#i knew writing was hard as fuck and all but man this is agony

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, specially not from the house next door."

Warning: Angst, homosexual relationship, adult sexual language, hot kiss 👅 depression, toxic parenting relationship.

A/N: Hello! I said I would come back and here I am! In this chapter, I decided to write from Jungkook's perspective because he is wonderful 👌🤟, and because the reader is extremely difficult for me. Her personality is literally the opposite of mine, and it drains me in an inexplicable way 😒 Namjoon showed up, and yes, he and Jungkook have that kind of relationship. If you have any problem with that, please don't read. Thank you for all the readings. Comment, please! (critiques or compliments)

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Chapter 5

I wake up with the sunlight hitting my face. I grunt, feeling tension in my muscles that wasn’t there hours ago. I slowly open my eyes, still disoriented and unsure of what to think. I try to get up, but I can’t. I attempt again, feeling a weight on my chest that keeps me in bed. Almost involuntarily, I place my hands down and touch what feels like hair. I smile, finally remembering what I did yesterday. This time, I fully awaken; there’s no sleep that can pull me back under as the memories flood my mind. I get up again, this time gently resting Y/N's head on the pillow, trying not to wake her. She looks beautiful, even with her messy hair and her cheek squished against the mattress. She lets out a soft grunt at the movement, and when she stops moving, I finally slip out of bed.

My room is a mess. Clothes are scattered everywhere, and pillows are strewn across the floor. I pick up my sweatpants from beside the bed and open the closet to put my things away. The bathroom is clean and organized. There’s a pile of folded clothes near the toilet, the only thing that wasn’t there yesterday. I gather the clothes, placing everything in my room quietly. I try not to wake Y/N with all the movement, but she seems so tired and deep in sleep that she doesn’t appear to stir easily.

I head to the living room, still deep in thought. When I came to Seoul a few days ago, I never imagined something like this would happen. I had everything mapped out in my head, and with my mother and the tattoo studio occupying almost all my thoughts, there was no room for women or anything of the sort. But somehow, Y/N captivated me. She’s shy and introverted, yet so innocent and charming that I couldn’t help myself. Before I knew it, I was kissing her, not knowing how to stop touching her. Fuck, just thinking about what she did to me makes me stiffen like an uncontrollable teenager.

I walk into the kitchen, determined to prepare something for both of us, when my phone rings. My heart leaps when I see it’s Namjoon. He has been calling me during these days I’ve been in Seoul, and somehow, I can never seem to avoid him. I always answer the fucking phone. I press the button, still silent.

“Jungkook?” I hear him on the other end. His sweet, deep voice brings me both peace and agony.

“Hi, Namjoon.” Saying his name ignites something inside me. I miss him. I wish I could tell him that, but I hold back.

“How have you been? I tried to call you yesterday, but you didn’t answer.” he says. I instantly feel nervous. Even though we broke up almost two months ago, a bad feeling fills me. Last night was the first time I was with someone else since our relationship ended.

“I was busy with the studio and the guys,” I justify, walking around the kitchen. I grab eggs from the fridge and two plates from the counter.

“I wish I could be there with you,” he says. I swallow hard, feeling somewhat disconcerted. Namjoon knows me well and acknowledge how to disarm me, leaving me without words.

“You didn’t want that to happen, up until two months ago,” I comment bitterly.

“Jungkook... Baby, I know you’re upset, but I want you. I want to be with you. Being there with you is what I desire the most. To support you, both with Misuk and your studio. You’re going through all this alone, and I can’t be at peace.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know you’re not,” he replies. I close my eyes, shaking my head.

“Namjoon, it’s over. Everything we had... we no longer have. I don’t want things to get worse between us.”

“Not everything is over.” he argues, ending with a little laugh. “The love we have for each other still exists. You know that.”

“I don't know anything.” I want to deny it, but I can’t. I sigh, aware deep down I still feel something for him, wheter it's bad or not. “Please, just stop calling me. Give me some time.”

“I can give you as much time as you need, but you won’t forget me,” he speaks, proudly. I grunt. “But fine, I’ll give you that time. Just so you know, it won’t change anything.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I hang up before I say anything I might regret later. I exhale deeply and throw myself into a chair. I knew he would call, and while a part of me was anxious for it, the sensible one knows it’s not good. I should block him and end it all, but I'm unable to.

I get up from the counter and decide to start preparing my breakfast. I’m starving. Last night I didn’t eat anything substantial, and that always ruins my mood. Namjoon’s call also frustrates me every time he does. I start cracking eggs and putting butter in the frying pan when I hear soft footsteps behind me. I smile, knowing exactly who it is. Y/N appears in my line of sight, and God, she’s so beautiful that I could watch her all day. Her eyes are almond-shaped and sweet, and her full red lips make me want to kiss her. Since I met her, tasting her lips has been my biggest goal. She smiles back at me, her cheeks flushed. She seems shy now that we’re in the sunlight, in my kitchen.

“Good morning.” I say, moving closer to her. Her dress is much too big for her, nearly swallowing her whole body. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” She whispers, smiling slightly. “And you?” she asks, taking a deep breath.

“Very well. I haven’t slept like that in a long time.”

“I didn’t see you sleep. I was so tired that when I realized it, it was already morning.” She tells me; her face even redder. I laugh, agreeing. After we finished our activities in bed, I cleaned up and went to get her a glass of water, but when I returned, she was sprawled out on the bed, completely passed out.

“I guess I’m really good, huh?” I tease, poking her waist. She playfully shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “You look relaxed now.” I conclude, lightly touching her hair with my fingertips, as I lean closer. I take a few steps toward her, waiting for her to back away, but she doesn’t. I only stop when I’m completely pressed against her, feeling her scent mix with mine. I smile again, mischievously. If I could, I’d devour her right here, on this counter.

“You're beautiful, you know that?” I tell her sincerely. She shakes her head again, speechless. I take her cold hands, which are resting beside her body, and hold them in mine, bringing them to my mouth. I kiss her knuckles and her fingers, almost tasting her skin on my lips. I breathe deeply, with an overwhelming desire to be with her again. In my bed, touching her, kissing her, this time making her completely mine. But I can’t, not yet. “You must be hungry. I’m making scrambled eggs.”

“I love scrambled eggs,” she says, her voice soft. I pull her body closer to the counter, near the sink where I was cooking before.

“If I had known you’d be here now, I would have bought more things for you to eat,” I justify. I have eggs, toast, and kimchi. Not exactly a grand meal.

“I don’t eat breakfast, so I’m fine with it.” She shrugs beside me, tapping her fingers on the furniture.

“You don’t eat breakfast?”

“I don’t.” Y/N smiles, watching me.

“It’s the first and most important meal of the day; you should eat something.” I say in my know-it-all voice. The truth is, if I don’t eat something at the start of the day, I could kill someone. I always get stressed when I’m hungry.

“My body doesn’t know what the first meal of the day is. It’s perfectly fine with a hearty lunch,” she says, shrugging. I laugh incredulously, lowering my eyes to her face.

“Are you seriously using this argument?” I raise an eyebrow, making her laugh.

“I am! How does my body know it’s the first meal of the day? If I have breakfast or lunch, it will accept the food just fine.” She justifies, pouting, which makes me want to kiss her again, without a doubt.

“Wow!” I exclaim, impressed. A smile spreads across my lips without me realizing it. “Next time, tell my mom that. She’s the one who drilled the four-meal rule into my head.”

“Four-meal rule?” She questions, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“Yes, you have to have at least four meals a day. She used to tell me when I was a kid that if I didn’t follow this rule, I’d die in no time.”

Y/N bursts out laughing, covering her mouth with her hands. “The trauma she must have given you…”

“I know. Even today I can’t go without eating. If three hours pass, I’m already suffering.” I conclude, grinning. I grab the frying pan with the scrambled eggs and place them on the two plates in front of me, being careful not to spill anything. Y/N watches me silently as she sits down.

“If you want, you can stay here with me at my apartment. We could watch something or just talk,” I offer as I sit down too. The fun on her face fades as I speak, and for a moment, I regret having made the proposal.

“Jungkook... I can’t,” she whispers, looking down. She seems upset about something.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to; I understand.” I say quickly, trying to be understanding. She might be desperate to go home, to be alone, and I didn’t even notice.

“It’s not that I don’t want to... it’s because of my mom. I lied to her yesterday, and today she already messaged me. I’m scared she’ll find out I didn’t sleep at Misuk’s house.” She says. I nod, understanding the situation. I know she respects her mother and is worried about breaking whatever agreement they have—if there is one—but I’m not used to asking for permission to do things. If I want something, I just do it. Y/N, from what my mom told me, is twenty-one. She shouldn’t have to ask to sleep over somewhere or spend time with someone. She’s an adult, for God’s sake.

“Can’t you tell her you’re going somewhere else, maybe to study with a friend?”

“I can’t. And I also don’t want to lie to her again. I feel guilty.” She sets her fork down on her plate after taking a bite of the eggs. She seems frustrated, quite different from a few minutes ago when she was playful and more... carefree.

“Y/N... Do you regret what we did yesterday?” I ask as the question arises, feeling a bitter taste in my mouth. Just imagining for even a second that she didn’t enjoy it or felt uncomfortable leaves me unsettled. Her cheeks flush instantly, as if just the memory of the two of us together makes her lose her composure.

“I don’t regret it,” she tells me softly. Relief washes over me immediately. “But I also feel bad about what we did.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She retorts, as if it’s obvious and I shouldn’t need an answer to know.

“Yeah, why?” I press on. If she enjoyed it and doesn’t regret it, I can’t understand what she means by ‘I feel bad about what we did.’

“Jungkook, it’s all very complicated. I’m very different from you. I’ve never kissed anyone like I kissed you, nor have I ever been with someone in that way. I—I don’t even know you that well. I must have lost my mind when I did that.” She concludes, and for some reason, her words irritate me.

I’ve always been judged by people at church. The way they look at me, as if I’m a freak, still bothers me. Her saying these words reminds me of that inferiority I felt; not fitting in, feeling wrong, dirty. It’s as if being different from her is my biggest problem. As if she is right, and I am wrong. I don’t say a word, biting into my toast. If being with someone you desire is so wrong, then why did she give herself to me last night?

“It’s fine,” I whisper. “If you want, I can take you home.”

“I think that’s best.” She says, nodding her head and pressing her lips together. She doesn’t seem happy at all, as if she’s making this decision without really knowing what she’s doing, but doesn't have other alternative.

I finish my food in silence, watching her do the same slowly. She avoids making eye contact every time I look her in the eyes, and if I didn’t feel how disoriented and bewildered she is by me, I would have stopped. She pauses, sighs, and for the first time this morning, she locks eyes with me.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, not understanding her flushed face for what seems like the tenth time. Suddenly, without warning, she kisses me.

I’m taken aback, feeling her hands on my cheek and her body close to mine. Y/N seems to understand my confusion and pulls away from me before I can react. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I–”

I don’t let her finish, focused too much on her red lips to hear any words that come out of her mouth. This time, I’m the one who kisses her. I wrap my hands around her waist and pull her closer to me, feeling her warm skin and her heart racing against mine. She lets out a soft moan against me as I part her lips and find her tongue with mine.

Her hand leaves my cheek and finds its way to my neck, a sweet touch that sends electric shivers through all my muscles. She smiles while still kissing, her fingers feeling my tremors beneath her palm. I let my desire take over as I explore her thighs, lightly gliding my palm across her skin, squeezing and touching.

I pull her hair back carelessly, creating an empty space between us. Her neck is fully exposed, almost an invitation for me to kiss it. I have to use every ounce of self-control and willpower to hold back. My hardened cock protests within my pants, but I know I can’t continue. Not for me, because what I want most right now is to take her. To hear her moan my name in my ear as she comes for me, but I'm incapable for her sake.

When I pull back from her face, just a few inches apart, I see that besides the desire and pleasure coursing through her, confusion and doubt take over her expression. As if she wants the same thing I do, but is fighting against something. Fighting against her thoughts. I grunt, a bit annoyed. Besides hunger and unwanted calls, what frustrates me the most is feeling intense desire and not being able to relieve it. I grunt and get up from the chair, creating a safe distance between us until I’m near the living room door.

“What happened? Did I do something?” she asks weakly, unsure where to look, utterly embarrassed.

“You didn’t. I need to take you home. I need you to leave.” I say. I try not to be too harsh with her, softening my tone. “I can clearly see how confused you are. I need time to think about what happened, and I guess you do too.”

“I know.” She smiles bitterly. “I really need to go home now.”

“I’ll take you.”

“You don’t have to.” She says, already getting up.

“I insist. I’m not going to let you go alone; it might be dangerous.”

“It’s seven in the morning. Nothing is going to happen to me.” She replies. Her stubbornness, tied to her determination, surprises me. Just a few days ago, I swore she was submissive the way she acts with her mother.

“Fine. But I want your phone number, and when you get home, I want an immediate message.” I bargain, still unsure. I want to insist more, but the way she looks at me tells me she wouldn’t accept the ride, no matter what I say.

“Sure, sir.” She smiles. She grabs the small bag from my couch, one I hadn’t even noticed she was carrying, and puts on her flats. She recites her phone number while arranging her hair and smoothing her wrinkled dress.

“Don’t call me sir.” I grumble, covering my face with my hands. I open the door to my apartment, grabbing my car keys, shoes, and phone all at once.

“What are you doing?” Y/N questions, crossing her arms over her chest. I let out a little chuckle without meaning to.

“I’m going to visit my mom.” I say, honestly.

“At this hour?” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not doing this just to follow the car that’s taking me, right?”

“No, of course not.” Of course I am, I mentally reply. “I’m going to see my mom since my dad traveled. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” She rolls her eyes with a small smile, looking at me one last time. “Not at all.”

“I thought you had forgotten about me.” My mom sits beside me on the couch, smiling at her own comment. I roll my eyes because just yesterday, she told me she deserved her space, that she didn’t want me visiting her every day, that I should focus on the tattoo studio and forget a bit about her problems because, according to her, Misuk isn’t a teenager and kids shouldn’t worry about their parents. That’s not the natural order of things, she said.

“I just happened to come here.”

“How come?” She furrows her brows, confused. I clear my throat, a bit taken aback by the question. I followed Y/N to her house like a psychopath, tailing the car that took her. The truth is, if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have come to my mom’s house so early. I’m not a morning person, and neither is my mom.

“It’s nothing.” I dismiss, not wanting to say that I almost slept with the crazy, religious neighbor’s daughter. “I was worried about you and decided to come.”

I stay quiet, observing her dark eyes and black hair that I inherited from her. Some features, however, came from my dad. A father I barely knew, to be honest. Misuk’s husband entered my life when I had just turned twelve. Although I accepted him immediately and bought into the idea that he was my dad from then on, I always knew the truth. I always knew that my real father, wherever he was, was a dick who never wanted to know about me.

That messes with a kid’s head.

“Jungkook, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. That was just an... episode.” She says, looking down. I see the lie in her eyes; how she tries to hide from me what she feels. How she tries to spare me, as if being her son means I can stay relax. She’s the only person I have, the only one who knows all my secrets. She knows about Namjoon, knows about my dreams, knows about my pains. I wish I could, even just a little, lift that weight she carries on her shoulders.

“Everything is ok, Mom.” I assure her, not really believing my own words. “I just wish you wouldn’t lie to me. Sometimes I feel like you don’t tell me everything. I’d be less scared if you tell me the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” She insists, gritting her teeth. “You know how I sometimes get a little depressed; that hasn’t changed. I just have some relapses.”

“Almost committing suicide isn’t a relapse. Drinking, doing drugs, calling someone you shouldn’t, that’s what a relapse is. Not this.” My voice falters with my words. My throat tightens, and if I could, I would cry right now.

“You don’t understand, Jungkook. And that’s okay; I’m glad you don’t.” She smiles, her eyes tearing up. “I don’t need a reason to feel this emptiness; I don’t need something to happen to me to have the urge to end everything. That’s what you don’t understand.”

“In the other times you tried, there was always a reason. When your friend died five years ago, or when grandma passed away... this time you almost killed yourself for nothing?” I question, not believing it. An unbearable pain fills my chest, and I want to scream at her. I want to be inside her head and finally understand what’s going on in there.

“It is what it is,” she says, shrugging. I shake my head, still unable to swallow my own saliva. It’s like I have a pill too big in my mouth to swallow. I grunt, still lost for words.

She almost left me alone for no reason? I want to ask her, question why, but I can’t. I sigh and force a smile, the best I can, facing the hurt I feel. I don’t want to see her this way. She has faced so much for me, and I know my pain doesn’t compare to hers. I can’t be selfish now and act like a child. I swallow my anger and indignation, and breathe again, trying to stabilize myself.

“Where is Gureum? I wanted to play with him.” I change the subject, not ready to continue this conversation. I'm over with this.

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

@ane102 @joonwater @ttipa

[babiebom]

When You Fall (VIII)

A/N: i got the sweetest message from someone(idk if they’d want me to call them out) and somehow it made me want to start on this chapter so I guess it literally just takes someone being nice for me to actually do something lmao. Also happy new year!! Also also whenever I’m writing one of these chapters and the tumblr notif shows up it jumpscares me. Like how do y’all know?

Tw: depression, reader decides to force themself to be happy, cursing. The usual

Wc:3.0k

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Sweat dripped from your forehead as you attempted to clear some of the farm from debris. It was taking long to clear everything, and though you knew that most of the land would be unused until you actually got enough money to plant more things and get a coop or barn.

Shadow ran around wildly, barking happily as she snapped her teeth at the air. It’s funny, watching her as she runs. Getting pets didn’t make being in a depressive pit completely go away, but they did make that pit less dark, less daunting and lonely. Mango lazed around on the porch, his tail slowly waving side to side as he watched you.

Sticking your rake into the ground and wiping the sweat again, you grin at your animals, letting out a labored breath. “Okay, so, I love you both very very much. And I’m sorry that I can’t take you but they’re hosting an Egg Festival in the town and I’m going.”

You move to sit on the porch, Shadow dashing to crash onto your lap. You open your arms and let her move her big body onto you with a roll. “And I swear I’m not going to enjoy being away from you both, but I have to go as part of my healing. I’ll be back soon.” Neither one of them did anything other than stare at you and then go about their own business as you get up and head inside to shower. Shadow trails behind you after a moment, her tail wagging so hard her butt wiggles along with it. You take one last glance at her as you finally get in the shower, hoping the day goes by quickly.

Walking into the town’s square, it’s like a decorating bomb went off. There are banners and decorative flags and other things littered around in a way that made you think whoever decorated spent way too long out here only for them to be messed up by the wind. There’s so many layers of tape that you feel irritated for whoever had to fix it.

“Farmer!” Pierre calls out from behind his booth. You want to ignore him, not really ready for social interaction but go over to him anyways. Forcing a smile onto your lips you lean on the booth counter, looking at the things he has stocked.

Some strawberry seeds, lawn flamingos, plants, a painting, a bright pink banner, a plush bunny, and a….decorative pitchfork? What kind of stock is this? What does this have to do with the egg festival? You blink a couple times and attempt to control the look on your face, maybe you could buy a couple of strawberry seeds. Even if you don’t plant them this season you can always wait. “Hey Pierre! Selling some good stuff?”

He smiles and moves his hand around, gesturing to his stock. “Yeah, looking to buy anything?”

“Sure…a couple strawberry seed packets…and that plush bunny.”

“It’s pretty cute huh? Okay that’ll be 2,500g.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. 2,500g? The man has to be insane! What the fuck costed so much that you were being charged this much? “Yeah, prices are a little steep. But I have to make a living somehow,” he chuckles when he sees your expression. You try hard to keep your face in check, not wanting to snap on the man in front of everyone. You were here to make progress, not to make enemies.

After giving him the money you take your new things and stuff them into your backpack. The letter said the festival ended at two, and looking at your watch it was only 9:30. That meant 4 and a half more hours of agony trying to force yourself out of a depressive pit that you aren’t really all too sure you’re ready to leave just yet for the sake of getting better.

Well, at least there’s food…

Hurrying along, the sight of the buffet table makes your mouth water. Not eating breakfast and working all morning in a large field without totally knowing what to do is a bad idea, but now that you’re looking at all the different types of food you can’t help but praise yourself for how lucky starving yourself got you. Now you can eat, then when you get home you can pass out and sleep until tomorrow. Like another rest day that feels like a reward after running around in the dirt.

As you fill your plate with food, you can see Gus and what’s his name…’Clive?’ You think to yourself, nose scrunching in confusion, ‘No, that's a stupid name. Carl? It has to be Carl…what other C names are there?’ In your thoughts you almost drop your plate and gain the attention of the two men, Gus smiles brightly and waves you over while the other man averts his eyes. Weird…

“Hey Gus!” You smile warmly at the older man. There was a twinge of stress in his eye, but it seemed rude to point that out to him. His eyes moved over the rows and rows of food and it occurs to you that he must have cooked almost everything himself being the Towns Saloon owner and all.

“Hey farmer! I was just telling Clint here…you’ve met Clint right?”

You shake your head at his question. You had only seen him around maybe once and heard his name in passing from the blue haired girl who was talking to him when you passed by and from Maru when you were in the clinic. Thank Yoba Gus said his name or you would’ve been stood awkwardly just like you are but more so because you wouldn’t have known his name. “Oh well, he’s the towns blacksmith…anyways I was just telling him how I hope everyone’s enjoying the food. I’ve been cooking for days to get the food ready.”

“Days? Wow thats a lot of work…”

“Yeah I made fried eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs, deviled eggs, scrambled eggs, chocolate eggs, you name it!”

“I mean it is the Egg Festival…”

“Yeah, not to mention the other foods. I’d be upset if it turned out horribly.”

You take a bite of whatever was on your plate in front of him, trying to make a show of how good it is, but not really needing to act because WOW can this man cook. How’d he even make this? His eyes light up at your expressions and mannerisms, his shoulders relaxing at the sight of you enjoying the food. “No Gus, I swear this is amazing! You don’t need to worry about anyone not enjoying the food at all!”

“Thank you for the kind words, Farmer, it means a lot to me.”

You nod vigorously, not wanting to ignore him but now overcome with the urge to stuff down as much of the food as you can. What the fuck was in this? Drugs? You can’t even remember the last time you were this hungry.

With your plate you walk around, smiling at anyone who talks to you, and try to carry on conversations that you didn’t really care much about. It had been weeks since you moved here, and you were just now meeting everyone personally. There were so many people living here in Pelican Town that you wonder how you had managed to avoid 60 percent of them whenever you ventured out.

As you make your rounds to the buffet table for the second time, the sight of a bright red cape catches your eye and the man with the eyepatch flashes in your mind. You hadn’t seen him since that day, but you had to find out what those stupid jelly things are.

“Marlon!” You call out, rushing to the man in the corner. He looked surprised that you were speaking to him, but made no moves to walk away or ignore you. Instead he looked slightly pleased. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

His eyebrows quirk up in amusement, “I could say the same about you, don’t hear anything about you going around.”

You shrug and realize that just as much as you stick to your farm, he must stick to the caves and mountains. Neither bad, but awfully lonely when you think about it. You wonder if there’s anyone he lives with up there. “I just thought that you would prefer to be adventuring or something…like in the caves?”

“Yeah, but even with my bad leg I never miss a festival.”

“Oh…say you know down in the caves how there are…things right?”

“Yeah the monsters?”

“Yeah um, have you ever seen the little Jello creatures? They’re really tiny and all but are like really strong for some reason, and jump at you like they’re legless spiders?”

“The slimes? Yeah you have to be careful with them. They might be easy to defeat but can quickly overwhelm you if you’re not careful.”

He frowns at you and you swallow. That’s exactly what had happened. The stupid things were just too much the more you ventured down. But you’d be ready for them next time, and whatever else is down there. “Yeah, they kinda kicked my ass last time I went into the caves.”

He nods solemnly, as if he could relate. Maybe he could relate, having a bad leg and an injured eye and living up there. There had probably been times that he’s gotten overwhelmed and hurt. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. If he could get hurt down there, and you have already been hurt, who’s to say that you won’t just die the next time you go down? It’s weird to think just how lucky you truly were when you were saved.

Thinking of being saved…your eyes flit around quickly trying to spot the man that had saved your life. Maru and Sam had said that Sebastian had gone down into the caves himself to save you, and even though you hadn’t seen him personally since meeting in the Saloon, the need to thank him was always in the back of your mind. And now you have the chance, Yoba you wished you were home.

You bid goodbye to Marlon and shuffled your way to the trio standing off at the bottom of the town’s square. Rehearsing what you’re going to say in your head, you hope that it would be a quick conversation, that you wouldn’t stutter over your words and that you wouldn’t act so awkward that they think you’re weirder than you are. But as you clear your throat as you walk up to them, regret settles in your belly at the looks on their faces. It was like being in school all over again and the kids that you thought were cool were too tight knit as a group and hated outsiders.

Before you could say anything Abigail speaks first, staring straight at you. “Do you think I’m too old to do the Egg Hunt?”

You frown at her in confusion before shaking your head. “No?”

She punches Sebastian’s arm as soon as the word leaves your mouth. “Ha! I told you I wasn’t too old. It’s like, why stop if I’m having fun?”

“How are you having fun searching for eggs with actual children?”

“Hey! Searching for eggs is like going on a treasure hunt! Besides, your sister does it too!”

Sebastian rolls his eyes at her, looking towards the river without saying anything more, choosing to sip on the punch in his cup. Sam looks like he’s suffering and you tilt your head, silently questioning him. “Ugh…it’s my doze…allergies.” His nose is so stuffed up that his words seem heavy. You wince at him and nod in understanding, Springtime wasn’t the best for people with allergies.

Sebastian clears his throat after a minute. “You know what I miss? The rotten egg toss.”

Both Sam and Abigail agree quickly, words coming out both of their mouths too quickly for you to really understand anything they’re saying. They’re very enthusiastic about it, recounting things that happened in previous years. In your confusion you look over at Sebastian, and he swallows his drink quickly. “We used to do a rotten egg toss, a couple years ago. It was only for like two years, Mayor Lewis put an end to it pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, too many people complained that it stunk.” Abigail laughed. It sounded pretty fun, tossing rotten eggs at a target or something, but the smell…ugh.

Before you could say anything else, Sam says he’s going to get more food before the egg hunt starts and they put everything away. Abigail looks between you and Sebastian and smiles. “I’ll go with him, either of you want anything?”

You shake your head, plate still full from the second round. “Maybe some punch? If it’s not too much trouble?” She shrugs and looks at Sebastian who just hands her his cup. She leaves without another word and without turning back. Ha…now it’s awkward…

“I didn’t think you were one for socializing.”

You’re surprised at his words, but think that in a small town there are rarely secrets. Everyone must know that you’re suffering. “Yeah um, just had a bad couple of weeks. I’m better now, though, ready to mingle and become part of the town…being alone is no good.”

He snorts, glancing at you and your heart stutters in your chest. Did he think you were joking? Were you that obvious in your dislike of talking to others? “Yeah sure…been there once.”

You don’t ask him what he means, understanding that he’s seeing right through your fake chipper exterior. For a minute the silence stretches on, but it’s not as tense and awkward as it was before. Maybe it was a good thing he could tell you were faking, there was no need now that it was only you two. “Y’know I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“For?” He sounds disinterested, but when you look at his face he seems more…uncomfortable.

“You saving me? Your friends told me you went down into the caves to get me.”

“Fucking…yeah. It was no problem. You should be more careful, though, I was only able to help because I noticed that you didn’t come up.”

“Yeah…I really should…anyways. Thanks for saving me, hopefully you won’t have to do it again.”

He shrugs and says nothing.

“I owe you one.”

“Sure.”

The mayor claps his hands loudly, speaking into a megaphone that he’s holding. “If anyone is participating in the egg hunt, gather round. It’s almost time to begin!”

“You participating?” He asks, and for a second you almost say no before remembering that the whole point of coming was to become part of the community and bettering yourself.

“Yeah…you?”

“Nah…”

You nod and cough into your fist, unsure of how to separate yourself from him. “Well, I guess I’ll see you…later?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m either at home, or at Sam’s or the Saloon during the weekends…”

“Okay, cool.”

You walk away quickly, confused as to how you had somewhat made a friend of him? There was that saying that misery loves company…maybe he was the perfect person to be miserable with. He seemed like he had problems himself. Mayor Lewis claps a hand onto your shoulder a little harder than necessary, causing you to wince. “Enjoying yourself, Farmer?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s good! It’s about time you introduced yourself to the townspeople. Everyone was so excited to meet the new farmer in town and you just…disappeared. They thought you were a recluse or something!” He lets out a laugh that makes you frown. You had forgotten how much this guy could talk.

“Yeah well, family deaths will do that to you.” You keep your face straight as you stare at him. He coughs and sputters out some words before the conversation is effectively ended.

After another minute and a half the egg hunt begins and your heart starts thumping in your chest. The kids are already running off, and Abigail is darting around so quickly that you think that she’s going to knock one of them over. Looking at the other participants, the urge to beat them overcomes you. Winning at this means that you’re officially part of the community right? You’re putting yourself out there?

Your feet move without another thought from you and soon enough your basket is full with eggs. Looking at the others it seems theirs are too. You can hear Lewis counting down from ten and your heart races even more. How were you supposed to win this? You run across the square, hoping to get one last egg.

Five…

Where are the rest of the eggs? What the fuck is there no more?

Four…

In the corner of your eye something yellow gleams under the sun. An egg! Near the river!

Three…

You dash towards the egg, hand stretched out towards it.

Two…

A couple more steps to go, you’re unsure if you’ll get there in time.

One…

Your hand closes around the egg and into your basket it goes. Your heart thumps and your breaths come out uneven. But you made it! The last egg.

Lewis calls everyone back towards the center of town, eyes gleaming as he looks at everyone’s baskets. He seems happy to see more people participating in a dying tradition. There were only two kids in town so an egg hunt is bound to get boring as everyone gets older.

It takes five whole minutes for Lewis to count everyone’s eggs, yours being the last basketbhe gets his hands on. “Nine…ten…” Abigail groans in annoyance next to you. “Eleven! The winner is the Farmer! Come up and get your prize!”

Prize? If you knew there was going to be a prize you wouldn’t have tried so hard. Now someone was going to be mad at you for winning instead of them. You walk slowly to Lewis confused as to what he could be offering.

“Enjoy!”

He hands you a straw hat…well at least it’s helpful?

[consextualjane]

So, since I've been getting so many requests for the kind of stories I used to write, I decided to give you all a treat and post one of them (after digging through my old files to find it).

Enjoy 😘

Oh, and keep an eye on my blog. I might just decide to do more of these 👀

Reluctant Pleasure

Mark struggled against his restraints, but he couldn't budge. The knots holding his wrists behind his back, and his ankles to the chair, were tied well.

In front of him on the bed, bent over on all fours and facing him, was his beautiful girlfriend, Erin. And behind her was Jason, Cassi's boyfriend. He was a former college football player with huge shoulders and washboard abs. He had his hands wrapped around Erin's tiny waist and his cock buried inside of her.

This wasn't what Mark had wanted when he had suggested a foursome. He tried to protest but could only let out small muffled sounds against the rag stuffed into his mouth. Cassi, Erin's best friend - and the person responsible for orchestrating Mark's current predicament - laughed. She was on her knees, pumping her hand up and down Mark's stiff cock.

"Oh wow, do you see how good your little girlfriend looks getting bent over and fucked by my boyfriend's big cock?" said Cassi. Still pumping her hand up and down.

Mark let out a groan. He didn't want this, but he'd never been so hard in his life. Watching the love of his life getting stretched out by this meathead's massive cock was doing things to his mind that weren't natural.

He watched as Erin cried out in pleasure. Her eyes rolled back in her head as Jason methodically hammered his big cock into her like she was an object that needed to be penetrated in a certain way to get an orgasm out of her. She was no longer even aware that Mark was in the room. Her moans and whimpers filled Mark's ears as she gave her body to the man enthusiastically. Jason took the cue and picked up the pace of rhythmically driving his cock in and out, a piston in perfect motion.

Cassi simultaneously slowed her speed of pumping Mark's cock. She drizzled some more lube over the tip and gave him a knowing smile. It was the cruelest thing Mark had ever seen.

"Oh my," she said, looking back over her shoulder. "Look at Erin turning into a little slut for my boyfriend. She's never experienced this much pleasure before, has she? You're never going to be able to satisfy her again after this."

Mark's cock twitched. He was so close to cumming. Cassi stopped her relentless pumping to let him cool off for a moment. He groaned and tried thrusting his hips forward for more stimulation. Cassi laughed again.

"Uh uh, no no," she said wagging her finger. Mark was in agony. He knew then that Cassi was the devil incarnate. He wanted to beg them all to stop, and he wanted to beg them to keep going. The screws holding his mind together were coming loose.

Jason picked up his pace again, pounding himself into Erin over and over. She'd always loved Mark, but lust was taking over as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her body. Seeing her moaning and biting the sheets, Mark knew she was getting close to orgasm.

"They're both so close," whispered Cassi. "And so are you, aren't you? Are you going to cum while he forces an orgasm out of your slutty little girlfriend? Are you going to cum when he cums inside of her? Is she even on birth control? If you do cum, you'll be ruined too you know?"

Her words poisoned his mind as she jerked his cock off faster. He watched Jason's muscles tense and his rhythm get erratic. The brute thrust one final time, as deep into Erin as he could get, and let out a loud groan as he emptied his balls into Mark's girlfriend. Erin responded with an orgasm of her own, gripping the sheets and screaming in ecstasy as Jason continued to fill her.

It was all too much for Mark. His cock erupted in Cassi's hand, shooting cum out so far it landed on the bed. Spurt after spurt came gushing out as she drained every ounce of dignity he had left.

"Oooh there it is, good boy," she cooed, continuing to milk the cum out of his cock. "Get all of that out onto the floor, where it's useless. Keep going. Your little Erin just had her pussy filled with cum by my boyfriend's big thick cock."

Mark emptied his balls onto the floor. He shot out more cum than any other time in his life. Then he sighed in defeat, knowing his life had just changed irrevocably.

[edgeray]

One Hell of a Butler Pt. 4

Arrogance (Arlecchino x Fem! Reader Blurb)

A/N: Having the shittiest week of my life I think, school has never deicded to screw me as hard as it does now. Should I be doing this instead of studying/preparing for a really big test tomorrow? No, but I needed to get this out of my system before I start locking in. Sorry for not very good writing. Wanted to give reader a personality, so sorry if not too much of Arlecchino, and not a lot like yourself. I had fun writing reader at least. Series Masterlist Content warning: semi-graphic violence done on the reader, blood, swearing, y'all probably hate me for the ending

When you stepped on this path, you knew that you would be endangering your life, though you had justified the risks with your perfected revenge–even if it meant prancing on the road to hell. With acknowledgement of this indubitable fact, you persisted on, even though you knew next to nothing about this walk of life. You, engaging with the underground and the scum of the city, pretending to be one of them, to be able to walk among them?

You had gotten arrogant. Having a demon butler does that to you, apparently. 

You always were a good bluffer, a good poker face, a pretty liar. You were smart, knew how to spin a half-truth into a neatly arranged pile of bullshit with a bow on top. Yet you should have known that that would be your downfall. After all, when your life and revenue relied on your word one would think you knew better than to deceive a client, no?

Well, it was their fault for believing it. Why did you have to be the one to pay? 

You really hate the taste of iron in your mouth. You wipe the blood from the corner of your lips with your knuckle and stagger back a bit to stand up more right, clutching your bruised cheek in your hand. 

“Are you done running away?” One of the men that surrounds you asks.

“Why, you tired already?” You snark back with a sneer that promptly gains you a kick to your stomach, sending an ache to your stomach. Tumbling to the alley floor, you grit your teeth to repress any more noises of agony. 

Only you had to have summoned the slowest demon on Earth. Damn it, what was taking her so long? You should have taken her with you tonight. 

Your eyes skitter around for anything you could use, but it seems that all you're surrounded by is garbage until you catch the glint of something. 

“Keep mouthing off. You won't be able to do that for much longer. He wants us to bring you in mint condition, but as long as you can still talk, we can do whatever we want with you,” the same man that kicked you responded, crouching down right before your lying figure. A hand grips your strands, your scalp burning as he tugs your head up to his eye level. 

“Fucking bitch.” If she doesn't show up in two minutes, you swear to hell you will act more of a demon than she is the next time you see her. 

A palm slams against one side of your face, and an audible slap reverberates throughout the alley way. Your cheek stings and your ears ring from the whiplash. Tears nearly well up in the corner of your eyes. One of your hands rummage through the pieces of junk behind you, before finding and clasping around the neck of a glass bottle. 

“That's all it took to shut you up, huh?” the man smirked maliciously. He raises another hand to assault you before you swing your arm, bringing the bottle to the side of his head. The glass shatters upon impact and your assailant reels back. Unfortunately, as you attempt another swipe at him, a hard fist meets your cheek, and you're out in an instant. 

Your last thoughts are on how to reprimand a demon. 

The first thought when you wake up is that your neck hurts. Though you can't see–likely because of a blindfold–you feel that you're tied up to a chair with some sturdy rope, and there's a rag of some sort in your mouth, secured behind your head. 

And damn it, you can still taste the blood in your mouth. 

So you've been kidnapped. 

Despite the incessant attempts of steadying your breath, you can't seem to relax your drumming heart and the anxiety that pricks underneath your skin. You squirm in your binds, causing the chair you're seated on to make an awful screech when it moves. It pierces your ear drums, and an expletive is muffled by your gag. 

Your futile struggling gains the attraction of someone in the room and footsteps begin to approach until they stop right in front of you. There’s the shuffling of some clothes, as you feel fingers reach in front and take out the rag from your mouth. 

Beneath the fear, you can't help the seething, brimming fury that builds inside of you. You spit in whoever’s face that decides to touch you. You know you've hit your mark when profanities are thrown your way. A smug grin makes its way up your face, until it's slapped off your face, the whiplash causes your ears to ring and your head to be foggy.  

“Stupid woman. I'll make it simple for you. I know you know what we want.”

Collecting some courage and a bit of your sass as a shield, you take a deep breath. Remaining silent, you ponder which client this one was. Knitting your eyebrows in puzzlement, you ask audaciously, “Who are you again?”

“I'll give you one chance. Tell us, and we'll let you go.”

You couldn't help yourself and let out an amused chuckle, throwing your head back. Your giggle dies after a few seconds and you lazily tilt your head towards his direction.

“So you really think I'm that stupid?” You shot back with a cutting remark. “You're a shit liar. You didn’t even once consider letting me go. Why would you let go of a skilled information broker when you have her right here? I would have considered giving you the answer, but I changed my mind since you decided to lie in front of my face. Fucker.”

The speaker audibly grinded his teeth and before you can mentally brace for it, a hard force slams into your chest, and you swear you hear something crack at the impact. Agony blossoms from your sternum, and the faintest tears well up in the corner of your eyes. The hit is enough to make the chair tumble back, making your head bang painfully against the hard, cold floor. 

The male walks towards you and stops right next to your ear. Something cold and gunpowder-y smelling presses against your skull–a gun, you think. “Keep acting like a smartass and you won't live for much longer.”

As you're about to answer, you feel the temperature drop immediately, the room suddenly becoming chilly. You've never been more grateful for the frigidity–it was about time she showed up, stupid demon servant taking so long. “You should worry about your life first,” you merely suggested with the most diabolic of smiles. 

The familiar sound of stilettos click against the floor, becoming louder and louder as it nears, and her fury is eminent–almost exuding out of her like the stench of death that follows. 

“Where are my guards? What did you do to them?” The man demands, his voice cracking from the evident fright, as he steps back. A bang pierces through the room, gunshot after gunshot is shot, presumably at Arlecchino, until the gun starts clicking. He must have ran out of bullets. You're not particularly worried for your butler, in fact, depraved glee is the only thing that you feel. The smile doesn't stop stretching over your face. You really wish you could see the sight; that is, Arlecchino's unharmed form and the man's shocked face. 

Arlecchino's response almost makes you forgive her for being late instantly. “Where are they? Don't worry. You'll be with them soon enough.” 

For the briefest point of time, you felt a smidge of sympathy for your attacker. No amount of bullets can kill her. 

Bloodcurdling screams echo throughout the room, making you cringe– although you were glad that the man was suffering, the noise is horrendous and earsplitting. The distinct noise of flesh being ripped off and then a god awful sound of a crunch follows after, silencing the man once and for all. The intense stank of iron fills your nostrils. 

“I apologize for subjecting you to such repulsive cries, my Lady. I couldn't contain myself,” Arlecchino’s voice finally reaches out to you and her footsteps approach you. Firstly, the blindfold is pulled up, giving back your vision as you can finally see for a while. The first thing you're met with is your butler's face, who is unsurprisingly unmarred. However, there is a tight knit in her brows in her otherwise blank expression, a tension unseen before in the demon. 

Concern, you skeptically guess, forms on her face. It's foreign, perhaps the first time you've seen it before on her. Seeing something like that, you suddenly experience a sensation more unsavory tasting than the metallic tang of your blood. It's bitter, perhaps. An inexplicable unease bubbles within you, and your skin burns like a scorching torch grazing up your skin. Why does her expression generate this sort of reaction? 

"You're late," you manage out, swallowing thickly any previous unease, your tone expressing evident annoyance. She hums in response. Raising a clawed finger, she slices your bounds easily, freeing you.

“My apologies,” she says, and you note that she lacks the usual refinement in her words. “Finding you proved to be a bit difficult.” 

There's a brief pause and she helps you stand and you regard the room you're in. The pungent smell of iron fills the room, coming from beyond the doorway in which you can see some of the remnants of the bodies that Arlecchino killed. You direct your attention away from such a horrid sight. How she was able to cause this massacre without making any noise, you couldn't fathom. 

It's not the first time she's been the center of a slaughter. In a disturbing way, it's almost nostalgic, reminiscent of your first meeting with Arlecchino, when you've summoned her at your greatest time of need. Broken and desperate you were, you screamed out your final plea which no god acknowledged before she did. You were pleading to live. But now, just minutes before, you were practically taunting death. Have six months accompanying a demon changed you that much? 

A brief contact pulls you away from your thoughts when you feel something cold press against the corner of your lips. You flick your attention to Arlecchino as your heart leapt at the sudden movement. Her thumb wipes away the blood that seeps with a tender stroke. 

"You're hurt," the demon says almost matter-of-factly if it weren't for how curt it seemed–like there was an urgency with those two words. You repress the urge to question her odd behavior. 

“Incredible observation,” you sarcastically remark and you try to brush away her hand, except she grips your chin in between her fingers. Turning your head, before you could react, you feel something cold, yet soft press gently into your bruised cheek. It's a fleeting touch, but instantaneously, you feel heat blossom from the source of contact–incredibly hot, as if your skin is lit ablaze just from mere lips. Arlecchino pulls away quickly, and your fingers dab the tingling skin where she touched. You expect to feel the aching soreness, but instead, you feel nothing–as if the bruise was never there in the first place. 

“What did you do?” You ask in puzzlement. The butler's lip curls up into an amused smirk, most likely enjoying your confusion. 

“I healed you.” 

“I wasn't aware a demon had the ability to do that.” Let alone with that method, anyways…

“Just another ability of mine as a demon. You know…”

She extends one hand out, using her pointer finger to tilt your chin up, invoking you to gaze into her red-crossed irises. They flicker with a wanton desire when they find your eyes, and there's a deliberate sweep of her tongue over her red lips. Shivers run down your spine as she approaches closer, and her other arm circles your waist with the other hand flat against your lower back. She leans in until she's gazing directly down at you, hot air tickles your nose as she exhales. 

Your heart pounds in your ears, making every other sense of yours except touch fade. Your sensitivity to touch is heightened, making every small brush create goosebumps. Your lips part into a small gasp from her action. Why do you suddenly feel so inexplicably hot? 

“Your lips seem bruised as well.” 

She leans down to close the distance. Your heart races and races until you’re convinced it'll explode as she nears. At the last moment, you jerk your head away. 

“No. No, they're not,” you exhale out breathlessly in between pants. Your cheeks burn fiercely, hardly able to hear your own words from your thundering heartbeat in your ears. 

Arlecchino stiffens immediately, before leaning back. You're grateful for the added distance, feeling the abrupt weight on your shoulders lifted. You dare glance over her expression. Once more, you're met with another emotion you've never seen before on her. A subtle frown with pursed lips alongside the smallest narrowing of her brows tells the disappointment in her dark abysses. The blackened arms fall away from your body, and for the strangest reason, you want her touch to linger. 

The bitterness in your mouth returns. 

“Get me out of here, Arlecchino,” is all you can say. The demon stares at you for several moments, before closing her eyes and hardening her face, the confounding expression gone in an instant. Suddenly, she becomes familiar again. 

“As you wish, my Lady.” 

You think you prefer getting beaten the shit out of over the gnawing sensation in your chest. Your heart swells achingly. You can’t fathom why.  

[poraphia]

hahahaha angsty idea. Reader vigilante reveal but this time siren is furious. He starts fighting the reader— but they don’t fight back. They don’t move a single muscle as he pushes them into a wall. They sit there, and accept it

i just wanna mention i love writing for these little prompts they're like little warm ups for me hehesheehe

---

A vigilante and a supervillain.

One minute, they watched the moon rise with the stars. Their fingers near centimeters apart as they rested against the textured stone.

The next minute, screaming and loud thuds echoed through the night, yet not a single soul dared to approach the pair.

The vigilante fell back, their body sliding against the cold granite. Bits and pieces of their outfit tore from the friction. Siren stood a meter away, but his shadow engulfed them like flames. Tears stained his blindfold as he was forced into a blurry haze. His head throbbed, but it was nowhere near close to how hard his heart pounded in his chest.

"YOU'RE A FUCKING LIAR, (Y/N)! A GOD DAMN LIAR." He screamed in agony. Slowly, he stepped toward the limp figure. A figure so weak they coughed out blood as their head rested against an arm.

"Get up."

With his honey voice, the vigilante was forced back onto their feet.

"Look at me."

Their head whipped up. Tears and blood trickled down their face. Their body was scratched, damaged, and bruised, but Siren, you couldn't find a single imperfection on his body.

Siren pushed them against the wall of the fire escape. The same location where they had their first encounter. The same location where (y/n) decided to take Siren's heart before shoving it in a grinder. He slammed his hands on either side of their face, digging his palms into the tiny rocks that nearly pierced his skin.

But he didn't care.

No, he couldn't care less.

Siren stood there, near breathing down the vigilante's neck, while all they could do was stand there and take it. His heaving chset was consistent with rage. An audible and visual show to his confliction. He stood there, silent for a minute. (y/n) dare refused to say anything because they knew that any word, no matter how wrong or how right it was, would ruin the man even more.

After some time gathering his own words, Siren took one deep exhale before ripping off his blindfold, revealing puffy and horribly glossy eyes. His eyes searched their face, searching for any sign to tell him to cut this shit out, but instead, it filled him more with rage and sorrow.

"I... I fucking loved you." He choked. "I loved you before we started talking. I loved you when we were running around being silly teenagers."

Siren forced both his hands back on either side of their head. "I loved you EVEN WHEN YOU WENT MISSING FOR YEARS BECAUSE I HAD SOME TYPE OF HOPE." (y/n) remained speechless and only stared back with the most pained expression on their face.

"AND TO THINK--!" Siren backed away now, running a hand through his hair as nothing but manic chuckles escaped his throat. "To think that I was finally getting over you?! That I had found someone new," He whipped his head back to face them. "THAT I CAN FINALLY HEAL, (Y/N)."

Chuckles turned into giggles, giggles turned into laughs, laughs turned to harrowing cries of pain as he crouched down onto the ground, hugging his knees.

He had fucking lost it now.

Siren's noises of distress soon died down. He stood up straight again, staring straight through the vigilante.

"I'm going to make sure you are never in my life again." He uttered softly.

"They don't call me a super villain for nothing."

(y/n) nodded, closing their eyes. If this was the relief Will wanted, and if this promised him to be happier in the future, then by all means, he could do whatever they wanted to them.

"(y/n)," His cold, icy stare pierced through their heart like an icicle. "jump o--"

"WI- SIREN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Fingering snippet (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Here's a lil preview of what's cooking y'all. This is my first time writing smut and it all started because @iamasaddie likes to torture me with pictures of pedro's hands while I'm on my period 🙃. I have never been so feral for a man's hands before, like this is actually ridiculous.

idk how y'all write smut because I keep getting turned on and ...distracted. anyways, I hope to have this done and posted by the weekend.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit descriptions of smut, swearing, hand kink?, daddy kink

Sneak peak under the cut:

Joel’s not stupid, he knows when you’re baiting him. That doesn’t mean he’s not past teasing and torturing you some more while you’re apart until you get home and then he can have his way with you.  Not only does he know your body so well when you’re being intimate, he also knows your cycle down to a tee. The man is ridiculously attentive, scrutinizing every change in your mood, your body, your taste. So naturally he knows when you’re ovulating, when you need him the most. 

But of course he doesn’t make it easy. He wants to hear you say it. He loves hearing how desperate you are for his touch, his cock. 

[Joel]: Yeah? What do you need from daddy? Tell me.

You whine to yourself and clench your legs together again. Fingers trembling as you struggle to type out a response, the ache between your legs growing significantly as he works you up.

[You]: your fingers. And your cock, and your mouth. Wanna feel your thick fingers stretching me out daddy, fucking me so hard till I cum all over them and can’t think anymore. 

He doesn’t reply for a couple minutes. Bouncing your leg frantically, you try to remember how long you’ve been away from your desk now. Then, his next message comes through.

[Joel]: these hands babygirl?

Your breath deepens and your mouth starts to salivate as you open his message. The picture reveals Joel’s left hand, spread out over what you assume are blueprint plans on a table or workbench for a project he is overseeing. There’s a half empty water bottle on the table off to the side, you’re pretty sure it’s a normal sized water bottle but it looks puny compared to his massive hand. His hand is dirty, covered with what you assume is grease, a dusting of sawdust barely covers his veins peaking through. You also catch a glimpse of his lower belly in the frame of the picture, just barely seeing his toolbelt peeking out around his narrow waist, a few tools hanging out of the pockets.

[You]: Fuck. Yes Daddy. Wanna suck on your fingers till my pussy is dripping and feel them inside me. 

You're past the point of caring, dignity thrown out the window hours ago. Your thoughts are consumed by Joel and only Joel. Another buzz, a couple minutes later and Joel’s sent another photo, and you can feel the moment that your resolve cracks.

He must have gone somewhere private, another office or bathroom on the jobsite he’s at, cause the picture you’re drooling over shows that same massive hand gripping the now very obvious bulge in his underwear. Not a full on nude, he knows better than to give you that satisfaction while you’re at work, not when you’ve been naughty. Oh but it does the job. 

You let an audible groan and your head thunks against the wall of the bathroom stall, your pussy throbbing in agony over its emptiness. Ignoring the little voice in your head reminding you of the ticking clock, you pray that no one walks into the bathroom and snake your hand into your panties, slipping between your folds, down to your entrance where your arousal is leaking out persistently. Before you can even bring your fingers up to circle your clit, your phone buzzes again.

[Joel]: No touching yourself angel. You know better than that.

“Fucking hell.” A desperate sound leaves your mouth as you sob with irritation. You can just picture the knowing smirk plastered across his face.

Of course he knew. Because he’s Joel. Even when he’s not with you, he reads your body like a novel. Knowing you better than you knew yourself, knowing all the right buttons to push. It’s partly what makes you so fucking crazy about him. 

This little cat mouse flirtation was part of the foreplay, the best kind of foreplay if the wetness seeping out of your cunt was anything to go by. But at this point you feel like you’re at your wits end.

[You]: 😒. I am not gonna make it through the rest of the workday. 

[Joel]: Don’t start something that you can’t finish babygirl.

He had a point, but then again, you didn’t fall easily. As much as it was easy to submit to Joel, you enjoyed being defiant just for the sake of it. And it made your punishment all the more worthwhile, getting him all worked up so he would be rougher with you. You reveled in it. 

[You]: Well, technically I could finish, since you’re not here to help me.

You exhale shakily, feeling the pulse between your legs grow stronger. That was definitely going to get you in trouble.

[Joel]: Testing Daddy’s patience so much today. Try it and see what happens angel. 

Biting your lip, you squirm on the toilet seat, trying to regain some feelings in your now numb legs. The commanding tone, the thinly veiled threat. He might as well be whispering in your ear. Just then, he sends another message quickly.

[Joel]: Plus, you and I both know that you don’t cum as hard on your own fingers, compared to when Daddy plays with you. But if you wanna do it that way then be my guest babygirl, just remember I’ll know if you do. I’ll see you in a few hours.

With that your phone screen goes black as it locks, the time on your backlit screensaver mocks you. 

11:47 a.m.

Exhaling sharply you tilt your head back, pulling your skirt back down and looking at the harsh fluorescent ceiling lights.  The next 5 hours were going to be the longest 5 hours of your life. 

[swifty-fox]

thinking about my wwii bastogne faerie wolfstar au that was so deeply fucking cool but then rowling had to open her ugly mouth

(deeply unedited and also 4 years old writing)

He knew he was flying better than any true Raven would, but he couldn’t resist showing off. And besides, it made Remus chuckle in delight and his excitement smelled much better than his fear. So they travel through the woods, Sirius playing the fool if only for the moment just to hear the soft exhaling laughter of his Human. It was strange, he had never heard someone laugh like they were whispering, but he found he liked it all the same.

It’s on a particularly strong updraft, Sirius spreading his wings wide and barely out of sight of his companion, that he smells it. The angry-hungry-mindless scent of man's fire fills his nostrils, faint but obvious enough to him. Remus behind him, with his weak human senses, is oblivious to it as Sirius calls out in alarm. He swoops down low, skimming low over the snow until his beady eyes, perfectly suited to spotting mice and voles and shimmery things catch the glinting light of something stretching near invisible just above the fresh-fallen snow. 

Sirius had seen snares before, traps with teeth that tore flesh and broke bone and rendered animals helpless as they screamed and soiled themselves in agony. He did not know of any that used fire, but Remus was headed right towards it, entirely unaware of the peril he was in. Tucking in his wings, Sirius shoots through the assembled trees like an arrow until he reaches Remus, flaring his wings wide and cawing loudly. His warning has the opposite effect however, and the Man only speeds up, hands waving trying to beat Sirius away and face growing angry. 

“Quiet Padfoot!” He hisses “You have to be quiet you’re going to get me killed!” 

“You’re going to get yourself killed you fool!” Sirius screeches back. Of course, the Man does not understand him. Humans could not comprehend Fell Speech. 

Remus swats at him again and again, moving closer to the fire snare with increasing frustration and determination. Sirius attempts to beat him back with more and more franticness, calling out to him again and again in Fell Speech as if somehow the man will understand. 

“Damn you, Padfoot be quiet! I don’t want to have to shoot you!” Remus finally explodes, bringing his fire weapon up in front of his face and aiming it at Sirius with a frenzied, desperate expression. 

Sirius wheels away, shouting in alarm, in anger, in desperate fear because he did not want to see his human spread out amongst the snow like those other bodies he passed. He tucks his wings in tight, spirals down to the cold frozen earth and sheds his Raven body. 

Lips, blessed prehensile lips, form. Feathers melting away into pale flesh that felt neither cold nor heat, magic keeping him airborne rather than any sort of wing, and hair that whipped and fought around his face like dark angry snakes. He brings himself up to Remus' shocked face, face to eyeball and speaks.

“You are walking into a trap!” 

Remus drops his weapon. It plops into the snow harmlessly as he takes one, two, three steps backwards and then sits down hard in the snow. Sirius, realizing what he has done in his momentary loss of temper, pulls his Raven form back over himself from the invisible pockets of magic it was banished to, and settles on his branch. There’s not much to be done to reverse the last few seconds, so he settles for doing some Raven-like things in the hopes that his Human will simply brush it off. He hops across the branch a couple times, pecks at the bark, cocks his head this way and that and bobs his head. He fixes Remus with one beady eye and clacks his beak. See? Nothing strange here.

His human, who had gone as pale as the snow and seemed to be shivering slightly rubs his face. “I’m going crazy.” He mutters, fingers working deep into his eye sockets “The German have surrounded us and I’m going crazy. We’re all going to die and I’m going to die a fucking  bloody lunatic.” 

Sirius clacks his beak because oh how he loves the word fucking and hops down into the snow, picking his way across the snowdrifts to perch on Remus’ boot. He shakes out his feathers, pleased at his flawless deception. 

“No.” Remus whispers “No, no, no, I know what I saw.” He raises an accusing hand and points his finger at Sirius. Sirius hisses at him. “I did not come all the way across fucking Europe, dodging Nazis and Fascists, sleeping in barns and ditches and even a goddamn cowfield.  End up with stupid goddamn Аmericans in the middle-of-nowhere fucking Belgium.” The human was really picking up steam now, high points of color rising in his cheeks. Snow clung in clumps to the lovely brown curls of his hair. “-get surrounded again by stupid fucking Nazis in a forest in the dead of winter. Just to start imagining things!” Sirius stares at him in interest, wings half raised in preparation in case that accusing hand tries to grab him.

“Ellyllon.” Remus gasps, using one of the many human names for the Fae. “I saw you turn into a man.” 

Drat. 

Sirius releases his Raven form. His feathers drape around him like a cape, shiny blue-black and blending in with the long curls of his hair. He knew the beadiness of his eyes had given-way to a brilliant blue, like the last sapphire strip of twilight before night. He sits, instead of perching, on Remus’ boots, kicking his heels back against the rough canvas.

“I’m not a man.” he says moodily, “I don’t turn into a man. I turn into myself.” 

“Oh my fucking god.” Remus breathes. His face, if possible, goes even paler “Oh sweet Jesus on the manger.” 

“There’s a trap up ahead.” Sirius says, because he doesn’t really know what the human is saying. “A snare with angry killing fire. Not the kind that I can speak to.” He plucks at a feather that has found itself out of place, heart racing. He had broken so many rules, had exposed himself and every Fell beast under the oak to danger and oh Albus was going to be so angry. But he couldn’t just let his human die. Surely the old tree spirit would understand that. 

Remus’ lips move soundlessly, and he was blinking over and over like an owl exposed to sunlight. 

“That you can speak to…” blink blink. 

Sirius nods, standing and hopping with delicate feet onto the ball of Remus’ ankle and then traveling up the long expanse of his leg. He could feel the living energy under his bare soles, pulsing with the humans great heartbeat, a soft thunder in his sensitive pointed ears. “Yes.” Man’s fire, I’ve never been able to reason with it. And it-” he swallows thickly now “It kills so fast. You won’t stand a chance. You or your family.” 

“My family?” Remus echos faintly. Blink blink blink.

Sirius nods, wondering if perhaps the Man had hit his head falling down “Yes.” He repeats impatiently “The other humans you travel and life with. Your family.” 

“They’re not-” Remus starts and then cuts himself off. He rubs his face a couple times, muttering into his hands. “I’m talking to a pixie. A tiny little man in the forest.” 

Sirius pokes Remus’ cheek. It’s soft and warm, slightly scratchy from the uneven patches of hair. Several faded scars criss-cross his face, like claws through the bark of a tree. Sirius, who only stood at ten inches, figured that some were just as long - if not more so - than he was tall. “I told you. I’m not a man. And I'm certainly not a Pixie.” at Remus’ shocked expression he scuffs a foot “Well, not that there's anything wrong with Pixies. Some of my friends are Pixies and they’re just fine.” 

Remus just nods dazedly. 

“We call ourselves Fell.” Sirius supplies helpfully, hoping that he could snap Remus out of whatever fugue state he had fallen into. 

Remus stares at Sirius for several beats longer eyes darting back and forth over his visage. They were only a few inches apart now, Sirius standing on the curve of the mans stomach, rising and falling with his rapid breaths. Sirius had not been this close to his Human since that first day and he had been far more focused on the food or the shiny symbol around Remus’ neck. He could see now the thin gaunt hollows of his cheekbones, the exhausted pigmented skin around kind eyes framed by thick lashes that curled like summer grass. His irises were like light through honey and his bottom lip was plush while his top formed itself into a thin curved line that arched sweetly at the center. He had a perpetual melancholy look to his face, the scars adding a rather haunting air to it. One was worse than the others, cutting through his mouth and pulling it into a slight grimace. He was beautiful, for a human, and seemed to Sirius that his flaws and elegance were not dissimilar to those one might find amongst the faces of the Fae.

“You said there was a trap.” Remus finally croaks, breaking the silent purveying of his face that Sirius had fallen into. The Fae were well known for their weakness to beauty.

It’s not Sirius’ turn to blink rapidly as he tears himself away from the flecks of silver dancing around Remus’ irises. “Yes,” he breathes “Yes, about twenty strides that way. There’s a thread.” He pinches his fingers together to show how thin it was “And then it leads into the snow. Man’s fire is hiding under there. I could smell it.”

Remus’ fingers close around his weapon, his jaw setting in determination. “Show me.” 

Sirius melts into his Raven form, rising up into the air with a few steady flaps of his wings. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Remus. Circling around the Man’s head a few times before leading the way through the trees at a slower pace this time. The fire smell stings his nose as they draw nearer. His heart pounds and the acid black pit where fear sat bubbled in his stomach. Every sense, magical and animal, screamed at him to get out of there. He darts up ahead of Remus well before the Man is within range and lands on the snow, returning to his more human form. 

“Here” he says, reaching up browned fingers to brush against the transparent string. “This is-”

“Don’t touch it!” Remus shouts when Sirius’ fingers are barely more than a mouse-whiskers length away. Sirius’ Human’s eyes were wide and his face seemed to constantly be two shades away from death. It was a rather unpleasant visual development. “Don’t- Don’t touch it okay? you’ll set it off.” 

His voice was so authoritative, so urgent that Sirius freezes in place, mouth half open in shock. Remus had been a quiet, even-tempered man so far. Rarely raising his voice and seemed to speak with quiet good humor. And here he had yelled not once, but twice at Sirius. 

His feelings were very close to being hurt. 

“Okay.” Sirius says finally, drawing his hand pack towards his person. He rubbed the bones of his wrists, the jut of each adorned with a curving black claw and pursed his lips moodily. He felt rather embarrassed, having been scolded so aggressively, but how was he to know what might cause harm to befall them. It was a Man’s weapon and Sirius didn’t know Man’s things. 

“I want you to come back towards me.” Remus says, voice measured and slow. Something about the quiet urgency in his voice sets Sirius’ own tiny heart racing. “Don’t touch the wire, just come back towards me.” 

Sirius, foregoing the larger form of his Raven in lieu of simply making his way through the air towards Remus’ shoulder in his humanoid form, finds himself holding his breath. He only releases it in a quiet gust when he is safe tucked against the curve of his Human's neck. The rim of his hat protected his head from the snow that was just beginning to fall and he leans against the thick brown curls, letting himself tangle in them for a moment. 

“If you ever see these tripwires, stay far away from them you hear me?” Remus asks, his voice louder and more rumbly now that Sirius was so close. He waits for Sirius to nod before picking up a nearby stone and tossing towards the pile of snow where the wire disappears.

Sirius watches the grey shape disappear into the soft snow with confusion.

And then the world explodes. 

[nightmarevore]

I Get a Craving and I Wake Up For You

6/?

First | Previous | Next

AO3 LINK.

Rowan belongs to @wonderful-bellies. Luke belongs to me. (Medli wrote half of this chapter! We're going to be writing together from now on!)

Rowan sits alone.

Rowan doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He can’t let people get close to him, because he’s just going to hurt them. He tries to push his roommate, Luke, away, and things just get worse. He’d hurt Luke. Does he even care? He doesn’t want to hurt Luke, but he ended up hurting him anyway. He knew that the moment he thought of eating Luke more than once that things would go down hill, and they did. 

Oliver called him an asshole. Luke started panicking and shrunk down, unresponsive. Oliver made it sound like he was the cause of that, and he was right. It was ROWAN who cut Luke off and got in his face. ROWAN, who yelled at him and told him he wasn’t interested. He had to lie. Of COURSE he did. If he didn’t, Luke was going to end up just like…

The predator groans, slapping his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

His predator urges were always so easy to control. They never were so bad. Rowan used to be able to go weeks to a month without needing to bribe someone to be eaten and stay in his stomach for an hour or two. They would never see each other again. 

Rowan lays down flat in his bed, keeping his hands covering his face. He feels so horrible. Like a massive dumbbell is compressing his chest. If he had one with him now, he’d definitely lay it on his chest. The feeling within his chest overwhelmed him. It felt like a heavy, black tar that pumps itself from his heart and into his veins.

He hates this feeling. 

“What did I do wrong?” He asks himself. 

A lot, clearly. 

“For Luke’s sake, you’d best think of an apology. You were being an asshole, and I can’t believe you can’t see how hard he’s trying to make this work with you. The way I see it, you don’t deserve it.”

If pushing people away made him an asshole, maybe being an asshole is okay. 

( No, you idiot! Oliver essentially told you that you triggered him and forced him to shrink like that. That was YOUR fault, and he felt it necessary to use sarcasm. )

But what if he hurts Luke by being open with his predator bullshit? 

He doesn’t even know how he was being an asshole in the first place. He was trying to protect Luke from Rowan himself. How is that an asshole thing to do? 

Could he have been nicer in tone about it? Maybe his yelling is what forced Luke to shift tiny. It triggered something that Luke felt he needed to hide, right? It was something that Luke was hiding from Rowan, just like Rowan tried to hide the fact he’s a predator from Luke.

Oliver said that Luke never tells anyone what he goes through. It’s the same thing as himself, isn’t it? God, it’s like his hunger forcing fugues, isn’t it? His stress forced his body to change size. Stress that he caused. The fact that the predator was responsible for that… 

Rowan, for all his faults, tries so hard to keep himself from hurting people. He was told that the fact he needed to eat people was something to be ashamed of. It would hurt other people. Instead, he hurt Luke just by… well, being himself. Not by being a predator.

Why does the thought of this bring such agony to the man? Why does his stomach churn uncomfortably at the thought? Why does Rowan feel nauseous? 

He may as well dig a pit for himself and fall into it. Disappear and never return. He’d already fucked up this roommate situation. Luke’s going to get rid of him. Oliver will tell him to kick Rowan out, and it’ll be what Rowan deserves. He doesn’t deserve anything nice. 

He should starve himself.

No, No, wait… No he shouldn't. He shouldn’t, because the last time he didn’t feed himself around Luke, he nearly fell into a fugue, and the second time he did fall into a fugue. What was he supposed to do, then? 

Hide the monster, never let anyone get too close and risk seeing that side of him. It was his one rule, his biggest most important rule. It was the first lesson he’d learned as a predator. He is dangerous, he is deserving of punishment in the face of his voracious instincts. The lesson was drilled into his head; a flashing neon sign. Always reminding him in his subconscious that he was a monster and always would be.

So why… Why did it always seem to go so wrong? Hiding this side of him was supposed to keep himself and others safe. Being distant was a necessity, yet the pattern was becoming clear to him. He’d lash out, and others would get hurt. The worst part of it all was one simple fact that pushed its way to the forefront of his mind as he sat alone in the all too quiet apartment. It was because of him.

Him. Not the predator. The predator came through and caused its own problems, of course, but what happened today? What kept happening for years? It was always simply because of him. Not the hunger, nor the fugues. Rowan clenched his fingers hard into his palms as nails sank into his flesh, nearly drawing blood. The revelation pounding in his mind and repeating itself over and over. A chorus of voices, vitriolic and unrelenting.

Rowan was not only a ravenous freak, he was simply a terrible person, as well.And he did not know what to do.

He felt stuck. He felt dirty. A virus that planted itself in one location to wreak havoc upon its environment until it fell apart around him and then moved on to the next. Starvation was not an option, as it would bring out the monster. Isolation was what got him into this situation in the first place. So what could he possibly do? He wishes he could just cease to exist. Erase himself from history entirely. Wipe the slate clean of his presence and avoid so much unnecessary hurt brought upon so many people. His family, his friends, his…

The predator scowls as he feels hot tears trail down his face. He had no right to cry. Oliver was right, this was all because of him. Rowan was dragging down Luke with him. It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be here wallowing in his own miserable thoughts. He hurt another person, and the thought of running away and ignoring it again was unbearable. The shifter would be back. After Oliver fixed the mess he created, Luke would inevitably come back. Whether it was to gather his things and leave or continue living with his asshole of a roommate, Rowan wasn’t sure, but he would see the brunette again eventually. He needed to be prepared for it. He has no idea what he’s going to do, but he needs to do something.

Fuck, Rowan, get yourself together and fucking figure it out!

The predator slaps his face and clears his throat a couple times. He had to do something. The lump in his throat wasn’t getting any smaller by sitting like this. 

Thinking of a way to say sorry and truly mean it would be a good place to start. 

Thinking of a way to avoid closing himself off and making the same mistake twice would be a perfect place to start.

[wizzard890]

what got you so into the french revolution?

When I was in school for medieval art history, I did a lot of work on saints and their martyrdoms, particularly how the viewers of art depicting suffering imagined suffering, and how the agony/eroticism of those feelings induced a sort of memetic spiritual euphoria. Which means that I spent a ton of time looking at images of executions. I've seen them all: beheadings and sexymen shot full of arrows, saints barbecued or flayed or eaten by wild animals, criminals broken on the wheel -- all the classics. Or at least, I thought I had, until I encountered this triptych in my senior year of college:

This, by Belgian artist Antoine Wiertz, is The Visions of a Guillotined Head, painted in the late 1840s. Wiertz was a symbolist, and spent a great portion of his career drawn to the macabre, never more notably than on the occasion that inspired this painting.

In February 1848, two notable French criminals were due to be executed by the state. The guillotine was of course still in use as a method of capital punishment (and would be until the 1970s), and Wiertz was curious as to what a so-swiftly severed head felt and saw. He wasn't the first; since the guillotine's invention there had been legends of heads that blinked and blushed and tried to speak after separation. Luckily, Wiertz had a friend who was a hypnotist (as you do). Timed to the moment of the execution, he had his hypnotist pal put his soul "into rapport" with the dead criminal, and claimed that he entered the head itself as it fell.

He later recalled his experiences at some length in writing, but since we're talking about me, here is the important passage, dictated as he "felt" the horror of execution:

A horrible buzzing noise, the sound of the blade descending. The victim believes that he has been struck by lightning, not the axe. Astonishingly, the head lies under the scaffold and yet still believes it is above, still believes itself to be part of the body, and still waits for the blow that will cut it off. Horrible choking! No way to breathe. The asphyxia is appalling. It comes from an inhuman, supernatural hand, weighing down like a mountain on the head and neck. A cloud of fire passes before his eyes. Everything is red and glitters.

Now comes the moment when the executed man thinks he is stretching his cramped, trembling hands towards the dying head. It is the same instinct that drives us to press a hand against a gaping wound. And it occurs with the dreadful intention of setting the head back on the trunk, to preserve a little blood, a little life.

This fucked me up so bad.

I am well aware that consciousness after having your spinal cord severed is a done deal. I was aware of this in college. But there was something about this artist's act of imaginative empathy that compelled me, for the first time, to think about the guillotine in particular. About the mechanical wait, not being pushed off a drop or axed while kneeling, about being slid through on a board, of seeing the basket beneath you, already full of heads. Maybe even heads you know.

I imagined it so hard that I made myself sick and couldn't go to class for two days.

The reason I studied what I studied wasn't because I was ghoulish. In fact, I'm a little squeamish. It was because in the experience of pain, we are all deeply individualized, but entirely, helplessly human.

I laid in bed and thought about the small number of humans who I, an educated layman, knew had been guillotined: Marie Antoinette, obviously; Louis XVI; and (in what felt like black historical irony, given what I knew of his day job) Maximilian Robespierre.

It felt intrusive to have intimately imagined their last, most private moments, without really having any idea about them at all. Better to start at the end and work backwards, I thought. So I started reading.

Robespierre, decapitated by guillotine when he was thirty-six. That's the manner of death. How did he meet his death? In terrible pain, I learned. Why? Because he'd had half his jaw blown off the night before. Jesus, why? Because he'd (maybe probably) shot himself. Why?

It turns out, if you keep doing that, a piece at a time, for years, you can learn a lot about someone's life. And, relatedly, in long and branching paths, you can find your way into every nook and cranny of what burned through France at the end of the 18th century.

[royalsunshinehotel]

*slides onto your table once again*

I’m an angst girly, can you PLEASE write a fanfic where the reader and Leo are arguing? Man’s rich and all his exes before were scared to leave him because he’s a powerful man with money. Imagine if the reader is as power and as rich. The type to mot take bs (hehe)

His Mother's Son (Leo Usher x gn!reader)

A/N: I want you all to know that I listened to Whispers by Halsey at least 12 times to write the angst. The ending is a banger though, I'm really proud of it.

It’s hard to remember how good things were on nights like these. Especially when nights like these go south so quickly. You didn’t even make it in the front doors of the event, when your partner had decided to run his mouth off about your past. 

So what if you lied at the beginning of your career, you built your life by yourself, for yourself. Rage cuts through your skull, but you tamped it down, as always. 

“Why did you do that?” You kept your lips firmly pressed together, using both hands to hold your sparkly purse. 

“I just-” He tried. 

“Don’t fucking . . . why did you say that on the red carpet, about my parents?” First he almost made you late to your own party, and now the two of you were here, doomed. 

“It was just a joke.” He’d spoken with his father earlier that day, even at 6’4, Leo always seemed shorter after talking with that man. 

“I’m not laughing.” Leo runs a large hand over his face, to hide him rolling his eyes. “See, when you say things like that, it feels like you’re punishing me.” 

“And why would I do that?” Asked your beau, finally matching your stance and staying still. If this was any other night, jackets would be thrown off, clothing would be optional, but not now. 

“I made it out. I left what I had and I made something new. Something mine.” 

“No, cut deeper.” commands Verna, hiding in the wallpaper, staring out at the tragedy unfolding. 

“You’re a grown man. You should have something of your own by now. That is not, and has never been my fault.” 

“So what are you saying?” His voice came out as something of a wheeze. 

“I think we’re done.” 

“What’s this really about? Has the check from the film not come through yet? Do you need an allowance?” The whiney edge in his voice used to hide someone else entirely, someone with a big heart, who’d bend to your every whim, and now you’re wondering if he was even there at all. 

You stared at him for a moment, as if he’d just slapped you in the face. When you first took up with him, you declared money a taboo topic, and he’d just … 

You’re you. Leo thought for a moment about the day you asked him out. He should have said no. You didn’t need him like the others, you wanted him. And that was fucking terrifying. 

He’d said yes, like a fool, and here he was, exactly where he deserved to be.

“We’re done.” You stated, firmly, calmly, as Leo watched the elevator door closed. In a way, it the door closed on what he thought was the rest of his life. “Apparently not,” he thinks. 

In the elevator, you fall to your knees, staring at yourself in the golden reflection. It’s agony. It always is with him. But at the same time, there’s an unbearable lightness. 

You’d ended it. 

Anything he might have held over you…it didn’t matter now. You’re on your way down, and you’ll get an Uber home, and you’ll figure out what your life looks like without this…overgrown boy taking up all of your energy. 

It’s agony, but it won’t be forever. You’ll live. He won’t. 

With a shuddering breath, Leo’s heart drops. He knew how long it would take you to walk from the elevator, out onto the street. He should yell from the window, he should chase you and let you know that you were right, that he’ll fold, he’ll do whatever you want to keep you. He can’t be without you, he’s known that since he met you. 

But he can’t. 

Maybe it was too many upper, maybe it was too many downers, but he’s been paralyzed before, but he’s never been sober enough to remember it. 

Maybe you were right about the drugs too. 

And now you’re gone. You would be on the front sidewalk by now, he wonders if you’ve thrown a rock through the windshield of his Ferrari. He hoped you did, so he had something to remember you by. 

Leo runs a hand over his face, knees buckling, before he lands on his hardwood floor with a loud ‘thud’. He’s fallen, like a glass of spilled milk. 

“I'm the one who leaves. Ushers do the leaving.” As soon as the words fall out of his mouth he wishes against all odds his mother would appear out of the mist, and slap him upside the head. 

For a minute, Leo commits to the floor, breathing as evenly as possible, and failing. Tears follow soon after, and he doesn’t shy away from them for once. 

You’ve gone. You’ve left him. This is why he was the one who left. 

Leo’s heart pounds in his ears, and he still can’t quite get his breath to even out. It’s almost getting worse. 

Fuck. 

Verna waits in the corner of Leo’s apartment, in the shadows of course.

Oh, how tragic.

In another life, Leo has the nerve to tell Rodrick “no”. In another life, he’s his mother’s son. 

Within him, laid a great capacity for kindness that would have echoed for years after a premature passing. 

As a PE teacher, the kids adore him, of course, and he loves them completely. He still wouldn’t have gotten to grow old with you, but he let you love him that time. 

But it’s not to be. 

At this moment, in this place, he’s an asshole, an addict, and an absurdly rich man who thought his being right mattered above all else. What a shame he’d let the door shut on the one person who’d told him otherwise. 

This time, Verna makes a change. She should tell him about your life, she should tell him that she knows you’ll be alright. And she knows she doesn’t have to. He knows you’re better off without him. 

A tap to the forehead, and he’s gone. 

Mercy. 

Maybe,  this once, he deserves it.

[star-eyed-angels]

Journal Entry

This is about the recent election. If the topic is not something you want to read please scroll away🤍

I feel it goes without saying on my stance on the election results. It’s so strange. To be here for two disastrous election outcomes. I remember the first time coming to my blog and feeling an agony I prayed I would never experience again. Yet here we are. It’s like entering a cursed time machine.

This is nothing like my usual writing. In fact this will not be tagged. If you choose to read please just keep in mind it’s heavy. Heavier than anything I’ve posted thus far.

This is a letter not to anyone on here, but to people I thought I could trust. People that I’ve found would not save me in a burning room. I’ve written this as a way to come to terms with it. It’s been hard to digest. In the back of my mind I always knew, but seeing it come to fruition is its own type of heartbreak. I’m not ready to post it anywhere else. But I figured I’d post it here as an outlet. And In case anyone feels the way I do so you know you’re never alone.

I’d like to preface this by saying while I’m not a very religious person, I do believe in a God. I do believe in Heaven. I do believe in more. There are mentions of religion of God in this letter so if that makes you uncomfortable feel free to scroll away.

Last thing. I want to make it clear, this is a safe place. You are safe here. With me. Anyone who disagrees can kindly get the fuck off my blog. You are not welcome. You have every right to feel the way you do. Know that you are loved, if by no one else then by me. I am here if you need someone. Sending nothing but love and comfort your way my lovelies. Thank you for reading this far. If you’d like to continue the letter is below the cut 🤍

Last warning lovelies.

You tell us to choose peace, to choose love and avoid hate. But my dearest friend how can you say such a thing? How can you preach such a belittling comment when you’ve chosen a man who wants anything but peace. Someone who supports violence, enjoys it in fact. He doesn’t care about us. He doesn’t care about our beautiful earth as she wilts and dies. He doesn’t care about our children who are watching us adults tear each other into pieces. He doesn’t care about us as we fight just to stay alive. He doesn’t care about anyone. He does not care. HE. DOES. NOT. CARE. He’s started a fire with no intention to put it out. He will watch our country burn from the inside out.

You keep preaching that Jesus is king. That God is above all else. But who has called this into question? Not I. I’m well aware of who my king is. And so is everyone else. We pray and plead with him to save us. To protect us through what we know is going to hurt. Murderous growing pains. Jesus is still my king, let me be clear. That will never change. But right now my mighty king weeps in the skies above. For his people’s suffering is just beginning. And our mother. Our beautiful mother mourns for the sorrow sweeping over her children. So no I have not forgotten. I know them as they live on through me.

Maybe it’s you that’s forgotten, dear friend. Could it be that deep in your heart you know? You know what this is doing? How wrong it is? How this is not what he would have wanted? Is this your way of justifying putting us up for slaughter? By preaching love and peace when it didn’t bother you before? Are you uncomfortable? Is the voice louder than you thought? Is your conscience not as forgiving as the ones you defend? But it still won’t change your mind will it? You won’t see until it’s late, if you come to see that is.

So friend, where does that leave us? I suppose it’s a turning point. At a crossroads, if you will. You may continue to rejoice. You may continue to cheer. You may continue to smile and celebrate a victory in your book of wins. And what will we do? Even though you do not care to ask I will tell you anyways. We will prepare for the worst. We will do our best to navigate through the fear. Through the uncertainty. We will not ‘be okay’. But we will manage.

I fear I already know the answer, but one thing still nags at me.

Can you tell me old friend, will you stand and protect me when they come for us? Will you witness as they rip us to shreds? Will you watch as they burn us alive?

I suppose it doesn’t matter.

I’m not sure I could even pretend to believe you no matter how hard I try.

You’ve already sacrificed so many of us. You’re already preparing your front row seat to watch us be slaughtered. You’ve already thrown us to the wolves.

And you’ve done it for a wolf in sheep’s clothing, no less. You’ve allowed him to deceive you in the name of God. Sacred words twisted and broken into daggers. sharpened at the hands of the ‘righteous’.

So forgive me stranger, but you may not ask for peace. There is none left. For it now lays among our bloodied corpses.

[countryhumans-whump]

Punching

Whumpee: England

Whumper: Scotland

TW: Female-on-male domestic violence, biting, violent emotional abuse, plus-sized whumpee

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

For a petite-seeming woman, Scotland packed a punch.

England groaned, throwing his head back in pain as Scotland aggressively punched his plump stomach, straddling on his lap. She punched him multiple times, using the same force at a quick pace. His legs convulsed at the sudden pain, and he could barely breathe. She stopped punching for a few moments, brushing her knuckles which itched slightly, before slamming into his stomach even harder, earning a low, pained groan from him.

“Stupid fuckin’ piece of shit,” she growled, her words coming out with every aggressive punch, her fists pounding on his stomach far too powerfully. “Not even fighting back, little fuckin’ coward…” England couldn’t really fight back, not only due to the fact that his hands were tied behind him, but he knew she had the power to ruin his life if he did. England groaned in pain as she punched him a few more times, before stopping to catch her breath. His gut burned and throbbed in agony, and it was a little difficult for him to breathe.

“Fuck… stop it, please,” England gasped, trying to sit upright a little, though was harshly pushed back against the sofa, before being punched again. The pain became even sharper, causing his eyes to widen.

“Don’t get up until I fucking tell you!” Scotland yelled. She grabbed onto his neck, squeezing it tightly as she pressed her thumb against the bulge on his throat, causing him to lose his breathing. England looked down at her fist, his eyes widening as he realised he couldn’t breathe at all, before she let go.

She straddled down in between his legs, before lifting up his beige sweater. His stomach would have been mostly white with a red stripe in the middle, though it was mostly purpled with bruises. She grinned, brushing her fingers along the bruises. “I’ve hurt you badly, haven’t I?”

“I’m sorry, okay? Just stop it,” England weakly begged. Ignoring his pleas, Scotland pressed her teeth on his plump stomach near her belly button, her teeth light at first as she playfully ran her tongue on his skin, before clenching her teeth as hard as she could. England screamed at the searing pain, his legs writing and convulsing as she clenched her teeth into him, until she could taste some of his blood. She somehow bit even harder, taking pleasure in his yells, before letting go. There was a deep, red scar, shaped with her teeth. Scotland could hear England sniffling and whimpering quietly, so she got up, straddling his lap again.

“Stop crying, you little baby,” Scotland muttered, grasping his face and putting hers close to his. “You’re a fucking coward of a man, you know that?” England looked down, a tear beginning to stream down his eye. “Stop crying!” She brought her fist down onto his eye, causing him to inhale sharply at the sudden, searing pain. The eye that she punched shut over against his will as it began to redden quickly, a small bruise forming around it.

“Aww, you look cute now~” Scotland cooed, stroking the red bruise on his eye. She kissed him on his lips, before jumping off him and smugly walking out of the room, leaving him tied up. He could feel the blood of his bite softly pouring down his skin, the burning pain still there.

[kristiemewisstan]

The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology Review (or me slowly going from spiraling in excitement to madness to sadness in 1 hour):

The Black Dog-

SO GOOD THIS IS SO GOOD IM YELLING THIS HAS MY FAV PRODUCTIKN THUS FAR I STILL XANT BELIEVE IT EITHER TAYLOR WHAT TGE FUCK | listen 2 cause I was to hype to truly listen, the magic fabric of her dreamin’ 🥺, oh the original father cheated song, DO YOU HATE ME? ooooof the fact that she felt made fun of by him and still went on to do her shit is so strong and I love her, your honor

imgonnagetyouback-

This one is VERY GOLD RUSH and I’m in love (I’m so sorry I’m not gonna be able to be unbiased rn because I’m too fucking excited), the ahh ahhhhs are so GOOOOOOODDDDD

The Albatross-

“One less temptress one less dagger to sharpen” OOF I feel like I’m in terrible danger of a heart attack, Taylor, I-I Love This Song So Much it’s so folklore

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus-

THIS IS SO GOOOOOOOOOD TAYLOR WHAY THE FUCK MAN, Certified Horse Girl, I’m gonna need to be medicated after this

How Did It End?-

I HEREBY CONDUCT THIS POSTMORTEM IS SUCH A HARD LINE TO START A SONG WITH, the amount of piano overall in these pleases me IMMENSELY, SITTING IN A TREE D-Y-I-N-G yeah Taylor that’s what YOU ARE DOING TO ME

So High School-

THIS IS WHAT I WANTED THE WHOLE ALBUM TO BE, 💯 made to vibe like a coming of age story, “YOU GONNA MARRY KISS OR KILL ME” I LOVE HER, bridge goes HARD

I Hate It Here-

scared to go outside, OH MU GOD JUST THE WHOLE SONG I KEEP WANTING TO WRITE LYRICS DOWN, so folklore, this ones it, ITS IT I LOVE IT SO MUCH

thanK you aIMee-

Oh so we cheated okay Joe I see how it is your days are numbered, SING FUCK YOU AIMEE, HELL YEAH TAYLOR, ID WRIT A THOUSAND SONGS THE YOU FIND UNCOOL, ITS ON SIGHT, OH ITS HAPPY NOW YAY

I Look in People’s Windows-

Okay stalker much lol, this one is sad :(, very pretty though I’m sorry I can’t focus on the lyrics I’m too hype, very folklore so very sad

The Prophecy-

THIS SOUNDS LIKE ANOTHER SONG BUT I CANT PLACE IT it’s gonna kill me, “who do I have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy” rip my heart out my god, DONT NEED MONEY JUST SOMEONE WHO WANTS MY COMPANY, also a very sad one

Cassandra-

snake mention 🐍, THE ALTO UNDERLAY OH MY GOD, I normally am not the largest fan of vocal layering when it’s this obviously but this is absolutely lovely, this one tells a VERY GOOD story, “BUT THEY NEVER SPARED A BRICK FOR MY SOUL” OOOOOOF

Peter-

the piano started off this song and I immediately smiled and it ends up being such a bittersweet song, “promises oceans deep but never to keep” these songs rip my heart more and more and more, CAUSE LOVES NEVER LOST WHEN PERSPECTIVE IS EARNED this really hurt me, this longing hurts me

The Bolter-

She’s a runner she’s a track star! THE CHORUS ugh I love it Taylor why do you have to be so good, yeah this one was very good and I relate to being scared of commitment after heartache SOOO MUCH

Robin-

“Strings tied to lovers” IM CRYING, “ALL THIS SHOWMANSHIP TO KEEP IT” JOSEPH YOU FUMBLED SO HARD, THE INVISIBLE STRING RIFF IM ALREADY CRYING YOU DIDNT NEED TO DO THAT TO ME, i will never be able to listen to this song and invisible string in the same day I think it’s genuinely break me

The Manuscript-

the opening piano made me close my eyes and take a deep breath in, New Year’s Day vibes BUT SAD, oh god you know what I’ll kill him, I’ll take the hit, she knew what the agony had been for 🥹 fuck

First Listen Overall- 10/10

I have no notes it was everything I dreamed the actual album would be Taylor please let me buy this on vinyl I need to have it in my grasp also please give me the lyrics written out so I can analyze it plz

I don’t have a favorite they are all my favorite you could pay me to choose

[yet-another-heathen]

Separation

1,483 words. Original Work: Liliholm & Page.

<< | previous | next | >>

Author's Note | This is the re-penned version of everyone's favorite Liliholm and Page chapter! Since originally writing this, Luca and Garcia have evolved so, so far into their own characters and their own story arcs, and I wanted to go back to have this chapter actually reflect that. I hope you enjoy getting your first glimpse at them, there's more to come soon!

Want to see the original version? You can still find it (and all the beloved comments and replies) here <3

Chapter Warning | interrogation, torture, stress position, suffocation, head trauma, loss of conciousness, dislocation, knives, blood, cursing

Tag List | @ink-and-salt @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpvp @redwingedwhump @lave-whump @castlehillwhump @sideblogformindtrash @burtlederp @fanastywhump

And special thanks to @whump-in-the-closet, who found this series the very day that the update was set to post <3 Hope you enjoy!

"I'm going to give you exactly one chance, Deimos," they said calmly, lifting his chin with the tip of their shoe. Wesley's entire body was trembling with strain and desperate agony, "What did you do with the files?"

He had been interrogated before. Tortured a handful of times, too—so came the risks of sticking his nose into places he knew he shouldn't. But this?

They tsked down at him.

This was brutal.

The ropes tightened again, and a groan of pain clawed its way out. It felt like every muscle in his chest was about to tear. It ended with an ugly, bitter laugh.

"You know, you'd be a lot more intimidating if you weren't all of five foot fucking nothing," he rasped, trying to relax into the oncoming waves of pain, "At least that brute is imposing, even if he's got all the brains of a meatloaf."

"Hm."

They let their shoe fall away, and Wes' head slumped. Out of the very corner of his eye he saw them nod to the other interrogator.

The mountain of a man who had been looming in the corner walked up behind him and pulled the restraints further up his arms, lifting them impossibly higher behind his back. He increased the pressure until his shoulders were on the verge of dislocating. His breaths came ragged and shallow through his nose, and he couldn't help but let out a gasp as he pressed his forehead against the ground.

And this time, the biting weight of a hard rubber sole pressed into the nape of his neck, tearing at the hairs. Luca's weight crushed his forehead down into the concrete as they ground their foot into the back of his skull.

Wes opened his mouth to gasp, but no air filled his lungs. Something about the angle had cut off his breathing, and the pressure just kept increasing and increasing—

"He thinks he's cute, doesn't he? Garcia, you think he's cute?"

Wes' diaphragm started seizing, stabbing pain jerking through his ribs when his lungs refused to expand.

"Maybe before you started making such a mess of him. Now? Not so much."

His consciousness slipped along the edges of their minds, searching for cracks, but it was like trying to hold onto a glass sphere covered in soap. All he could think about was his diaphragm, and the burning of air that wouldn’t come.

Darkness began encroaching on his vision. The figures above him exchanged something that he entirely missed, but the shoe and all Luca's weight still didn't move.

His body started jerking, fingers clawing into the empty air behind him as desperation finally took control of his movements.

He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe—

The shoe slid down his spine, catching agonizingly on his skin until it threatened to rip. And with one final, tiny push, his shoulder left its socket. A lurching POP rent the air.

Darkness became white, and everything fizzled out into agony.

When the room came swimming back into focus he realized his teeth were vibrating with bitten-back sobs of pain. He dragged in wet, rasping breaths through his teeth. The fine grit covering the floor was sharp against his cheek.

Luca was a few feet away from him with their back turned, the dull echo of voices shifting under the void of his thoughts. Pain rang up his arm, down his back, and so deep into his chest it felt like something was trying to crush his heart.

Wes curled one lip and spat a mass of blood and spit on the floor, trying in vain to lift his weight off his injured arm.

Voices came back in slowly, muffled and too loud all at once.

"—like this."

They turned around, and Wes tilted his head back to see what they were holding in their hand.

A kitchen knife. A really fucking big one, glinting as it caught the harsh light from above.

...of course.

They handled it so casually, twirling it loosely by the hilt. "I've always appreciated the simplicity of household implements," they said to their coworker over his head.

"Almost poetic, in't it?" Garcia's deep, gravely voice replied, "After all, it's still all just gristle and meat."

Wes felt his heart pick up, pounding in his ears and throat. They knelt down beside him, looking him over with a hollow smirk.

"Make sure you hold his head up. I want to watch his face."

A huge, thick hand tangled in his hair and wrenched his head upward, exposing the bare curve of his throat. But it wasn't his neck they went for, they were leaning over him and—

His eyes went wide, only moments before the tip of the blade stabbed downward through his skin. He jerked and hissed, trying to lean away.

The knife dug slowly, so so so slowly, into the bent mass of his shoulder where the joint had been separated from its socket.

It took every single ounce of his resolve not to scream. The horrible, horrible pressure of the blade digging in between cartilage and bone made his face pale, nausea rising in his mouth.

He felt the grating echo through his entire body as the knife scraped along bone, inside him, like an ice pick wedging between his teeth.

The sound that left him was inhuman. Low and bitten back and so deep with agony that it scarcely counted as breathing.

"Hm. Tough crowd," the big one teased.

And it finally ripped a frantic cry out of him as the flat side of the blade tilted downward, prying the bones apart.

Nausea rose to an unbearable limit, and blackness overcame his mind.

When he came to he was slumped with almost all of his weight in Garcia's hand, neck bent backwards at a painful angle. Sticky heat was pouring down his chest and dripping to his thighs. It took him a long moment to realize that it was blood. A lot of blood.

His body was jolting with hiccupping little half-sobs, breaths coming so shallow that he wasn't truly breathing at all. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back against the unbearable pain that sent little floating wells of black across his vision.

Luca wiped the blade clean on Wes' trembling arm, squatting so close to him that it made him sick.

"Reconsidering your position yet?"

Wes recoiled, surprising himself when a little surge of anger split through the fog of pain. He gathered himself to spit a mouthful of blood at them. He stopped short only when the tip of the knife pressed against his lips.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," they said quietly.

Wes glared at the blur of them, entire body trembling with exhaustion and strain. The unspoken threat made his blood boil.

"Go fuck yourself," he snarled, ignoring the way the cutting edge tugged at his lower lip.

He reached for his powers, and threw everything he had at them. They almost dropped the knife when the sound hit, eyes flying wide with shock and pain as they gasped and covered their ears against the raging scream of noise only they could hear.

"Garcia!"

And Wesley's head was slammed into the concrete floor. His attack was immediately cut off, gold blooming behind his eyes from the ferocity of the blow. He felt his hair ripped upward, ready to slam him down again—

Luca barely stopped Garcia from simply cracking his skull open on the concrete. This time when they seized Wes by the chin, their nails dug in. Every ounce of amusement was gone from their eyes.

"You little shit," their voice was scathing, "The next time you pull that stunt, I'm going to peel off your face, piece by pitiful little piece, and feed it to you."

Wes wanted to snarl something clever at them, but his brain was having a difficult time staying any form of coherent. His ears rang. Everything was swimming, the walls seeming to zoom out around the edges of their silhouette.

That wasn't good. That really wasn't good.

It didn't stop him from spitting that dark spray of blood directly into their face. Red and clotted black splattered across pale skin.

No matter what they did to him for it, Wes decided then and there that the look of shock and disgust on their face was worth it.

They slowly wiped a hand down their cheek, a cold mask slipping over their expression. Then they sighed.

"Well, I did warn him."

They leaned forward again, knife breaking the skin just above Wes' other shoulder, only to stop at the sound of approaching footsteps and muffled words from the other side of the door.

"Ah, now the show's starting."

Despite so much blood, despite the arm loose from its socket, despite the fact that he was trembling from head to toe and very, very much in pain, Wes growled at them, "I'm not fucking scared of you."

He startled when both of his interrogators laughed. The door lock snapped in its casing, heavy hinges creaking as it was pushed open and the sallow light from the hallway poured in.

"Oh, I'm not the one you have to worry about."

They casually flicked the tip of their blade toward the thin, frail-looking old man that entered the doorway, wiping his hands clean.

"He is."

[bittersweet-n-smilin]

Loyalty • Chai x Mocha Fic • Game Chapter Write-in

Spoilers: End of Track 4 & End of Track 7

It was a whirlwind of a heartattack for Mocha, but at least it helped her finally realize where her morals and loyalty lied. Even so, she wished it hadn't come to this. One moment, Chai was on his way back to the hideout with the kidnapped head of security, and the next, they were both dragged back, unconscious after a fiery crash on the tram.

His condition wasn't as critical as the dying red-haired woman, but it still sent fear surging through her veins as she gazed upon his still form where he lay upon the sofa in the middle of the room. While the others operated to save the life of the other victim of the wreck, she took it upon herself to look after the man til he woke up, and afterwards when he inevitably realized how much pain he was in.

It was a miracle he hadn't been too terribly injured. She almost couldn't believe it. He seemed almost indestructible, truly. But how long until his luck ran out? It finally made her realize the gravity of the whole situation, and filled her with so much guilt.

So many times she was tempted to sell out these people she had come to befriend over the past day or so. And for what? To become "worth something" to some corporate assholes who evidently don't care about much at all besides their cushy little jobs? To finally "find a good place in the world", even at the cost of others? What the hell was wrong with her!? She was a fool, a damn fool. She felt so fucking guilty.

Even moreso because she's the one who sort of instigated this mess, the weight of her sin was heavy on her. She's the one who told the big bad boss of the company where the group was in R&D, forcing them to flee and kickstarting a chain of events leading to where she is now. Kneeling at the side of someone she quickly grew to care so much for, she felt guilty.

Suddenly, he began to stir and groan upon his resting place. Quietly, she shushed him and instinctively put a hand to his hair in an attempt to soothe the man.

"It's alright. You're OK now. You're back in the hideout. Everything is fine."

He blinked at her, processing what he just heard. "K-Korsi..ca?" He asked about his companion in destruction.

"She's a bit...... critical right now. The others are doing what they can."

At that, he seemed to relax. Or at least, he tried to. It's a bit hard to be at ease when your muscles are crying out in agony. Luckily she had prepared for his, helping him sit up so he could take some painkillers. Hopefully it would be enough in the long-run.

It seemed so, judging by how his jaw finally unclenched and he let out a sigh after a couple minutes. "Thanks," he said, looking up at her after he had settled down once more. "Man, what would I do without ya, huh?"

And with that, she started to cry. Because he would probably be safe without a treacherous snake such as her. The guilt overwhelmed her and tore her apart. Before she knew it, she started spilling confessions of her attempted betrayals, and the one that came to fruition.

"I'm so sorry!" was all she could sob over and over, and he took pity on her. He was shocked at her confession (even though Peppermint had sort of "called it" earlier on), but he still shushed her in an attempt to get her to calm down and listen. He didn't know if he was being stupid, but he did know she seemed genuine in her remorse. Then again, how much could you know about a girl you only met almost two days ago? He was still willing to chance it, so he spoke.

"Hey, don't cry, don't cry. It's ok. He woulda found us back there anyway, so that's not your fault entirely. And the hideout stuff? You didn't, and that's what matters, yeah? You have good in you, I can feel it... Besides, I like you too much to let you walk away."

"Yeah. Yeah, I like you guys too."

"No. I like you."

".....I think I return those feelings."

As her tears slowed and dried, they spent the next several hours in near silence. Mocha tended to Chai as new aches and cuts made themselves known, until their guest had woken up from her operation. She'd make up for her follies by helping make sure nothing like this happened to her new friends again.

....and by making sure she would become a better person for someone who somehow saw the best in her.

[eddie-brii]

Addiction

Warnings: 18+ musings of adult sexual situations but no full scene.

Authors notes

First off, I really hope you guys enjoy this, it's been a while since I've done any creative writing so bare with me. I'm working on a full length story related to this drabble, honestly this is almost a preview of what's to come. I'm just trying to make sure I have a few Chapters written before I start posting in case I hit a wall at some point. Plus my ADHD apparently enjoys making me work on three to four different fics at once. I'm also doing a lot of the editing and writing on my phone so if it looks weird on desktop, that's why. I may also be posting on to my AO3 and Fanfiction accounts as well so if you see this there, it's fine, it's me.

@108garys I'm sorry there's no Charlie yet but there will be.

Again, please enjoy!

Jason really couldn’t believe his luck, after surviving hell itself he would have never thought he’d end up addicted again.

It wasn’t the weed that gotten him like before, he was too clear headed for that. It wasn’t meth or heroin either, he’d never been that self destructive.

No, this was something entirely different and he didn’t think he could ever escape it.

It had all started in that damn hell hole, when he learned that the color brown could be beautiful and handsome at the same time. When he’d stared into it, their eyes, set in two different faces but so alike, as it held so many different emotions. He learned he’d craved hearing both a soft giggle and low chuckle.

He’d found he didn’t mind the soft touch of a smaller hand on his shoulder or a larger one helping him up, both had felt so fucking good on his skin in the dark. He’d traded between having a taller, broad set of shoulders at his back, a firm chest pressing against his, trapping him to the wall, and a smaller, shorter pair guarding him, he’d buried his head in those soft breasts at one point.

He’d been charmed by two accents, one barely there, until she was upset, not so different from his own. The other foreign but so familiar due to the war, he still slipped into his native tongue on occasion, both of them drawing him in, leaving him fucking bewitched, making him fall hard. By the time he’d realized what had happened, he was running back for the one, him, with the other, her, right on his heels, he knew he wasn’t the only one in this predicament.

He couldn’t be, not when a pistol fired right along with his rifle when a monster had come up behind the man they came to rescue. Not when an iron stake and a blade both came to Jason’s defense afterwards. Not when they almost lost her as the ground shifted, two sets of strong arms pulled her back up to safety, to them.

The hut had been a nightmare because he couldn’t keep track of them both, not with the creatures swarming them. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw both of them, her hair a mess as she clutched that damn blade, him clutching that damn iron spike, the same ones they’d saved him and each other with.

He remembered yelling at the fucking glow worms, because Jason was scared they were going to hurt the other man, then keeping his mouth shut when they pressed about her, he wasn’t going to let them take her away, not from him, not from them.

The weeks that followed had been fucking agony, they couldn’t talk about any of it, he couldn’t fucking touch them, couldn’t fucking kiss them. Then they were finally given the all clear and breathing space, when he’d found out he adored leaning up to firm chapped lips as much he did leaning down into soft full ones.

They finally could bring it up away from the others, if that’s you what you called it when they were in the showers. He was grateful the others hadn’t said anything when they started disappearing together, hadn’t brought up the whisker burn along his neck and the scratches on his back.

Been even more grateful when they had given the three privacy, they had finally started to fully work out what they were, his, theirs, if they’d both have him, and go over things that need to be said.

“I love you, both of you.” God, he’d sounded fucking lost and pathetic when he’d finally said it, head down, having no idea how to do this, how to love another person like this, let alone two.

He remembered two sets of hands pulling him in before they sealed his fate. “we love you too, Jarhead.”

“And we’re not letting you go.”

Since then the cravings had only gotten worse, better than he'd fucking imagined. Staying together had left a trail of questions from people they’d met, each had their own way of telling others to fuck off, to mind their own damned business. He could finally see other parts of them that made him sink deeper into this addiction, this feeling.

He'd gotten used their different scents, hers, herbs, honey and rain fall. His, spices, musk and earth. A heady combination that left him breathless at times, when he was surround by it in the sheets of their bed. Jason got used to the little things they did, the radio the other man listened to in the evenings, his expression when he was almost ready to release, to her tendency to get distracted by plants on walks and hikes, the sounds she’d make when he found the right spot inside her. He’d been able to watch them as they practiced their own faiths, one saying his prayers on his mat, the other as she danced in the full moon light, both at one point gesturing for him to join in. The things that had gotten them through that place, besides each other.

It didn’t matter how different they were from one another, they just fit together in ways that left him breathless, his hands in either long or short hair as they drew sounds from him that he had no idea he could make, he’d never thought he’d find someone to love him, let alone two people.

Jason lost his mind when he ended up in the middle, filling her wet heat and being filled to the brim by his length.

He couldn’t leave if he tried, both of them would find him before he’d get too far, both of them would be heartbroken, they’d never left each other behind, couldn’t, Semper fucking Fi.

He’d never be able to let this go, let them go. If this addiction was meant take him, so be it. He’d happily stay here, addicted to, in love, these two people, his two lovers, as long as he was alive.