#his is white but it has SUSPICIOUS brown stains on it

[raveartts]

I was thinking I'd try to design cutthroat's hypothetical room (in all honesty I think he just lives in a dumpster in an alley/sleeps in his victim's beds)

But I remembered that I can't really draw....backgrounds...at all.....

[didishawn]

Hooking up with gavi and Pedri at the hotel room. Before that Pedri notice you rubbing gavi over his pants leaving his boner to show. She notice and ends up rubbing both of them in the middle of a dinner full with wags and players. No one notices and they hook up in the hotel later on

Under the dining table (Pedri x Reader x Gavi) smut

Warnings: smut, threesome, public touch

Masterlist

You are glad that Gavi's resting face is having his jaw clenched, looking worried and on the verge of tears as if he were in constant pain, this way, no one bats an eye nor suspects a thing about what is actually going on under the table.

It is only by luck that Pedri sees it, how you hand hovers teasingly over his friend's covered cock, an obvious bulge is showing, he is surprised no one else has seen.

Gavi is red he notices, fingers tightly gripping the edge of the table as you fasten the movements, never taking him out though.

Pedri can't help but imagine you doing that to him, it feels unfair that only Gavi is lucky enough to have you touching him.

It takes you by surprise when your eyes meet Pedri's brown ones, so deep and so obvious he has seen your schemingans.

You raise an eyebrow, wondering whether he is gonna uncover you two or keep the whole ordeal to himself.

He looks down, you do too, eyes widening at the bulge showing up, not unobvious at all.

Before you can think it twice, your other hand is too teasing over Pedri's bulge.

Everyone is so ignorant of what is going on under the table, you bringing u credible pleasure to the two Golden Boys, Gavi already on the edge, Pedri not far behind.

The three of you are lucky that everyone sitting on the table are a few drinks into the night to notice you there being so quiet and the almost silent whimpers coming from the boys' throats.

It's torture for them really, so close yet so far away from the sweet extasis, it feels like an eternity before players and their wives start calling it a night, and no one cares enough to find it suspicious how all three of you are up your feet and shouting hurried goodbyes before disappearing.

Your lips are sealed over Gavi's while Pedri's are up and down your neck, the Canarian boy's cock buried deep inside you while your hand moves up and down Gavi's leaking one.

"Eres tan bonita, amor, no se como he tardado tanto en tenerte" Pedri whispers into your ear, his words and his hard and deep thrusts have you moaning into the younger boy's mouth. (you are so pretty, love, I don't know how I have waited so long to have you)

"Es la mejor" Gavi declares once oxygen becomes a necessity and your lips are obligated to part. (she is the best)

Two sets of hands are on your waist, moving you up and down the older midfielder's cock, Gavi too is close, about to paint your hand white, his moans and whimpers no longer hidden, yet his face buried into your neck.

The sound of skin slapping and high pitched moans are loud inside the room, all there of you so horny, so close to the sweet extasis, Gavi cannot handle it anymore, your hand stained with his cum, so is your tummy and he is panting and tiredly helps you move over his friend's cock.

You can feel Pedri too shoot his release deep inside you, your walls tightening around him, milking him from all he is worth.

Three exhausted figures lay on the bed, panting tiredly, a small break before the next round.

Next dinner, you will make sure to repeat the whole ordeal again.

[crybaby-bkg]

Narration by Choso Kamo

Choso x f!reader Warnings: smut, public sex, public blow jobs, library sex, librarian reader, barista choso, reader wears glasses and a skirt once, choso picks reader up once, calls reader princess once, and unprotected sex. Word count: 6.9k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI! Also available on Ao3!

Inspired by this post

To get a bit of some extra cash in your final year at college, you had applied to work at your university’s library. The job didn’t seem too busy, and your last few classes were supposed to be pretty light, so the workload was manageable by the time you were brought on during the summer. The most you did was reboot computers, and put the occasional stray book away by the students who still lingered during these times. But, when the fall semester started, so did the cafe inside the library get rebooted. 

It was a small thing, tucked into a far corner for students to grab a coffee, or five, when finals started to roll around. The offered little pastries, and other delicacies, something the head librarian hated when the school installed it a few years ago. She complained about the mess some students would leave, how their grubby fingers would ruin the pages of old books. But you had never found an issue with any of it, and if anything, enjoyed the extra company of those who looked for something sweet to break up the boringness of their day. 

Especially the company of one of two baristas. His name was Choso, the other guy you can’t really recall the name of, but you know he has one eye and is always mean mugging and grumbling to himself about something. His off-putting nature immediately made you wary of Choso, but the dark haired man seemed to be the complete opposite of his companion, despite the vibe he gives off. 

“Extra caramel, and two sugars, right?” Choso asks you, ripping you away from your computer filing duties at the front desk. Your head whips up, glasses perched on the edge of your nose, your eyes still a little blurry from staring at the screen so much. When your vision focuses, do you finally take notice of the cup he’s offering to you. Its brown covering has your name scribbled onto the side of it, as if he would be giving this drink to anyone else in the library at this same time of day. 

“You already know,” you laugh, winking at Choso from over your glasses. “You’ve been serving me this same drink everyday for the past three months now. Thank you,” 

When you take the cup from him, your fingers brush. His hands are cold, always, no matter the temperature outside or how clammy the library gets when the air conditioning breaks for the millionth time. Choso’s eyes linger on where your fingertips meet, pulling away when he realizes he’s still holding your drink hostage, the apples of his cheek staining the palest shade of red. He notices your staring at him, that sweet little smile on your lips, and tucks his chin into his high hood, scratching at the back of his neck as his eyes lower to the front desk that separates you two. 

“Any book recommendations for me?” He asks, goes about your regular routine. It’s something you’ve fell into step with; him offering you a free drink in exchange for a good read without it being marked in the system so he can keep it for however long. He always seems to get them back to you by the end of the week, so as to keep the head librarian from getting too suspicious about missing books. 

You hum, pushing your keyboard to the side with one hand as you sip on your drink with the other. You wrap your lips around the straw in focus, unaware of how Choso’s plum eyes take every bit of you in; the smudge on your glasses lens, the stray hair framing your face, those black and white earrings you seem to favor, that sparkly brown gloss that makes your lips plump. He swallows thickly when you reach under the desk and pull a book out, guilty gaze snapping to the dark cover. 

“I found this one the other day,” you tell him, flipping the book over in your hands as you skim the back of it for the blurb. “Just started it, but I’m liking it so far. Think it has a few sex scenes in it, though, if thats your thing.”

You try to say it as nonchalantly as you can muster, despite the heat that creeps up your neck with your words. Is it inappropriate? To recommend a book to your kind-of-coworker with explicit scenes that makes your thighs clench? To want to know if he’ll be equally as bothered as you are when you read it? To want to know if he’ll think of you during those scenes, the same way you think of him? 

“Yeah, I don’t mind ‘em,” Choso states with a shrug, but the way his ears are turning pink tells you everything you need to know. He takes the book from you either way though, flipping it over in his pale palms, his lips pursed in concentration as he reads the blurb. By the time he looks up, you’re licking off a stray dribble of your drink from your bottom lip, eyes focused on your computer once more. 

“Does it sound good?” You ask him without taking your eyes off of the screen, despite the fact that Choso can’t seem to take his own off of you. He only answers when you glance up at him with a small smile, your eyebrows raised in question. 

“Yeah,” he nods once without further preamble, his own smile tiny and barely there. 

“Promise not to spoil it for me?” You tease him, looking at him from over your glasses with a small smirk. Choso rolls his eyes into his head, groaning a little as he scratches at his cheek offhandedly. 

“I did it one time,” he complains, but you cut him off with a finger wagged in his direction. 

“One time too many!” Someone shushes you on the other side of the library, but you can only giggle behind your hand. Choso matches your smile, his own crooked and boyish and so goddamn handsome, that you have to look back at your computer, where you’ve been typing gibberish since he walked up to you. 

“Still want me to bake you another chocolate croissant before my shift’s over?” He asks, his stance relaxed as he places his hands in his pockets, head cocked slightly to the side. You take him in, his plain white shirt and baggy black joggers and gray apron that hugs his waist so nicely. 

“Please,” you mumble, chin resting in your palm as you answer him. “Jogo always complains whenever I try to take one without paying, and won’t make anymore when they run out.” You roll your eyes at the thought, frowning a little. 

“Yeah, he’s an ass at times.” Choso agrees, leaning against the front desk now, slightly hovering over you, a sight that you more than welcome into your mind’s eye. More fuel for your fantasies when you start reading, you suppose. 

“That’s why you’re my favorite, Cho’,” you smile at him toothily, sighing a dreamy little sigh, tucking your hands under your chin and all. Choso freezes at that, the pretty face you’re making, the sweet way you call the nickname he loves to hear float from your pretty lips. He subtly adjusts his pants as he throws you a faux glare. 

“Am I?” He asks sarcastically, tucking the book you gave him under his arm, hands shoved in his pockets once more. 

“Of course.” You shrug, before tacking on, “You’ve gotta pretty face and a nice pair of hands that make me so many good things.” You’re milking it, and he knows it, as he snorts softly with another roll of his eyes, pushing away from the desk as he glances at the clock above your head. His break is almost up, and it wouldn’t be a regular day if he didn’t spend the entirety of it with you. 

“You just don’t wanna pay.” Choso points out, eyebrow cocked in challenge, but you concede with an over exaggerated shrug. 

“That is also true,” you don’t deny him, which only makes the dark haired man smile crookedly at you. He nods once, beginning to walk away backwards into his little cafe nook before Jogo comes to the front to harass him into coming back on time. 

“I’ll get started on them for you.” He emphasizes the last word, signifying that he’s not making them for just anybody, but only for specially little you. It makes you grin, blowing him a little kiss as you wink at him. 

“Thank you,” you singsong, grinning even wider when he only rolls his eyes once more, grinning, before turning on his heel and stalking back to his station. You watch him go the entire time, wonder when you’ll grow some confidence and finally ask him out on the date you’ve wanted to go on since you had your first conversation with him. You think it’ll be one day soon, and can only hope that it’ll be as magical as the romances in the books you share with him. 

…

A couple nights later, and everything has been the same; stagnant and fun, but agonizing in your want to be more than just kind-of-coworkers who gift each other books and treats. A little frustrated by the day and the lack of anything groundbreaking happening, you decide to treat yourself by buying one of your favorite authors new audiobook she just released. You had it in your budget to splurge just the tiniest bit, and you figured you could spend your extra money on extraordinary smut with an equally as amazing storyline. 

Understanding A Life Like Mine

Chase has just turned twenty-three, and has no idea what he wants to do with his life. After being kicked out by his narcissistic father, and having no understanding of his own identity, he decides to explore the world. Determined to find value in life, he travels the country, and finds himself intertwined with a mysterious woman he had a one night stand with in one of the many club’s he’s visited. 

Something has clicked between them, and its more than just a casual fling he tries to dismiss it as. With this new awakening, Chase begins this treacherous journey of finding value and meaning in human connection—in more ways than one. 

You read a few of the reviews of the book, noting how most people say that the storyline and character development is just as good as the detailed smut throughout the book. Checking your account one more time, you hit purchase on the audiobook, plug your headphones in, and get started on preparing dinner for the night. 

But, as the narrator begins to read through the acknowledgments and warnings of the book, you give pause. His voice sounds oddly familiar, in its husk and gravely tone. As you go back to the webpage to search up the author, he states his name right before beginning the first chapter. 

Choso Kamo. 

You feel your whole body freeze, eyes wide in confusion, eyebrows scrunched before they damn near fly off of your forehead in surprise. And this is the first fucking chapter? 

“The way she sinks down on my cock is purely sinful. The plushness of her body molds to the shape of my fingertips, bruising her skin, a reminder to her for later when she’s sore and limping from the way I stretch her out. She’s pretty when she moans, her eyes half lidded and her gaping mouth smeared with red lipstick, a similar stain on my tip. I can’t control the thrust up into her, nor the growl that emits from my throat when she clenches down around me.” 

You think your heart just fell out of your ass. 

Choso is narrating this book? He does audiobook narration? Since fucking when? And why hadn’t he told you about it? You had recommended enough books to him, a few even written by the author that he reads from now, and he never thought to mention something like this? In a sense, you’re a little in your feelings about the whole thing. You know you two weren’t necessarily the best of friends, but you thought that you had at least developed some kind of connection that you two could share your common interests together. You remembered him mentioning once or twice a couple of odd jobs he had done to help his brother, and you wonder now if this was one of them. 

But, on the other hand, something about his voice does…things to you. Things that make you have to turn off the stove and patter into your room, shutting the door and locking it in fear of one of your roommates hearing you. You just stand there for a second, eyes unseeing as you continue to listen to the audiobook and Choso’s grating voice as he narrates. 

“She keeps riding me, her tits bouncing enticingly, and I can’t help but catch a mouthful. She moans when my teeth nip at her sensitive nipples, pulling her closer and closer to me until she can only desperately rut her hips against mine. I’m getting close, and by the way she’s spasming around me, I can tell she’s about to cum on my cock.” 

You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t—really, he’s your kind-of-friend-kind-of-coworker! This would be immoral, right? Buying an audiobook that he narrates, just to get off to it? This wasn’t what you purchased the book for. 

But, the more you listen, the more temptation starts to grab you by the collar, hauling you down, down, down into your bedsheets, your vibrator in hand. You press it firmly against your clit over your panties, trying to convince yourself that what you’re doing isn’t weird, won’t cause any tension or awkwardness in your relationship with Choso. 

…

You couldn’t be more wrong. The next day, you show up a few minutes late to work, your headphones still jammed deep into your ears, seven new audiobooks (that you can’t afford) downloaded on your phone, their one thing in common being Mr. Choso Kamo to narrate them. You listen to it on low, hoping that nobody who comes near will be able to hear his deep grunts and wispy sighs and his demand for you to squirt on his cock like a good girl, just like that—

“Extra caramel, two sugars?” Choso suddenly appears in front of you, pale, veiny hand holding delicately onto your drink that he presents to you. You jump, guilty, snatching your headphones out of your ear, scrambling to turn your phone off. Choso looks at you a little weird, his eyebrows screwed up in concern as you shakily reach for the drink without ever looking at him. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, glancing up at the handsome man, the black strip tatted across his nose, before you find your eyes jumping back to your still unlogged in computer screen. 

“Everything okay?” Choso asks you, leaning his forearms on the front desk. He looks so cute, concerned like that, his head tilted, stray hairs falling from his twin buns into his face. His eye bags are deep, but the plum in his eyes seem to shine a little brighter under the too white fluorescent lights. His gaze is unwavering as he takes you in, bottom lip slightly pouted in concern the more you fidget under his staring. 

“Yeah, just feeling a little under the weather.” You lie, thighs suddenly slippery as all you can think about is his fuckin’ voice, the things written in the books, how he always seems to take on the narration roles written in first person. 

… she grabs my belt buckle as we dance on the packed club floor, her eyes sultry, her mouth pretty (does Choso think your mouth is pretty, too?) … she’s even prettier when she forces me on my knees, my face between her thighs (would he like someone more in control, that guides his face this way and that?) … she tastes like stardust, like something miraculous, like something I can find home in (your vibe is turned to its highest setting, so high you think you may reach him amongst the stars)… my cock twitches with every clench of her hole, and she squeezes my head so hard around her thighs, I fight for breath (you cum from just his voice, hiccuping a little sigh when the chapter starts coming to a close) … I don’t mind an honorable death at the hands of her cunt (…you pick up your vibe once more). 

“Want me to drive you home?” Choso pulls you out of your own head, his face really scrunched in concern now from the distant look in your eyes, the beads of sweat dotting your temples. “I can get Jogo to cover my shift until I’m back.”

But you shake your head before he can finish, shoulders hiked up to your ears as you try to shoot him an easygoing smile, that you think may look more pained than anything. You wave him away quickly, as you start typing in your login information, cursing yourself for how your check is going to get docked for logging in so late. 

“No, I’ll be fine, Choso. Thanks so much anyway, though.” You tell him, taking your first sip of the drink he made you, sighing a little at the taste. Your eyes flutter closed for half a second as you sink into your seat, your smile less strained this time when you open your eyes and look at him. 

Now he’s the one who looks strained, his face almost seemingly in pain as his eyes divert from your form as quick as your own had. You look down at yourself, wondering if you’ve somehow made a mess, if you forgot to button up your last button, before you realize you hadn’t even put on a button up shirt today, but instead a low cut tank because of the heat. When you look back at Choso, his cheeks have the lightest tint of red to them, and he suddenly can’t meet your eye anymore. 

“If you say so.” He mumbles, before tapping the desk twice as he steps away from it. “Just let me know if your mind changes, okay?” He says, stepping off into his little nook before you have a chance to respond back. You watch as he goes, his shoulders a little hunched, the fluffiness of his hair making it bounce with every step, his toned waist that shows through how tightly he ties his apron. 

You know why you looked guilty when you saw him, but why did he mirror your expression in the same way?

…

Another day passes, and you think you’re starting to put yourself into a financial hole with how many audiobooks you’ve purchased that Choso has narrated. Can you become addicted in less than forty-eight hours? Because you think you might actually be addicted to his voice, and you’re a little hesitant to find out what the cure may consist of. 

Thankfully, Choso wasn’t scheduled to work today. Jogo had made that known the moment he came in, reminding you that if you wanted your sugary drinks, then you’d have to come to him to get them, and pay for them yourself. Which was absolutely something you would not be doing. 

For some odd reason though, it doesn’t make you feel better to know that you won’t see Choso today. You should, seeing as how awkward the two of you were yesterday, should be relieved that you don’t have to scramble to turn off your audiobook every time he walks up. But, you miss him, your routine together, your banter, his pretty face, his even prettier voice. You find yourself a little bored as the day goes on, finals right around the corner, so you’re mostly just looking things up in the computer. 

An hour before your shift is due to close, in walks Choso. He looks a little frustrated, his eyebrows downturned as he walks in with a bag slung over his shoulder, and his hands tucked into his pockets. You perk up at the sight of him near the front, putting a few books away, as you stand up and brush your hands on your maxi skirt. 

“Cho!” You call his name in both greeting and surprise. “I thought you weren’t scheduled for today? The cafe closed two hours ago, anyway.” You cock your head at him as you place your hands on your hips, grateful that you never pressed play on your audiobook after someone asked you a few questions about a couple books they needed. 

Choso looks sheepish, in his own way, his mouth puckered and frowning as he scratches at his nape. You notice that his hair is down today, how it flows over the broad expanse of his shoulders and down the top of his back. He wears a baggy black sweater and white shirt underneath, ripped black jeans and boots that look too heavy to walk in. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t scheduled for today, but I needed to reserve a room in the back for a couple hours.” His eyes get shifty as he speaks, as if he can’t bear it to look you in the eye, like he must somehow know all of your dirty little secrets. So you cock your head at him, taking a few steps in his direction, wonder if now will be the moment he reveals that he knew you had been getting off to his voice for days now. 

“Oh yeah? Can I ask what for?” You walk up to him, watch how his eyes drift down your form before they slide over to the other side of the library. You don’t comment on it, just walk past him to the front desk, leaning over your chair to start typing up on your computer. 

“I just need to finish this one thing.” He says nonchalantly, despite the fact that he clutches his bag to him just a bit closer. “I was gonna do it at home like usual, but Yuuji is hosting a party and somehow forgot to mention it to me, and I need the place to be quiet.” 

Yuuji was Choso’s little brother, and could be a bit of a brat at times, from the stories you had heard. Mainly because of how spoiled he was by his older brother, so it was no surprise that the younger boy had taken it upon himself to throw a party last minute. You glance up at Choso from behind your glasses, find his eyes lingering where your low top lays on your chest before they sneak up to meet your already focused gaze. He swallows thickly. 

“You know you usually have to reserve these places a day beforehand, but I think I can pull a couple of strings for you.” You tell him with a wink, your own face heating at the realization. Choso was admiring you, taking all of you in, and you realize again—that he’s always done that. Has always stared at you with these lingering looks, has always been so kind, always complimented you whenever you did something new with your makeup or wore something kind of experimental for your style. Choso was…interested in you, wasn’t he? 

Or were you just too full of yourself? 

“I appreciate it.” His words snap you out of your head, and you nod absentmindedly as you click around on your computer. You look for available rooms at this hour with such late notice, and find one for him. 

“Okay, looks like room four is available for about two hours before someone is scheduled to be in there.” You smile at him, nodding your head in the direction of the office rooms toward the back of the library. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” Choso says with a small smile, clutching his bag to his form once more before he retreats to the back of the library. You watch him as he goes, your throat closing up on you when you catch a glimpse of a desktop microphone peaking out from the top of his bag, under his arm. 

No way. No fuckin’ way he came here, reserved a room where you worked, at night when its mostly empty, just so he could record his narration for an audiobook? You wonder if this one will be as dirty as the others, if they’ll detail such graphic scenes that your Pavlov’d body will instantly grow hot, your inner thighs slippery? 

Should you say something to him? Confront him about knowing what he does on the side? Ask him why he chose to narrate an author that you personally had recommended to him? He knew that you would occasionally listen to audiobooks—did he not think that you would find out? 

Your mind races for the entire last hour of your shift, your bottom lip bitten raw from how much you’ve chewed on it. When the clock indicates that you can technically go home, you hesitate. Should you really go home, when opportunity has dropped itself right in front of you?

Biting the bullet, you quickly scurry over to the front desk computer, clocking yourself out for the day before you shove your bags into a dark corner, so the next librarian coming in won’t be suspicious about you still being here after your scheduled hours (she’s a nosy somebody). 

Steeling yourself once more, you walk to room four, surprised to find that Choso didn’t pull down the privacy blinds for the room. It’s soundproof though, unfortunately, so you can only stand there on the other side of the window, watch how closely he leans into his microphone, hold it so close to him, like a lover would. 

He wears a big pair of headphones over his ears, and you understand now, why he kept his hair down. It frames his face beautifully, inky black and soft as it caresses the highest points of his cheeks. His mouth, pink, curves over his words, his plum eyes scanning the computer in front of him as he reads the words into the mic. He’s a sight that you wish you can ingrain into your mind for the next century. 

With a deep breath, do you knock on the window to gain his attention. He doesn’t hear it as much as he does see you from the corner of his eye, startling him. His eyes grow comically wide, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You smile at him, and you hope its as enticing as the entirety of him is to your own sight. Wiggling your fingers in a wave, you motion to the door, which he scrambles to stand up and open. 

“What are you still doing here?” Choso asks you, guards the opening of the door with his body protectively. Is he embarrassed to be caught? He looks winded, as if he had run an entire mile to get to you, despite his steps being lesser than five. You look at him as innocently as you can muster, hands clasped behind your back as you tilt your head up to him. 

“I just got off, and I was wondering if I could stick around with you for the night? Sit and listen, maybe?” You ask sweetly, try to hold back your laugh at how his eyes seem to grow even wider at your words. He splutters for a second, although no words come out, so you continue talking. 

“Ya know, I’m a real big fan of your work, Choso. I just wanted to hear it in real time.” You wonder how deep the flush on his cheek goes; if he splatters over the curve of his Adams apple, or down to the apex of his chest, further where his stomach hardens. He looks so fucking cute like that, all wild hair from how he snatches off his headset, to the way he darts his eyes all around the library in case anybody overheard you. 

He quickly pulls you into the room and slams the door behind you, pinning you to it with just a confused look. Although, you wished he was holding you by your shoulders, or maybe you pinning you with his hips, like that one character he read for in another book—

“How did you know?” He asks you, his low voice rumbling like thunder rolling in the sky. You can’t help but smile at him, laughing a little under your breath as you fold your arms over your chest, leaning even harder against the door behind you. 

“I’m the one who recommended that Lucy Hill to you, dummy.” You tell him, referencing the author of the first book you heard from him, the one that changed your entire world. Choso freezes for a moment before he groans, running a veiny hand over his tired face as he mumbles something to himself. 

“Look, you know I sometimes do odd jobs for extra money to help my brother out.” He starts, and you nod at him, ready to tell him that he doesn’t need to explain himself, but he continues on. “And I did one book a few months ago, but I ended up becoming pretty popular and became highly requested to narrate a shit ton of books.” 

“Cho, its okay.” You tell him, placing a delicate hand on his cheek when he starts to look more and more like his inner turmoil is taking over. You don’t speak until his eyes meet yours, and you give him the gentlest smile you can muster. 

“No need to be ashamed of it. Besides, you have the perfect voice for narrating the books that you do.” You tell him, your own voice slipping into something more sensual, your eyes growing the slightest bit hazy as you think back on how hard you came last night from listening to another book of his. At that, Choso watches your face contort, his bundle of nerves suddenly releasing, as he takes a step forward, leaning his face into your hand as he slowly drapes a single hand over your waist. 

“Oh yeah?” He asks, his voice dipping, makes your head grow fuzzy. “How many have you listened to?” His smile is slight, teasing, almost as if the mere look in your eye is enough of a tell of how much you like listening to him. You fix him with a leveled gaze, brushing your thumb over his eye bag, smiling sensually. 

“Enough to know that I’d like to aid you in your narration.” At that, Choso growls low and deep in his throat, rumbles your own body where he presses himself against you. He pins you to the door, finally, his thigh sticking between your own to hold up your body that has grown heavy from the look he’s been giving you. 

“And how would you be doing that?” 

“Ever heard of Hysterical Literature?” You grin at him, time suddenly moving in a flurry right before your eyes. Choso closes the blinds to the room; you lock the door behind you; he places his headset on once more; you sneak under the table in front of his chair; he sits; you tug his pants down; he unzips his zipper; you pull his cock out; he moans. 

“Go ahead, pretty boy.” You murmur to him when you hear him clear his throat to start his narration. You peek up from underneath the table, watch how sweat starts to bead on his upper lip, how he keep glancing down at the way you nuzzle his shaft against the roundness of your cheeks. You’re a dirty sight that he knows will become the end of him. With a moments hesitation, Choso clicks something on his laptop, before he begins speaking into the mic. 

“‘I fuckin’ hate you’, she spits at me, her eyes bleeding venom as she looks at me with such hatred, I fear my body will burst into flames any minute now. But I can’t focus on that—not when her pussy clamps down around my fingers when I moan at her words. ‘You’re a fuckin’ freak,’ she tells me. I pull my fingers free from her slick hole, clean them with my tongue, staring at her the whole time. ‘That’s what you love about me.’ I grin at her, laughing when her cunt squelches from her clamping down around nothing.” 

You’re surprised Choso got that far in his reading without fucking up, seeing as how you’ve been leaving teasing little kisses up and down his shaft. You press your lips ever so gently to his weeping tip, licking your lips against him to taste the saltiness as quietly as you can muster. You hum under your breath, eyes fluttering shut as you go back for another taste and another, until you open your mouth to take him inside of you. 

His cock jumps at that, and he stutters, before sighing softly. He rereads the previous sentence after a few clicks on his laptop, and you continue to take him down your throat until you fear you may gag. At that, you pull back, soundless, drool slipping from your mouth to his cock to the seat of his pants, messy and silent. You lap at his tip as gently as you can, your cunt throbbing at the musky smell of him, how his hand inches down to pat ever so gently at your hair. 

You hold onto his thighs as you swallow him down as silently as you can, throbbing at the way he fills your mouth up. How he takes up so much space, how the thickness of his cock nestled inside of you in a way that makes you too hazy to think straight. You let out a moan by accident, and hear his stutter once more, before he has to reread another sentence from your little slip up. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, more to Choso’s cock than to him, kissing the head once more in apology. His hips twitch almost violently, and he starts again, which makes you chuckle under your breath. 

You suck around him, following his shaft further and further down, tilting your head to the side until you can feel his tip bumping your cheek. He caresses his tip through your flesh, softly, almost as if petting you for your good behavior, for swallowing his cock so sweetly with your velvety throat. You hum around him, as if in thanks, and can’t help but sneak a hand up your skirt to only slightly relieve the ache in your clit. 

“She—fuck—she cums around my cock with a-a cry as—as she—” Choso is a stuttering mess now, and as you glance up, you can see the way his eyes are starting to cross, how his head tips back ever so slightly, unfocused on the work in front of him. You can’t help but laugh around him, pulling back to spit on the head, when you’re suddenly grabbed under the arm and pulled up from between his thighs. 

“Fuck that book, I have to be inside of you now.” Choso growls out, picking you with such quick strength, that it steals your breath away. He carries you to the other side of the table, where his equipment can’t reach, and lays you down gently on your back. He looks at you as if you were a painting of something perfect, and you can’t imagine how you must look with your lipstick smeared and your mascara running from swallowing his cock. 

“Can I?” Choso pleads, leaning down until his mouth fits desperately against yours, his aching cock rubbing against the fabric of the front of your skirt, dirtying it in a way that you’ll never want to clean. 

“Please, fuck, please say I can fuck you now.” His deep voice goes a little high, desperate in the way he ruts against you, his mouth messy over your own. You can’t help but laugh a little at him, like some excited pup that can’t stop humping your leg. You grab the hair at the nape of his neck and pull until he frees from your mouth, his own sticky with lipgloss and shiny from the precum you transferred over to his lips. 

“Fuck me, Choso.” You tell him, a demand in your voice that it makes him growl once more before diving into your lips to kiss you breathless. He doesn’t pull away as he carefully maneuvers your skirt up until it hikes up around your waist, blindly pulling your panties to the side until the warm air of the room greets your exposed cunt. Only then, does he look down, groaning so deep in his throat that you visibly clench at the sound, which only makes his knees weaker for you. 

Choso pumps his cock once, twice, can’t help himself to pat the tip on your aching clit a couple of times to get a loud cry out of you before he positions himself at your entrance. He looks up between his fringe, dark hair clouding how red his face has become, as he bites his bottom lip at the sight of you. 

“Put it in already,” you whine to him, hips trying to angle themselves to take him in without any of his help. But Choso, the gentleman that he always is, heeds your command without another second of hesitation. Fluidly, he pushes his cock in until his tip is swallowed by your hole. You’re tight around him, makes his arms weak as he collapses on top of you, a shudder going through him. 

You cry out loudly, eyebrows scrunched up in the combination of both pain and pleasure. You lock your legs around his waist though, when just the tip isn’t enough for you, egging him on to give you the whole thing. Choso’s hips stutter as he fucks himself into you inch by inch, until his black, wiry pubes tickle your clit, his hips flush against yours. 

You feel a little delirious now, with his heavy weight pressing you down into the table, with his warm breath panting and grunting and cursing into your neck, your cheek, against the curve of your mouth. He steals your breath with every inhale, his lids low as he pulls out a few inches before pushing back in, watching your expression all the while. 

“God, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me.” His voice is grating, husky and low where he speaks against the column of your throat. You cry out, tightening around him, his voice seeping into you, all too familiar, except for the fact that you have the real thing in front of you now. You don’t have to waste battery life of your vibrator, or worry about your headphones dying on you anymore. You claw at his shoulders to pull him close, holding him to you, his mouth next to your ear, yours pressed to his own. 

“Fuck, keep talking, Cho’,” you plead for him, rocking your hips down to meet his thrusts in tandem, and he only groans in response. You can feel him licking his lips against you as he holds you close to him, one arm wrapped under your shoulders, the other around your waist as he guides your hole to swallow his cock every time. 

“I’ve wanted to bury my cock inside of you for s-so long now,” he stutters, voice guttural as he slams his hips against yours so hard that the table shakes. You can only hold onto him around his shoulders, ankles locked behind his waist as you let him have his way with you. 

“So warm, so tight, fuck,” he grunts, pulling his hand from your shoulder to now squeeze between your bodies. Your eyes flood with tears from the intensity of it all when he starts thumbing your clit, his cock carving its way inside of you, your slick coating him with ever thrust. 

“Cum on my cock, princess, cmon,” Choso demands you, his voice growing impossibly deeper, makes tears squeeze from your eyes as you hold on so tight to him, that he couldn’t move away from you if he tried (he never does). Instead, he holds you even closer, his thrusts short but quick, as to keep from leaving the warmth of your body for too long. 

With a cry, you cum around his cock, damn near squeezing the life out of him, makes his voice go breathy and husky, his chest vibrating yours from its deepness. He follows you only seconds later, grunting a curse into your skin as he empties himself inside of you, his hot seed filling you in a way that it makes your head feel hazy in contempt. 

You both stay there for a while, trying to catch your breaths, panting and inhaling the others scent. Choso pulls back to look at you, swiping away a stray eyelash on your cheek before he kisses the corner of your mouth sweetly. 

“Can we do this more often?” He asks you, seriousness bleeding onto his face. You can’t help but smile as you pull his cheeks down to kiss you, gentle and slow, a contrast to your earlier frantically shared kisses. 

“Of course,” you promise him. “As long as you narrate my favorite smut scenes to me the whole time.” Choso groans at that, burying his face in your neck as you can’t help the boisterous laugh that flows out of you, holding him close to your chest. God, you loved being with him already. 

thank you all so much for reading! kind comments/likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[the-fiction-witch]

Words Swirl On The page

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet AF

Requested: Hi! First off I love your writing you're so talented!!!! I was wondering if you could do a Jack Dawkins x reader where the reader's mom makes them go see Dawkins because she isn't good at reading(but it's like dyslexia like what Jack has) and the reader tries to explain that she can read she just has dyslexia. Jack doesn't know what it is and the reader explains that she heard about it somewhere. I know that's not realistic towards the time period but I think it would be cute to see them bond over it. You don't have to write it if you don't want to. Have a lovely day!

Writers Notes: Fun fact! Yeah bet you guys didn't know you were gonna learn something today! Dyslexia or 'word blindness' as it was referred to earlier on was actually coined in 1887 but having been researching them estimated as early as 1877  so yeah now you have a useless fact. 

I sat and kicked my feet a little in my anxious boredom in the hospital room, my mother paced around like a madwoman, I wanted to roll my eyes at her but I knew she was just trying to help. The door opened and a man stepped in he ran a stained hand through his blonde hair moved it over to the side, a well-stained once-white shirt with billowy sleeves, and a textured blue waistcoat slightly too big for him, and a pair of dusty brown trousers. 

"Good Morning, Miss?" He greeted,

"Miss Y/l/n," I answered,

"Lovely, now what brings you to see me today?" He asked leant his elbow on the table, 

"It's her eyes, doctor!" My mother panicked,

and I let out a sigh,

"Her eyes?"

"her eyes! Her eyes doctor! I fear she may be losing her vision!"

"I am not losing my vision mother." I sighed, 

"Alright, what makes you suspicious of her losing her vision?"

"She can barely read for a girl her age!"

"Mother." I snapped,

"Alright, alright, if you could go and wait in the entryway I'll send Miss Y/l/n along when she's done." He told her clearly as annoyed with her yelling as I was, 

She nodded and happily left, she closed the door and her footsteps led away,

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again, "she always that loud?"

"Yes," I nodded,

"Christ I'm surprised you're not bloody deaf." he chuckled which made me giggle too, "I take it you think she's mad?"

"I think she's overreacting." 

"Mothers so often do," he said, "But how is your sight really?"

"It's fine, I see you just fine, I see the room just fine."

"Fingers?" He asked putting three fingers up near my face,

"Three." I rolled my eyes, 

"Alright, alright just checking." he laughed, before he stepped away leaning on the door and putting two fingers up "Now?"

"Two." I rolled my eyes again, "I have trouble reading I'm not going blind." I told him with a slight attitude which he picked up on because his next test was to hold up one finger of course his middle,

"Now?"

"Doctor!" I protested,

"Sorry sorry" he laughed, "Well your vision seems fine"

"I know,"

"You need to anyone else about this?"

"The pharmacist in the town before we moved here looked me over."

"Ohh did he now," he glared as he came back over organizing some tools, "Bloody crackpots the lot of them."

"They say the same of doctors,"

"Oh I bet they do." he glared, "You know you need a building and a year of training to be a pharmacist? A year. I've been doing this for ten years and I'm still learning new surgeries and new procedures." 

"That does seem ridiculous but he gave me these," I said as I pulled out my glasses from my pocket,

"May I?"

"Sure." I shrug as I hand them over, 

He took them giving them an investigate with his young between his teeth, "You don't wear them?"

"I don't see the point,"

"They help?"

"No."

"I see, not stall doesn't make reading any easier at all?"

"No. if anything worse because they keep falling off my face."

"Yeah eyeglasses aren't the most comfortable." he chuckled, "Ahh well no wonder they don't help they are barely even anything I wouldn't even class these a strength one you may as well just be looking through plain old window glass." He said, "And there is a huge scratch in the left lens." 

"Yeah, I threw them across my room,"

"Fair enough," He chuckled, "Well If I were you I wouldn't even bother with them either." He said, "If anything they are probably making you more strained and stressed." he said finishing looking them over, I opened my hand to take them back but his response was to snap them in his hand, 

"Doctor!"

"useless rubbish." he said as he threw them away, "but I'll check over just to be sure," he said as he came close and checked my eyes with some magnifiers and such doing the dance I was so used to, look left, look right, up, down, how many fingers, how many lights, so on and so forth. The only thing of note about it was of course now... strangely intimate such an exam is given the doctor had to stand with one of his feet planted between my legs at points his face inches from my own his breath across my skin, and I admit it made me a little squirmy in my seat given... he was rather an attractive man. "Doctor Dawkins by the way, I never said."

"Ohh of course, pleasure doctor." I nodded,

"Hummm... interesting," He said, "I can't see anything wrong with your eyes no damage, no cloudiness or anything, and your sight seems perfectly fine. You may have a very mild astigmatism but it wouldn't be causing you any problems with reading or sight if that's even what I'm seeing."

"Astigmatism?" 

"It's a fairly new thing, a cornea that's stretched into an irregular shape. Instead of being shaped round, the corneas of people with astigmatism are often oblong. But I mean... if that even is what I am seeing here and I'm not confident it's so minute that it wouldn't be giving you any issues." he said before he grabbed a book and handed it to me on a page, "read the words for me I'll watch your eyes,"

I nodded and looked at the page but immediately the cream paper and black ink began to fuzz and blur together, the words and letters seemed to dance and change the spacing of the letters going from close to miles within an instant, as it all read like...

'E v      ery     thin  g ha    s it  swon  ders, ev  en d      arkne    sand sile    nceand    I l    ear      n, what     tev      erstate I     ma      y b   ein, the     reinto b  e c    ont   ent.'

"Interesting, it's not your eyes that much is clear," He said, "But still you're struggling to read?"

"Yes," I nodded,

"Can you describe what's making it difficult?"

"It's like... the words are dancing."

"Dancing?"

"Like they won't stay still, everything moves and changes, and the spacing changes I feel like I'm trying to read letters on a bunch of bustling sheep."

"... The words swirl on the page?" 

"Yes!" 

"Really?!"

"Yes, exactly how did you know?"

"I- I get that too."

"You do?"

"yeah, I uhhh I've never met anyone else who does," He blushed a little, he sat down beside me and we looked a the book together, "to you are the words moving around?"

"no so many whole words more just letters,"

"Yeah! like you try and read the word there."

"Ev-Everyt- everything." I nodded, "But the E starts off here and then goes off down the page and then the V seems to want to go over there, and then the ery seems to be too squished that you can barely see the R the T seems to want to turn upside down, the H is dancing around like a damn child and then I completely disappears-" I explained and he took my hand which made me turn my face to his dropping the book,

"I- I see it like that too." 

"You do?"

"I do. I... I don't know what it's called or why it happens but I see if like that too."

"I- I thought I was going crazy."

"So did I!" He gleamed, "I... I've never met anyone like me before." 

"Neither have I." 

"I promise you, it's not you. It's not your eyes, it's not that you can't read or can't understand it just, whatever is makes it hard for people like us," he explained, "I. I never thought I'd find anyone who saw things the way I do." 

"me either, but... I have heard what this could be,"

"Oh?"

"I have been reading... slowly." I said and he chuckled, "About a man in Germany an academic and a surgeon specializing in the eyes, he has been researching and experimenting into what he refers to as word blindness."

"Word Blindness?" 

"That's what he calls it, word blindness or Dyslexia when the reading is impaired but no other sight or mental issues," I explained, 

"Dyslexia, well I will certainly have to read up about it, slowly." He chuckled, making me giggle too, "Sorry I just... I never thought I'd find anyone like me." 

"me either," I smiled squeezing his hand,

"Would-  would it be imposing if I asked to see you again?"

"To see me again doctor? proffesioanly or?"

"Not professionally."

"I would like that," I nodded, "we could go for a walk by the water something that doesn't involve any reading." 

"I'd like that," he chuckled, "It uhh Jack, Jack Dawkins,"

"Y/n Y/l/n," I smiled, 

"I am delighted to have met you," he smiled as he kissed my hand,

"I am too," 

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is retired. Yes, he's a little young to have retired, but he lost Eleanor and had Robin to take care of, so he decided to get out of the mob game.

He didn't want Robin to brought up in the life. So he let the smartest of his people (Matthew, Lucienne, Cori......let's be honest, Joanna) buy him out and he took Robin and left the area.

All this is so say, he's out. He has fucking goats and sheep (*sigh* Robin likes the sheep, he has to get permission from his kid to shear them. How the mighty have fallen!) He's not busting heads or shooting people in the f'ing face anymore; he's teaching high school; Robin is thriving; and Hob is flirting with the very cute (mysterious) art teacher, Dream.

Everything is good. Hob is keeping his head down and suppressing his more stabby impulses. Then someone HURTS Dream.

Dream won't tell him who or why, but Hob is patient. He will find out,,,and he will rain terror on those who hurt his Dream. /He also may use it opportunisticly to have Dream move in to the farm.

Hob knows he looks good chopping the wood for the fireplace,,, with his shirt off (okay, okay, with a very tight short sleeve shirt on.)

AJAJSSJAH ex mob Hob is wonderful, I love him, and I need him to stab everyone who has ever hurt Dream in alphabetical order.

Imagine the shenanigans. Hob has just finished taking out a hit on one of the people who hurt his Dream, and this one got messy. Hob has only just finished disposing of the body when Dream comes knocking at the door! So Hob has to desperately hide the knife he just used to gut the guy like a fish, and strip himself out of his bloody shirt. He answers the door with no shirt on and he can't even appreciate the fact that Dream is definitely looking 👀 because he's worried that his secret is about to be discovered! In reality Dream is just there with his little suitcase ready to move in to Hob’s place because now he's terrified that the people who kidnapped him all those years ago are after him again. He's not to know that they're all dead now!

Dream is such a lovely house guest. He delivers AND picks Robin up from school when Hob is busy on the farm (shooting the guys who used to work for Burgess in the face). He cooks! He can only make mac and cheese but Robin loves mac and cheese! It's perfect! He even leans in the doorway of Hob’s farmhouse and watches Hob chopping wood while wearing one of his cute white undershirts (which has some quite suspicious red/brown stains on it but pfffft Dream isn't looking at THAT).

But Dream isn't stupid - he knows that Hob is more than just a farmer and a high-school teacher. He also knows that all his enemies have mysteriously disappeared. He can't help but link those two things together. Especially when he knows that Hob is absolutely DEADLY with an axe.

So he tells himself when he sinks down to his knees and mouths Hob’s cock through his underwear - its just a one time thing. He's just saying thank you. Hob deserves a little TLC.

Needless to say. It's not a one time thing. And Dream doesn't seem to be planning to move out of Hob’s place any time soon. Well, it wouldn't be fair now Robin is so attached to him! And it's fair to say that Hob fucks with just as much skill as he uses to hurt the people who hurt his darling.

[sednonamoris]

arsonist’s lullaby

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: With Sean dead and the Confederate gold nowhere to be found, the Braithwaites learn exactly why boys are off-limits.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/gore, canonical character death, arson/fiery deaths, angst, kidnapping, toxic loyaltyyyyy

Word count: 2,777

A/N: Emerging from my absence to post this chapter and fade back into the ether ✌️

Series masterlist • AO3

—

In the end, it’s a perfectly ordinary day when things come to a head.

Midsummer sun has beat down all day, only just now mellowing to a deep orange, early evening glow. Standing halfway up the path to camp on guard duty, nothing remarkable has happened at all, except maybe the number of deerflies you’ve had to fend off. Like the heat alone isn’t enough.

Micah and Sean and Bill rode into town on business earlier. Sean jabbered something about meeting up with Arthur and that Gray sheriff, but he was insistent on keeping the rest a mystery. High profile stuff, you know. Not for old-timers like you to worry about. You just rolled your eyes and sent him on his way.

Other than that, it’s been awfully quiet— Even after Karen and Bill and Lenny and Arthur hit Valentine’s bank the other week. If you were a more suspicious person you might call it too quiet, but it’s been nice to have a bit of a break. You and John have hardly spent a moment apart. Camp chores go quicker together, you tell everyone, but it hardly takes a genius to see you’re more attached at the hip than ever. Moving sacks of cornmeal and haying horses and chopping wood doesn’t usually result in the lovestruck looks stuck on your faces, after all.

Arthur, too, has enjoyed the down time. If he isn’t sharing a cup of morning coffee with his wife then he’s reading storybooks to his surrogate son, complete with ridiculous voices. He puts on a deep, gruff baritone for the bad guys, then pitches higher for a hero that sounds suspiciously like Jack. It’s sweet. The mantle of secondhand fatherhood fits snugly across his broad shoulders, and you can’t help but feel that if anyone ever deserved a second chance at all this, it’s him.

John’s been watching them with the strangest mix of joy and wistfulness and regret and shame. It’s always gone in a blink. You never quite know what to say.

But there’s no time to ruminate further when a slow, steady, thumping lope comes within earshot. You almost miss it, lost in thought.

“Who goes there?”

You’re not sure why you bother asking; the footfalls are too heavy to be anyone but Bill on Brown Jack. When they come into view there’s a tense set to Bill’s shoulders and unease in the whites of Brown Jack’s eyes. You see something slung behind the saddle, unmoving.

A body.

You only register it as Sean when he slows to a stop beside you.

It’s jarring to see the lively young Irishman so horribly, deathly still. His clothes are stained with blood and singed from bullets, but the gaping hole in his head is what turns your stomach and raises your hackles as well as the hairs on the back of your neck. Pulpy brains. Shards of skull. A once-bright eye bulged, crooked and unseeing. A damn good headshot.

Who would be gunning for him? you think. But really, after all the trouble you’ve been stirring down here, who wouldn’t? It’s only been a matter of weeks since you and the boys stole those horses. Less since he and Arthur burned the tobacco fields.

You look up at Bill after a long moment.

“Wanna tell me how the fuck you got the kid killed?” you say, voice low. Simmering. Seething in the summer heat.

Bill’s expression is caught between guilt and resentment. “It was them Gray boys.”

“Them Gray boys?”

“They were waitin’ for us! Arthur… well, he reckons they figured us out. Talked to that Braithwaite woman, I mean.”

“Where is he? Alive?”

“He and Micah ain’t far behind. Don’t expect they’ll be comin’ together.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just shake your head and try to think past the blood pounding through your eardrums. Ringing in your skull. “We gotta bury him.”

“I know,” he snaps.

Where would Sean want to be buried? With a view of the water? In the shade of the trees? Certainly not alone, but there’s little choice there. “We gotta— He deserves someplace decent.”

“I know.” Softer, this time. “...There’s a quiet spot up the other side of the path.”

You nod. “Don’t let the girls see.”

—

The air is thick and stagnant even as the afternoon fades into evening. You’ve always hated digging graves, and this heat only makes it worse. Cicadas hum. Flies buzz. Bill picked a good spot out of the dying sun, but sweat still pours down both of your faces and necks, soaking through your shirts. Salt stings your eyes and the tip of your tongue.

Once the hole is deep enough, Bill does his best to arrange whatever’s left of Sean with some dignity; arms crossed, a coin over his intact eye. It’s still a sorry sight. You take the pistol from his holster to give to Karen and let its dead weight rest in your belt while you and Bill get to burying. When the work is done, he stutters a few insufficient words over a yet-unmarked grave. He looks to you, then, and you fish your flask off your belt and take a strong swig before pouring a generous amount over the freshly turned earth.

“Cheers, brother,” says a hollow voice that sounds like yours. “Save us a seat.”

You don’t bother saying where.

—

Karen hits you when you tell her. A full arm swing. Open-palmed. Then again when you hand her the pistol.

You let her.

Feels like the least you can do.

—

The evening passes in a haze of numb grief. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you hide, only emerging from your tent when you hear raised voices outside Dutch’s.

“Where’s my goddamn son?” Abigail demands. “They took him, didn’t they? They took my son!”

And Jesus if this day couldn’t get worse. Your eyes scan the camp, like you’d be able to spot little Jack where his mother couldn’t. The sick feeling that’s been festering in your stomach since Sean’s burial twists and writhes and weighs you down like lead. Everyone knows missing is about as good as dead these days, but you don’t dare say that to Abigail.

“Where is my son, Dutch Van der Linde?!”

More and more begin to crowd around the commotion. The girls lay consoling hands on Abigail’s shoulders that quake with anger and fear. Arthur’s face is grim and drawn beside her. John’s is shadowed behind them, torn between guilt and anger. Hosea pushes past the throng to lay blame on the Braithwaites— at least, he says Kieran saw some boys what looked like Braithwaites not far from camp earlier. After what happened in town today, you have to admit it makes sense. Both families have you figured out, and they’re out for their pound of flesh.

As if Sean wasn’t enough already.

“We will find Jack, we will bring him back to you, and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy’s head,” Dutch vows in answer to Abigail’s frantic questioning. “Right now.”

And he turns on his heel and makes toward The Count to do just that. Everyone follows. Bill calls out asking about extra guns that are accepted readily. Micah and Kieran are ordered to protect the camp while you’re all away. Weapons drawn, eyes blazing, you mount your horses and make off into the night.

This is the warpath. The beating hooves and rushing blood. Moonshine canters steadily beneath you, keeping stride with Old Boy and Arthur’s mount on either side. It’s been a long time since the whole gang has ridden out like this, chomping at the bit for a bloodletting.

“I swear, I’ll kill everyone there!” John snarls. He’s settled into his anger now, quicker on its draw than his pistol.

“Easy, Marston,” Arthur says. His voice is low and dangerous like how he warns off strangers. Not family. Not John. “You don’t check your shots, Jack’ll end up dead too.”

“Don’t tell me to take it easy! That’s my—” but John chokes on the word before he can get it out.

Son, he was going to say. That’s his son.

But Jack is as much Arthur’s as he is John’s anymore, and right now neither one can stand it. You can’t bear to look at the fear nor the anger nor the burning blame in either of their eyes.

—

The oaks that line the path to Braithwaite Manor are always imposing, but here in the dusky nighttime you swear you can feel their ancient eyes watching. Bloody roots gorged on bloodstained grounds; twisted, gnarled branches grasping for a Heaven they’ll never reach. There are few stars that shine through the scattered clouds in the early night sky, but you wish upon every one that Jack is safe, and you vow that no one will make it out of here alive if he isn’t.

Everyone dismounts at the gate. Beside you John and Arthur are tense. Mouths set, trigger fingers twitching, eyes aflame with a primal sort of anger and fear that can only come from losing a child. Dutch, too, is furious. The fact that anyone would touch one of his own is normally enough to have him ranting, almost frothing at the mouth, but he must sense that Arthur and John need him calm.

Calmer than them, anyhow.

Ahead, the manor house is lit with a warm orange glow from its pillared porch. The moon casts strange light across the shadowy night, flickering in and out of cloud cover. There is only the sound of gravel beneath your boots and anticipation.

“Get down here now, you inbred trash!” Dutch bellows at the first sight of the Braithwaite boys.

“What the hell do you want?” they call back, like they don’t know.

John makes to aim his gun and you brush against his shoulder as a comfort and a warning. He snarls but doesn’t shoot. Not yet.

Dutch continues, “We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would.”

Arthur is little better off, glaring holes in the heads of every Braithwaite son and cousin and uncle and friend that emerges from the looming house. There’s more of them by the minute. You feel everyone tense around you. Their guns aren’t lifted - not yet - but all it will take is a sign from Dutch.

Not yet.

“That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over.”

“Get the hell off our land!”

Not yet.

Dutch’s eyes darken in challenge. He doesn’t so much as turn his head toward any of you, but the shift in energy is electric. The whole world holds its breath.

“If you ain’t gonna be civilized about this…”

Now.

All at once everyone opens fire. It’s a symphony of gunfire, bullets screaming by from every direction. You pull John behind a crate just as one grazes his ear. He snarls out a curse while you kill the man on the balcony who shot at him. The body tumbles over the railing and stains the steps red with blood and brains.

Dutch calls out marching orders, but through the din he’s nearly impossible to hear. John heads inside. You follow suit. The manor doors swing wide open like the unhinged jaw of a snake, welcoming you into the belly of the beast.

“Jack!”

“Where are you, kid?”

“Jack!”

His name echoes off expensive oak floors and through lofted ceilings. You tear through the lower floor like someone possessed, ripping open mahogany chests and finely stained china cabinets and the couch cushions of richly-rugged sitting rooms. Anywhere a little boy might fit. Then plenty of places he wouldn’t just for good measure.

Somewhere in the rush you lose John. Over the gurgling rasp of a Braithwaite son’s last breath you hear him shout something from upstairs. You make to run up the winding staircase but stop dead in your tracks when you see Catherine Braithwaite being kicked down them.

Dutch sneers, his lip curled with generational distaste for a man who preaches against revenge. She’s sobbing, spewing vitriol with every shaky breath. All her sons are dead now. You can see it in the gape of her burnt ash mouth. In the flames that lick the polished wood floors from their dropped torches. In the fire reflected back in Dutch’s eyes.

—

Jack isn’t there. Catherine Braithwaite uses her last breaths to gloat that he’s been sold to a man in the city.

Sold.

You watch Dutch let her go, then watch still as she runs screaming into the flames. The house collapses over a shrieking phantom of the Deep South with a groan and a sigh. By the color of the flames it’ll burn for hours yet.

The trees stare as you leave, gorged on blood and ash.

—

Dawn comes blood red and brutal, streaking through the sky with its first light warning. Dutch, John, Hosea, and Arthur are all gathered around the camp table to discuss your next moves. Whatever those are, though, you can’t imagine. John didn’t sleep a wink last night, just staring at tent canvas and stewing in blame. He looks awful. Everyone does.

You’re sat next to Abigail by the campfire. She says nothing, but the hunch of her shoulders and the blue-hot flame of her eyes tells you there’s nothing to be said. Her boy is gone. Missing.

You brought her a bowl of porridge for breakfast, but neither of you is up for eating much. She stares into the fire while it sits untouched in her lap. You push your oats around with the spoon and pretend not to eavesdrop.

Of course Marston’s scared rotten, Arthur says in hushed tones. I am too. We killed all them people— for what? For nothin’. There ain’t no gold here.

For living, Dutch corrects him, and you can’t help but think it’s a shame that not all of you got to that part. The living. Sean is dead and gone forever. For all you know, Jack might be too.

But all of that is put immediately to rest when Lenny walks into camp with two Pinkerton agents at gunpoint.

Milton and Ross, they call themselves, swaggering through the whole of camp like you’re not all outlaws and thieves. Killers. Everyone stands as they pass, slowly circling in like vultures to the promise of violence.

The matching felt bowler hats on their heads can’t hide the pockmarks on Milton’s face nor the smug, bristling mustache on Ross’. The government is surely paying a pretty penny for your capture if the fineness of their clothes is anything to go by. Their shoes are shined and polished. You can’t help but notice the way the red Rhodes clay oozes up beneath the soles and paints them muddy.

“This thing? It’s done,” Milton announces when he makes his way to Dutch.

Dutch barely bothers to turn and face him. He doesn’t stand. Everyone else slowly, slowly creeps closer. One step at a time. All coming together. Vultures. Violence.

Things like this are never just done.

Never.

Milton calls Dutch a lot of things. A shepherd of lost souls. A messiah. Sarcasm drips from the syllables, and you wonder how he might react if you told him Dutch was the only god to answer a single one of your prayers. Even Swanson lost touch with Christ long ago. Now when he falters he begs Dutch Van der Linde for forgiveness. All of you do.

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton,” Dutch finally says.

Milton’s eyes narrow. There's a faint expression you can’t quite place on his face when he replies, “You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde.”

He offers freedom, then. Three days to run and hide and live like civilized human beings in exchange for Dutch. It’s almost laughable.

Dutch steps forward and every gun in camp cocks. Agent Milton seems suddenly to remember how very much outnumbered and outgunned he is.

“I think your new friend should leave, Dutch,” Ms. Grimshaw says.

Milton calls it a mistake, calls you all fools, but the only foolish mistake you can see is letting them live.

—

John and Arthur leave together after all that. They make for a place called Shady Belle and promise Abigail it’s close to the city where her son is being held. A good spot to camp while everyone does what they can to bring that little boy home.

Looking at Karen, miserable and bleary-eyed drunk, you can’t help but think it’s awfully far from Sean’s grave.

[labellefleur-sauvage]

DILF Daydreamin'

Lucien would be a great dad, Elain thought suddenly. The image of him holding and caring for their eventual children came completely unbidden to her mind, like a metaphorical bell that wouldn’t stop ringing in her ears. He’d be so sweet and supportive and fun-

Woah, settle down girl, Elain thought. You’ve only been dating him for a few months. One afternoon babysitting your nephew isn’t enough proof that Lucien would be a good dad, if he even wants that.

Elain discovers she likes the idea of making Lucien a DILF. Elain also discovers that Lucien likes the idea of Elain making him a DILF.

For @elucienweekofficial 2023 Day 7: This smut! I have no excuses. The title gives you everything you need to know (full tags are on the AO3 link), so don't say I didn't warn ya. Thank you for the event organizers for making Elucien Week 2023 so much fun!

Rating: Very Explicit

Words: 4K

Read on AO3

XXX

“God, Elain, you’re a lifesaver.”

Elain Archeron stood in the foyer of her sister and brother in law’s once pristine house, a slight grimace on her face. She understood why Feyre had called her the evening before, sounding exhausted and trying to sound desperately like she wasn’t begging Elain to babysit her nephew so she and Rhys could have a few hours of blissful silence to clean and sleep. Feyre stood in front of her now, looking just as weary as she sounded. 

“He’s a precocious boy, isn't he?” Elain hummed as she surveyed the damage around her. A brown blob she prayed was chocolate was splattered on the tile floors, paint scribbles decorated the white walls, small Lego bricks formed a veritable minefield in the hallway all the way to the kitchen, and other random toys—plastic cars, a stuffed bat, picture books—littered any open space on the floors and furniture around her.

“Geez,” a deep voice said behind Elain. “For a little guy, he sure can cause a lot of destruction, huh?”

Elain tilted her head and smiled softly as her boyfriend Lucien stood behind her and looked over Nyx’s path of destruction. They were still in the honeymoon phase of their new relationship, and Elain had been worried when she called him last night to cancel the picnic in the park they had planned for the next day.

“We can just bring him with us,” Lucien responded easily. “He can’t be that difficult to manage. He’ll wear himself out, I’m sure.”

Now Elain wondered if perhaps Lucien may have underestimated the task ahead of them.

“He got into my painting supplies,” Feyre said, watching Lucien’s eyes settle on the walls. “He was so excited to show me his little masterpiece this morning.”

Elain grinned. “Maybe you have another painter on your hands.”

“More like another agent of chaos, like his father,” Feyre said conspiratorially. “Come on,” she motioned, waving Elain and Lucien into her house, “we have everything in the kitchen. We already have everything packed—don’t worry, that’s just chocolate—including food, toys, extra clothes, all that. He has a little bit of eczema on his arms, so we can only use this special sunscreen on him—it’s in the bag. Oh, and he still doesn’t quite understand that not every puppy is friendly, so if you see any dogs around, keep an eye on him so he doesn’t run and try to make a new friend. Here he is!”

They entered the kitchen to see Rhys strapping Nyx into his car seat. Her brother in law’s normally perfectly styled hair was disheveled and greasy looking. His white shirt had no less than four distinct, suspicious stains, and his gray sweatpants were ripped in several places. He had the same tired, wan complexion as his wife, though his face brightened like Feyre’s did when she saw Elain and Lucien.

“Our saviors!” Rhys grinned. “I’ve already told Nyx that he’s going to the park today and he has to be on his best behavior, so I hope that’s still the plan,” he said, looking nervously between Elain and Lucien. 

“It is,” Elain said brightly, standing in front of Nyx in his carseat. “We’re going to have so much fun today, aren’t we!” She tickled his belly and he clapped his hands excitedly. 

“Lain, lain!”

“And we have someone else joining us today,” she said, dragging Lucien over to stand next to her. “Nyx, this is Lucien.”

“Hey buddy,” Lucien said softly, grinning at Nyx. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun at the park today.”

Nyx stared solemnly at Lucien but perked up when he heard the word ‘park.’ He smiled and squirmed in his car seat. 

“Go, go!”

“His new favorite word,” Feyre said. “Which means it’s probably time for you three to head out, unless you want a full blown tantrum soon.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Elain said as Lucien grabbed the handle of Nyx’s car seat and started wading back through the trenches to the front door. 

“He has a lot of energy!” Feyre called after them. 

“We got it!” Elain called back.

“He’s one toddler, how bad could it be?” Lucien asked as he buckled the car seat into his SUV. “Right, my man? I bet you’ll be ready for a nap after an hour of playing.”

Apparently, Nyx was up for the challenge.

“How is he… still going?” Lucien puffed weakly, his hands on his knees as he tried to recover his breathing. “He just won’t stop. What is that kid running on? He hasn’t eaten in hours!”

“I’m hungry just watching him,” Elain panted. She was in her nicest yellow sundress and wasn’t able to keep up with her nephew and Lucien, but she was trying her hardest. They had been at the park for nearly three hours and Nyx hadn’t stopped running since his little feet hit the grass. They had already gone down every slide in the huge park a dozen times, ran and jumped over every piece of playground equipment they could find, rode the old fashioned carousel twice, played in the decommissioned old fashion fire truck—though Nyx was too afraid to go down the firepole, even in Lucien’s arms—and had wandered down to the pond to feed the ducks and geese. 

“I should have put my Apple Watch on him, see how many steps he’s taken.” Lucien wiped the sweat off his forehead. 

“I don’t think we’ve invented a number that high.”

“Loo! Loo!”

Nyx was standing next to a baby swing seat, thumping his chubby hand against the plastic.

“Loo! Go, go!”

“Impressive,” Elain smirked. “You already have a nickname. And he wants you to push him on the swing.”

“Lain and Loo,” Lucien said, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her briefly. “We should get matching couple shirts.”

Elain hummed happily as butterflies tumbled in her stomach at his suggestion. “Go on, go play with Nyx for a bit and I’ll get everything for the picnic ready.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and pushed him away playfully when he went back for another kiss.

She took her time setting up a picnic table with all their food, then ambled her way towards the swing set. Lucien was excitedly pushing Nyx in a chair-style swing, her nephew’s chubby little legs waving in the wind. Every now and then Lucien would duck to the side of the swing and pop up right in front of Nyx, much to his glee. His shrieks of laughter rang through the air as Lucien laughed right along with him, and Elain lost her breath.

Lucien was stunning. He had put his long red hair in a ponytail and his golden brown skin was flushed with the summer heat and the exertion of pushing Nyx. His biceps bulged with the effort and his shirt revealed a bit of trailing red hair on his toned stomach as it rode up whenever he lifted his arms. 

All of his attention was on Nyx, though. Lucien looked genuinely happy to be pushing his girlfriend’s nephew for the hundredth time. He didn’t look annoyed or put out that the picnic he had painstakingly planned for the two of them now included an energetic toddler. Her boyfriend’s eyes were filled with excitement, his smile big and bright, his enthusiasm contagious. 

Lucien would be a great dad, Elain thought suddenly. The image of him holding and caring for their eventual children came completely unbidden to her mind, like a metaphorical bell that wouldn’t stop ringing in her ears. He’d be so sweet and supportive and fun—

Woah, settle down girl, Elain thought. You’ve only been dating him for a few months. One afternoon babysitting your nephew isn’t enough proof that Lucien would be a good dad, if he even wants that.

But the images wouldn’t go away. Like it was right in front of her, she could see Lucien pushing a redheaded girl in a swing, her hair blowing in the breeze, or going down a slide with a little boy with her brown curls. It was all so clear and so lifelike. He’d be so kind and gentle and nurturing to their kids. 

“Earth to Elain. Hey! Elain?”

Elain blinked. Lucien was giving Nyx a few weak pushes and staring at Elain with a furrowed brow.

“You alright? You were kind of staring at us and zoning out.”

“Uh huh,” she said noncommittally. That was embarrassing; they were still so new together, and the topic of potential future families hadn’t come up yet. 

“You sure? You look a little flushed.”

“Just the heat!” she replied with a fake grin. “Come on you, time for food.” Elain plucked Nyx out of the swing and put him on her hip, refusing to look Lucien in the eyes. “Your mommy packed you all your favorites,” she told Nyx, pinching his red little cheeks. “Goldfish and applesauce and berries.” Nyx smiled at her and Elain took that as a sign he might actually eat some food. 

She turned and headed to their table. “I could eat a horse,” she said. “I’m really glad we packed a whole bag of those barbecue potato chips.” 

The only reply was Nyx’s little babbles. Elain looked around—Lucien wasn’t with her. Turning back, she saw him standing by the swings, staring after Elain with a dazed and surprised look. 

“Is the heat getting to you too?” she called back to him. 

Lucien’s eyes darted up to hers before he ran his hands over his face. “Yeah,” he called back, making his way towards them. “Guess I forgot what it felt like to stand still.”

By the time they finished their food and went for one last ride on the carousel, Nyx finally started to slow down. They went down a few of his favorite slides before packing everything up and heading back to Feyre’s house.

They returned a napping Nyx to his refreshed parents and a much cleaner house, then made a hasty retreat back to Elain’s apartment. She thought her and Lucien would have a quiet evening consisting of takeout food and Netflix, before going to bed early so they could recover from their tiring day. 

Taking energy inspiration from Nyx, her boyfriend had other ideas. 

Lucien had carried her to her bedroom and unceremoniously dumped her on the bed, tearing off her clothes, and was currently between her thighs, his tongue making clever twists and turns over her folds. He was good at everything in bed, but he seemed to take a particular shine to eat Elain out. 

“Fuck!” Elain gasped as one of his fingers entered her slick channel, her eyes fluttering close. He thrust his finger inside her as his stiff tongue flicked the head of her clit. She was so close, and she wanted to come on his face before coming on his cock. All she had to do was lay back and relax. 

Instead, her mind wandered. She thought of the casual strength Lucien had displayed when he carried her to bed, and the warm smile on his face, and was instantly reminded of Lucien pushing Nyx on the swing, how good he was with her nephew, and how natural caring for a child came to him. 

He crooked his finger just right inside her and a bolt of lightning shot down her spine. “Oh fuck Daddy, yes!”

Lucien stopped moving completely and it took a few seconds for Elain to register the silence in the room. She whined and thrust her hips up towards his face, her oncoming orgasm swiftly departing, when she finally opened her eyes to look at him. His eyebrows were raised, eyes wide, and what she had blurted out suddenly came back to her.

“Oh God,” Elain whispered, mortified. 

“That wasn’t what you just called me,” Lucien quipped, unable to keep a smirk from his face as he pulled his finger from her cunt.

But this was no laughing matter. She had just called her boyfriend of only a few months—a few months! They weren’t even living together!—Daddy, one of the kinkiest things she could imagine. This might even be too much for Lucien to handle, freak that he was. 

Sex with Lucien was great. He was enthusiastic, listened to her, wanted her to have as many orgasms as possible, and had the stamina of a racehorse, with a cock to match. He was the complete package—no pun intended—and she had just called him Daddy. She had never been so embarrassed in her life. 

“I’m sorry!” Elain moaned, covering her beet red face with her hands. “I don’t know where that came from!”

Lucien hummed and kissed her inner thighs. “I can hazard a guess. Maybe the sight of seeing me with Nyx today made your brain think of me with our future kids. Less Daddy kink and more… DILF kink.”

Shoot. Her. Now. She was not having this discussion, preferably at all, but especially not with a new boyfriend. 

Elain shuddered and fought to keep her breathing steady. She didn’t trust herself to answer. She peeked out from behind her fingers. Lucien stared up at her, an eyebrow cocked, waiting for an answer. 

“Um, y-yeah, I guess,” she stuttered out. “Just a weird, one time, slip of the mind. Biological clock is ticking, and all that.”

“It doesn’t have to be one time.” 

Oh, god. Why was Elain surprised that Lucien would be into this? She had quickly learned over the course of their relationship that he was a certified freak in the sheets. The difference was, he had been the one who always brought any new kinks into the bedroom. Elain wasn’t sure if she wanted her first foray into kink to be calling her boyfriend Daddy without any prior discussion on the topic.

“I saw you today, watching me with Nyx.” Lucien’s voice had gone deeper, his eyes hooded. He trailed the tips of his fingers over the soft skin of her inner thighs and hips, and Elain shivered. “At first I just thought you were worried I’d drop him or something. But then,” he suddenly thrust two fingers into her heat and Elain gasped, “I noticed you giving me that same look you have on right now.”

“And what look is that?” Elain was torn: she desperately wanted Lucien to continue, but her own embarrassment made her want to crawl away and hide for a week. 

“Your ‘fuck me now’ look,” he said, thrusting his thick fingers in and out of her pussy. “Your eyes get all hazy and you bite your lip and you start squirming, like you need my hard cock in you or you’ll go crazy—yeah, just like that. And seeing me with Nyx made you that way, hm?”

“Lucien, please,” Elain whimpered. 

“Please what? Answer me: did seeing me with a baby turn you on?”

“Yes,” she groaned, mortified. She closed her eyes. 

“Good, because seeing you like that was so fucking hot.”

Elain gasped as Lucien withdrew his fingers from her body and manhandled her so she was on her knees and elbows, her ass in the air. He settled in behind her and knocked her knees further apart with his own. She was vibrating with anticipation as she felt his hard length between her legs. 

“Seems you're not too embarrassed now, huh?” Elain couldn’t see his face but knew Lucien was grinning slyly at her. 

Elain huffed and merely arched her back even further, sticking her ass up closer to him. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Elain yelped, blushing at her reaction. 

“Then use your words. What do you want?”

“I want you in me.”

Lucien scoffed. “Is that all? That’s not very original.”

She groaned in embarrassment and buried her head in her pillow. “I want you to come in me,” Elain mumbled, speaking more into the bed below her than Lucien over her.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” he cooed in a sing-song voice. 

Elain gritted her teeth. She didn’t mind being teased but she was quickly growing frustrated that she hadn’t come yet and that Lucien appeared to be making light of her embarrassment.

“I want you to fuck me and I want you to come in me!” she snapped, looking over her shoulder to glare at Lucien. 

He gave her a cocky grin. “Was that so hard?” Not giving her time to answer, Lucien shoved her face down into the bed and ran his cock over her slick folds. 

“God, you’re so perfect Elain,” he groaned, notching the fat head of his cock at her pussy. “But you know what?” Lucien leaned down to whisper in her ear. She shivered. “Seeing you holding a baby on your hip today made me think all the same things you were thinking about me.” He sunk into her slowly, letting her adjust to his girth before withdrawing and sinking just a little bit deeper inside her. “Made me wonder what our kids would look like, how you’d look holding them.”

Elain gasped for air as Lucien finally settled all of his cock inside her, stretching her out and filling her. She took several uneven, heaving breaths, not only from his length, but the realization that Lucien had the same dirty fantasies as her. She relaxed in the knowledge that he wasn’t disgusted by her—quite the opposite, apparently—and wriggled her hips in an unspoken gesture to move. 

Gripping her hips and cursing quietly to himself, Lucien set a fast pace, his powerful hips snapping against her ass. Elain moaned and hung her head between her arms. Lucien always seemed to know exactly how she wanted to be fucked, how hard he needed to go or whether she wanted something slower. 

He gave a rough thrust and she yelped. God, it felt like his cock was halfway in her stomach. She clenched around him and Lucien’s answering moan made her tremble. He fucked her even faster, and Elain gripped her duvet cover so hard she thought she might tear it if she wasn’t careful. This was absolute perfection. Lucien was absolute perfection—

“Have you thought of it before? Me as a DILF?”

Well, maybe not. Elain snorted and laughed through her moans. He was still fucking her roughly, though he slowed down to laugh with her at his ridiculous statement. 

“I haven’t before,” she said, turning to look back and up at him and grinning. “But I’m definitely going to now.” 

Lucien grinned and leaned down to kiss her shoulder, placing a solid hand over hers on the bed and lacing their fingers together. His other hand wandered down to her lower stomach and pressed against her, his cock leisurely stroking in and out of her tight depths. 

“Not now, but maybe one day, you’ll make me a dad, yeah?” His breath was warm against the shell of her ear. “Let me come in you until it takes, right here?”

“Yes, yes,” Elain whimpered, screwing her eyes shut at the dirty image his words conjured in her mind. She knew he loved coming in her, but she thought, like most men, Lucien just had a fascination with his come, not a full on breeding kink. His words sent flutters throughout her lower belly and Lucien moaned as her pussy tightened around him. His hand on her stomach moved between her legs and slowly started caressing her clit as he fucked her, his hips rutting into her as he hunched over her. 

“Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Fuck, Elain, I need you to come now.” His fingers circled her clit as thrust into her, his breathing harsh between her shoulder blades. “God, please say you’re close.”

There were too many sensations within and around her: Lucien’s warm hand holding her own, the wet smacking of their flesh joining, his rough fingers on her clit, and his cock hitting her so deep his come wouldn’t have far to go if he really was trying to knock her up. 

It was that sudden realization that did her in. With a final strangled gasp Elain came, her walls fluttering and squeezing Lucien’s cock so hard that he came only a moment later. Groaning, he dug his teeth into her shoulder, leaving a temporary part of himself in the indentations in her flesh. 

He panted against her raggedly. His fingers tenderly stroked the sides of her clit as she quivered through the aftershocks of her orgasm. She felt sweaty and tired but content. 

“Do you have one more left in you?” Lucien asked quietly, his fingers brushing the sensitive head of her bud. 

Elain wriggled underneath his big body. She was dangerously close to becoming overstimulated, little shocks of discomfort blazing through her clit the more he touched her. A few tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. “Oh, Lucien…”

“Just one more,” he said soothingly, kissing her along her jaw and neck as his fingers picked up their pace. “Need to make sure you keep all my come inside you so you can give me a baby. Fuck, you’d look so beautiful pregnant.”

Sobbing, Elain came again, weak aftershocks flooding her body. Lucien turned her head towards his to kiss her, swallowing her feeble cries with his soft lips. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Lucien withdrew his hand and his cock from her body, running soothing circles over her skin as she collapsed face first onto the bed, trembling. 

A warm hand skimmed the back of her thigh, up and up, then kneaded one of her ass cheeks. “I love seeing my come dripping out of your pretty cunt,” Lucien rasped in her ear, sweetly kissing her before he rolled down next to her on the bed like he hadn’t just completely rocked Elain’s world. He took her hand in his, entwining their sweaty palms together. 

Elain turned her head and peeked at him. Lucien was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his face and upper chest flushed. His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily through his mouth. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, Elain thought, taken aback, once again, by how damned lucky she was. 

“You’re still on birth control, right?” Lucien asked, cracking a single eye open to look at her.

“Oh yeah, I still have a few years left.”

“Oh, thank God. Knew you did, but in the heat of the moment…”

“What, you weren’t serious about knocking up the girl you’ve only been seeing a few months?” Elain asked sarcastically, arching an eyebrow and smirking at him as she turned over to lay on her side towards him. 

He scoffed. “Well, not yet at least. My mom would kill me if I got you pregnant and we weren’t married.”

She ignored the little somersaults in her belly at hearing Lucien talk about marriage and getting her pregnant one day. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to live with the knowledge that my insanely hot boyfriend is a sex fiend with a breeding kink,” she sighed dramatically. 

“Insanely hot boyfriend, huh?” Lucien smirked. “I’ll take it. But the real question: am I hot enough to be a DILF?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“I’m not answering that,” she said.

“We could put it to the test. Give me a reason to marry you and not have my poor mother disown me.” His eager hands wandered up her legs and stomach to her breasts, caressing a peaked nipple. 

“Lucien!” Elain shrieked in laughter, hitting him with a pillow as he feebly tried to defend himself. Sometime later she would admit that yes, he’s definitely hot enough to be a DILF - as long as she was the only one who got to fuck him. 

(Lucien had no complaints about that.)

[loquaciousquark]

[Fic] Iron Bound [8/25]

Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Fenris/Hawke, Sebastian Word Count: 4.3k this chapter, ~96k total Summary: Fenris, captain of Starkhaven’s White Guard and the dearest friend of that country’s prince, has arrived in the kingdom of Kirkwall with a retinue of noble-born guards and a carriage brimming with lavish gifts. How else to win over the hearts of a suspicious mountain people who would rather break teeth on stone than accept the prince of Starkhaven stealing away their heir princess?

But stone is all they have in their kitchens lately, and gravel in their quarries and ice in their bitter rivers, and Starkhaven sits abreast the richest lea and moorland south of the Minanter.

And Sebastian Vael, the young prince of that country, needs a wife.

—

They passed out of the woods at last into the rolling yellow plains of Ostwick. Their travels had taken longer than expected; they had lost a day to an unmarked cliff in the woods that took some time to traverse, three more to a river which had flooded and washed out a crucial bridge. Eight weeks had passed since the attack on the carriage, over nine since they had left Kirkwall with Hawke dressed in gold and white, with Fenris’s sword still bloodless. Now she wore stained, torn leggings and boots with failing soles; he slept with his sword in his hand and his daggers beneath his arm.

Ostwick’s borderlands were desolate, covered in untamed, prickly yellow grass and overrun with wild elk, lumbering bighorn sheep, and sharp-eyed foxes. Wolves came with them, and once a great brown bear that very nearly trapped them both atop a boulder before Fenris managed to slash its arm and persuade it they were too much trouble to eat. During the day they walked, avoiding roads and towns, camping against sloped embankments where they could and by streams and rivers when they could not.

At night, when the late summer heat had waned, Fenris taught Hawke spear-work. She was good with staves already—the preferred weapon of her father—and had the strength to move the blade quickly and precisely. She was not afraid to kill, and one night under Fenris’s guidance she brought down a brace of hare that they ate together. She demanded praise for her hunting and he gave it willingly; the next day she nearly broke the spear on a tree-root and was forced to concede room yet to learn.

—

Links: FF.net, AO3

[ladyemberswrites]

Voltron: Defenders of the Universe/Oldtron

Lotura

Summary: A small excerpt of Lotor's grand adventures concerning fatherhood.

He burnt the tip of his tongue on hot coffee, the immediate sensation caused him to jerk back only to spill hot liquid on the hairs of his chin, the documents on his desk and unfortunately his lap.

His scowl deepened, eyeing the stained paper work with annoyance. Though to be fair most of them were complaints, carefully worded protests against his current decrees, but complaints nonetheless. Truly, it was no true loss that a couple of drops of hot coffee got on them.

The sight perfectly articulated his current disdain. Placing the mug, Allura's favorite mug, that had mice dotted all around it, he remembered his strength, remembered that it was far too small for his hands, and that his dearest wife would likely chastise him for accidentally breaking it.

Actually-his eyes darted around the room, it was long dark outside. Well, not totally dark, he could still make out hues of dark purples and blues that were slowly fading as the moon rose higher. Because he had slightly propped his office window open, he can taste the faint flavor of salt. The tides were receding.

Sighing, he leans back, cracking each individual knuckle. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Quiet like an omen.

He hadn't seen hide nor hair of his children since dinner. They had classes and training that they attended throughout most of the day. When they weren't occupied they either lazed around the house during the hotter times of the afternoon or ventured outside with their peers when it had cooled.

He grimaced. Paperwork could wait,he needed to ascertain that his children were indeed alive, in one piece and that nothing had caught fire.

Exiting, the hall lights were on, but no child in sight. He had left Kisari and Vax'ha with Ular, but he did not see them or hear them, nor did he call out for them. Quiet like an omen. Allura would never forgive him if any of their babies had gotten hurt under his watch, and he'd never forgive himself either for being negligent.

Distracted by the eerie quiet he nearly tripped and stumbled, his quick reflexes kept him from soaring face first into the hard floor.

His scowl is more prominent..he finds that what he had tripped over Is Kisari's stuffed-he squinted at it, the name of the animal is somewhere on the tip of his tongue, but it's lost in the rattle of his sleep-deprived mind.

Long neck, with brown spots - a gift from a Terran dignitary whose name escapes him, not that he cared in the slightest. However the toddler is nowhere in sight-his frown hardens.

He looks around "Kisari?"

No answer.

"Ular?"

No answer.

"Vax'ha?"

No answer.

Quiet like an omen.

It's not like her to leave her beloved toy about so carelessly "Kisari?"

His call is answered by a blood curdling scream, Vax'ha's more specifically. He learned not to panic, not too much anyways, children scream over anything, as time has come to teach him. Instead of his previous goal, he journeys up the third floor where the children's bedrooms lay, and finds the hallway oddly immaculate. He isn't sure whether to be impressed or suspicious, but finds the kids' bathroom door wide open.

It reeked of mud, usually it smelled like urine, courtesy of his sons' atrocious aim, and strongly scented bath bubbles.

He expected blood. A whole lot of blood, splattered on the white tiles and in between them. Broken bones sticking out of flesh and skin. A cut hand to a lesser extent, or worse a split skull. Allura would never let him live it down if something that serious happened on his watch. Despite not knowing the reason behind Vax'ha's shrieking he can already taste the bitter guilt on his tongue.

But, to his relief, none of the ugly, gruesome scenarios came to fruition. Instead of mangled bodies he finds Vax'ha taking refuge on top of the closed toilet seat, cheeks red with anger and equally angry tears.

And he finds the object of her distress-Kisari.

Tormenting her.

or rather with the mask she's wearing, that covers her whole head is the object of the torment. Gnarly and uncanny, the strange, animalistic noises the toddler makes isn't helping the matter.

"Stop it!" Vax'ha yells again "I said stop it!" Kisari ignores her cries and continues the guttural, growling noise she's making in the back of her mouth, savoring her sister's anguish in childish glee.

"Daddy!" It's then he is noticed "make her stop!" She stamps her feet against the porcelain "she won't stop!" He sighed, walking over, yanking the mask off the toddler's head, her dark eyes blink upwards.

"Kisari, why are you terrorizing your sister?" He doubts he'll get answers, but asks nonetheless.

"Papa?" Her brows knit together.

"Don't papa me, why are you tormenting Vax'ha?"

"Cause."

"Cause isn't an answer" he replies patiently "and where did you get this?" He had it stored somewhere in the basement, a priceless artifact from a bygone era, made of feathers, faded in color, and wood so old, the trees it was made from have long been extinct. It is or was a type mask meant to intimidate enemies on the battlefield when his people had only been a small group of small, yet thriving tribes.

Of course they were that no longer. They no longer have need of these, but it was a wedding gift from the Witch chosen from her old assortment of ancient collections.

He had kept this in the storage room. How did Kisari get a hold of this was the unanswered question.

Did someone leave the door open?

"Found it!"

"Where exactly?"

"On chair" she meant couch. What was this doing on the couch? He turns it in his hands before placing it on the counter, and yanks Kisari from the floor, and in his arms. Vax'ha angrily rubs her tear-stained cheeks.

"Where's Ular-"

"Everyone move!" Lyra stormed into the room in a hail of ivory hair “Vax'ha get off the the-” too late, she ended up puking onto the white tile floor while clutching her stomach. It all happened within the blink of an eye, he could barely react as An’tok came stalking in after her.

“I told you not to get up!” he yelled at her.

“Shut-up….” she mutters, as he keeps her from keeling over.

“Hey!” another voice enters the fray “there’s the mask! How did it get there?! Are you throwing up!?”

Quiet like an omen

Lotor sighs. It was going to be one of those nights

_

[chronicalchaos]

Deals and Curses - perfect imperfections

Trigger warning: gore descriptions

He casts a shadow as he enters the room, the wooden floor creaking under his shoes as he steps inside, his eyes wander all around, in search of any suspicious movement from the ambient, but, there was nothing.

Sam takes a deep breath, braving to step deep inside this claustrophobic mess of a room, it was quiet, maybe too quiet for his liking, not even the sound of the cold wind hitting the old buildings, that accompanied him so far, was there to soothe him, just him and this old place.

It doesn't take long until he stops, wandering throughout all the portraits in the wall until he sees himself staring at a pair of navy blue eyes, his own eyes, there is a single mirror in the middle of a bunch of portraits, as he stares at his own reflection, Sam could swear he saw something, or someone, running behind him.

As he turns around in a single motion, he finally hears a sound, glass shards, he's stepping on glass shards, that's when he finally noticed, most, if not all of the portraits on higher positions in the walls don't have the protective glass, nor a single picture.

At the wall at the other side of the room, he sees a full length mirror, completely cracked, even with that, all it's pieces were still on the frame, with a single piece staring back with his reflection, a reflection of a right navy blue eye, his own right eye.

Suddenly, the door closes, and before he could be swallowed by darkness, the lights turn on, Sam turns to the door's direction, just having time to catch a glimpse of something scurrying inside the mirror by the side of it, leaving behind bloody fingerprints on the door, light switch and mirror frame.

At his side, he hears glass shattering, his eyes wander to a picture of two boys, one of them in particular catch his attention, the different one, the one with pale stains on his skin and white strands on his hair, two different colored eyes, one brown and another matching the other boy's blue eyes, blue in a shade identical to his own eye.

A gentle, but firm, grip wraps on his shoulder, by his peripheral vision, he could see a hand with bloody nails, ones who didn't seem to belong by whoever's using them, that's when he sees it, a patch of a paler skin tone stitched on the person's arm, very close to his hand.

Slowly, Sam turns to the being, seeing himself face to face with an ragdoll like amalgamation, very similar to the boy in the picture, a light brown iris stares at him from it's eye socket, the bloodshot eye grossly moving in a very unatural manner with an empty space on its right side of the face, decorated with a very eye catching white spot, almost calling for something special, an imperfect art piece of a navy color, it wouldn't complete it's pitiful form, it isn't even close to reach its complete silhouette, with occasional blood drips and organs that threatened to fall off from it's missing ribcage, but at least it was something...an imperfection that Sam has perfect match.

-----

Just something from an old AU, wanted to write some horror, so here it is

[crossedsabers10s]

Politics and Dog Sitting

bit of a scene set in Strikes Thrice

Of course, he’s not expecting the dog.

Walking into his house after a long afternoon’s work of relieving the Mystic Grill of their bourbon supply with Alaric’s help, the last thing he expects is to see one of his best friends sitting on his couch with something fuzzy. The fuzzy thing barks at him, just the once, but it’s loud enough and annoyingly pitched enough that Damon decides to hate it on sight.

Dagur makes a soothing noise and pats at its head. The dog reluctantly quiets.

“Why do you have a dog?” It’s less of a question to Dagur and more of a demand for answers from the universe at large. 

The universe doesn’t answer back, but Dagur does say this, “A good question.”

“No,” Damon denies, both the words and the situation. “A good question would be: Why do you have a dog on my couch?”

And it is. The fuzzy, droopy, drooly thing is sitting half on Dagur’s lap, half leaving its coat all over Damon’s upholstery. It looks like a beagle, but the creature would never win best in show. Fat and with an unpleasant scattering of bald patches, the thing looks pathetic, augmented by the hangdog face and big droopy eyes. But that’s no reason to give into it’s doggy whims and let it onto expensive furniture. He can see the white and brown bristles already coating everything, from the floor to Dagur to the couch.

“He looked sad on the floor,” Dagur says, giving the mutt’s head a fond pat. Aw hell, don’t tell him she’s gotten attached. 

“You’re about to look sad.” The idle threat does nothing to get the animal away from Damon’s furniture, but it does make him feel better. Marginally. Not his best work, but he’s busy wondering if he could get away with feeding the dog to Stefan. “And maybe in pain.”

“You can try,” she says, smirking at him. Stupid ancient Vikings. Stupid vampire strength rules. What Damon wouldn’t give to be able to toss the infuriating woman ass over teakettle. And her little dog too. “Anyways, Enzo gave him to me.”

That throws Damon off. “What--Why did Enzo give you a dog? Why did Enzo have a dog to give to you?”

“Something about a pool party?” She shrugs. “Or maybe it was a massacre. Don’t quite remember.”

“I’d say those are two very different things, but I remember the summer of ‘75.” Jaws had just come out. One little hint of blood in the water and the humans started screaming. Good times. 

“Hah! Good times,” Dagur agrees, echoing Damon’s thoughts. He narrows his eyes at her. Usually he wouldn’t mind being on the same page when it comes to mayhem, but right now he’s annoyed about the fur-shedding invader. 

“No, but seriously, why do you have a dog?”

“His name is Porthos.” Not the answer he wanted. But it will be good to have something to inscribe on the gravestone. 

“His name is about to be Road Kill if you don’t get him off my couch.” Okay, so he’s not serious. Damon isn’t Stefan, he doesn't go out of his way to murder defenseless animals. But like fuck he’s letting this go unprotested either. 

“Rude.” Two floppy ears get covered and Dagur gives him an offended look. “He can hear you.”

“He can probably fly with those things too.”

Of course, that’s when Elena and Caroline walk in. 

“Hey, Damon, have you seen Stefan’s--Why do you have a dog?” Thank you, Elena, for asking the important questions. 

“Awwww, is that Mrs Jenkins’ baby? He’s so cute!” Caroline goes over to coo at the thing, getting a slobbery kiss on the hand in return. Ugh, Damon can smell the creature’s breath from here. 

Elena hangs back, warily eying the thing’s bald spots. Oh hell, what if it has mange? “Why do you have Mrs. Jenkin’s dog?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Damon tells her. 

Enter Enzo, messenger bag over one shoulder and suspiciously chipper. There are no obvious blood stains, but that doesn’t mean much. 

“Dagur, where’s—Ah! Hello, Porthos.”

Porthos barks in greeting, tail and hindquarters wagging as Enzo approaches. The thing almost falls off the couch trying to get closer to the vampire. Dagur makes a face as the dog abandons her. 

“‘Zo. Why?” It’s not a whine. It’s a very serious demand for answers. No matter the way Elena and Caroline are hiding giggles. 

“I volunteered to dogsit for the Jenkins while they visited family. Didn’t count on the pool party being scheduled for this weekend, of course. But Carol insisted. So I delegated,” he explains, waving the hand not patting the dog at Dagur. 

“You’re welcome,” Dagur tells him, idly brushing dog hair off her lap and onto the carpet. 

Enzo gives her a smile. “Thank you, peaches.”

Damon clears his throat. “Great, that’s so nice of you--why are you doing any of this?” he demands, gesturing at the little beast. “Dog-sitting for old ladies? Pool parties?”

“And town hall meetings, bake sales, community sports…. I’ve been busy, you see.”

“Uh-huh. And why are you--.... Wait. No. Tell me you’re not--”

“I’m not planning on running for office or anything anytime soon—“

“Anytime soon?”

“—but we are going to be here for the foreseeable future. It’s important to establish a good reputation.” 

Dagur pipes up with, “Like an alibi.”

Elena makes a face. “Dagur, no.”

“Well…. I rather think, that by the time I’m done, I could get away with murder in this town. Easy.”

“You’re evil,” Blondie says, but she’s looking intrigued. Damon would put money on the future Ms Mystic Falls over there having daydreams of political intrigue and tiaras. 

Elena does her best to stop that in its tracks. “Caroline,” she says warningly. 

Enzo shoots Blondie a lopsided smirk. “No need to sound so admiring, love. You know, I could show you a few tricks,” he offers, clearly to spite Damon. And probably also world peace. 

“Yeah, no. You are not getting Blondie into politics. The town would implode.”

“I want one,” Dagur announces, still staring longingly into droopy eyes.

“No,” Damon denies as soon as the words register. 

Dagur looks up. “No?” she repeats. It is not in any way a surrender. 

“No,” Damon says, firmer, staring down both beagle and enabler. He also includes Enzo for good measure, because it was his schmoozing of little old ladies who secretly ran the town that started this whole mess. Emphasis on mess. “No dogs in the house. Stefan would eat them.” 

Elena makes a noise of protest. “He would not!” Except she kind of ruined it by sounding the tiniest bit uncertain. 

Ignoring her, Damon points a finger at the slobber-beast. “No.”

Dagur opens her mouth.

“No,” he repeats slower, just in case she didn’t understand the first time.

Green eyes narrow. Damon’s own narrow right back. They can be equally stubborn, but right now Damon has the high ground. It’s his house, his town, and he—

“A dog would be nice,” Enzo says. 

Damon slowly turns to look at him. The traitor only smiles back, pretending blithe-ignorance to the sheer transgression of his words. Damon glares. 

At the sight, Enzo’s smile goes sincere, one corner curling higher than the other. 

Dagur snickers and Damon’s attention snaps to the too-smug vampire. 

[sadrockandwaltzes]

American Psycho

:readmore:

SPOILERS----------------------------------------------I haven't seen many horror movies so I thought I should watch it! Ngl it's actually interesting so far. All the other horror movies I've seen have been really boring or unlikable, but there's enough life to the characters and setting that it doesn't feel like everyone's sitting around waiting to die.

I also appreciate this man normalizing (well clearly not since he's a weirdo and it failed) guys taking care of their skin, although his concerns about looking young border on vampiric.

Minor complaints so far- the opening scene is him defending Jews and correcting his ignorant colleagues- something I was not expecting at all, and can see why some people might like him. He wasn't complete scum! He takes the time to educate himself and learn how to pronounce names right, he unabashedly talks about the problems that exist in the world that we need to help fix. But why- why would he mention women's rights when it's so clear he doesn't care about them?? I'm not looking to like this guy, but if he's gonna have multiple good points about him, can we add _not a misogynist_ as one of them? Why are so many serial killers misogynists (in movies and on the news, I mean) -_- Also he's so gossipy XD just an observation

Oh also his secretary (?) Is seriously pretty. Don't tell her what to wear! She'd kill it in anything anyway, and I don't know how he can muster up some attraction to her yet still fail to see that. But mostly just stop being a misogynistic creep

Generic rich guy, talking big game among other rich people but immediately shouting and making death threats at anyone under him😒what an @sshole. Also hate to go there, but doesn't he know you need to run blood stains under cold water soon after the stain? He has the nerve to show up with a heavily bloodied sheet and act all high and mighty about it. Anyway, it does look like cranberry since cranberry stains pinkish purple and blood stains brown so he's probably telling the truth. In which case I retract all of this😅

How many women is he seeing? [Imagine putting on p@rn when you're not even interested/watching it -_- ] (Donald Trump?) Why would he bring a heavily drugged up woman to a high-end restaurant? He doesn't think it might look suspicious and possibly be a huge waste of his money when she barely registers the experience? Now he's masquerading as his doppelganger.

Arguing over shades of white. Rich people @'[]'@

"Look at that subtle off-white coloring. The tasteful thickness of it. Oh my god. It even has a watermark."- Patrick Bateman, who always speaks like a dubbed anime protagonist

I really thought he just pulled out a gun! Never touch creepy people, Al! You never know what they might do. Like... Stab you. -_- does he just carry that kind of stuff on him all the time? First kill at 22 minutes in.

"Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly blood lust has overflowed into my days. I feel lethal- on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip" This is actually interesting though. Why now? He's in his 30s, right? Why's he suddenly feeling like this all the time?

AHH WHAT A CUTE PIG!!! did you know they'll eat live humans? Keep away from babies

What's up with the mullets everywhere?

And now Ivana Trump? Is he obsessed with them or something?

He uses a tanning bed and is still that pale?? Dang this guy's drunk. Insults a serial killer and follows him home 😓not a night of good decisions

XD I never needed to see him dancing but thanks

Dude... wash your face before you take the raincoat off. What if it gets on your suit? Also... WHY CAN HE JUST WALK OUT DRAGGING A BODY BAG WITH NO QUESTIONS ASKED!!!! Rich people😭

...[YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO CLEAN THAT!! THAT'S SO UNHYGIENIC!!] My heart goes out to these women, and the rest of his victims. Al, the other guy (Paul!).

Is he gonna strangle her : ( Don't s#x workers have the right to refuse tasks they're uncomfortable with? I mean I know it doesn't matter with it being this guy, but they clearly don't want to be here :/

Checking himself out in the mirror while banging two ladies🙄

IS HE HOMOPHOBIC??? BOY JUST SCRUBBED HIS HANDS AFTER FINDING OUT XD Note to not get assassinated: mistake his creepy advances for flirting and go into extreme detail about your interest in him dating back years. With luck, he will get uncomfortable and leave. Seriously though, CHILL BRO, IT'S JUST A BUSINESS CARD!

"Huey's too black sounding for me" tiny uncomfortable pause before man hurriedly packs things "to each his own." As if you weren't going on a whole rant about how great his music was just the other day... isn't it more suspicious to say you don't like that kind of music and have never listened to it, but when they search your apartment they find you have multiple albums?

Is she planning on dying?

Why do him and his coworkers keep meeting at this queer friendly party scene? Is it just for drugs?

Bro how do none of these people know any of the serial killer names he's mentioning. Bro. They're not even red flags since no one knows who he's talking about. The duct tape is though. (Ngl though, I'm with him about the cleanliness. Why would you put the dirty spoon on the clean table when the empty carton is right there? Basic tidyness 101.)

Please go, Jean. Please. Thank you!

DON'T SAY "I DON'T THINK SO" LADY! GO! RUN! Forget social niceties, protect yourself against creeps who put you in the emergency room! She better get out alive. Anyway he really has a type.

I don't like how music for him is associated with killing. He's giving music a very bad name.

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY STAIRS IN THIS PLACE!! WHERE ARE THE ELEVATORS??

NO!!!!! OF ALL THE WOMEN!!! WHY HER????? Figures they already fulfilled their quota of one woman surviving so now they can kill the rest. Hasn't she suffered enough??? She was the only character I actually cared about. Well also Al, the first guy he killed. The rest not so much.

Is his fiance Reece Witherspoon?

Does he feel some kind of shame or worry about his actions? Aiyayai

How many bullets does his gun have??

How did they realize it was him?

He killed a gay guy with a dog? Who?

What was with the doctor mask?

Bateman's a really awful artist. Also I think these guys need to start looking more recognizable if they want people to stop mistaking them for other people when they've been dead for a month.

That was... an ending? Was this based on a book? I was kind of imagining he'd be arrested? There's certainly enough people around to incriminate him.

Weird movie.

[beansprean]

More bikie au nonsense ❤️

Jim was raised by a pit stop nun to be gods greatest mechanic and avenge the street racing crash that killed their family. Stede keeps track of everyone’s birthdays on a bike sticker. The secret library in his engine has somehow not caught on fire.

Image description under cut!

[ID: Drawing dump of an our flag means death modern bikie au.

1. Ed, with full beard and loose hair in a spiked biker jacket with a kraken patch on the shoulder, crouches next to Stede’s motorcycle, staring with fascination into a secret compartment he just opened. His nails are painted black. Stede, wearing a simple blue button down and gray trousers, is standing behind him with a smile and leaning over to speak. He says, “I had to downsize the engine to make room, but I think it was the right move.” Dazzled by his brilliance, Ed responds, “fucking mental…” Stede’s bike has the shape of a Harley but is clearly custom and painted bright teal. The metal nameplate on the fuel tank dubs it “The Revenge” and the rest is covered in various stickers including one of Mary’s lighthouse, a peace sign, a list of the crew’s birthdays, a smiley face, a pink one that says “I brake 4 birds” and a green one that says “excuse my kiwi attitude.” There is also a pride sticker and a small mountain sticker on the steering fork and a kiwi (the bird) sticker on the right handlebar. Mounted on the headlight is a small wooden unicorn. We can see some stickers on the other side from where Ed has lifted the secret compartment, including a pink heart and a large sticker of a stack of books with a second “ssh!” Speech bubble sticker to the side of it. Each handle has dangling yellow tassels.

2. Ed, mirrored sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, grins excitedly at Karl (a black breasted buzzard) standing on top of Button’s helmeted head. Buttons, in his usual impassive straight-backed manner, tells him, “Karl sends his warm regards.” He is wearing a long-sleeved beige shirt, jeans, gray fingerless gloves, and a denim vest covered in actual buttons of various sizes and colors. His plain gray helmet (no visor) is covered in scratches from Karl’s claws.

3. Jim crouching and looking to the side suspiciously. They are wearing ripped jeans, brown boots, fingerless brown leather gloves, a gold cross necklace, and a grease-stained once-white shirt under a faded blue mechanic’s button-up that says “Jim” on the breast. In the breast pocket is a grease-stained rag, and they are holding a socket wrench like a knife.

4. Ed, wearing Stede’s blue button up, gray trousers, and black tie, is grinning excitedly and dramatically gesturing to Stede with both arms. Stede, sliding into the scene, looks equally excited. He is wearing Ed’s leather pants, fingerless gloves, mirrored sunglasses, and leather jacket zipped up over a bare chest.

5. Izzy, wearing a black tee shirt tucked into jeans, a spiked leather vest, one right glove, black choker, and ring on a necklace, stands angrily with his fists clenched at his side. In his left hand is a knife. His right arm has a rope tattoo wrapped around it that turns into a snake, as well as a cursive “Daddy” on his bicep. His left bicep is wrapped in a bleeding barbed wire tattoo. Someone has put a birthday hat on his head. Teeth clenched around a scowl as confetti rains down on him, Izzy growls, “I fookin hate this.”

/end ID]

[ghostmasks]

more than a sick love story

more than a sick love story.. riddler x reader

                           TW: yandere themes, obsessive behavior

                     for better experience, please play the linked song.                       (i have not checked this for gramatical mistakes)

                                            CHAPTER 1 OF ???

“working on something?”

he jolts back, instinctively covering the gridded piece of paper he had been hunched over. his eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed. he doesn’t talk, he just.. stares.

hes not ready to talk. not yet. what he’s working on, it’s huge. its big and he has plans that need elaborations. how long had you been watching him? odd.

he didnt respond, he just narrowed his eyes. theyre green. too green. maybe he didn’t hear you?

“are you working on something?” you elaborate, and he seems confused. he grips his hands around the ink pen tighter. tighter. phthalo. a nice shade of green, dark enough to match his features and yet bright enough to pop out.

like him. you can tell. he thinks people can’t see him. they do. he’s just visible enough to briefly notice, but not enough to make an impression.

he seems takenaback. who are you? where did you come from? he’s barely spoken to you for five seconds and his mind is already swarming with questions. he doesn’t want to answer, but he does.

“yes.” it’s brief. his voice is quiet, but not a mumble. hes clear when he speaks but lacks authority. you nod. you dont know what else to say. he’s been here for hours, unmoving except for his rushed writing of words. whatever he’s working on it’s clear he cares a lot.

“cool.” you praise, resting an elbow on the counter with your palm in hand. you’re bored and there are no other customers, or employees for that matter. it’s 10 minutes till closing and you were given the Night Shift with the job to lock up the cafe.

he stares some more. at you or through you, you couldn’t tell. there are no words spoken. you try to steal a glance at whatever he’s working on but it’s clear that upsets him because he slams him palms over the blue and white paper.

he looks angry and almost offended. just for a second; until the blank look of focus returns. what’s he focusing on. you? 

you held your hands up, not intending to bother him as much as you have; but you didn’t apologize. maybe you should of, but he was being much more hostile then necessary.

you look at the empty cup next to him, the inner rim stained with a brown liquid. some sort of coffee, you can tell. you weren’t the one to serve him originally; but he seems like a coffee guy. a cappuccino, maybe.

“refill?” you offer, and it’s innocent enough but still leaves him suspicious. he doesn’t answer, but then he does.

“if you could.” the corners of your mouth itch into a small smile and he furrows his brows together. he hadn’t seen you when he first entered the shop and he didn’t see you enter through the front doors either. a back entrance, perhaps?

he gingerly scoots the white and blue decorated cup a little closer to you so it’s easier to reach and you watch how soft yet firm his movements are.

he holds insecurities but he surely knows what he’s doing.

you grab the cup from him and your fingers briefly skim against one another’s. he jerks his hand back. what was that?

what was that?

(who are you?)

he wants to say something. you can tell. his lips are parted and he keeps stammering over nothing. it’s cute. he doesn’t talk to new people a lot. or anyone, really. he’s got that lonely vibe around him.

you speak for him as he racks his brain for something. anything. “ive never seen you before.” you point out. you like to try to remember all of the customers, does great for business. makes them feel special. he clears his throat, temporarily putting aside his work as he watches you from the bar stool he’s sat on almost the whole day.

“first time.” he simply answers, lacing his fingers with each other. trying to force his body language to seem relaxed. a nice idea, but something you’ve practiced one too many times to fall for.

“hope i dont make it your last.” you joke. a bad one, really, but it gets a simple smile out of him. his eyes crinkle and it seems genuine, but when he noticed he was smiling he immediately stopped.

he stops to think about it, and then he shrugs.

you shake your head, fighting a smile. “do i have to go to court to sort it out?” he wants to smile. you can tell. he doesn’t.

“perhaps. ill have the paperwork printed by tomorrow.” he goes on with the bit, clearly humoring you with it but you can tell he’s getting a smidge of his own amusement out of it.

“ah, so you will come back.” you smirk, and then he looks away. gaining his recomposure, probably. clearly he didnt expect such an accusation.

the silence is there again, for a moment, but this time there’s a bit of a lightness in the air. he quietly clears his throat before he turns back to look at you. and i mean really look at you. his eyes are narrowed and there’s almost a dangerous look in his eye. just for a second. anyone could’ve missed it if they weren’t watching close enough.

hes solving you, taking you apart and putting you back together again over and over. like a puzzle.

“i never said it would be me who brings you the paper work.” he finally speaks up again, clearly this conversation has thrown him for a loop with its oddness.

you pause for a moment, thinking of a comeback. “just the tiny calloused hands of the african children that work for you at minimum wadge?” you deadpan, beginning to stir the ingredients of his drink together. 

dark humor is a very special kind of humor that not everyone gets or likes. and when he widens his eyes, slightly puffing his cheeks out in reflex you wince internally; suddenly wishing you hadn’t of said anything.

that is until a funny sound could be heard. a laugh. a small, casual one. but still; a laugh. you look up at him and see the remainders of a smile on his face, his features have softened noticeably since first conversing with him and he pushes his clear rimmed glasses back up.

you add a tablespoon and a half of sugar to his drink and stirring it one last time before handing it back over to him.

you watch as he cautiously inspects the drink for a moment, turning his head slightly before slowly reaching a hand out to grab it.

he stares at it some more, and then at you, before lifting the cup up and hesitantly taking a drink.

when hes done, he pulls the cup back away from his parted lips and licks the wet residue. there’s a moment of anticipation before softly setting the drink back down. he knows what he’s doing.

“hmm,” he hums, and you finally break a smile, playfully rolling your eyes. by the time you meet gaze with him again, he seems genuinely hurt for a moment. but like a cogwheel in his head, something clicks and he’s smirking again.

“did you add sugar in this?” he questions, tilting his head just slightly down so that he’s looking up at you through his darkened eyelashes and you wish you could’ve done something to stop it but a cocoon of butterflies swarmed in your stomach.

“i did.” you confirmed, and he shakes his head.

“i dont drink my coffee with sugar.” he leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the counter.

“really?” you question, genuinely surprised. “you seem like the type of guy to do so.”

“guess im full of surprises.” he remarks. he stops for a moment before taking another swig of the drink; and then downing it all in one go. by the time he sets the cup down his brow is furrowed and a look of confusion is written all over his face with a hidden hint of annoyance.

“how did you know to make me a cappuccino?” he doesn’t look at you for a moment, his mind clearly processing the taste of the drink. (why does it taste so good?)

“guess im full of surprises.”

WHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOYWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOU

he smiles.

[isabearies]

Haunted By You

The Voice {part 1/?}

Summary: You move into a big, 120-something-year-old house that was converted into apartments and is suspiciously cheap. Everything seems normal until you realize that the original owner never moved out, or rather, moved on.

Pairing: ghost!Loki x f!reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none really in this chapter, but there will be horror elements and death mentioned. angst later on for sure. Loki being Loki because his emo ass is a warning in itself. This will 100% turn into something smutty so like yeah -- 18+ minors DNI ya dummies

Masterlist

The city was a big place. A big, scary, expensive place. Finding an affordable apartment to live in that was close to work? You had to take what you could get. A place you could afford by yourself at that? No way that was something a person fresh out of college could pass up.

The pictures online made it seem a lot darker than it actually was. The actual building was an old Edwardian-style house built in 1900. It had three stories and a basement, but sometime in the last 120-something years, it had been converted into apartments. Almost the entirety of the house was original besides some small elements and it had been obvious as to why it was cheaper. Not only was it in a slightly thicker wooded area, but from what you could see it was not maintained as well as it could have been. But hey, neat place, right?

You knew it was big from looking at the photos on Google Maps, but yeesh, this place was insane. You looked up to the towering castle-like structure. The roof was abnormally shaped, with a cone style roofing you saw in a drawing of Rapunzel’s castle roof as a child in one section; scalloped roofing and stone walls pivotal to its gothic design. The rest was tall and had different roofing sections depending on what you assumed to be the inner layout. Half of the wall was stone, the other an aging horizontally-layered wall that was a dim mustard yellow. The burgundy roofing and brown-ish gray stone meant you didn’t automatically dismiss the yellow. The lower perimeter walls on the outside were clearly worn stone with jagged teeth. The only windows that were uncurtained or not stained glass were the second story, which was clearly vacant.

That must be the apartment.

Your eyes switched between the windows, clearly detailing the kitchen, to the main room of the unit, and back a bit was-

A dark figure. It surprised you at first since you were sure that was the vacant unit that was being offered. Maybe they were just checking everything out before you showed up? You were a bit early. It seemed that the figure had long, raven hair and a gaunt, pale white complexion. You were far enough away, but you could tell the person had a faint beauty to them. Maybe a sexy neighbor? How fun.

You heard a car pull up in the gravel driveway. A light gray car from what looked to be 2003. The landlord.

She was a small Asian woman, with a kind smile but stern eyes. Seeing how she drove here, you presumed she lived somewhere else. Not a bad thing, to you. It wasn’t like you were going to be hosting any parties but hey, you liked your privacy all the same.

“You were the Ten o’clock wanting to check out the second-floor apartment right? Come on in.” Her slim fingers hooked through some jangling keys from her pocket. She had to have had at least fifteen keys on that keyring.

“Yes, Ms. Dee I presume?” you tried to sound the least bit frightened as possible. You had found this place while driving by randomly after taking a wrong turn you didn’t remember taking. There was a large sign out “APARTMENT FOR RENT” on the lawn and you thought it was fate. You called the number and scheduled a meeting with this woman, who identified herself as simply ‘Ms. Dee,’ for the next day at 10 AM. And here you were, 9:58 AM on a Wednesday.

“Indeed. I am glad you called, that sign has been there quite a bit. The market here has…changed.” You walked up the ornate porch, the cement stairs at the bottom leading to chipped wood ones under the protection of the porch roof. All of the beams connecting the railing to the top of the gutter were carved and there was a certain whimsy to it. The gold details with the weathered paint and deep stained wood gave the front a certain charm that you found many older buildings to have. Ms. Dee pulled open the large mahogany door that had to be at least 8 ft tall and had a bulbous, black knob. It was heavy but unlocked. The sound of jingling keys returned as Ms. Dee attempted to unlock the second set of doors after the darker doors.

“It snows a lot up here, you see.” Her voice was quiet but controlled. “The second door is just to prevent damage.” She pointed a long, wrinkled, slender finger to her left at a wall that had about nine slim boxes with keyholes. “Those there are the mailboxes. Yours would be D2.”

She ushered you into the main room of the house, although it didn’t give off that vibe when you stepped in. It was obviously the main room, but it was completely empty. An old, 30s style chandelier hung overhead as the main light source. In front of you were two different dark oak doors, one labeled 'A1' and 'B1.' To your direct right was a large set of beautiful dark stained glass doors. You could not see to the other side despite seeing some light shine through and the doors seemed locked.

“A couple lives there, Kristen and Richard.” She motioned towards the A1 apartment and the stained glass doors. Then she swished her hands towards B1, “That’s where Mark lives. He’s the handyman of the house. Ask him if you need anything looked at.”

To the left of B1 were the dark mahogany stairs that wrapped up the outlining light beige walls. The lower walls, up to about your waist, were a dark mahogany paneling that matched the stairs and railing with dark turquoise carpets lining the floor. However, just under the stairs, you noticed a smaller, more plain door with a single frosted windowpane with what seemed to be scratched-off copper letters. Ms. Dee caught this.

“Just a utility closet, nothing to see.” Her dismissal was sharp and she made her way up the stairs. Clearly, she was a woman of few words. You glanced up the walls to see a painting of a Spanish Conquistador whose eyes seemed to follow you. Your steps behind Ms. Dee were calculated as you concentrated on how you were to move furniture up here.

As you got to the top, you could either go straight into a doorframe to a hallway or turn left and continue up the stairs to the third floor.

Ms. Dee pointed up, “Above you is Lisa and Scott, they’re a younger couple like yourself. Then Wyatt next to them.” She went straight through the doorframe before pointing left down the next hallway. “That door down there has Michelle. She moved in a couple of months ago. And below her is an older man, Albert.”

She jingled her keys once before opening the pale beige door ahead of her that had 'D2' written on a small piece of paper with a small copper frame below the peephole. The black, bulbous doorknob was even different from the lower apartments' smaller bronze handles on the first floor. The age was even more apparent on the inside than the outside, you realized.

“Well, here it is.” The squeak of the door echoed through the empty apartment as you entered. It was bright inside despite the overcast day and no overhead lights. The space was large, open as you eyed the ancient eggshell-painted radiators and tri-angled windows to the right. The ceilings had to be 15 feet at least. As you turned the corner, you saw the kitchen was much smaller, the tiles along the walls a sort of salmon color with some black tiles lining the outside. There was no dishwasher, barely any cabinet or surface space, and the refrigerator looked like it was from the 70s.

No beautiful neighbor, you thought.

As you looked up, you realized the ceilings were painted the same off-white as the walls, and what would have been a sharp 90º angle as the wall meets the ceiling was instead a softly rounded curve of a transition. It reminded you of a mental hospital from the 20s. The floors were definitely original, a darkly stained oak that showed their age in texture.

“It’s a studio one bath, perfect for one…or two people.” She tacked the end of that on. She probably hoped you would get a boyfriend so she could raise the rent. You’d had plenty of other landlords before.

“It’s gorgeous, Ms. Dee. Maybe I can see the bathroom?” You turned towards her before she shuffled towards the left of the front door – towards the rest of the unit. As you turned into the doorway, you were assaulted with bright colors of amber and turquoise shining in abnormal shapes. There, parallel to your doorway was a large stained glass window in the most Winchester way you could imagine. The sink to the right, which had to be at least from the 30s, stood underneath an art deco-style mirror. The bathtub to the left behind the door was metal with white porcelain painted on top, you’d seen the same type in the retro 70s style house your grandparents lived in as a child.

Still no raven-haired person.

The tiles on the wall were the same salmon color as the kitchen, the tile on the floor was a dark burgundy and a familiar dim mustard yellow, and the hexagonal shaped tiles faintly reminded you of the carpet from The Shining. How odd.

“The lock on the bathroom door doesn’t work, but it shuts just fine.” Her eyes lingered on the broken turning key to the bathroom, something you weren’t sure was still even manufactured today. “So, what do you think?” Her dimly cloudy brown eyes bored into yours very intensely suddenly, taking you back a bit.

“Well, it’s a beautiful building, but what’s the monthly rent?”

“$700 including utilities monthly.” She seemed to be looking for something in your reaction, which she might have been looking for regarding the price. Obviously, you were shocked, this had to be, what, 900 sq feet? And that price was INCLUDING utilities? What was wrong with this place than what was surface level? It was close enough to downtown that it should have been one grand without utilities. Easy.

“That sounds very reasonable. My new office is just a few minutes drive from here as well.”

“Great, then let’s start on the paperwork.”

–

It took about an hour to fully settle everything. Credit score checking, previous records, etc. Ms. Dee also showed you the basement that was found at a door around the back entrance that could only be entered from the outside of the house. The door was clearly much more weathered than that of the rest of the building, missing the distinct detailing of the rest of the doors. It seemed like this door was merely an afterthought compared to the rest of the architecture, but sure enough, it had the same kind of weather-proofing as the front doors.

Going underground, it seemed like a completely different place than the rest of the house. While your apartment and the main room and hallways had a dry, sort of stale air; this basement was humid, wet. Somewhere where the creepy crawlies would hide away from the outside world. The ground was completely concrete; the smooth, dark, uncracked kind that you know has never seen the sun. after walking through a cobwebbed, empty room with only a string light, through another doorway as a quarter-based washer and dryer. A dusty pool table with a brown tarp sat to your right. Deeper into the basement, you could see there was one more room even further that was shadowed from the light. From what you could gather, though, there was some sort of chain-link fence back there.

“This is the laundry room. It’s the small silver key I showed you. Each of the machines is $1.50 each and only takes quarters. Don’t forget to turn off the light when leaving and never, ever forget to close and lock the door.” Her emphasis on not only closing but locking the door seemed heavy-handed, but fair since it led straight into directly where the outside was, not just within the locked doors of the house.

“Sounds great, Ms. Dee. Just asking, but what is back there?” You tilted your head to the very back towards the floor-to-ceiling fence.

Her face fell and her voice wavered slightly. “Ah yes, that is for residents who have any extra…belongings. A storage area, of sorts.” She was quick to change the topic. “So, you’ll email me your documents as well?”

“Yes, you have my signed copies too. When is the move-in date?”

“As soon as possible. If you’d like to move in today you can.” Her voice deepened, apathetic, seemed more distant as if she had just taken two steps away as she saw a bus coming right for you.

“Oh. Oh! Okay, great. I can rent a U-Haul today and start bringing stuff over then.”

“Splendid.”

Her answer was curt and that was the end of the discussion. It was only hours and a few calls later that you had the basics moved into the second-floor apartment.

Your queen bed sat in the corner next to the window and across the tri-angle window…wall…thing… where your small black dining table with two chairs sat. Your couch was against the wall with your TV angled to where you could be at both your bed and couch and still see the screen. Your stuff was already packed a while ago, but finding a place had been a tedious and long task. You were lucky your previous roommate was nice enough to let you stay a few days after your original move-out date so you could find a place. After moving in the majority of your stuff with some help from some of your older college buddies, it was past sunset as you started to settle in.

You had already said thank you and goodbye to your old friends, promising to let them visit once you had at least gotten settled a bit and maybe set up your decorations. You were sweaty from the constant lifting and traveling up and down the stairs. Honestly, you loved the building. Older buildings were your thing as a kid, and even as your friends joked with you saying stuff like “So did the spider webs come with the place or was that extra?” you still couldn’t help but feel like this place was your dark academia dream.

You decided to take a bath to wash off all of the dust and sweat that accumulated on your skin, and hell why not test out the bath?

Turning it on to a hot temperature, the steam slowly overtook the small bathroom. The large 20’s style mirror was completely fogged over, and the stained glass dripped from condensation. You turned on your Bluetooth speaker to play some nice jazz while your tub filled.

Fuck it, it’s my first night.

You poured some of your fanciest lavender bubble bath soup and matching lavender scented Epsom salt into the bath before going to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine. Lighting some unscented candles also seemed appropriate.

You were going to enjoy your first night in this big creepy house where you now lived.

You slowly stripped off your clothes, peeling some sections off as you remembered the humidity of the basement. Slipping into the warm water, your playlist playing some new lo-fi jazz you’ve never heard before, you felt your bones slightly succumb to the relaxation that threatened to overtake you.

In the soft quiet of the night and through the brass instruments permeating from your speaker, you could hear a soft, melodic voice. It was just a sound in the wind, not even eligible to be a voice at first. But its sound started to materialize in your eardrum, dancing around the outskirts of your skull. It sounded like the soft ocean waves of the sealine, rolling and pushing from whosever vocal cords like the pulling shore. Like the black driftwood that smelled like salty earth that sat on the grey-white sand. Like the prickling feeling of briney, misty air being sucked through your nostrils.

“Who are you?”

A small bit of cool air surrounded your upper shoulders, the parts that did not plunge into the warm, soapy waters. Goosebumps lined your skin, but it seemed so far away as your eyelids fell heavy. Your neighbors were probably just talking upstairs, you reasoned. I mean, there did seem to be a ventilation grate just feet away from you, maybe they connected the floors. It wouldn’t be unheard of in old houses like this.

You started to smell evergreen, maybe some Eucalyptus, as the feeling of being caught between the beach sand and the rustic, earthy woods. It smelled like…green. Like green and black rolling off of ice into your senses. Did you even own those types of scented soaps? It was such a neutral yet slightly masculine smell that it seemed unbecoming, but that seemed so far away right now.

A small purring sound was heard as the goosebumps traveled up the back of your neck to your lower hairline that was pulled up into a messy bun. It seemed this purring came from the same oceanic voice from earlier, as it had the same deep, expansive sound.

In your daze, you chuckled slightly, thinking about answering the detached voice.

“I am your new neighbor.” You replied dreamily, care not insight as your eyes glaze over the shimmering bubbles that barely hid your nude body.

“Ah, a new pet.” the voice seemingly ghosted over your ears, leaving cold trailing breath onto your cheekbones. This wasn’t upstairs, it was behind you.

Now more aware and slightly more startled, your eyes focused back to the present. It responded, you realized. The disembodied voice you assumed was your upstairs neighbor talking to someone else had responded to your quiet answer. Not only that, but it sounded so close. Felt close.

You straightened your back and neck, taking in your surroundings. The fluorescent bar light above the mirror illuminated the entire bathroom, the colorful glass window behind you looking bleak in the dark night that loomed outside. You were alone, you were sure of it.

As you looked to your now empty wine glass and pruned fingers, you decided to leave the bath. Clearly, you’d had enough and soaked long enough. Your exhausted brain probably just needed to rest. I mean, you just finished your Master’s in Psychology. Starting in a few days, you would be a practicing psychologist in an office downtown. You just moved into your new apartment. You deserved to sleep well tonight.

That would have been, if not for your very strange dream that night.

--

AN: I hope y'all like this first part, it took a while to write lol. if you have any suggestions or anything, I'd love to hear it! x

part two

[thesmokingguns]

Thrift Store

Word Count 1916

Fluff

You rolled your eyes watching the man walk into the thrift shop you owned. The bell had rung drawing your attention to the tall man with teased hair and leather from head to toe.

This was the type of person you were used to seeing duck into the shop on The Strip looking to score some piece of cool clothing for their stage outfit. All of them loved chatting you up about what night their band was going to play and how you should totally check them out because they were going to make it. The only place they were going to make it was to third base with some bottle blonde.

You flipped your magazine, eyes looking up to the man who was dragging the metals hangers to the side looking through the leather jackets. Typical of him to be in that section. He didn’t look like the type to steal so you didn’t really pay that much attention to him until he was right in front of you a few minutes later.

“Excuse me.” You dragged your eyes up looking at him. He was holding up a black jacket you had found at a yard sale last weekend, “This doesn’t have a price on it. Could you tell me how much it is?” The jacket would look good on him and it would definitely fit better than the one he was wearing that didn’t even cover his wrists.

“Ten dollars and the jacket you’re wearing.” You replied to him. You could redo his jacket and sell it for triple the price. He seemed surprised but was tugging off his jacket and sliding the new one on already.

You were right, it did fit him perfectly. It took away the little boy playing dress up and made him look like a man.  He looked in the mirror and you watched this small smile, confidence slipping into his face. That’s when you really took him in and appreciated the way he was built. He had a strong jawline and these olive eyes that were the kind that got girls into trouble.

“Listen, I know you’re cutting me a huge deal. Can I buy you a drink tonight? My band is playing at the Whisky at midnight. You can meet me before or if you want to stick around after I’m sure there will be a party at our apartment.” There it was. The line where he invited you out because he needed more chicks in the audience.

“I’m really busy tonight. I’m sorry.” You actually felt sorry when you lied. But there was no way you, you were going to get sucked into going to see some shitty club band when you could stay in bed and not be annoyed with people. You held out your hand taking the crumpled bills he handed you.

“That was a shitty line, wasn’t  it?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you watched the leather stretch over his bicep. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t like one of the thin chicken boys who came in. He had muscles and was filled out.

“Look, I’m sure your band is great but I’m not going to go see them because you bought a jacket from me.” He nodded understandingly, “But you do look good in the jacket so at least you have that.” You teased him, loving how he smiled from the corner of his mouth, he had to be older than you by a few years and there was this mystery about him that had you wanting to ask more questions but instead you took the jacket he had been wearing, throwing it on your bag for home and went back to flipping through your magazine.

He was still standing in front of the register as if he hadn’t quite worked out that you weren’t going to go out with him. A sigh escaped your lips as you looked back up at him.

“It’s past lunch time but maybe we can grab a beer and a burger now?” Your eyebrow shot up at his offer. A beer and a burger was much better than seeing a shitty band play. You looked around the shop, it was 1:30pm on a Friday. Soon the place would be mobbed with kids from the Valley looking for new clothes to wear for their weekend nights in Hollywood. This was one of your busy days and you knew that you couldn’t leave.

“I can’t leave. It’s busy here Friday afternoon but if you wear that jacket tonight I’m sure that you’ll find a great girl for beer and burgers on Saturday afternoon.” You smiled. He seemed confused about why you kept turning down your advances.

“Well, if you won’t go out with me can I at least have your name?” You heard the bell ring and looked past him to the two young teens walking in.

“It’s Y/N. Now you need to get out of here because I have customers.” You moved around the counter slightly grazing against him as you moved down the aisles to check on the kids who seemed like they wouldn’t have a problem stuffing things into their bags. You watched the man walk out of the shop, smiling at the whole encounter.

The night was steady. People crammed into the small store and it turned out to be a great day for business. You locked the safe at the end of the night and jumped out of your skin when you heard a knock on the glass door. Your eyes narrowed seeing a man shifting outside and you grabbed the baseball bat next to the register.

It was dark outside but you could hear people laughing as they passed outside, which just heightened your senses as you got closer. It suddenly dawned on you that it was the guy from earlier. He noticed you finally at the door and held up his hands. One hand was holding a six pack and the other a brown paper bag with grease stains on the bottom.

“It doesn’t seem busy now.” he yelled through the door. The way he was standing there made you shake your head, turning the lock as you opened up and let him inside the shop. His eyes took in the bat you were holding as you locked up the door, “Are you in a late night baseball league?” You roll your eyes, locking the door up.

“I thought you had a show.” He tosses you a beer and you’re taking him in wondering what angle this man is trying to come at you from.

“We play at midnight. I have an hour to have burgers and beers with you, Y/N.” The crinkle of the bag makes you watch his movements, “There’s this little hole in the wall joint that makes the best burgers around the corner from here.” The stranger is handing you a wrapped red and white checkered burger.

“I don’t know your name and you expect me to just have dinner with you.” The suspicious nature you have makes it hard to tell if this guy is usually this spontaneous or if he wants something from you. Knowing how the men in this area are, you're sure that he is going to try and get something.

“I’m Nikki Sixx.” The name makes your eyes roll. Another boy with a fake stage name and dreams of being a rock and roll superstar but he brought beer and burgers so you can’t just kick him out.

It’s a quick hour and after the initial eye rolling over his name and the slight boredom when he talks about his band you find yourself listening to him talk. Actually listening and caring about what he says. The way he describes his dreams isn’t with the youthful nativity you have come across from your time in Hollywood. No, Nikki has a plan to achieve his dream and it includes a lot of hard work. He isn’t afraid to work for his dreams because he knows that is how he will get them.

He’s easy to talk to and you find yourself laughing so hard you’re covering your mouth at the stories he tells you. From the way his band does maniac things to funny stories of schemes he’s done to survive. You don’t know why it’s so easy to laugh with him. But what you like the most about him is how he asks questions about you that would get lost with other people. He doesn’t make the hour you have together all about his rockstar dreams but he turns the conversation to what your goals are. His eyes are thoughtful, watching you as you speak about fashion design and how the store is a stepping stone for you. He even gets you to show him some of the things you altered and designed. The usual embarrassment you might feel void because of how comfortable he makes you feel.

Eyes keep darting to the clock and you know he’s stayed past the hour he had told you he had before his show. Until finally he’s pushed his time back as far as he could and he’s getting up to leave, knowing that he’s going to have to run from the store right onto stage..

“I’m glad that you let me in tonight. I had a great time getting to know you, Y/N. The band doesn't play tomorrow night so if you’re around Sunday I’d like to tag along to your yard sales you were talking about.” He’s saying it because he wants to spend time with you and the fact he’s willing to hang out on a Sunday afternoon to see something you like has you softening to his charms. He is a lot different from the usual clientele of the store with a self centered nature and a rock n roll attitude without the fame.

“Well, you know where I work. My apartment’s above here. If you’re serious, meet me at 11am Sunday and we can go explore together.” Nikki nods at your words and you wish he’d invite you to the show again but even in the short time you’ve talked to him you know he won’t. He doesn’t want to be rejected twice for something that he cares about. But he has shown such a sincere interest in your passions and you find that you want to see him play. “Do you mind if I walk to the Whisky with you to see the show? I heard there’s a pretty good band playing tonight.” His eyes flash up and it’s nice to see you’ve surprised him by changing your mind. He doesn’t seem like the type that is surprised too often

As you’re walking, chattering nonstop with the stranger you met in the shop this morning your mind wanders to the leather jacket he’s wearing. That jacket was made for him to wear. As soon as you saw him holding it you knew that he was going to go home with it. If he hadn’t come looking for that jacket your day would have been a lot different. Now you were with the bassist of a band going to the Whisky to see another band try to make it off the Strip and into the stars. But the usual apathetic feeling you had about these bands were gone and you were thinking that this person would really make it. And you were rooting for him.