually thought was reserved for the warehouse, not that you minded. The feeling of his fingers digging into your skin, you certainly wouldn’t mind a little bruising if not more come morning.

“Just…Just stay still…Just let me…” He pants, his eyes clouded and glazed over, transfixed as he mumbles almost to himself and you arch your back just so to give him a better angle as one hand releases you to line his aching cock up to your sweet entrance.First he notches the bulbous head in and groans, chest heaving with every breath as you bite your lip with a soft whine- spurning him on, urging him to just push. And so he does, inch by inch, Lawrence spears you on his length and his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull. You feel divine; tight, wet, impossibly warm around him as you clench like a vice that his his hips already stutter the first time within you. Sweat already begins to bead his forehead as Lawrence’s jaw clenches- as tempting as it is, he couldn’t bear the embarrassment if he came undone within you so quickly. 

You keen below him, hushed little murmur of, “Please…fuck, Law…need you, please.” While resting your hands on his shoulders with a little squeeze, you don’t mean to rush him, really you don’t- but you’d wanted this, thought about this, more times than you cared to count. And with a little liquid courage in your veins, you finally fucking had it. Had him.

And surely, he begins to rock his hips. The push and pull between you growing as Lawrence begins to rut within you, rhythm building and pressure mounting as you buck your hips in kind, pushing him deeper until his cockhead nudged against that delicious spot within you that made your lashes flutter and moans spill from your lips. Ordinarily, Lawrence wasn’t one for much noise- but the music muffled anything beyond your door and these sounds were for him and him alone. Shouldering your legs over his shoulders, Lawrence picks up his pace and his hips snap against you, heavy balls wetly slapping against your ass that has you squeak until you relax some in his grip. It leaves you helpless, putty as he fucks you into the mattress with reckless abandon now- your headboard knocking against the wall with each brutal thrust as he moans and grunts above you. While the sight of your is ever enticing, something Lawrence wants to burn into the folds of his brain, the need to feel close to you wins as he hunches over, nearly folding you in two. Hands bracing on the bed as he buries his face in the crux of your neck and shoulder as he kisses along the skin, breathing hotly into your ear as he continues to pump his cock into you. “...close…so…need to feel you…so warm…so fucking good…” Lawrence babbles to you, drunk on the euphoria as he feels pleasure coil hot in his stomach, on the brink.

So close.

So close.

So close.

“L-Law…’m not…a-ah, oh fuck…!” You gasp and choke on your words as you’re pinned below him, bliss drawn over your flushed features as your brain struggles to send words to your mouth, “...’m not gonna last...just like that, like that…!” You encourage as he surges with renewed vigor. Lawrence wants, no, needs to feel you come undone around. What you feel like when overcome with pleasure, what you look like, all of it. He grits his teeth before finding better use for his mouth, latching onto your throat to suckle a deep mottled mark into your skin that has you nearly scream into the room before he claps a hand over your lips to muffle it as he feels you contract around him. Convulsing, throbbing, spasming all around him in a way that Lawrence shuddering as his engorged cock finally empties itself within you, the excess forming a creamy ring around the base of his shaft and dripping down the plush swell of your ass onto the duvet. Ragged huffs fan over the hickey now left into your skin as Lawrence gives a few more languid, shallow strokes to enjoy the lingering feeling of you tightly wrapped around him as you try to catch your breath with a few low sounds of complacency. Sated, Lawrence almost begrudgingly lowers your legs carefully and his piercing eyes look up at you- trying to gage if you might be disappointed or upset, but instead is met with a bleary, satisfied smile and a breathy chuckle.

“...fuck, Law. I knew you had in you.” You mutter playfully before resting your arm over your sweaty forehead and Lawrence can feel his lips quirk ever so slightly. Something akin to pride settling in him slightly, but he remains knelt between your legs as a silence settles over the pair of you and you raise your arm to peek at him. Wordlessly, you pat shift and shuffle, peeling back the blankets and patting the spot next to you.

“But…your party…?”

“I’m pretty sure people heard and I’m pretty sure they didn’t. What’re they gonna do? Rob me? I don’t have shit.” You chuckle, though Lawrence seems to give pause and glance to the door. His reluctance seems to sober you some as you sit up slightly. “Uh…unless you wanted to go.” You try to keep your tone steady not to betray the tinge of hurt that creeps in all the same.

“No…! No, that’s not what I want…uhm…” Lawrence awkwardly scoots off your bed and grabs his boxers to tug on padding to your door and opening it a crack, peeking and listening for any other life in your apartment. The music had since stopped and it was still silence.With the knowledge your apartment is now empty, Lawrence locks your door for you before returning into bed and you just smile. The simplest thing, as if this was normal. Maybe it was, Lawrence sure as fuck didn’t know what that was, but this was nice. This was beautiful. You were beautiful.

Slowly, he moves to the other side of the bed and slides in beside you. Lawrence has not slept next to another person, honestly it was never something he thought he would like but it feels like it’s both what you want and what is expected. And frankly- it could be worse. “...Can I…?” He shuffles under the blankets, swathed in your detergent and perfume, his frame shifts over yours and his head presses to your chest where he can hear the steady beat of your heart. The intrusive thought rings in through his head that he could have it, have that piece of you forever. Sealing this moment forever between the two of you...but he pushes it to the back of his head. No, another part of him didn’t want that- as tempting as it may be. If he took that part of you, this wouldn’t be possible. And Lawrence wanted this, whatever this may be, and more of it. More of you. Sex. Intimacy. The touch and warmth of another living being. It was odd, it was still something Lawrence was trying to make sense of. A way that this could remain but you might still be wholly his. All his. Only his.

Lawrence’s reverie is broken only by your arms encircling him and hugging him close to you, one hand carding through his hair to keep his head pressed to your chest as you hum in contentment. “Night, Law.” You mutter with an affectionate kiss to his head as you reach an arm out to turn off your lamp and succumb to sleep. Lawrence lingered awake a while longer, his nocturnal nature something he was grateful for as he relished in the soft breaths while you slept, how your heart slows, the sweet silence as he curls around your body and eventually, an hour or so after observing you, Lawrence sleeps as well.

Eventually sunlight dapples through your blinds, making Lawrence crinkle his nose slightly- he wasn’t accustomed to this. Not that he slept poorly necessarily, but it would take a day or so to get his circadian rhythm back. But it hadn’t been a waste as you groggily rouse beside him with a sleepy smile. “...Hey.” You greet warmly, throat still raspy from sleep as you push some of his bangs from his face. “You sleep okay?” Lawrence nods slowly, drinking in this vulnerable vision of you as you yawn and roll to look at him on your pillow. “You want breakfast or something?” You offer up with that languid smile and something akin to adoration lingering in your eyes, the afterglow looked all the more prepossessing on you. “I have some of that tea still that I brought you a few days ago.”

He pushes up to sit and chews his lip for a moment. Maybe a part of Lawrence had hoped. Had known. “Uh…actually I, uh…I brought some tea for you. I can make us some.” He replies slowly, shifting his gaze to look at you, testing your reaction, if you would find it odd that he brought something besides the wine.

“Aw! Yeah, I’d love that.” You grin and sit up as well, moving to tug fresh underwear on and a large shirt, “You know where the kitchen is, the kettle is on the stove. I’m just gonna freshen up quick.” And with that you disappear into the bathroom while Lawrence prepares you his own specialty brew. 

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Red light

A/n: she just sees you with your abusive ex-partner.

Eilish has millions of red exclamation points flashing in her head blinking barely every second, and blue eyes fixed on you like the frighteningly mighty and cold glaciers of the Arctic. The only thing that seems to calm her down even a little is Finneas' presence nearby and the feeling of weight on her own knees. It wasn't just the charming bouquet wrapped in scarlet kraft paper: Shark, sensing his mistress's excitement, rested his massive bulldog face on her legs for support.

"What fucking right does he have to approach her?" - the look of concern centered in her concern is replaced with a sizzling one, the moment she shifts her focus of attention to the male silhouette standing across from you. - "After everything he fucking did!"

Finneas exhales tensely, clasping his palms tighter on the steering wheel of his red Tesla: the eco-leather creaks slightly from the tension. Eilish, frankly, envies him, because the desire is now behind the wheel, and not in the passenger seat, is off the scale, reaching maximum values. Several scenarios of how she presses the gas pedal to the floor, heading for your ex, flash through her head. And no, she's not ashamed, none of you three are ashamed of it.

Billie is a small nuclear suitcase with enormous destructive power, and you're the only one who can handle her. As the O'Connells pull into a quiet residential neighborhood to pick you up and go to Claudia's house together, the figure of your ex looms around the corner, heading toward you. Billie was ready to jump out of the car almost as she goes, and she doesn't give a damn about the pavement or the passenger seat she's strapped into. She'll rip that seat right out of the car and put it on her back, just so she can run up to you as fast as she can and become your shield. He's a whole head taller than you and two heads taller than her? She don't care! Your gesture is the only thing that stops her: your open palm, held out in front of her for a quarter of a second, and your gaze, which resembles in its seriousness the sharp metal plate against which Eilish scratches his wrists in his sacrificial desire to protect you.

"I want to run him over, Finn."

"I know." - Her brother touches her shoulder, squeezing her slightly while Shark whines. Wise blue waters, concentrated in his eyes, are also watching you closely. - "Just let her figure it out for herself, and if something goes wrong, we'll step in right away."

"His fucking presence here is already something that's going wrong." - A deep exhale squeezes her chest, and a dark bandana squeezes head. She sees you ball your palms into fists, and he smirks cheekily. Fuck!

Your lips move, dropping the scalding words she's trying so hard to read onto the pavement, and your opponent winds up waving his arms in anger and poking you in the shoulder with his finger. Forcefully and sharply. Eilish genuinely enjoys, imagining his phalanges crunching under her hands from the exertion.

"I'm going to fuck him up!" - her blue eyes burst with stinging lightning, and her hand instantly touches the metal handle on the door. Shark, feeling the muscles in his mistress' legs contract, immediately retracts his muzzle, brave at her. His deep eyes look childishly trusting, waiting for any instructions.

Finneas unbuckled his seat belt, fumbling for the button with his long, musical fingers (the beige strip immediately slides into place by the mechanism), and then grabs his little sister around the waist with both hands, pinning her to the chair. The door of the red Tesla slams close.

"Fuck, Finn, that's just impossible!", - Eilish was boiling like a teapot.

"Don't, Billie! Chill out!"

"Why do I have to sit here when some asshole is harassing my girlfriend?" - she throws his hands off her but stays where she is. Elemental brotherly-sisterly respect. Finn pokes at the display in front of him and all four doors click shut, locking. Billie takes offense and that's still putting it mildly, but both are well aware of how impulsive Eilish is when differentiated into the merciless, unforgiving garb of anger.

Your posture is calm, but also tense: she can see how strain your back is and how the tendons play under the skin of your neck. The man is almost spitting in your face, loudly spewing all the bile he has accumulated. Billie can hear the word "whore!" blowing through the windshield with the warm breeze. She turned her head expectantly, and saw Finneas instantly mirror her own gaze: blue eyes filled with a gray sheen, reminiscent of geysers. Him excellent upbringing is making itself felt, and Billie clings to it with both hands, bowling her brother's cold mind.

"Would you put up with such a thing if it involved Claudia...?"

Finneas is silent, and his nostrils flare: sometimes too good a creative imagination becomes a punishment.

"No." - Coldly, and with a note of impending anger.

"So let me out, be a good brother." - The voice drops to a trance-inducing muffled wheezing.

He exhales, filling the silence hanging over them in the moment. A chest heaves the floor of his white t-shirt, and his hands while face covers exhaustedly, when he weighing his options. Eilish knows he'll never let her down, so she watches calmly, even though everything in her stomach turns over with burning tension. The soles of her high jordans tap out a rhythm, trying to tame the impatience.

"Just don't make a mess of things, please, Bils." - His earnest, confiding plea.

The doors click muffled again. It's open. Kindred blueness meets for a second: her mute and sincere 'thank you', confirming his expectations, is legitimized by his nod. The red hair ravels beautifully in the sun.

And as soon as Billie has one foot on the sun-hot asphalt, you turn your head in her direction: the steel of your gaze meets her anxious seas. She freezes, clinging to the open door as Shark comes down with an amused tinkle of his claws. "Paparazzi," she reads from the curve of your lips before your nose meets head-on with the man's fist.

Eilish's mind was blown, and she seemed to forget for a moment how to breathe, even though she'd been doing it for twenty-two years without a break. Her eyes gleam a deadly murky sapphire, and her eyebrows converge on the bridge of her nose in a torn, streaky stroke of ink on paper, heralding infernal retribution. Now your words of warning carry no weight with her. Finneas is like a tall, graceful pillar, leaping out of the parlor in one merged motion. Running toward you with clenched fists, driven by a sense of righteous anger.

"Protect!" - Eilish's loud voice shakes the heat of the street and the pit bull snaps out of his seat, growling menacingly. - "Protect!"

She runs towards you and the pendants make a silvery clinking noise around her neck. She outruns everyone: her brother, her thoughts of consequences and reputation. It's now completely colorless and unimportant, the only thing ahead of her is the faithful gray dog that lives up to its name. The gray powerful back flickers, cutting through the air like a shark through the water. You only clumsily dodge another powerful blow, falling to the asphalt by inertia: the palm of your hand burns with the lingering pain of contact with the ground, revealing a thin bloody web, and your nose buzzes disgustingly. The dripping blood settles on your lips with a metallic taste as you squint, either from the pain or from the blinding sun, shielding yourself with healthy hand from another incoming blow.

You're the lord of the whole little army. Billie immediately snuggles you in his arms, diving almost bare-kneed onto the pavement with the ease of a phoenix; Finneas stands immovably across from you, covering you both with his broad back, looking like a vengeful archangel in his white T-shirt; Shark, like the devil from the snuffbox, who has caught hold of your ex-boyfriend's long pant and pulls the hard material toward him with a growl. The man shrieks, and all this three pairs of blue eyes give him a punishing coldness that gives him no hint of mercy.

"With me." - her strong voice excites you, giving you an adrenaline rush. The gray pit bull abruptly lets go of the cloth (causing the guy to almost lose his balance) and obediently sits down next to her, snorting.

"You Hollywood rich guys sticking up for that slu..."

"You shut your damn mouth now!" - Finneas stiffly cuts him off halfheartedly.

Billie rises slowly and strides toward them with such haughty superiority and a smirk that somewhere a whole cast of movie villains are weeping at their insignificance. Small, but so majestic. She abruptly grabs the guy by the collar of his solid-colored shirt, bending him almost in half: now she looks him straight in the eyes without raising her head a millimeter. The cold splinters in her eyes make a warning noise like a rattle on a rattlesnake's tail, making her "victim" almost whimper like a Yorkshire terrier.

"You come near her again, I'll wipe you out. Knuckle by knuckle, you understand?"

"You have no proof, I can turn it against you!" - his voice reminds you of the pathetic bleating of a lousy sheep.

And you laugh, literally sink into laughing, smearing the blood on your face with your fist. Everyone turns to look at you, but all you do is throw your head up in a fit of laughter. A smirk smeared with blood is your best accessory.

"You've remained a complete idiot! Did it never occur to you that you started to sort things out right in front of a lot of video cameras?"

You nod your head at the wooden courtyards one by one, and the man's confidence shatters. Finneas smiles contentedly, Billie immediately realizes the source of your confidence, immediately comparing the details of your scheme. And how sweet revenge becomes! Eilish pulls him back on top of him, regaining eye contact. The blue maelstrom halves him, spitting him out instantly. Her uber-confident smirk is the final chord on his microscopic dignity

"So I repeat - get out of here, you pathetic puppy!"

Shark barked contentedly.

×××

The four of you arrive at Claudia's house right after your visit to the hospital. Once they're all in the living room together, Billie doesn't let go of you for a second, hugging you defensively from behind and just sucking in your scent with her nose, nuzzling into your shoulder, neck, hair, whatever.

"I was so worried about you, underdog..." - the whisper burns the curl of your ear as you try to gently touch your slightly swollen nose with your fingers, oohing. A bruise, and that's glorious. Much better than a possible fracture. - "I'm not going anywhere from you now, ever."

"Billie," - you turn to face her, kissing the chiseled line of her jaw. The tip of your nose touches her neck, and you squeeze your eyes shut, multicolored sparks of pain scattering before your eyes. She immediately pulls away from you slightly, gently touching her palms to your face. - "You, Finn, and Shark are my best protectors."

"Careful, my girl."

You feel warmth and a slight tickle as she strokes your cheekbones with her thumbs. The previously restless blue eyes are now like a calm marina.

You giggle, and you're not entirely sure why, whether it's because of a silly thought or because Shark, who's lying next to you on the couch, grunted loudly in his sleep.

"Did I look like you in the 'bad guy' music video? You know, with all that blood on my face..."

Eilish chuckles, brings your healthy hand to her lips and bestows a flock of little kisses on each knuckle. You want to purr.

"Very similar."

And you smack her on the lips, rewarding her for every second she spent tense, watching you. You don't care if your nose hurts. It'll heal.

[etherealily]

​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇳​​🇪​ // 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘪 𝘷𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘺

Alexei Vronsky + fem!reader

Warnings : Cuss words.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

'Cross that line for me, sweetheart?'

Desc. : You are not a temptress, but he is tempted.

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

It was curious, to say the least, how land was divided. The conch next to you was half your property and half the Vronsky estate's property. It had remained that way for ages.

The waves lapped up the sand, like a heart reaching desperately for its other half as you sat watching the entire ordeal.

The Line - one drawn up every morning and marked by tiny flags as placeholders - had always pissed you off. Intrigued you. What would happen if you were to... just a finger? The hem of your dress. Would you immediately be shot at by concealed snipers? Perhaps you'd have to be tried in court.

You had never really noticed much about this Vronsky character before. Another handsome, manipulative bastard. Nothing much.

In turn, he'd also never noticed you. A face. One of many. Beautiful, of course, he was not blind, but never seen as worthy of his efforts. You were not rebellious. You were not adorably innocent. He could not entice you. He could not corrupt you.

In theory, your paths were never to cross. Different lives, same circles.

The key word : theory.

Because there are moments in life when you know that nothing will ever be the same again, when you know that your proverbial pathway is forever skewed and rerouted. These may appear to you embossed in calamities such as loss and grief, or these may be whispered in your ear by silent smiles, lovestruck looks across a ballroom, or the simple offer of champagne.

Or, in the case of you and Alexei Vronsky, all of the above.

And this was one of those torturous, life-altering moments.

"-And that's when I said, it was just a bloody goat !"

Booming, drunken laughter ensued from your left - the other side of the Line. Fuck. Keep drawing, shut up, keep drawing, shut up.

Your pencil made unintelligible sounds as it scratched out a somewhat passable depiction of the moonlit waves. The screams and guffaws grew louder, but the issue was that if you moved, he'd assume you did it because you were on his side. You were not, but it would look highly suspicious if you fled.

No. They'd quietened down. Meaning either they left - highly unlikely - or, they'd noticed you.

"Oi!"

Don't respond, don't respond.

"You! Pretty girl!"

Drunk men are terrifying. How could such kind words be said in a way that made your skin crawl?

"Mate, maybe she's a mute. Or deaf. Or both."

"I know for a fact she's not. She's got quite a mouth on her, as I can remember from last year- HEY! LADY WITH THE SKETCHBOOK!"

And that was Alexei Vronsky. His story with the goat had ended, apparently. Ugh.

You turned. "Uh, hello."

"ARE YOU A MUTE?" his companion yelled.

"Are you daft? She just answered! How could she be mute?"

Drunk men are also idiotic.

"WHY DON'T YOU COME ON OVER HERE, WE'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO DRAW?"

Bellowing laughter followed.

For fuck's sake.

"I'm alright, THANKS!"

"OI, C'MON! WE DON'T BITE!"

From what you'd heard, he does.

"IS IT 'CAUSE OF THAT LINE?"

"Good night, Count Vronsky.", you called back, as you gathered up your things and stood, dusting the sand off your dress.

"HOLD ON! WAIT!"

"Let'r go, mate, c'mon, we've got a party to get back to."

"I WAS JUST BEING NEIGHBOURLY, YOU BITCH!"

FUCKING HELL.

"What did you just call me?!", you yelled, turning. He looked back at you in a swaying, inebriated haze, trying to focus those glaciers he called eyes on yours in the darkness.

"A witch. You've cast a spell on me, bewitched me, so to speak. You're magic."

Ugh. "Whatever."

"Just come over here, or I'll have to come there, and you wouldn't like that.", he slurred, his friends chortling and egging him on.

Buggering Christ.

"You can't. See?", you replied defiantly, pointing deliberately at the faint white outline of the line they renewed every morning with chalk powder. "That would be trespassing."

"I'm Alexei Vronsky."

What was that supposed to mean?

"So? It's still trespassing. My family's had it in for you for a long time - we'll take you to court."

"Then you come here.", he shrugged, taking an unstable stumble closer. "Cross that line for me, sweetheart? Yeah?"

"You're a creep. And you're drunk."

"You're a beauty. And you're technically trespassing, so I need to punish you."

"HOW am I-"

"Your pencil." Fuck. How is it he's sober enough to notice that, but not sober enough to know that his buddy said 'the coat storage' not 'the goat story'?

"It blew in the wind."

"Yes. To my estate."

"You can keep it."

"Are you sure? Isn't this your, uh, fabulous pencil from Paris you were talking of?"

"No." Yes.

"No?", he frowned, picking it up. NO! Not in his grimy, disgustingly delicate fingers. "Seems pretty French to me."

"Are you actually inebriated or do you simply enjoy pretending to be so that you can get away with things?"

He stopped swaying, pointing the pencil in your direction as he placed the other hand behind his back. "You're sharp."

"So you're sober?"

Drunk Vronsky could have been molded. Sober Vronsky was a cunt.

"More or less. My friends feel left out because they are unable to hold their liquor as well as I can, so I act for them.", he explained, with a small look behind him, at his comrades trying to jump over the waves as they came.

"You should be in theatre, then."

"Adding performer to my resume is just a smidge too over-accomplished.", he retorted, an amused glint in his eye.

Ugh.

"So you're going to hold on to my pencil, then, I'm guessing."

"What? No, I know how much this means to you."

Trap. You'd bet your entire estate it was a trap.

"I will give it back.", he continued as he paced, his hand still placed behind his back as though he were planning war strategies. "On one condition."

See? Trap.

"Dinner. With me. Tomorrow."

Did he think this was a smart way to secure an evening with a woman?

"I won't be here tomorrow." Bold-faced lie, and he could tell.

"Then tonight. Right now." You couldn't think of anything you were doing.

"And I'll get my pencil back."

"Yes."

"That can't be it. There's a catch."

"You are... remarkable. Yes. There is.", he whispered, softly, as though impressed that you caught on. "Champagne. I wish to see you drunk. Drunk, in denial and... ruined."

Lot of darkness for someone who'd just been talking about a goat.

"In denial?"

"Nothing. Just... join me for dinner and drink a little, and I promise you shall have your pencil back."

"I do not drink."

"Then I do not return fancy French pencils."

"I can always purchase another."

"You do not have sentimentality, then?"

"No." Yes.

"I see. Then you may be on your way."

"I don't have to go anywhere. I have every right to be here! This is still my side of The Line."

"Suit yourself, darling."

The silence that followed was torturous and unbearable. "I do not like steak."

"Then you shall have no steak."

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

His eyes focused on you from across the table, his spoon paused midway above his plate. Eyes like the ocean in a storm. Terrifying but alluring.

"Enjoying your not-steak?"

You hid a smile. "Yes, I am."

He nodded, bringing his spoon up to his lips as he watched you do the same.

"You've left your friends out there?"

"They know not to cross The Line. They will be alright."

"Why is it you wanted to have dinner with me? To trap me into trespassing?"

"I've wanted to speak with you since I first saw you." Lie.

"And I you." Lie.

"What was it you wished to say?"

"Simply a greeting. You?"

"The same."

He set down his spoon, scrunching up his napkin as he stood up and walked the short distance across the table to you, resting his hands on the back of your chair. "You promised you'd drink."

"I did?"

"You did.", he whispers, accepting the newly-uncorked bottle the servant handed him, and pouring it into the glass next to your plate, smoothly. "And you're a good girl who keeps promises, yes?"

You'd heard he loved using such degrading language, but this was the first time you'd seen it firsthand.

"What gave you that idea?"

"I just figured you were of proper breeding and were raised right."

Good answer.

"Well, the words 'I promise' never left my mouth."

"Well-bred women do not look for loopholes. And they most certainly do not argue."

Lord knows where he'd worked up the audacity to brush some hair off your shoulder, but perhaps he was born with it imbibed in his blood.

He narrowed his eyes at your unchanging expression. "Drink."

"I am not done with my food."

He breathes out loudly, taking your plate and thrusting it into the hands of the nearest servant. "Yes, you are."

"I still have dessert."

"No, you don't. Drink."

"This is not champagne. You said champagne."

"And you said you'd drink. We both have uttered falsities. Drink."

"I fear you may be trying to-"

"Poison you? I am not. I would not like to see you die."

Was that supposed to be some form of assurance? Romantic? Caring? That did not have the intended effect.

"Drink, lovely."

It irked you how invested he was to see you drunk.

You wrapped your fingers around the glass, bringing it to your lips. Tilting it upwards, you let the liquor cascade down your throat, and echoes of your sputtering filled the room - it burned.

He laughed heartily, shaking his head as he stroked your shoulder from behind you. "Do you know what that was?"

"No. But I do know I will not take another sip."

"It was vodka, my dear, and in a few moments, you will want more. Trust me."

"I'm not taking another sip of that ghastly liquid!"

"Not even for me? Not even if I begged?"

"You think your begging has any effect on me?"

"Doesn't it? I'm known to be quite persuasive, and- besides, aren't you supposed to be the empathetic one in the family?"

"And where did you hear that?"

"Just about everywhere, really.", he huffed, resting his elbow on the table as he knelt down by your side. "'Y/N is the nicest one. She cares the most. Empathetic.' Surely you are not telling me those are lies?"

"Not lies, but exaggerations, perhaps."

"I am quite literally on my knees, Y/N, and you should realize how rare that is. Drink more or I will have to force you."

You frowned at him.

"I will do it. Force you. Don't think that because I have let you in my house so courteously that I will continue to be a gentleman with you."

"How could you be? You're nothing but a cad.", you scoffed, as you took another stingingly painful gulp.

He watched the glass, your tongue, your throat, almost mesmerized as he replied. "A cad?", he questioned softly, amused but still fascinated by your every movement.

"A cad.", you nodded, trying not to show how much you were gasping for breath. It hurt, satisfyingly.

"That's a first. No one has ever said 'oh, Alexei Vronsky, that cad'.", he murmured against his palm as he observed you meticulously.

"Then they have met a different person."

"You say this out of personal experience, do you?"

"I've met him. The Alexei Vronsky. He only thinks of one thing."

A lilt of his lips. "And that is?"

"Himself."

He concealed a grin.

"Or perhaps...", he mused, fingertips on the back of your neck as though he were playing your skin as one would a piano. "He is one who shows different versions of himself to different people."

"So he is deceitful."

"I'd say careful."

"Would you, now?"

"I think we put up far too many false pretences anyway. No point in fighting it - it is necessary, to be part of society."

"And what false pretences am I putting up, in your expert opinion?"

He smiled, one too pure to match the description you had so harshly delivered a moment before, but you knew more than most that it was a ruse. "Drink more."

"You're an incredibly demanding man, aren't you? Dine with me. Drink more. Not a single please, nor thank you.", you retorted, as though that could take away from the fact that you obeyed.

"When you are incredibly in demand, you learn to be incredibly demanding."

If ever a smoother talker existed, you'd wager he'd simply be Alexei Vronsky in disguise.

"So tell me, then. Are you a gentleman, a cad, or an opportunist, Count Vronsky?"

You had to steer the conversation back to him, because whatever this vilely beguiling liquor was, it was shooting through your veins at a rate too fast to risk talking about yourself, lest any family secrets spilled out.

"I am whatever you want me to be. And you? Are the rumours true? Are you a virgin, a temptress, or a genius?"

"I am whatever I want to be. For tonight."

"Come morning?", he murmured against your neck as he slipped a finger under a loose strand of hair, and twirled it with such dedication you would think that were his only purpose in life.

"A memory."

"Well, we can't have that.", he pouted, as he stood up, gently taking the glass away from you and finishing the last of it. "What does it take for a memory to stay in the present?"

"Vronsky-"

"A dance, perhaps, as they say you enjoy?"

If you weren't unsure of the functionality of your motor skills in your drunken haze, you'd have punched him right then and there.

"The rumours aren't true, you know?"

"What rumours?", he asked, feigning obliviousness.

He'd just spoken of them, but you were quite sure if you reminded him, he'd attribute it to the vodka. Tell you you were 'surely imagining things, dear one'.

"The ones that led you to come and have a go at me."

"Those? Oh, I didn't believe them for a second.", he grinned, his eyes examining the filthiest, most remote parts of your soul - ones that even you had never been privy to.

A moment washed over the both of you, tauntingly. You looked for any secrets in his eyes, and he looked for any in yours, albeit, more calmly than you.

"Come.", he mumbled, finally, offering his hand for you to get up out of his disgustingly well-crafted chair. "Let's get you back on your side of The Line."

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

"There. Oh, and here. I am of proper manners.", he added after you'd leapt over The Line, handing your pencil back over to you.

It felt oddly anticlimactic after the events of the evening.

His icy blue eyes - striking, so striking that they pierced you - fell onto your lips for just a moment before landing on the pencil in your hand. "You don't want it back."

"What? Of course I do."

He had you. He was onto you.

"Let me rephrase. You don't need it back."

"Sentimentality. Of course I do."

"You really don't want it to stay in my possession, instead?"

"No."

"Liar.", he smirked, his lips curving deliciously, and you just about lost it. "You know I'll take very good care of it, no? Like I took care of you, tonight. No complaints, yes?"

"Besides the aggressive persuasion to drink a fiery liquid that most probably burnt my throat off, no."

"You exaggerate. Tell me tonight was just another of your dull nights. Tell me I haven't been a source of reprieve from your tedious, mundane days of fakeness and gossip."

You scoffed, refusing to dignify that with a reply, although you already knew that any response- or lack thereof - would be all too telling.

"You cannot, can you?"

There was nothing you hated more than when men were right.

Especially men who were as captivating as Vronsky. It was unnecessary and dangerous.

He beamed, clearly so fucking proud of himself, as he looked out at the waves. "It is a lovely dress you are wearing."

No, it wasn't. It was the most commonplace of dresses one could wear. But he'd say it anyway. Because that was his play.

"Thank you."

"It is disgusting, though."

"In what way? A disgusting display of my wealth, or disgustingly lovely?"

He knelt down next to you from the other side, on the sand. "It is disgusting that such beauty and purity like yours can exist and people continue to slander its name."

Had you been a lesser woman, you'd have fallen for it.

It seemed, however, that he knew you wouldn't. It was confusing, to say the least, whether he was being genuine or being genuinely fake.

"It is how I live."

If you'd read him right, he should say something along the lines of...

"It shouldn't be."

There.

"However... the dress in itself is not disgusting?"

"No, it is spectacular- although, I must say, the woman wearing it is far more ravishing."

Games get boring when they are predictable.

"So. What is it you normally do after parties, since you cannot get drunk? Unless blackmailing women to dine with you and drink your vodka is your usual pastime."

He snickered, although a slight maliciousness infiltrated his gaze for a moment. "It isn't so much a pastime as... an unfortunately common occurence. Perhaps that's why you've got an opinion of me as a - how'd you put it?"

"A cad."

"Ah, yes, a cad. I wonder if your opinion has changed."

That was not hope in his eyes, no. That was a challenge. 'Go ahead, Y/N, say no. If you dare.', his look said.

"I wonder that, too. Perhaps it will if you keep your promise."

"Promise?", he repeated, raising a brow. He knew. He knew all too well what you were saying.

"False pretences.", you reminded, watching him as he watched the waves distort the light of the moon. "You said you would tell me what false pretences you think I put up."

He was far too close. The incredibly fragile, entirely imaginary Line wouldn't be able to stop him from reaching over and touching your shoulder once more.

"I think... do you want to know what I think?"

"I might."

"I think that you're lying when you brush off the rumours."

"You think I am a slut? A temptress?" Now, suddenly, the monotonous nature of everyday seemed far more interesting than the thousandth iteration of the same conversation.

"No, I think you brushing them off is the lie. They affect you far too much." Alright. That was... progress.

"Do they, now?"

"Very much. And there is one more, as well, although I doubt you will like to hear it. You crave to prove them right."

Congratulations, Alexei Vronsky, you've caught my attention.

"That is an extremely, extremely bold suggestion."

"Yet you are not denying it."

"I do not wish to have my virtue questioned, Vronsky, and us having dinner does not change that."

"But it pokes at it, does it not? A slight scratch, an itch, asking if that is what you really want. It blurred the lines, did it not?"

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"You're an incredibly delusional man, Count Vronsky."

"A delusional cad."

"Precisely."

You didn't miss the amusement in his tone, the laughter, the way he knew how perfectly right he was.

"Well, this delusional cad did not lie, earlier. You truly have bewitched me, my dear, and I do not think I shall ever turn you down."

He stood up, dusting the sand off his gloves and pants. You stood up too, not out of respect, but out of the desire to relish his face once more.

"Turn me down?"

"When you inevitably ask for me when your marriage is dry, lifeless and torturous."

Good lord. How long had he been- how far ahead was he thinking?

"I will be right here. On this side."

"Why are you so adamant that my marriage will be-"

"Because I'm the one you need. You've broken quite literally every rule tonight. Crossed the line, fraternized with the enemy, drank unfamiliar alcohol that could so easily have been poisoned or used against you."

"How does that make you the one I-"

"I'm taking you out of your comfort zone. Freeing you. What more would one want from a lover?"

So casual with that word. Lover. As though that was all you two had been, since the beginning.

"Have I mentioned that you're-"

"Delusional? Yes, you have. But you have also yet to mean it."

Who the hell allowed this man to be so confident?

His thumb rubbed against your cheek in pure tenderness that you are well-prepared for - you've learnt over the years he's unpredictable, and since his mercurial nature was the only predictable thing about him, it was easy for you to guess his next move.

Or at least, figure out that it would be the exact opposite of the tone of his words.

"I can help you, you see?", he said, words so faint they were almost whisked away in the sea breeze. "Honest."

"Was that the point of tonight?"

"No, the point of tonight was to get you so utterly inebriated that you would tell me your family's secrets, and hence, your own."

That was the only thing that had come out of his mouth all night that you could guarantee was the truth.

"And since that did not happen, you are doing this?"

"No, I couldn't let that happen. Unwrapping you, figuring you out, it is far too intriguing a task to complete with a glass of vodka and enticing words. I want to spend years, decades, the rest of my life, performing this task, revealing you slowly and addictively, until I have lost myself or driven myself crazy trying to reach the core of your soul."

The silence kissed you two over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. "You are terrifyingly good at this."

He almost looked like he was about to say 'at what', but it seemed his mood had turned too serious to coax a half-hearted insult out of you.

"And you are terrifying. You are like the eye of a storm, intricately, almost... sinisterly drawing me closer."

"I'm not sure what you want me to-"

His lips devoured your words, and you could not help but think that this night had progressed far too rapidly to your liking. He was a stranger, a random man who you shared nothing but a flimsy little line with, but here you were, letting him kiss you, letting him ruin you, letting him convince you with his words that this was a good idea.

"Come on, darling.", he murmured against your lips, his eyes still half-lidded in a triumphant haze. "Cross the line. I promise, I'll take care of you."

You surrendered, and all you could do was hope that his beauty was simply angelic in nature, and was not designed for the sole purpose of ruining you and every iota of self-respect you had.

Hard to tell, but perhaps he had meant it that way.

[ebongawk]

the first time chrissy breaks smth at the trailer, maybe one of wayne’s mugs or smth, she’s spiraling like it’s the end of the world while eddie is like ???? baby things break all the time is this what living at the cunninghams is like

Crash!

Eddie jumped to his feet, snuffing his half-smoked cigarette and tripping over their hastily discarded clothes to grab boxers and rush toward the kitchen. Chrissy had just gotten up, pulling on his t-shirt with a shy smile over her shoulder after saying she wanted a glass of water. Eddie offered to get it (especially since her knees didn't seem to, uh, want to work properly, not that he was being particularly smug about that) but Chrissy insisted that she needed to stretch her legs.

Swinging around the doorway to the kitchen, he found Chrissy standing in the middle of the floor surrounded by tiny shrapnel shards of a mug. Sharp little landmines just waiting to dig into unsuspecting toes.

"Ah, shit," Eddie breathed, trying to assess the best path to her. "Don't–– Don't move, sweetness, one second, let me––"

He rushed into the living room before she could respond, yanking his Reeboks on and nearly falling on his ass when he tried to jump up too quickly. Laughing at himself, he walked back into the kitchen, trying to avoid the bulk of the ceramic and cringing at every slight crunch under his soles. Chrissy hadn't moved, her eyes down like she, too, was searching for a pathway among the mess.

"Alright, uh, just––" He hoisted her easily into his arms, protecting her bare feet by carrying her like Princess Buttercup through the fire swamp. Depositing her in the hallway, Eddie ducked past her, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the pantry. "Lemme clean this up, alright? You can, uh, go back to the bedroom if you want? I'll bring you some water."

Chrissy didn't look at him. She kept her eyes down, and Eddie followed her gaze, searching her skin for any small cuts he hadn't noticed.

"Fuck, baby, you alright?" he asked, crouching down by her legs, rapt eyes searching for specks of blood. He carefully lifted one foot, making sure her heel was intact before setting it down and inspecting the other. He looked up at her, wrapping his hands loosely around her knees. "Are you hurt?"

Chrissy still wasn't looking at him when she shook her head. Eyes shut tight, head turned resolutely away from him as Eddie slowly rose to standing. His palms climbed from her knees to her hips to her waist on the way up, and he squeezed gently.

"C'mon," he said softly, not quite understanding what was happening but hoping he sounded reassuring. Urging her back a step, he eased her into turning toward his bedroom. "Go sit, yeah? I'll be back in a minute."

Still silent, Chrissy turned and practically ran back into the bedroom. Eddie blinked after her for a moment before turning to the task at hand, grabbing the broom and carefully sweeping up the debris. Making sure to get all the corners under the cabinets to avoid any later mishaps.

He threw the pieces into a paper food bag before throwing them in the garbage to hopefully prevent anything from piercing the plastic. Smacking his shoes a couple of times over the can, he tossed those aside before grabbing another mug of water and walking back into his bedroom to see if Chrissy was okay.

She was dressed in her own clothes, quietly gathering up her belongings and folding them back into her overnight bag. Eddie stopped, feeling his heart seize in his chest. Ice slithered up his back, cold tendrils like fingers wrapping around his spine and holding him in place for a long, breathless moment.

Was she leaving?

"Chrissy?"

Back to him, Chrissy froze, her makeup bag hovered over her backpack.

"I'll, um," she began, her voice thick. Clearing her throat a little, she tried again. "I can, um, drop some money off for the mug later."

What?

"What?" Eddie asked, trying to shake off the glaciers wrapped around his ankles with a cautious step toward her. "Why would you do that? Baby, it's just a mug. Dunno if you noticed but, uh, Wayne has about a million of them."

"But I––" Her voice was heavy with tears. Whirling around, Chrissy dropped the makeup bag in her hand to the floor, looking up at Eddie for the first time as tears spilled down her cheeks. "But I broke it, Eddie. I was careless and I dropped it. I-I didn't mean to, I swear, I just––"

"Whoa, hey, hey." Breaking out of his hesitation, Eddie crossed the room, gently cupping her cheeks in his hands and wiping her tears away. She met his gaze, her big blue eyes swimming. A storm settling over the ocean. "Sweetness, it's okay. It's just a mug. I'm just happy you're not hurt, alright?"

"B-B-But you even offered to get it, and––"

"And it doesn't matter," he insisted, ducking to grab her attention when her eyes wandered away in shame. "I couldn't give less of a fuck about a broken mug if I tried, okay? It's just a mug."

Collapsing against his chest, Chrissy took in a hitched breath and let out a great sob. Eddie held her close, letting her cry her upset into his bare skin. One hand wrapped around her waist and the other buried in her hair. She clutched at him, fingers digging into his back like she was terrified he was going to change his mind and decide he was angry.

What in the fuck went on at the Cunningham household that would make her respond like this?

After about a minute, her cries quieted, though her shoulders still trembled against him. Eddie kissed her temple, lips tracking down to her cheek before he pulled back far enough to wipe the remainder of her tears away.

"Will Wayne be mad?" she asked, her voice small and her eyes so terribly scared.

"Nah," Eddie reassured her. "Wayne probably won't even notice it's missing."

Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say. Her face crumpled, eyes filling all over again.

"We have to tell him!" Chrissy cried. "W-We can't hide it, Eddie, what if he finds out and gets even more mad––"

"Hey," Eddie cooed softly, trying to keep his voice from quavering with the anger that suddenly surged. Not at her, of course, never at her, but what the fuck was wrong with her family? "We'll tell him, yeah? But I swear, baby, he's not gonna be mad. It's just a thing." Gently urging her chin back, Eddie looked her directly in the eye when he said, "Things break all the time. That's a fact of, like, general product ownership."

"But," Chrissy whispered, falling back into his chest. "But what about the set?"

"Uh. What?"

"The set. The set of mugs. It'll be incomplete now." She looked at him again. "Do you know where I can buy a replacement?"

Eddie blinked at her. "I'm, uh, pretty sure that was, like, a novelty mug he got at a truck stop. It's not part of a set."

Her bottom lip warbled. "So it was important to him? A memory?"

"God, Chrissy, no," Eddie couldn't help it – he had to laugh a little. Gently, he eased her down onto the bed, sitting beside her and pulling her halfway across his lap. "And even if it was? It's not important enough to throw a fit over if it gets broken. It's just stuff, baby, they're just things." He shook his head, resting his chin on her crown when she snuggled into him. "You can't own stuff without expecting to lose or break it, that's not how accidents work. I've broken probably two dozen mugs in my lifetime."

Her voice was so, so incredibly small when she asked, "So you don't want me to leave?"

"Baby, you can stay the rest of your life if you want," Eddie vowed, his voice laced in jest but meaning every goddamn word. "Or, y'know, just until we get the hell out of this town."

He felt the slight curl of her smile where her cheek was pressed over his heart. Wondering if she could hear the new uptick through the wall of his chest.

"I-I'm sorry. I just... I didn't want you to yell at me."

Taking a slow, deep breath, Eddie closed his eyes to keep from cussing out the phantom of Chrissy's mother that seemed to have its claws stuck into Chrissy's brain.

"Listen, I am never going to yell at you," Eddie promised. Letting his fingertips drift up and down the length of her spine. Giving her hip a soft squeeze with every pass. "And if I do? You have my express permission to hit me."

"Eddie––"

"I can't promise I won't like it, though."

"God," she snorted, falling into a fit of giggles. After a moment, she let out a deep breath, the warmth of her anxieties bleeding across his skin as she exhaled them from her bones. "Thank you for being so good, Eddie."

His scalp prickled in pleasure at her compliment. Forehead falling against her crown, Eddie took his own shaky breath in, slowly breathing out as he pulled her even closer.

"Shit, sweetness, for you? Anything."

[quietthoughtsandmusings]

Desperate Desires

I'm having too much fun with this so here is part 2 of Depth of Devotion from the readers POV.

Minors DO NOT INTERACT.

Mentions of female anatomy.

Art is from @k_yodaka_02 on Twitter

You were brooding on the couch. Your already horrible day was made only the better when your grocery bag ripped sending all your purchased wares scattering across the floor. You wanted to tear your hair out and break down right at that moment, you were overwhelmed and certainly overstimulated. You begin to pick up the fresh produce from the floor cursing each one when your behemoth of a neighbor, arms full of peppers and your restock of lotion approaches you. You look up at him and there is Adonis himself. The first thing you always notice is his eyes. Beautiful crystalline blue, the color of glaciers. Deep set and piercing, bordered with long blonde lashes. Aquamarine set in gold. Who gave him those eyes? He was absurdly handsome with his chiseled jawline, full lips, long romanesque nose that is slightly crooked to the left like it was broken at some point, short choppy auburn hair. Did he cut it himself? You wonder until suddenly you become aware that you were probably staring silently for a little too long and he's speaking to you. German, It's not pronounced but subtle. “Here,” he says holding out his arms towards you, “happens to me all the time.” He offers a sympathetic crooked smile. You huff and grab your things from his arms shoving them in what was left of the broken bag. Cheeks flushed from embarrassment and frustration. “Thanks' ' you reply curtly as you turn away to go to your apartment. Quickly sliding your key in and opening the door. You shove it shut with your shoulder making it slam more aggressively than you intended. What. A. Fucking. Day.

Later after having showered and changed into your comfort clothes you begin to burn with guilt. It wasn't König's fault your day was shit and you certainly didn't mean to take it out on him the way you did. The feeling was made to feel more intense by the fact you had a burning crush on him. Groaning, you rub your face with your hands when you hear him. You know it's him because only he has those heavy footsteps. Your head snaps in the direction of your front door as you listen, his footsteps are hurried. Like he doesn't want to run into you? Of course. You were an asshole to him for no reason! Then you hear the crisp shut of his door. Sighing you know you have to apologize especially were never one to shy away from your wrongdoings. Making your way to your door you open it as quietly as you can so not to draw anymore attention to yourself less the universe throws something else your way. You made your way to his door, each of your footsteps timid as your face began to burn hotter and hotter. Each encounter you've ever had with König always left you feeling frazzled in a way you weren't accustomed to. Taking a deep breath you raise your hand to knock on his door when you hear it, a moan? Curious and slightly concerned you lean your ear to the door to hear better and that's when you unmistakably hear König's voice albeit a bit more gruff “Show me how you play with it, show me” followed by a series of pants like he was in the throws of ecstasy. “That's a good girl, that's a good fucking girl” followed by a shaky moan. You pull yourself away from the door, mouth agape and breath shaky. You slowly back away before turning around and silently sprinting back to the safety of your apartment. Closing the door as quietly as possible. The walls were thin here but you never realized they were that thin. Your heart is pounding not just from the short sprint. Standing there you feel the desire burning in the pit of your belly. The desperate need for release forms quickly as your pussy begins to leak, your arousal soaking through your panties as you reflect on everything you just heard. Stripping out of your lounge shorts and panties you lay yourself down on the couch, spreading your legs.

You can feel your pussy lips parting exposing your cunt and slick to the air which makes you shiver slightly. Not just from the slight chill but the friction that causes your clit to throb. Closing your eyes you stroke your thigh softly before sliding up the side of your belly and down your public bone, slightly glazing your engorged, sensitive clit, to your wet hole. Your breath hitches as you push a finger into your warm, wet cunt. You wonder what his fingers would feel like. They were so large and his fingers thick. You imagine one of them would fill you to bursting. Slowly drawing your finger out causes you to jolt and moan lewdly. Hearing the squelching as your pussy tries to suck you back in. Taking the slick you gathered you begin to slowly rub your clit. “Show me how you play with it, show me” in that desperate lust filled tone rings through your head and you imagine König is there watching you rub yourself, chasing that blissful high. “That's a good girl, that's a good fucking girl” König's praise making you rub harder, faster. Feeling your hips buck in response, legs opening wider. You try and imagine König between your knees, his hands traveling down your outer thighs to grip your hips tightly. You work your bud in circles, the coil begins to tighten, breath shaky, muscles tensing. “Ko…. Oh God Ko. Please…” you whimper. Then there it is, the cork pops. You jolt and shake as your orgasm washes over you, bathing you in its warmth. “König!” You croak out, eyes flying open. You pant, feeling your hole spasming suddenly the fact he's not stuffed inside you makes you realize it wasn't enough. The desire is unsatisfied. You need König to fuck you senseless. You need to hear him praise you and your pussy. You need König. God, you need him. It started as a crush but now you've heard a snippet of what could be and now you need it all for yourself. All the shame you could have felt for accidentally eavesdropping on something private was gone, you don't care how lewd it makes you seem. You have needs, wants, desires. To be filed with his cum, to be utterly and totally his

[trashogram]

has no one seriously asked for lucifer with praise kink yet? I feel like the fandom has collectively decided that he’s so sweet to you and worships you in bed 😫

Kinktober Day Twenty-Five — Praise Kink

Warnings: F!Reader, Standing Sex, Soft Lucifer

Lucifer hadn’t be able to wait; as soon as he had you by the wrists and out of the shallows of the pool, he was hauling you into his arms.

With his back pressed to the tiled wall for stability, the blond had you clinging onto him, attached at the mouth. His thin lips moved over yours, tongue licking in and sweeping over your teeth and the soft confines of your mouth. You whimpered as his claws scratched over your shoulders in figure-eights, lowering the straps of your swimsuit until your top had fallen to your waist and your breasts were pressed against the smooth marble of his chest.

You breathed harshly through your nose, craving more of him as you mimicked his movements. Your hands grabbed around his neck, knotting the hair at the base of his skull to tug him forward until the kisses became reckless, full of teeth and ignorant of lungs screaming for air.

Lucifer pulled one of your legs up, around his hip as he shoved his swim trunks down. You balanced with the help of his shoulders as he did the same for the lower half of your suit.

“You’re so good, honey.” He panted, hand spread over your slightly damp mound, feeling. “So quick and smart. I don’t even need to guide you.”

You whimpered as his fingers dipped in, filled the creases between your thighs and labia. Two of his fingers soothed over your clit, loving as they moved across the tender skin. Tender and slick, thick, slippery as your lover lavished you.

“Fuck, you’re wet.” He took a shuddering breath, swallowing hard. “For me? Are you excited for me?”

You nodded, expression crumpled as if you were enduring the most exquisite pain.

“Yeah?” He voiced your want with a thin, reedy whine. “Tell me, sweetie.”

Your ribs judder in your chest, heart racing. "I'm excited for you, Luci. I'm - I'm excited to... to..."

He'd moved to lapping at your jawline, drifting down to your pulse point as if he'd read your mind and brief fixation on your own hummingbird heart. The suction, wet and teasing, threatened to bring you to your knees.

You mewled, uttering something that you yourself couldn't even parse. Lucifer eased your legs apart in the meantime by digging his claws into the meat of your ass, spreading you from behind to make way for the heated girth of his cock. He rocked it between your lips, covering himself and lightly cuffing your puffy slit.

"Ah!" You yelped, jumping in your spot. "I-I! I'm excited to feel you inside, fill me up! I want you so deep."

Lucifer groaned. He slapped your pussy again before adjusting your leg once more, and pushing into you. Your little hole throbbed as it made way for the intrusion, swallowing every thrust as the rest of you seized.

"Yes - " He kept you split on his dick, fucking into you deeper with each push and pull of his narrow hips. "Anything you want, honey. F-f-fuck! Anything for you and your sweet pussy, honey. Anything!"

You cried into his shoulder once his lips had left you. The Devil pressed your head into his sternum, let your tears fall into the space between his clavicle. "More! Please, more. More, more, more!"

Lucifer pushed forward on his tiptoes, pounding into you now. "Pretty girl, sweet girl letting me inside. Letting me fuck you like this, giving me what I want - nnngh - without m-me even asking-g, shit - !"

His words slurred and fell off like parts of glacier, cascading into water and sending waves instead of ripples. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt the tether inside of you threatening to snap. You anchored yourself to the King, trying not to slip on the wet tiles while he pummeled your cunt, doubling his efforts as adrenaline spiked. The tether splintered, split, cracked by the pressure that turned your cries into a scream.

Lucifer's cock pulsed, unloading inside of you as he suppressed a bellow of his own. It died slowly, tapering into quick inhales and reedy moans until he could give you no more. His murmuring never ceased.

"Good girl. Sweet angel. Pretty baby." He kissed your shoulder and down your arm as it was lifted, easy to maneuver as you remained boneless. "You did wonderfully, sweetie."

[loviingpedri]

tolerate it - k. mbappe

prompt: when has your relationship become so low?

warnings: toxic!mbappe, cursing, arguments, fighting, mostly angst, grammar issues, subtle fluff at end (not much)

credits to owners for all images

your relationship with mbappe has been going on for a solid two years. the silence and distance have never been bigger. the gap was starting to turn both of you crazy. during dinner, it would be silent as he read and ate. you sat and watched him ignore you.

has his career grown so much that he doesn’t care about you anymore? you try your best with him. you cook for him, set the table for him, you clean for him.

but he only tolerates it.

was there something wrong? you weren’t sure. there was no type of communication with him. if you tried, he would shrug you off. you always continue to think you weren’t good enough for him. you use to listen to whatever he said. it was always going to be about him.

“kylian, how was your day today?” you cut your potatoes with shaky hands. this was the first time you attempted to have a decent conversation with him. and you weren’t going to stop until more then 10 sentences are said.

“it was fine.” he continued to read and scroll on whatever he’s looking at on his phone.

you cleared your throat. he didn’t even ask how you were. or comment on how good the food was, or how bad it was. he just tolerated it. no feelings were ever expressed from him.

“yeah, my day was also fine. do you like the new plates? i changed it up to the fancy shit.” you smiled a little bit, hoping to see him glance up at you for once. he was only tolerating it.

he did a small ‘mhm’ and kept eating.

“how’s the food?” your legs started bouncing. this wasn’t going up to plan.

he sighed in annoyance. “what’s going on with you today? you’re talking so much. just shut up and eat, okay? no need for all of this.” he finally fully talked to you. he finally looked at you. although, this was different. he looked and talked to you in the worst way possible.

you looked down at your food. your eyes started to blur from the water wanting to burst out. you bit your lip to stop it from quivering.

his ego was getting to him. he was always known as the famous kylian mbappe, but where were you in his story? he lifted you up to show the world how much your support means to him. now, you were just like a random person who he happened to know. someone who was always going to be viewed as under his power and control.

where was the old mbappe? the one who held you while you were cold. the one who fed you soup while you were sick. the one who protected you from all the danger. this mbappe only tolerated your love and his love was no longer existent for you. he was gleaming and glistening in the world, while you were just an accessory that didn’t seem to match.

“y/n. you didn’t answer my question. what the fuck happened today? why all of a sudden you want to be quiet?” his words were like fire. you were a glacier, melting and disappearing as the fire kept going. his ‘love’ is intolerable.

“nothing happened.” you sat up and collected your dishes. you walked to the kitchen as kylian followed you. as you put your dishes in the sink, he grabbed your arm.

“just answer already. you’re playing so hard to get. all of this shit is so unnecessary.”

you looked at him in disbelief. your eyes were losing at suppressing the tears. “have i done something wrong to you? you barely talk to me anymore. kyky, you’re losing me. your words are like daggers in my chest. i know my love should be celebrated. you only tolerate it. i can’t do this anymore. i’ve made too many sacrificed to only dismiss me every single day.”

he looked at you confused. “no, you didn’t do anything. it’s all my fault. i know i’ve changed and i’m sorry. time has been slipping away and this season has been so stressful. i appreciate you so much, i can’t express it enough. these past few days have been rough.”

“please tell me i’ve got it all wrong.”

he placed you on the counter and attempted to wipe all of your endless tears off. “yeah, you’ve got it all wrong. i will always include you in the story of my life. believe me, i could do it.”

[loop-hole-319]

Preview of an upcoming fic.

Starring Danny, Paulina, Star, Kwan, and Dash

Special guest, Bolt Cutters.

The a-listers help Danny Fenton out of a disturbing situation.

"FENTON!! What the fuck are you doing here!?" She yelled as she rounded the corner stepping inside the shed, rage pooling in her stomach.

But then she halted, taking in the sight before her. And for a second she couldn't quite comprehend what she was seeing. What Fenton was doing standing in her shed at 2:20 in the morning.

She felt her fire be doused in ice water as Fenton spun around and she took in the sight of him. He was wielding the 18-in bolt cutters the garden stored in the shed. He held the cutters like a baseball player ready to swing. There was fear in Fenton's blue ice colored eyes, mimicking the glaciers of the Antarctic.

Several lengths of chain were scattered about the dirt floor and on his wrist and ankles were thick metal shackles. Presumably The mass of chains on the floor had been attached in multiple places. Cuffing his feet to a length that was attached to the wrists.

There were deep purple bruises on both of his forearms and wide that spread out from under a thick metal collar welded shut around his neck. A small length of chain dangled in front, most likely what was left of the main chain. And from either side of the collar jutted out a chain that trailed up to his face. Ending in a thick solid steel muzzle strapped to his face with bands of metal.

"Danny?" Paulina whispered

"Are you ok?"

[anamenooneowns]

See Me

AN: This is my second attempt at posting on this blog. I haven't written in years, especially smut so it isnt my fault if it sucks. My blog is also a mess but i'll fix it eventually. (it took fucking forever to find a plus-size photo, bc ✨inclusion✨ and i'm plus-size) the reader is black bc i'm black. enjoy.

Warnings: Hair pulling, cursing (lemme know if there's more i missed), daddy kink, sucky ending

MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DNI

"Fuck... wha'j'ya do to me sweetness, hm?" Ari growled in Faye's ear. His hips slammed against her ass in tandem with every honeyed sound that slipped from her parted lips. "Look at me- look at the spell you put over your Daddy with this pussy."

Faye's eyes cracked open and her knees almost buckled at the sight she was blessed with. Through her bangs, Ari was staring into her eyes through the mirror in front of them. Their glacier color sent a chill down her spine that made her nipples tight and achy. He grabbed her neck with a meaty paw and pressed his thumb under her chin, pushing her head back for a nasty kiss. His nose pressed against her cheek, beard tickling the side of her face as he licked into her mouth.

The faint taste of the sweet cigar Ari had just a few hours ago swirled and plumed into her mouth as if the smoke was still present. Sweet cigars and mint. A taste she wanted to devour from his mouth for the rest of time. A taste disrupted when his strokes became slow and deep, hitting the right spot inside of her.

"God- Ari, m'right... right there, daddy."

He pressed his nose behind the shell of her ear before dragging it up to the softness of her hair in all of it's bedhead wildness. The sweat beading at her hairline was curling her straightened hair. A smile twitched at his lips as he saw her smacking him with astounding force for ruining it even though he'd drop stacks for whatever hairstyle she desired.

"Right there?" Ari teased. "Not here?" he brushed a hand over her nipple. "Or even here?" pressing his fingertips against her swollen clit.

Faye clenched her walls around him, almost laughing when his pace stuttered and an airy sigh traveled down her back. Almost. A cry echoed in the tiled room as Ari wrapped her hair in a tight makeshift ponytail.

"Does your voice work?" he hissed in her ear.

Whimpering, Faye breathed out, "yes."

"Then fucking use it."

Her eyes slipped shut at the sheer dominance in his voice. "Your fingers- I want, fuck.. I want your fingers to rub my clit until I-"

Ari pushed his knee against the inside of her leg, spreading them open wider before slipping a hand down to her sopping heat. He Faye sobbed, head falling forward as he relieved the tightness of the throbbing nub between her lips before being pulled back. Her eyes snapped open and she was staring at herself in the mirror. Teary, lidded eyes and a trembling lower lip as she cried in relief for her pussy.

"Atta-fucking-girl," Ari punctuated with deep thrusts that Faye felt in the core of her stomach. "Yer' right there, arent'cha sweetness? Let go. S'alright, cum for me."

Faye's body shuddered and let her hair fall through his fingers and her cheek pressed against the cool marble of the counter. Her hips rose back and wetness streamed down her bitten inner thighs, soaking Ari's length and his thick brown happy trail. In her seconds of near unconsciousness she felt the counter vibrate as something slammed down on it before heat and weight pressed against her back.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and brown wisps of hair brushed against her lashes. Faye laughed, a full and rich sound that made Ari stir from above her. He pressed his lips against her rounded cheek, "What're you laughin' at?"

"You! I mean- are you trying to crush me?" she asked.

Ari huffed and pressed his body up from the counter, muttering something about liking to be crushed in a mating press. Faye followed suit, hissing as his cock slipped out of her. The feeling of wetness renewed as his cum rolled down her inner thighs.

"Christ, mother of Mary- Is there something wrong with your dick?" Faye shrieked.

"The hell are you talking about woman?"

"Why is there so much cum?" she said, talking more to herself than Ari.

Ari stared at the woman as she twisted around, trying to view the back of her thighs in the mirror. He scrubbed a hand over his face, smiling at himself. "I really wonder what amazing thing I did to have the honor put a ring on your finger."

"It's still coming out!"

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Ruined

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

Oneshot

summary: a chess move gone wrong. but it brought you two back together, so how can she complain?

thank you anon 🫀 for requesting this! you’re so loved and appreciated <3

Word Count: 2.257k

When the invitation comes in the mail, you think nothing of it. Because of your job, Waystar was always trying to kiss your ass and trying to convince you they were the perfect employer.

It was also because of your previous relationship.

Even though you and Siobhan had been separated for a few weeks now, you weren’t sure that many people knew. Not only did Royco execs invite you to try and convince you to ‘join the ranks’, they’d invite you to try and get closer to Shiv. The daughter of the man in possession of the biggest media conglomerate in the world, a mega billionaire.

You assume this is just another dinner to kiss ass to prospective employees. You didn’t really mind, though. It’s free food, and even though you’d never admit it out loud, a boost to your ego.

Post breakup with Shiv felt apocalyptic. You didn’t want to eat, sleep, breathe. But you had to. You had shit to get done.

You’re happy for the excuse to get dressed up. It makes you feel good about yourself, and god knows you need that right now. You stare at yourself in the mirror, dark colored turtleneck and high waisted pants accentuating the curves of your body. You gloss your lips, mentally preparing for the night out.

The place is gorgeous, as always. The hallways are dimly lit, warm orange light dappling the space around you. You find yourself with a finger sandwich in hand, waiting for dinner to be announced so you can congregate in the dining room with everyone else and actually eat.

You watch as Logan Roy plucks a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing servant. If he was here, then that means this thing was important. But that raised a question- why are you here?

Your answer arrives right with Siobhan Roy. You spot her the moment she sets foot in the room. Despite how messy your brakeup was, you just couldn’t get yourself to get over her. She’s radiant, beautiful like the sunset, like the time-old glaciers, like the condensed dew on an ageless bottle of wine. She lit up your world, bringing day to your dystopian world of eternal night.

She was stressing over something, you could tell, even from across the room. Her shoulders were set tautly, her phone gripped in her hand. Her eyes sweep hastily over the gathered people, and yours subconsciously follow. You recognize all the high profile politicians, the big whales of finance and business. You’re beginning to feel out of place.

Lost in your daze, you don’t realize as she steps up beside you. When she speaks, you think you’re dreaming for a split second. In recent history, the only time you’d ever heard her voice, spoken to her, was in the depths of your mind’s eye.

“Are you fucking with me?” Shiv hisses from beside you, fake smile pasted to her face.

You’re taken aback. “Hello to you, too,” you mutter in response.

Her hand falls immediately to the small of your back, and she steers you away from the crowd. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was invited. I didn’t fucking drop from the face of the Earth after you broke up with me,” you say dryly. Once you’re out in the hall, her voice raises slightly from her original whisper.

“Who invited you? How the hell are you even here?”

She leads you into an empty spare room and shuts the door firmly behind her. “What the fuck, Siobhan?”

“This is a dinner to introduce an acquisition. I would know if you were hired by Waystar. So why are you here?”

“Like I said, I was invited.”

“Why? For what?”

You scoff. “How encouraging of my career,” you drawl.

She snorts in response, turning to pace the room. “What’s he up to? Do you know?” she asks quickly, referring to her dad.

“How should I fucking know?” You cross your arms over your chest. “I didn’t know we were on speaking terms, anyway.”

“We’re not,” she spits. “Not after what you put me through.”

“What I put you through?” You laugh. “Siobhan, you dumped me because you were too busy fucking your work rather than me.”

She barks out a laugh. “Is that how you see it?”

“That’s how everybody but you fucking sees it. You got angry I wanted to talk about the fact that you did nothing but work, and work overtime, and neglect me, that you ended things and ran,” you spit back, voice dripping with venom.

She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry I take my job seriously.” Her bracelets tinkle as her hands flit back down. “And that’s not what happened.” She twists to face away from you, hands carding through her hair.

“Then, pray tell, what did? You didn’t exactly wait around for me to even process. This is the first time we’ve spoken since then.”

When she turns back around, tears dot her waterline. Your chest swells with anxiety, struggling to differentiate between the stone-cold killer Siobhan and your sweet Shiv.

“I’m sorry, I’m deflecting. It’s not like that, I swear,” she says, voice cracking. “Oh, my fucking god. I got fucking scared, baby. I have all of these complicated feelings for you, and when they never went away, I got scared. I realized I loved you, that I love you, and I got horrified I’d fuck things up.”

Your heart flutters at the pet name. “That’s not a fucking excuse, Shiv. You left me by myself. You never even said goodbye properly.”

“I know, I know it’s not.” Her face drops into her hands. “It’s just… I can’t bear the idea of getting hurt. Being hurt by you, no less. I’d never recover. I haven’t recovered. I can’t move on. I can’t think of beauty without thinking of you. You’re in every goddamn sunrise, piece of jewelry, every starry night sky. Nothing I’m scared of matters anyway, because you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

You’re rendered speechless. Your mouth opens, then closes. You don’t know what to say.

“I can’t,” she says weakly. “I compare every single person to you. And every single time, I love you so much fucking better.” She chokes on a sob, face still covered by her hands.

Without thinking, you step towards her, taking her in your arms. Her head rests on your shoulder as sobs rack her body. You’d never, ever seen her like this. Not when you were together, not in any sort of public media. You rub soothing circles into her back.

“I’m sorry,” she laments, her voice wavering. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve never let you go. I want you back. I need you back. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this bullshit. You’re it for me. You’ll always be it for me.”

“Shiv,” you breathe. “Shiv, take a breath. Come on, you’re working yourself up.”

She obeys, attempting to regulate her breathing. She sniffs roughly, wiping at her eyes, before pulling away from you and turning her back to you.

“What I did was inexcusable,” she says, voice quieter. “I… I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore. I’m sorry. I love you.” She inhales shakily, her hands smoothing down her blouse. “Dad knew what would happen if you came today. I need to go.”

Without another word, she leaves you behind.

You see no point in sticking around. You’re confused, strangely swelling with love. You want to both chuck your phone into a river and pick up and dial her number immediately. You hunt around for someone who can get you your coat, and before you know it, you’re out in the blistering cold by yourself.

You spend the rest of your night face down in bed. You’re so conflicted. Does she want you, or does she not? Should you contact her first, or can you still hold onto the hope that she’ll come find you?

The night drags on, and there’s nothing. Early the next morning, you bolster the confidence to send her a text asking her if she’s alright. Your anxiety runs rampant the moment you hit send, and your face burns with heat. You both pray she answers as soon as she sees it and pray she never sees it at all. You want to belt your phone at the wall.

You find yourself at a coffee shop at seven thirty. You need to get out, to think about literally anything else. You have the day off, and you’re not sure if it’ll be good or bad for you yet.

The moment you set foot in the shop, you see her, and she sees you. Her hair is tied back, and she’s wearing an old sweater of yours. This is when she’s prettiest, you think. When she’s not playing the game of succession, not strategizing, just sitting comfortably in her skin.

Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying. She beckons you over, doe eyes still glinting with tears.

Hesitantly, you go over and sit across from her.

“How did you…?”

“You come here every day,” she says quietly. She pushes a cardboard cup of coffee towards you. “I never forgot your order.”

You murmur your thanks, taking a sip. “We should talk,” you say stupidly.

“Yeah. We should,” she responds, folding her hands together and setting them on the table in between you two.

“Can we just… talk things through?”

“I want that. Please.”

You sit back in your chair, unsure of where to begin. “Did you actually mean it? Last night, I mean?”

“Everything I said. I would’ve stayed, but… ironically, duty called.”

“What’ll change?” you ask softly. “If we… if we try again?”

“Everything,” Shiv whispers. “You’re my world. I can’t go a second without thinking about you. You’re my top priority, I swear. I’ll never fucking leave your side again. I was a shitty girlfriend before. But I’ll change. I’d do anything for you.”

“I missed you,” you choke out. “So much.”

She loses it a bit, too, tear escaping and sliding down her cheek. You reach across the table and wipe it away. “I did, too. I missed you.”

“Do you want to come home?” you ask, hopeful. She smiles.

“Finally. I’ve been living in a shithole with my cousin since you.”

You roll your eyes, knowing she’s playing it up. She takes your hand, and before you know it, you’re sat on the couch, making out. Her fingers dig into your jaw, keeping your mouth locked with hers. Shiv kisses are hard, needy. She’s been waiting for you, craving you the last few weeks.

She pulls away to kiss and suck at your neck. “Shiv,” you say breathily, not expecting it. Despite her fervor, she’s gentle, successfully pleasing you.

“Shh, baby. Let me do this. Let me make you feel good. I need to make it up to you. I was an asshole.”

You laugh. “You’re just being territorial.”

She sighs, leaning back and inspecting a developing purple hickey on your skin. She buries her head into your shoulder after dotting soothing kisses along the new bruises.

“I love you. I’m sorry,” she says into your skin.

“I love you too.” Your hand strays to her back, stroking lightly.

“I promise I’ll do it right this time,” she murmurs. “You’ll never stop feeling fucking amazing.”

“I hope you’re right,” you respond.

“Really. I’m going to be better.” She kisses at your shoulder. “I’ll start skipping meetings for you.”

“You don’t need to neglect your job, Shiv.”

“I want to, anyway. I want to spend every second right here, with you.”

Your hand smoothes down to her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “As long as you’re happy.”

“I’m so fucking happy. You make everything better.”

Shiv slips out of your grasp, padding into your kitchen. You stay sprawled out on the couch, content.

The days go by slowly, and you’re grateful. The two of you spend morning tangled together, nights intertwined. You come home to her, she comes home to you. You never leave each other without a kiss goodbye, and you never say anything before kissing hello.

Shiv wasn’t lying. She prioritized you, and solely you. If she couldn’t come home on time, she’d send flowers and crawl into bed with you late at night, peppering your face with kisses. She’s become more affectionate, her touches always lingering and her always curled up against you.

You make sure to never neglect her, either. Despite your massive differences in salary, you make sure to give thoughtful gifts, and kiss her whenever you can. You find that you enjoy cooking for her, watching her face brighten whenever she eats something she likes.

You’ve both begun to keep pictures of each other in your wallets. You always catch her staring at a miniature portrait of you in her hands, her thumb gently stroking over your face.

Every night, your bed is warm with affection. You never feel alone again.

When it happens, she doesn’t get down on one knee. It’s when you’re both half asleep on the couch, your head cradled in her lap when she shows you the ring. She giggles when you let her slip it onto your finger, the word fiancé falling giddily from her lips.

You spend a moment rummaging around in your purse, then hurry back to her, another ring in hand.

She kisses you so hard your head spins.

“I love you. I love you so much. And that’ll never change.”

[peachesofteal]

Who wants to read the first like 1.4k of the winter ghoap fic even though it has absolutely no ghoap in it?

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in a below freezing environment. 

Although, there are some who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter. There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the one window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new baby this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with ski traffic and the tourists in their rental cars.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. Weekend traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained road, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It travels perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite map of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, slamming the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away as you’re jostled around, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and lights spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, black pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

Sleep. You could just close your eyes. Close your eyes, and sleep. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black pool, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

[cosmic-crybaby]

Blue Skies - Tommy Shelby

Chapter 16: 'You're No Good For Me'

Warnings In This Chapter: Hinted affair, mentions of blood, manipulation etc etc. ANGST

Masterlist:

---

It took you almost twenty minutes to calm your children down.

Reassuring them that things were going to be okay. But even you yourself were unsure. Giving them a tight hug and a kiss goodnight, making sure to tell Frances to stay with them until they fell asleep, before you entered the bedroom.

You didn't want them to hear the absolute terror you were about to unleash.

Thomas sat on the bed, his jacket discarded and his white shirt somewhat unbuttoned. His hand was still wrapped in the blood-stained cloth from the dining table. You harshly slammed the door behind you, making the room rattle, approaching him and stopping to stand in front of him with your arms crossed.

“You lost your temper with my kids, Thomas…That can never happen again, do you understand?” 

He only nods once before he purses his lips and looks up at you.

“Your kids are out of control,” He stated with raised brows and condescension behind his words. Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“They’re fuckin’ kids! That is how kids behave when they’re tired, hungry, and disappointed,” You listed. He arched a brow at you. 'Disappointed' he repeated with a bitter laugh.

“I told you I wasn’t ready for this, didn’t I? I warned ya…I fuckin’ warned ya,” He pointed a finger at you with his non-injured hand before he stood up and struggled to unknot his tie with one hand, taking strides to his wardrobe. You stood in your place as you stared at him, bewildered.

“It’s not that hard to ask for help, you could have asked your Aunt or your sister for help, but it’s a little too late to turn back now,” You shook your head in disbelief.

“Yeah, I am sure Aunt Pol would have some great advice on how to discipline your kids for you,” He simply said with a small glance. Perplexed, you screwed your brows together. 

“Don’t you dare,” You seethed.

“What?” He taunted, walking to his wardrobe to put his clothes away. 

“Don’t you dare blame my kids, the only person acting like a child tonight was you!” 

He exhales heavily as he slammed the door to the wardrobe shut before turning to you, the obvious frustration on his face. His normal glacier eyes were dark like the darkest depths of the ocean as he wore a stern look on his face. He approached you, at least a few inches away from your face. Under any other circumstances, he would just be a kiss away. And everything would have been forgotten.

“I’m acting like a child?” Shock laced his question.

“Yes, you are,” You argued. You looked down and reached for his wrist, bringing it up to show him. “You slammed your hands so hard, that you broke a fucking glass and you cut yourself…you threw a tantrum just like a fuckin’ baby,” He jerked his hand away from you. He wasn’t in any pain, his anger numbed it.

“I have made big sacrifices for you…huge fuckin’ sacrifices, I am behind on my work because I spent all my time with you-” 

“And you think I haven’t? I have to commute at least forty minutes back and forth everyday,” You interrupted. 

“And that wouldn't have been a problem if you just took everyone’s advice and hired someone to help you,” He said quietly. 

You took a deep breath before speaking again. 

“You walked into my family…my beautiful family that took years to grow and create, one that you would have started by now if you had any strength, courage, or restraint,” You stepped back from him, glaring at him with disgust. “Esme was right, you’re unstable…I get it…work is hard but that does not give you the right to act the way you do,” 

“And how is that, (Y/n)?” His condescending tone was pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your blood boils with every second. 

“Oh, would you like me to list it off for you, Thomas?” You asked. “Your terrible temper, your unstable mood, your drinking problem, and the fact that I found snow in your office and opium in your nightstand!” You yelled. 

He chuckled.

“Ah, after all this time…I still stand by what I assumed,” 

“Which assumption would that be? Because you’ve made so many,” You laughed. You stood far away from each other. You were by your vanity while he leaned against the bedpost. 

“You pretended to be drunk to get me to fuck you, get you pregent,” 

You both fell silent. The only noises in the room were your heavy breaths and the crackling of the wood in the fireplace as the flames cast an intimidating shadow upon your face. Your chest heaved up and down rapidly as you gulped down the lump in your throat as your hands moved to rub your stomach, protectively as the baby began to move about and kick. 

“Oh God…How could you say that?” You asked yourself as you turned away from him. You held your hand over your mouth to side the sobs as you bent over, one hand leaning on the vanity. Thomas slowly approaches you and attempts to hold you. 

“This is just an obstacle…eh? Listen to me…Listen to me (Y/n), I am sorry I shouldn’t have said that, this was only a setback,” 

You pulled your arms away from his touch. Overwhelmed by everything around you. His smell, his touch, his voice, the hot temperature of the room, the weight of the baby, everything had you wanting to just tear your hair out and scream. 

“No…No this isn’t a setback, Thomas…this is a fuckin’ disaster!” 

“I warned you that the stress of what I do and the stress of this is going to ruin our relationship-” 

“The stress of what?” You asked, turning to him with tears in your eyes. 

“Having a baby together,” He answered. You shook your head. 

“No…Three…” You held up your shaky hand, showing three fingers. “Thomas…Three children!” 

“I didn’t even ask for one!” His voice boomed.

“You act like you’re the only one who fucked up their life,” 

He shook his head before he sat down at your vanity chair, picking up a cigarette to rub it across his lips before lighting it.  

“I guess that’s what happens…” He took a deep breath. “When strangers get drunk and fuck,” he exhales the smoke. 

You paused and swallow thickly. Your eyes scanned him. Until you spotted the red smudge on the collar of his shirt, the red and purple spots on his clavicle. Everything seems so clear now. Your eyes began to tear up as you gasp in doubt.

"I knew it," You muttered as you looked away. Thomas lifted his head to look at you.

"I fucking knew it!" You shouted, picking up a glass perfume bottle and raising it to throw it at him, Thomas quickly leaves the vanity chair and rushes to the washroom, dropping the cigarette as the glass bottle shattered against the hardwood as it merely missed him.

"What the fuck?!" He shouted from behind the door. He could only hear you shouting, crying and the loud crashing of only what he assumed was you breaking the valuables on the vanity. He scrambles to look in the mirror, cursing to himself as he looked at the love-bites and the lipstick that were evidently clear now that he was sober.

"You're a fucking coward Thomas Shelby!" You cried as you leaned against the door.

"It was nothing (y/n), you're overreacting!"

You chuckled sourly. leaving the door to sit on the bed. Thomas cautiously opened the door, looking out into the room, the broken glass of the beauty products were haphazardly spread across the floor. There you sat, tears glistening on your cheekbones as you looked down at the floor.

"(y/n)…please," He held his uninjured hand out as if you were a wild animal. You tsked and roll your eyes at him.

"Oh please, Thomas..." You mumbled.

He threw his hands up, breathing heavily.

"Humor me, Thomas..." You started, slowly standing up. "Who was it?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"Stop lying for one second and tell me!" You snapped. He blinks, his body seemed less tense as he conjured up the courage to tell you.

"You know who," He simply stated.

"At least have some courage and say her fuckin' name...you owe me that at least,"

Thomas licks his lips and looks down. Suddenly feeling brave he says her name. It felt like a curse leaving his lips.

"Lizzie Stark,"

You nod bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I’m packing my shit and I’m leaving…tonight,” You told him, turning back around to pack whatever little you had left into a trunk. He watched as you then went into your children's room to wake them up and help them pack a small bag, fetching some maids to help you take them to the car as you threw whatever gifts, dresses, jewelry, other materialistic things he got for you onto the floor. Throwing your coat on as you made your way down the stairs with Frances’s help. Your children, although confused and still tired, sat in the backseat of the company car, knowing this was the last time you would have that kind of luxury. You sat in the middle as they rested their heads on your shoulders and cuddled into your sides. A single tear escaped your eye as the car began to take off down the long entry path. If only Thomas knew of the agony you felt in your heart.

Thomas stood outside, watching in somberness as you left. Without a goodbye and second glance. You and Thomas had argued before, of course but it never got this bad. It was always resolved by the morning, but he feared that this was the last time. 

He wanted to cry, scream, and yell over the fact that he really fucked up his last chance with you. He loved you more than words could say. As the car disappears into the dark distance he retreats back inside. 

"Should I assume she is coming back, sir?" Frances asked. 

"That...I am unsure, Frances..." He shook his head. 

"Please get some rest, Mr. Shelby...have some peace of mind," 

And so he did. He tried at least. He cleaned up most of your mess but as he laid in bed he held the engagement ring between his fingers. You had left it on your vanity before you took off. 

Oh how beautiful it would have looked on your finger when you got married. 

---

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